The Flyer (33 page)

‘Speaking of medical matters,’ Jarvis continued. ‘How’s that shoulder feeling? I understand you’re recovering very well.’

‘Apparently I was lucky,’ William said, his mildly ironic tone going undetected.

‘Jolly good. Better than being six feet under, I expect. You’re something of a Lazarus.’

‘Sir?’

Jarvis peered at him. ‘Hasn’t anybody told you that either? You’re supposed to be dead, Reynolds. There was a bit of a mix-up. Actually, I don’t suppose you know any of this, do you? The thing is that when you were originally shot down, the rest of your patrol bought it too. There were no survivors. Except the chap who was flying the other Nieuport. What was his name?’

‘Wright.’

‘Yes, that’s the fellow. Anyway, he came down on our side of the lines, but his plane was hit by an enemy shell. There was no way to tell which of you he was. He was badly burned, you see.’

Looking back, the last William remembered of Wright was his plane trailing smoke. ‘You said he survived, sir?’

‘Yes. But not for long I’m afraid. He died after a few days, but the official records show that he was you. It seems somebody made a bit of a cock-up. Somewhere nearby, Reynolds, there’s a grave with your name on it. Which is why I’m here. Partly anyway.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m not sure that I follow your meaning.’

Jarvis leaned back, smoke wreathed about his head. ‘It’s quite simple. We have to decide what to do with you.’ He surveyed the mass of papers in front of him then began clearing a space, stacking everything to one side. When he was satisfied, he opened a plain folder and produced a pen and a bottle of ink.

‘You’ve pulled off something of a coup, Reynolds. Not only have you managed to return from the dead, which by itself might have made an interesting side story for the press, but you’ve done it in rather a spectacular fashion. It’s never happened before, you know. One of our own swiping a bloody plane from right under the Hun’s noses. I expect they must be hopping mad about it. It’s a shame you didn’t get an Albatross of course. I suppose there weren’t any?’

‘The Albatross is a single-seater, sir.’

‘What? Oh, yes, quite. The woman who was with you. I’ll get to that in a moment. First things first, though.’ He took the top off his pen and poised it over a blank sheet of paper. ‘Now, I’d like you to tell me everything that happened to you from the moment you crashed. Try not to miss anything out.’

As William talked, Jarvis made notes. Occasionally he would ask William to clarify something, or to wait while he caught up. He was interested to hear about the execution William had witnessed in the square at Cambrai.

‘A man and a woman, you say?’

‘Yes. Helene told me they were accused of being spies.’

‘Helene? I take it she was the young woman who escaped with you?’

‘Yes.’

‘How did you meet her?’

He described what had happened in the square. How she had pretended to be his wife scolding a lazy husband. He found he could recall every detail. The feel of his hand gripping the revolver in his pocket, the questioning look of the young German soldier before Helene suddenly appeared, and then his own surprise at finding himself berated by this angry, nagging woman with blazing eyes. He saw her as clearly as if she were standing before him at that moment, and then he thought of her again the last time he’d seen her when her head had rested against the side of the cockpit, her skin pale and cold to his touch. The words caught in his throat. Jarvis looked up.

‘What happened after that?’

‘She took me to the farm where she lived.’ He went on to explain how Helene had hidden him in the barn.

‘Her parents weren’t aware of your presence?’

‘They were her husband’s parents.’

‘Ah, yes. He was killed, you say?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why didn’t she tell them about you?’

‘Because she wasn’t sure how they would react.’

‘You mean she thought they might report you to the Germans?’

‘She didn’t know what they would do.’

‘She didn’t trust them?’

‘It was just the kind of people they were. They were old. Helene didn’t actually get on with them very well.’

‘Really? Why not?’

‘I think they resented her. They imagined she was to blame for taking their son away.’ William was suddenly annoyed by Jarvis’s questions. ‘Why are you asking me all this?’ he demanded.  

Jarvis looked up. ‘If you wouldn’t mind continuing, Captain,’ he said coolly.

Reluctantly, William continued. He described how he began to form a plan to escape after he had visited the German aerodrome, but things almost went wrong when the Lisles had discovered his presence. ‘After that, I thought it was best to leave straight away.’

