As if by Magic (13 page)

Nigel, a man in his forties with shadowed eyes and dark, untidy hair, unfolded his arms. He was radiating anger. He hardly glanced at Jack and Lassiter but spoke to his father.

‘You
might have finished but
I
certainly haven't. I need some answers. What am I going to do?'

David Lassiter looked apologetically across the room. ‘I'm sorry, George, Major Haldean. We really have finished.'

‘Stop saying we're finished!' snarled Nigel in frustration. ‘For God's sake, David, we haven't begun. Listen to me! You don't seem to realize what Culverton's death means. You can't seem to grasp how truly awful it is. What's going to happen to the funding of the seaplane now? I need another few thousand at least. Culverton would have paid up. What does Mrs Culverton say?'

‘Mrs Culverton,' said David with weary patience, ‘told you she wasn't making any decisions until her secretary, Gilchrist Lloyd, has gone through the paperwork.'

Nigel tossed his head impatiently. ‘That's not good enough. I haven't got the time to wait. Doesn't she know how urgent it is?'

‘You can't expect her to make a snap decision. For heaven's sake, she's just lost her husband.'

‘Don't give me that,' said Nigel with a dismissive snort. ‘She couldn't care less about Culverton. She left him, for heaven's sake. This is a matter of business.'

‘Well, she's not going to be hurried, no matter how important you think it is,' said David acidly. ‘So what if we do have to suspend production on the seaplane?'

‘Suspend production?' Nigel Lassiter stared at him. ‘For God's sake, don't start that again. We're only ten days away from the press presentation. I've got ten days to get the Pegasus in a fit condition to show to the public.
Ten days!
We can't stop now. It'd be disastrous. If Mrs Culverton won't pay up then the company will have to fund it.'

His father made as if to speak but David beat him to it. ‘What d'you think we've been doing? Your blasted flying-boat has cost us thousands and for what? The entire company's been turned upside down because of it. We can't afford to pump any more money into the Pegasus, Nigel. You know that.'

‘You'll have to.'

‘We haven't got it!' David Lassiter swallowed and forced himself to speak calmly. ‘Look, as I said before, if we could only suspend production we could concentrate on making some sort of profit. Then, when things are more settled, we can go back to the Pegasus.'

The door opened once more and a thin, nervy-looking man with a file of papers under his arm came in. He looked at Jack and George, smiled briefly, and spoke to Mr Lassiter. ‘I've got the papers you wanted, sir.'

‘Thank you, Walsh,' said Mr Lassiter. ‘Nigel, perhaps you can look at these figures later on.'

Walsh gave the file to Nigel who glanced at it contemptuously.

‘Balance sheets,' he said with deep sarcasm.

Walsh straightened up. Jack remembered Mr Lassiter referring to his secretary, Walsh, yesterday. He was a taller man than Nigel but much slighter. There were deep-set lines etched round his eyes and mouth. He was, thought Jack, not a well man. He had very little colour in his face but his eyes were glittering with suppressed anger. ‘Balance sheets, Mr Lassiter,' he said, picking his way through the words. ‘I was only able to give you a very brief idea of the figures involved when we talked about this earlier, but if you would care to look over the balance sheets –'

‘Damn the bloody balance sheets,' ground out Nigel. ‘And damn you, too.'

‘Nigel!' exclaimed his father, shocked. ‘Withdraw that remark immediately.'

Nigel clenched his fists and took a deep breath. He glanced at Walsh. ‘Sorry.' The word was like the flick of a whip.

Walsh met his eyes unflinchingly, reining in his temper with a visible effort. A spot of angry colour flamed on his pale cheeks. ‘You might not like what the balance sheets show, Mr Lassiter, but you cannot ignore them.'

Nigel brought his fist down on the table. ‘For God's sake, stop talking about balance sheets! I'm days away from the press presentation. The Pegasus is
important
.'

‘The Pegasus is damned expensive,' snapped David. ‘It's one thing after another. Last month's flight trials were a disaster. The aeroplane isn't safe, Nigel. Not yet.'

‘Safety! Don't you ever think about anything other than safety?'

The cold gleam in David Lassiter's eyes startled Jack. He'd been angry before but now he was suddenly murderous. ‘It's not surprising, is it? Let me tell you –'

‘David,' said Mr Lassiter sharply. ‘I'd rather you and Nigel had this conversation in private.'

