Inherit the Skies (28 page)

She nodded, her heart full. After the emotional turmoil of the last hour the pressure of his hand on hers felt good and safe and she wondered if perhaps she was making a mistake to turn down his offer out of hand. She did not love him it was true but perhaps there were worse things than a marriage without romantic love. He would be good to her, she knew, and do everything in his power to make her happy just as he had promised. In many ways it was a tempting prospect.

‘Will you at least think about it, Sarah?' he begged her and again she found herself nodding.

‘Very well, Eric.' A new thought occurred to her, catapulting her back to reality with a small shock. ‘What is the time? Shouldn't we be getting ready for our parachute jump?'

Eric took out his watch and looked at it.

‘Good lord, Sarah, you're right! Henry will be wondering what has happened to us!'

‘Knowing Henry, I doubt it, but we'd better be getting back all the same!' She stood up and moved out into the sunlight which seemed to put a golden aureole all around her. ‘Thank you for asking me, Eric,' she said softly. ‘And I promise I won't keep you waiting too long for an answer.'

The air was crystal clear and very still. Swaying in her small sling beneath the balloon basket Sarah waved at the crowds far below. But for once there were other things on her mind than the simple exhilaration of silent flight and appreciation of the scene laid out beneath her like an intricate crazy paving or mosaic. Automatically with the ease born of long practice Sarah watched her height on the aneroid waiting for the moment to launch herself free from the balloon so as to land on the designated site below. But she could think of nothing but Eric's proposal and her promise to give him an answer very soon.

What should she do? she asked herself and the currents of air lifting her hair and rustling the skirts of her pantaloon suit seemed to toy with the possible answers tossing them hither and thither. If she refused life would most likely go on much as before though she doubted if she and Eric would ever quite regain their former easy relationship. If she accepted she would be his wife and everything would certainly be changed. She believed him when he said he would not rush her into a physical union until she felt she was ready but she hardly considered that as an option. Such an arrangement would be grossly unfair to him and though some women might be only too glad of an excuse to avoid that side of marriage Sarah dismissed such an idea as unthinkable. No, whatever her feelings, if she agreed to marry him she must become his wife in the full sense of the word and do her best to make him happy. It would be the least she could do in return for all he would do for her, for she had no doubt he would prove to be a wonderful husband, kind, generous and understanding, and she would at last have a measure of security in her life which she had so far been unable to find. Never again would she need to feel isolated and lonely, never again need she worry about her future – or her past. What more could she ask for?

A small wistful smile played at the corners of Sarah's mouth as the breeze tossed the answer to her. Was it greedy of her to wish that she might also be in love with the man she married? Perhaps it was. Nothing in life was ever perfect, she of all people should know that. She liked Eric, respected him and believed she could submit to his love making without being constantly reminded of Hugh and how he had used her. Perhaps it was wrong of her to feel that there should be something more than mere submission, that with the right man there should be joy in giving, in sharing … not only physical love making but every other aspect of life too.

Sarah looked down at the ground, a world in miniature spread out beneath her feet and tried to clear her mind as she prepared to jump.

It was unlikely that the man who could make her feel that way existed – and if he did it was too late for him now. She was going to accept Eric's proposal. Her mind was made up. The minute she landed she would tell him and she would back up her decision by doing everything in her power to make him as good a wife as she was certain he would be a good husband.

Sarah checked the aneroid once again. Three thousand feet. Resolutely she put all thought of Eric and private matters from her mind and pulled the cord that would release her from the balloon.

‘There is someone I want you to meet, Sarah,' Eric said, setting down his teacup on the glass topped cane table that graced Molly Norkett's minute sitting-room and glancing at Sarah who sat curled up on the comfortable sofa beside him.