‘And you decided to take Helene with you?’

‘Yes. We left that night. But the old man, Albert, confronted us before we reached the road.’

‘Confronted you?’

‘He had a rifle.’

William related everything that happened, ending with him shooting Madame Lisle.

Jarvis was shocked. ‘Good God! Was the old woman dead?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you believe their intention was to kill you, in order to prevent Helene leaving them to manage alone?’ There was a faint but unmistakeable note of incredulity in Jarvis’s tone. ‘Even though they resented her?’

‘I have no doubt of it. It wasn’t only that that they didn’t want her to leave, they were afraid of what would happen to them if I was caught.’

Jarvis studied what he’d written thoughtfully. ‘What exactly was your relationship with this young woman, Reynolds?’

‘What do you mean, sir?’

‘I think you know what I mean. You know how these country folk can feel about certain things. Family loyalty and so on. After all, this woman was their son’s wife.’

‘Their son was dead,’ William reminded him.

‘Quite.’ Jarvis lit another cigarette and got up from his seat to stand at the window. ‘As I mentioned, your escape has caused quite a stir. The newspapers want to write about you. You’re to be awarded the MC by the way.’ He paused. ‘We’ve been considering the idea of a tour.’

‘A tour?’

‘Public relations, Reynolds. Send you back to England, arrange speaking engagements, newspaper interviews and so on. Give the public a chance to see a genuine hero. It’s not the sort of thing we go in for ordinarily, of course. But the fact is, the Flying Corps has had rather a difficult time of it during the past few months. We’re desperately short of pilots, and it isn’t quite as easy to attract new recruits these days. Everybody’s heard rather too much of Von Richthofen and his merry men, I’m afraid. A story like yours might provide us with some much needed publicity in our favour. At least that was the idea. To be frank, I’m not so sure now.’

Jarvis came back to the desk and lifted a corner of his notes. He seemed to make up his mind and offered a pink, watery smile. ‘I think we’ll leave it there for the moment, Captain.’

William stood up, realising that he was being dismissed.

‘Just one other thing,’ Jarvis said as William reached the door. ‘I think it would be best if you don’t talk about any of this for the moment. I’m sure you understand. You haven’t told anybody I take it?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Jolly good. Better to keep it that way then, I think. You carry on resting that arm and I’ll come and see you again shortly. Thank you, Captain.’

*****

Helene had been buried in the cemetery outside Amiens. Her grave was marked with a simple wooden cross that had now been inscribed with her name and the date of her death. William imagined a life they might have had together after the war was over. He thought they could have been happy. He would have loved her. She had brought something to life in him again, made him see that love and pain go hand in hand, and without them both, life is meaningless.

Before he left, William looked for Wright’s grave, though he supposed it would be his own name on the grave until somebody sorted out the bureaucratic mix-up, if they ever did. He thought he would send a letter to Wright’s family, so at least they would know the truth. Perhaps one day it would give them some comfort to visit here and know their son had received a proper burial. But though he walked back and forth among the rows of crosses he couldn’t find one that bore either his name or Wright’s. Perhaps there was another cemetery.

That evening, Elizabeth came to see him again and this time she brought Christopher with her. William shook his hand.

‘Hello, Christopher.’

‘Hello, William. I’m glad to see you again.’

He was saddened at Christopher’s appearance. Though he’d thought Elizabeth looked tired, and he was sometimes taken aback by his own drawn appearance when he used a mirror to shave, Christopher had the haunted look many pilots took on after a while. It was in their eyes, a kind of bleakness.

Whatever lingering uncertainties remained regarding his feeling towards both Elizabeth and Christopher, they finally dissipated at that moment. William knew that what had hurt him as much as anything, was that when they’d left he had felt rejected. He thought if he could have them both as his friends again he would be grateful. He didn’t regret knowing them or having loved them in their different fashions, any more than he regretted loving Helene. If he regretted anything, it was only the years in between, when he had forgotten how to feel much at all except a profound loneliness that had threatened to corrode his soul.