David Lassiter froze. He stood very still, then, with a long-drawn-out breath, and his shoulders rigid, stretched his hands out on the table. After a few moments he looked ruefully at Jack and George. ‘I'm sorry. For the moment I forgot you were here. I apologize.'

The door opened once more and Corby came into the room. ‘Dr Maguire has arrived, sir. Shall I show him in?'

‘Don't bother,' said Nigel in disgust. He looked at his brother contemptuously. ‘Apparently, we've finished.'

Walsh coughed. The flush of colour on his cheeks hadn't faded. ‘You really should look at the balance sheets, Mr Lassiter,' he said evenly. ‘They tell their own story.'

‘Bloody
hell
!' shouted Nigel, goaded beyond endurance.

A well-dressed man came into the room behind Corby. ‘Excuse me finding my way in here but I heard voices,' he said calmly. He looked at Nigel. ‘Is there a problem?'

‘A problem?' repeated Nigel. ‘Of course there's a problem, Roger.' Jack looked at the newcomer with interest. So this was the smooth Dr Maguire. Nigel ran his hands through his hair. ‘I've been trying to explain the situation with the Pegasus and all anyone can talk to me about is balance sheets.'

‘They will repay study, Mr Lassiter,' said Walsh.

Nigel glared at him speechlessly then, taking the papers from the file, ripped them across and flung them down on the table. ‘That's what I think of you and your balance sheets. Why don't you drop dead, you little runt?'

‘Nigel!' exclaimed his father, David and Maguire together but Nigel was past hearing.

‘Because if you don't drop dead, then God help me, I'll kill you. In fact –'

‘Nigel!' said Maguire in a voice as sharp as the crack of a bullet. ‘Shut up!' His eyes blazed. Nigel, startled, looked at him, then dropped his head. ‘That's better,' said Maguire curtly. ‘I think an apology's in order.'

Nigel met his gaze, then glanced away. ‘All right. I'm sorry.' He wearily stuck his hands in his pockets and looked round the room, seemingly noticing Jack and George for the first time. ‘I'm sorry.' He picked up the torn papers and put them back in the file. ‘I'll study these,' he said to Walsh with an effort. ‘Sorry about that.'

Walsh let his breath out slowly. ‘Don't mention it.'

The gong sounded in the hall. ‘Lunch,' said old Mr Lassiter.

‘What d'you think of your Uncle Nigel?' asked Jack softly as they walked across the hall.

‘Happy families,' said George with a grimace. ‘What have I got myself involved in?'

Leaving George at Eden Street for the afternoon, Jack walked to his club, the Young Services. He was pretty sure that he would bump into Joe Hawley of
Aviation Monthly
there and he could rely on Joe, a former pilot and a journalist with a real nose for a story, to be both knowledgeable and gossipy about Culverton and the Lassiter Aircraft Company.

Hawley was unsure about the Pegasus. In his opinion, Nigel Lassiter was a wayward genius. ‘The trouble is,' he said, ‘you're never quite sure how his designs are going to work out in practice. Things are tough for everyone in the aviation world at the moment, particularly the small fry. Because of all the old surplus from the war, there's not many new craft being sold. Lassiter's might have bitten off more than they can chew with the Pegasus. They're not a big company, although they did some good work in the war. Mind you, David Lassiter, although he's nowhere near as brilliant as his brother, isn't a bad designer, either. Surely you remember all the to-do about his plane, the Urbis, last year? There was enough in the papers.'

Of course! Jack had thought David Lassiter's name was vaguely familiar. The Urbis was a small aircraft which sold for three hundred and fifty pounds and had been the subject of a well-publicized competition. Ten lucky winners received an aeroplane and their first flying-lesson from David Lassiter himself. The aeroplanes were presented to the winners in the course of a much-talked-about flight round Britain. The aerial photographs of the trip, featuring such far-flung places as Cape Wrath and homely scenes of holiday-makers at Margate, had been a regular feature in the newspapers, together with quotes from David Lassiter emphasizing the simplicity and pleasure of flying the Urbis and the benefits of owning an aeroplane to any frequent traveller. It was the Urbis, according to Joe Hawley, which was keeping the company going. As he said, David Lassiter was a sound businessman.