Sarah's heart sank. Since she had agreed to marry Eric he had proudly introduced her to a seemingly endless stream of relatives and she was beginning to grow a little tired of fobbing off the inevitable question – when was the wedding to be? All very well for Eric to assure her he would not rush her until she was ready – aunts and cousins, eager for an excuse to buy a new hat and join in a celebration were less patient and she did not care for the raised eyebrows and the exchanged glances when she explained that the date had yet to be agreed upon. But she had the grace to feel a little guilty at the stab of irritation. Eric was sweet, patient and kindness itself to her. The least she could do was to meet his relatives with good grace.

‘You must have the largest family in England, Eric,' she said, hiding her dismay with a wry smile.

‘No, it's not a relative this time, Sarah,' he said. ‘It's someone I think you may be able to help. You remember the man who came to see you the day I asked you to marry me? You told me that his firm was called Morse Motors and that he was interested in building engines for aeroplanes.'

‘Yes, that's right. But what …?'

‘The other day I ran into an old friend – Adam Bailey. He is an engineer and draughtsman and he works for a motor car company.

But he and another chap – a Maximillian Hurst – are working in their spare time to design an aeroplane.'

‘Really?' Sarah said, interested but not unduly surprised. Since entering the world of ballooning she had met a great many men who attempted the seemingly impossible; new inventions were all part of the normal round of everyday life.

‘Yes. They are very enthusiastic. Adam believes they have come up with something rather special though he insists that Max is the brains behind it. But it seems the man is not only interested in the structure – he also has his own ideas for an engine. And the pair of them are looking for someone to build it for them.'

‘Surely the motor car firm they work for would be the ideal people to do that?' Sarah suggested.

‘I said the same thing, but apparently they are not altogether keen on two of their best men burning the midnight oil on a project of their own. Adam seemed to think it unwise to draw their attention to the fact by asking them to build the engine. It was then that I remembered what you had said about your friend Mr Morse and I suggested the three of us might have dinner together sometime and talk the matter over. Would you be agreeable to that?'

‘Well yes,' Sarah said. ‘I don't see what I could do but if you would like to …'

Eric reached for her hand and twisted the ring he had bought her so that the row of perfectly-set diamonds sat squarely on her finger.

‘Good. In that case I will arrange it,' he said.

Eric had booked a table at
Rules
, the oldest restaurant in London and one of the most prestigious. Here writers, artists, lawyers and actors met to enjoy the company and the fine food in congenial surroundings, upstairs at a table beside a lattice window the King had wined and dined the beautiful Lily Langtry when he was Prince of Wales, it was said, though a special door had been put in to enable them to enter and leave without having to walk through the restaurant in full view of the other patrons.

As a deferential waiter relieved her of her wrap and led them between the tables where the finest crystal and silver gleamed on starched white napery Sarah smiled to herself. Eric would never be a rich man, that much was certain. He was too fond of luxury and the good things of life, spending the rewards that came his way without a thought for the future. Not even their engagement had curbed his habit. Money burned a hole in Eric's pocket and it worried her slightly. She remembered only too well what it was like to have nothing and sometimes when Eric lavished on her the fruits of his success she thought of her mother, eyes crinkled with strain, fingers sore and bleeding as she sewed far into the night to earn enough to keep body and soul together. But there was no point chastising Eric about it. He would simply look glum, the light going out of his merry eyes, apologise profusely – and continue in exactly the same way as before. When they were married she would take care of the purse strings, Sarah decided. In the meantime she might as well simply relax and enjoy the luxuries which Eric showered on her.

The waiter pulled out her chair with a flourish and hovered attentively.

‘Would Madame care for an apéritif?'

‘Why not?' Eric said expansively. Sarah, guessing the price of the drinks here, thought she could have made out a very good case for waiting for their guest but said nothing.

‘We were lucky to get here first,' Eric said, settling himself

comfortably and lighting a small cigar. ‘When Henry started telling me about the latest problem with his dirigible I thought we would be late and Adam would be here before us. That would have been unforgiveable.'

‘What is he like?' Sarah asked, sipping her sherry.

‘Adam? Oh, he's a decent chap. A bit of a mystery in some ways …'

‘A mystery? What can you mean?'