CHAPTER 31

Elizabeth paused at the door. The chair where William often sat by the window in the day room, was empty. One of the men who could normally be found playing chess looked up from the paper he was reading. His usual opponent had been sent home, though all the pieces were set up on the board ready for a game.

‘Hello,’ the man said. ‘If you’re looking for Reynolds, I think you’ll find him outside.’

Though he smiled at her, Elizabeth thought she detected the merest hint of resentment in his tone, as if there couldn’t be any other reason for her to be there these days. She started to say that actually she wasn’t looking for William at all, but the man had already returned to his paper.

‘Thanks,’ she said and he looked up again and gave her a cheery smile that proved her wrong. It was guilt, she thought. She was afraid she wore her feelings for anyone to see.

She found William in the hospital garden. He was sitting alone in the spring sunshine, carefully flexing his arm. His wound was healing quickly. She watched him from the doorway, unobserved. This is how it would be, she thought. Watching him from a distance, her feelings held close. She wanted to go to him, to touch him. It was almost an overpowering urge, but she could live with denial just to see him, to know that he was alive and well. She tried to convince herself of that, and yet just as when she tried to imagine the future, when they were all back in England, she found that she couldn’t.

When she joined him he turned to her and smiled. She lifted her face to the sun to mask an ache of longing. ‘It’s wonderful to feel the sun isn’t it?’ she said.

He looked toward the cerulean sky. Barges of cotton cumulus drifted with the breeze. He frowned.

‘Why do you look like that?’

‘It’s nothing.’ He shrugged. ‘A bad habit. It’s a good day for flying.’

‘Oh, I see.’ The war. Everything revolved around the bloody war! Even a sunny day couldn’t be enjoyed for its own sake. Sometimes Elizabeth wondered if people would ever be the same again.

‘Christopher’s leaving tomorrow,’ she said. ‘He’s booked a table at a club in the town. Will you come?’

‘Of course.’

‘Do you remember his brother, Henry?’

‘Yes. He was at Pitsford for a little while when I was there.’

‘That’s right. Anyway, he’s here, in Amiens. He’s been posted to Christopher’s squadron.’

‘I remember that he wanted to fly. How long has he been in France?’

‘He only just arrived. It’s his first posting. Christopher’s pleased, I think. He says he is anyway.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I think he’s worried too. I met Henry yesterday. I haven’t seen him for years, but of course he’s completely grown up now. He’s very keen to fight.’

They were all like that when they arrived. A mixture of bluff and bravado masking their true feelings. Most of them had heard enough to have the good sense to be nervous. You could see it in their eyes, no matter what they said. But there were still some like Henry, for whom the whole thing was a glorious adventure. King and Country. Honour and Duty. Young men, Elizabeth thought, often didn’t value their own lives until the moment when it was about to be taken away.

She became aware that William was looking at her with a slightly puzzled frown. ‘What is it?’

‘I was thinking about what you said, about not seeing Henry for years. Wouldn’t you have seen him at Pitsford?’

‘Oh, I see. Actually Christopher and I didn’t see each other for quite a long time,’ she said.

‘Oh? I thought…’

‘No. After we came back from Cannes, Christopher was very upset about Sophie. We didn’t meet again until Christopher was wounded.’

‘You mean here, at the hospital?’

‘Yes.’

She could see him thinking about that. She knew he must’ve assumed that their engagement was the natural result of the intervening years together. It would be so easy to tell him the truth, Elizabeth thought. She only had to explain that she’d tried to find him and had travelled to Shoreham and eventually to France because of him. But she wouldn’t do that. ‘It’s strange how things work out, sometimes,’ she said.

‘Yes, it is. I’m glad.’

‘Are you?’

‘Yes, for you. Both of you.’

‘Thanks.’

They sat in silence for a little while. She wanted to ask him where he’d gone after he left Pitsford. What had his life been like before the war? Had there been another woman? Had he fallen in love again? Had he hated her?

‘Are you worried about Christopher,’ he said.

She realised he’d been watching her and had misunderstood her silence. A guilty flush burned her cheeks. ‘Yes, I am,’ she said. ‘Can I ask you something? Are you frightened when you fly?’