Jack went thoughtfully into the smoking room, turning over what he'd heard. Here, as an unlooked-for bonus, he ran into an old acquaintance, Dr Anthony Brooke.

Dr Brooke, late of the RAMC and now of London University, didn't answer Jack's question right away. ‘Maguire? Yes, I know Maguire,' he said eventually, halfway down the cigarette Jack had offered him. ‘Not very well, mind, but I do know him. To be honest, Haldean, I don't care for him. He's too sleek for my taste, but he's fashionable. He used to be a real doctor but now rich women go and talk to him about sex. Rich men, as well, I suppose. All our problems are meant to be tied up with sex nowadays. Freud's got a lot to answer for. Maguire charges them a fortune for it. I believe he's got a wonderful manner. Still, why not?' He grinned. ‘It beats working for a living.'

Jack had been home for some time when George arrived, time enough for him to have a bath and change into evening dress.

‘Hello,' said George morosely. ‘What are the glad-rags for?'

‘I thought,' said Jack, checking his tie in the mirror, ‘I'd take in a few clubs this evening.' He was hoping to get some idea of where Culverton might have been, but he didn't want to spell that out to George.

‘By yourself?' asked George with a frown. ‘It doesn't sound much fun.'

‘I usually run into someone I know. We can go somewhere for a bite to eat if you like first, though.'

‘I don't know if I'm very hungry,' said George unenthusiastically. ‘I had afternoon tea so I'll just have a sandwich or something later on. I don't really fancy going out. I think I'll have an early night. Thanks, anyway.'

‘Is something wrong?' asked Jack, watching his friend pace round the room. ‘You were a fair old time at Eden Street.'

‘Yes,' said George absently. He hesitated before the fireplace, fiddled with the ornaments on the mantelpiece, rearranged the clock and distractedly straightened up the spills in their wooden jar.

‘George?' repeated Jack. ‘What's wrong?'

George sighed and ran a hand through his hair before perching on the arm of a chair. ‘Do you want to come to the factory on Monday?' he asked. ‘My grandfather wondered if it would be convenient for you. He said we could all go down together in his car.'

‘I've got to go into the office on Monday. I don't suppose you can make it Tuesday, by any chance?' asked Jack. ‘I'd like to come.'

‘I'll ask,' said George. ‘I'd rather you were there.' He got off the chair, walked over to the sideboard and started to rearrange the silver cups.

‘What on earth is it?' demanded Jack.

George didn't answer.

‘Family?' asked Jack with a lift of his eyebrows.

George sighed once more. ‘Yes, damn it, it is,' he agreed reluctantly. He put down a cup and turned to face him. ‘Look, Jack, I don't like saying this. Yesterday was wonderful, what with meeting my grandfather, to say nothing of Anne.' His voice softened. ‘She's really something, isn't she? She's younger than me, you know, yet my grandfather relies on her completely. She really understands people. Neither she nor my grandfather have said a word to the rest of the family about how I broke into the kitchen, by the way. Anne said that she thought I'd find it difficult to explain, and he agreed.'

‘That's very tactful of them.'

‘Yes, isn't it?' He paused for a few moments then shook himself. ‘It was like a dream. After everything I'd been through, to find myself not only with a family, but with the offer of a job as well, was like a miracle.' His face lengthened. ‘And then today . . .'

‘What happened?' said Jack, offering George a cigarette.

‘Nigel was just about unbearable,' said George in a rush. ‘One of these days he'll go too far. It didn't get any better after you left, you know. Nigel started sniping about a dinner he's having tonight.'

‘What dinner?'

‘It's a formal thing at the Savoy to try and drum up money for the Pegasus. There's a whole bunch of worthies invited, an MP, a bloke called Ridgeway or something, and a few others. Culverton should have been there. My grandfather isn't going, and neither are David or Anne, and Nigel was hugely sarcastic about their lack of support. Anne told him straight out that she can't stand Ridgeway and my grandfather pointed out he hadn't wanted them there in the first place. That simmered down, but Walsh was there, still seething about his balance sheets. Walsh spoke out of turn and Nigel was really foul to him. It was rotten. Walsh is a sick man, poor devil. He was badly gassed in the war and it left him with his heart and lungs on the blink and it didn't do him any good to have Nigel turn on him. I tell you, Jack, I was worried Walsh was going to keel over there and then after Nigel had finished with him. What he said was completely not on.'