‘Ah!' Eric laid his cigar down in the crystal ashtray. ‘ You'll soon be able to judge for yourself. Here he is now!'

He pushed back his chair, rising to his feet, and Sarah followed his glance to see the waiter ushering a man towards them.

Her first impression was that he was very tall, then she realised it was the shortness of the waiter which accentuated his height. In reality he was perhaps no more than six foot, lean and muscular in his dark well-cut suit. Lamplight gleamed on a fine head of hair, almost aggressively fair; beneath it his face was strong boned and handsome with a square jaw and slightly hooked nose that suggested it might have been broken at some time. There was a faint arrogance about the set of the mouth, though the full lower lip conveyed an impression of sensuality; the eyes, wide set and hazel in colour, were direct. Sarah felt a small stab of surprise along with an inexplicable quickening of her pulses. Though she had wasted little time wondering what he would be like she had somehow expected an impoverished engineer to be nondescript and a little shabby. This man had an undeniable presence and a look which made her instantly glad that she was looking her best. Whatever else he might be Adam Bailey was all male and it evoked an immediate response in any woman who crossed his path.

Totally unaware of her confusion Eric greeted his guest.

‘Adam! you're here. Good to see you. May I introduce you? Sarah – Adam Bailey. Adam – my fiancée, Sarah Thomas.'

The eyes met hers, appraising and, she felt, slightly mocking. Disconcerted yet determined not to show it she smiled.

‘Mr Bailey.'

‘Miss Thomas. Delighted to meet you at last. I have heard so much about the famous lady balloonist.' There was the faintest hint of amusement in his tone.

‘Hardly famous,' Sarah returned.

‘Oh, I wouldn't agree. I have read a great deal about your exploits.' But again there was that suggestion of amusement and Sarah bristled slightly. When introduced people usually greeted her with interest if not outright admiration whilst this man seemed almost to be laughing at her.

‘A drink, Adam,' Eric suggested.

‘Thank you. A Scotch would be very nice.'

The waiter, attentive as ever, brought Adam's drink and the menus.

‘Shall we order first and talk afterwards?' Eric suggested. ‘ I recommend oysters to begin.
Rules
began as an oyster bar, you know – porter, pies and oysters – at the end of the eighteenth century when it was frequented by rakes, dandies and superior intelligences.'

‘My ancestors, no doubt,' Adam said drily.

‘The superior intelligences?'

‘Good heavens, no! The rakes.'

They all laughed and as they studied the menus Sarah relaxed a little. The sherry was running trickles of warmth down her throat and into her veins and Eric's attentiveness and obvious pride in her went some way to restoring her dented confidence. The oysters arrived winking invitingly in their silvery shells. Sarah eased one out and tasted it – delicious.

‘Eric tells me you are building an aeroplane, Mr Bailey,' she said, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with an ivory damask napkin.

‘That's right.' The mocking light had gone out of his eyes; suddenly he was completely serious. ‘ Maybe it sounds like an impossible dream but Max – my partner in crime – is a bit of a genius and we are certain that between us we can get a machine into the sky. We have studied all the layouts that seem to work, from the Wright brothers to Henry Farman's Voison and come up with our own version – a biplane with the engine mounted in the fuselage and the crankshaft parallel with the wings. It will have two propellers but we believe we can improve on the Wright brothers' method of a crossed chain for opposite rotation by using bevel gears.'

‘Good gracious!' Sarah said faintly. The catalogue of technicalities had quite lost her but she was unwilling to admit it for his amused dismissal of her ballooning feats still rankled.

‘It's not brilliantly original,' Adam admitted, ‘but we wanted to begin with something reasonably safe and improve by trial and error as we go along. But the most important thing is the engine. It's that which causes most of the problems – it needs to be powerful enough to get airborne yet at the same time as light as possible. That's where Max's genius comes in. He has done all the drawings and tracings for a design he believes answers those requirements. Now we have to find someone to build it for us.'