‘Everybody is. Some people cope with it better than others, but I think it gets to everyone in the end.’

‘I think Christopher is afraid. Perhaps I shouldn’t be saying this. I know he wouldn’t want me to. Do you remember at Sywell, when poor Nigel Wentworth was killed?’

‘Yes.’

‘Of course you do. That was a stupid question. The thing is I’m sure it affected Christopher. He has nightmares. He dreams that he’s burning.’

‘A lot of men worry about that. It’s the worst thing that can happen.’

‘It didn’t help that when he first came here…’ Elizabeth stopped herself.

‘What happened when he came here?’

‘There was a pilot who was badly burned. Actually he was from your squadron.’

‘Do you mean Wright?’

‘You know about him?’

‘The mix-up. Yes.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Of course, you must have been here then, were you?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you thought Wright was me?’

‘Yes. It disturbed Christopher, I think. He said something like he never thought it could happen to you. Somehow he took it as a bad sign.’ She felt him looking at her and wondered if he was going to ask her if it affected her. If he did, she doubted she could conceal her feelings.

‘Have you got a cigarette?’ she asked suddenly to distract him.

‘I thought you weren’t allowed to smoke on duty?’

‘We’re not. So you have to promise not to tell anyone.’

‘Alright.’ He smiled and struck a match.

‘Your arm is getting better isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

‘I suppose you’ll be sent back too,’ she said, and as she spoke she was suddenly struck with a terrible fear of losing them both.

‘I don’t know. There’s talk of sending me home on some sort of tour. They seem to think they can use me to encourage new recruits.’

‘That’s wonderful!’

‘Do you think so?’

‘Yes, of course. They couldn’t send you back here again afterwards could they?’

‘I suppose not.’

‘You don’t sound very pleased by the idea. Surely you’re not the type to think it’s your duty to stay here?’

‘It isn’t duty.’

‘What then?’

‘I don’t know exactly. Responsibility perhaps. I don’t mean to my country, so much. I’m talking about sticking it out because everyone has to, don’t they? Like Christopher.’

‘If you talk that way, you may as well say you should all stay here until there’s nobody left on either side. Until everybody has been killed.’

He seemed surprised by her vehemence. ‘It isn’t only that anyway. It’s the whole idea of being used to recruit others. I’m not sure I want to do that. And I don’t like the idea of being made out to be a hero. I’m not. It’s Helene they should write about if they want to write about somebody.’

It was the first time Elizabeth had heard him mention Helene since he asked what had happened to her.

‘Will you tell me about her?’ she asked.

He began to tell her what had happened to him after he had crashed. Elizabeth visualised the barn where Helene had hidden him. She imagined them drawn to one another in the darkness of their secret existence, sharing their loneliness, and she understood that something had happened to him there. She was glad that he’d found somebody who had filled the emptiness in his soul that she was certain she had helped create.

*****

To celebrate his last night in Amiens before taking up his new command, Christopher had arranged a table for them at the Café Chat Noir in the old part of the town. The interior was smoky and dark, with tables arranged around a dance floor in front of a stage where a band of Negro musicians were playing rag-time. From the moment they arrived, people were dancing and waiters went to and fro, carrying bottles of chilled champagne and bowls of mussels cooked in white wine and cream. Many of the men wore uniforms. There were both French and British, and a few Australians and New Zealanders. It was a popular place for the flyers based at aerodromes to the east and west, for whom Amiens was closer than either Paris or the coast.

‘I’ve never been here before,’ Margaret said, looking around with bright, excited eyes. She had managed to get the night off to go with them and was wearing a blue dress that went with her eyes, and hugged her figure in a way that drew men’s gazes. Especially that of Christopher’s brother, Elizabeth thought, as Henry’s adoring eyes followed Margaret’s every movement.

‘What do you think of it, Henry?’ Christopher asked.

Henry tore his gaze from Margaret to look around at the women wearing jewellery and silk dresses that clung to their bodies. They smoked and drank as much as the men. Outnumbered as they were, they could dance the entire evening away with a different partner for each tune if they wanted. At the next table a young woman who wore her long, almost jet-black hair loosely, threw back her head and laughed at something a young captain whispered in her ear, his hand resting on her thigh. She kissed his cheek and then his ear, the tip of her tongue pink and shocking as she teased his lobe. Her ruby lips moved as she whispered some promise or other.

‘It seems alright,’ Henry said, imitating worldly insouciance that wasn’t, however, matched by the tug of disapproval on his young features. He glanced at Margaret as if worried that such sights might offend a lady, or what in the realms of his inexperience, he imagined constituted a lady.

A waiter brought champagne and whisky, and Henry emptied a glass of the latter quickly. He immediately stifled a choking sound and turned bright red.

‘Steady on, old man,’ Christopher said.

‘Good grief, where on earth did they find that awful stuff?’ Henry exclaimed to cover his embarrassment.

‘I adore this tune,’ Margaret said as the band began playing again. ‘Henry, will you come and dance with me?’

‘I’d be honoured, Miss Weston.’

‘It’s Margaret,’ she protested, laughing at his formality. ‘You’ll make me feel old calling me that.’

Henry blushed. Margaret led him onto the floor and they were swallowed up among the other dancers.

‘He seems so young,’ Elizabeth commented. Margaret was no more than four or five years older than Henry, but he looked like a schoolboy next to her, which in fact he had been until quite recently, she thought.

‘Yes,’ Christopher said heavily. He emptied his glass and signalled to the waiter for another. ‘He reminds me of myself when I was that age. Do you remember?’

‘It seems a long time ago.’

‘I wonder what he’ll be like in a few months time?’

Or if he’ll even be alive, Elizabeth thought, finishing Christopher’s unspoken thought. She squeezed his arm and he smiled at her.

‘Christ, I mustn’t get bloody maudlin this early on in the evening must I? Anyway, I shouldn’t worry about Henry after reading his flight instructor’s report. He was top of his class, you know. A ‘natural pilot’ in his CO’s words.’ Christopher looked at his watch and peered through the crowd towards the door. ‘I wonder where William is? He did say he was coming didn’t he?’

‘Don’t worry, he’ll be here. Why don’t you dance with me?’

‘Alright.’

As they danced, Christopher relaxed a little. He smiled and chatted with her and exchanged cheerful helloes with some people he recognised, though Elizabeth knew it was partly an act. William arrived just as they returned to their table.

‘There you are!’ Christopher exclaimed shaking his hand. ‘I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.’

‘I’m sorry I’m late. I forgot the name of the club and it took me a while to find it.’

‘Well, you’re here now, that’s the main thing. Sit down and have a drink. What would you like? Whisky?’

‘Yes, thanks. Hello Elizabeth,’ he said.

‘Hello.’ William kissed her cheek, and for a moment she caught the scent of his cologne. She felt herself blush for no reason and her heart was racing. As they parted she saw Margaret watching her.

‘And you know my brother, Henry, of course. You’ve met before, though it was a long time ago now,’ Christopher said.

William and Henry shook hands. ‘How are you, Henry?’

‘Very well thanks. I must say it’s a thrill to meet you again. I’ve heard all about your exploits of course. I thought it was absolutely splendid of you to pinch one of the enemy’s own machines.’

‘I expect Elizabeth’s told you that Henry’s been posted to my squadron,’ Christopher said as he filled everyone’s glasses. ‘To old friends.’

‘Yes. Old friends.’

They ordered supper, and while they ate Margaret told them about her life in Canada. She had grown up in a hotel owned by her parents, which had provided her with an interesting childhood. Perhaps to get her away from an environment where she came into contact with so many disparate characters, her father sent her away to school, but when she came home for the holidays she was allowed to work in the hotel. She knew how to cook as well as any chef, and her experience on the desk meant she could run an office.

As the evening went on they talked of anything but the war. Christopher seemed to be in good spirits, and he told Margaret how he and William had built an aeroplane together once.

‘We all knew each before the war. I expect Elizabeth’s told you. We used to drive all over the countryside going to dances.’

He was drinking too much, Elizabeth thought. She saw William glance at her questioningly.

‘It was always the same crowd we’d see. Everybody drinking and dancing and nobody caring about anything but having fun.’