Inherit the Skies (62 page)

It ended just when they had begun to think it never would, the maroons fired at eleven o'clock on a grey November day sounding its death rattle. As the troops laid down their guns the news burst like an unexpected sunrise on a war-weary world and the shout of joy and relief echoed from corner to corner in cottages and castles, in hospitals, and munitions factories.

The war is over! The war is over!

Sarah was in her office at the works when it came. She heard the sudden burst of cacophony as the church bells began to peal and looking out of the window she saw the workers come streaming out of the factory, laughing and shouting, dancing and capering and slapping one another on the back. She clapped her hands to her mouth as she watched them, hardly able to believe it was really over. There was something unreal about the scene, something almost theatrical in the wild gaiety. If she believed in it, it would fade away before her eyes and she would know it was just a mirage. For the nightmare had gone on for too long to be dispelled so quickly by a peal of bells and a chorus of excited voices. Then the door of her office burst open and Hazel Rowe, the ‘lady typewriter' who now liked to be known as a secretary, came rushing in.

‘It's over, Mrs Gardiner! It's over! Come down and let's see what is going on!'

She grabbed Sarah's arm, propriety quite forgotten in her excitement, and dragged Sarah out into the corridor. Sarah laughed because laughter was the only reaction left to her in this state of semi-trance, and Hazel Rowe, quite beside herself, laughed too.

‘Isn't it wonderful? The boys will be coming home!' she sang, and Sarah remembered that Hazel had a sweetheart at the front.

The door to Gilbert's office was closed and Sarah's laughter died as she remembered. Not all the boys would be coming home. For too many the end of the war had come too late.

‘You go on down, Hazel,' she said. ‘I'll join you later.'

She tapped on Gilbert's door and went in. He was sitting at his desk, staring into space. Though he looked much more his old self these days the shadows beneath his eyes told their story – the loss of Hugh had left a pain in him that nothing would ever erase.

‘So it's over, Sarah,' he said.

‘Yes.'

‘And Adam will be coming home.' His voice was so thoughtful, his eyes so penetrating that for a moment she was quite sure he knew her secret.

‘Yes.'

They looked at one another, then he gave his head a little shake.

‘Nothing will ever be the same though.' She thought he was talking of Hugh's loss and searched for words of comfort, empty though they might be. But he went on ruminatively: ‘ No, the world as we knew it has gone forever. I always knew I should see great changes in my lifetime – what I failed to realise was just how great they would be. I knew for instance that the time was coming when women would work on more or less equal terms with men – but I failed to realise just how equal. And this industry of ours – from the very moment Adam and Max came to me with their plans I knew a ball had begun rolling which no-one could stop. But how fast it would go was beyond my comprehension. The development we have seen in less than ten years might have taken decades but for the war. And where do we go now, I wonder? How do we capitalise on the progress we have made and use the knowledge we have gained to put it to use for the purposes of peacetime? We have to look forward now, Sarah. We have to plan for the future. For we must ensure that not one of those boys who gave their lives has died in vain.'

‘We shall do it,' she assured him. The knowledge that the war was over was at last percolating her numb defences, a kind of slow joy beginning to trickle through her veins.

The shouts in the yard outside had begun to orchestrate now. She looked up, puzzled at first, then comprehending, as the massed voices floated up and through the window, which Gilbert had opened a little in spite of the dark November chill to let some of his cigarette smoke out and the fresh air in.

‘They are calling for you,' she said.

‘For me?'

‘Yes – listen!'

He shook his head. ‘ Why should they do that?'

‘Because they are proud of you and they respect you,' she said. ‘We have turned out aeroplanes from this factory that have helped to win the war. And it's all your doing because you had the vision and the foresight to set that ball rolling here.
You
are Morse Bailey International – that's why they are calling for you.'

A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He fingered his moustache and went to the window. At once the cheers rose louder than before and Sarah, joining him, experienced a small thrill of pride.

Above the courtyard a flock of birds, startled by the noise, rose and wheeled. Sarah looked up at them. Once the sky had been theirs alone. No longer. Again she found herself remembering what Adam had once said, so long ago, ‘The bold will inherit the skies.'

And that is just what we are doing, she thought. Each in our own way we dared to be bold. And now we too share those skies.

As the church bells rang, firecrackers snapped and men and women shouted for joy, Sarah thought suddenly that it was a fitting epitaph for a war that would, so they promised, end all wars.

Neither be cynical about love, for in the face of all
avidity and disenchantment it is perennial as the grass.

Desiderata

The neat two seater aircraft dropped towards the field at a shallow angle, hovering, dipping, rising and dipping again. May sunshine glinted on the front cockpit where Adam Bailey sat, deceptively relaxed, and the twirling propellers made a shining arc in the clear blue air.

In the rear cockpit Sarah, her face a study in concentration, her hands rigid on the controls, silently talked herself through each move. Easy down, a little more, and a little more still – never mind the instruments. ‘ Learn to trust your own judgement,' Adam had told her. ‘The only one you can't do without is your compass.' But here, with the runway clearly in view beneath her nose and the Morse Bailey sheds visible away to the right there was no need even for the compass.

Sarah caught her lip between her teeth, holding it tightly. A little more … no, you are still too high. Ease back on the stick, take her up and go round again. Now … down, down, slowly, gently …

If only Adam would
say
something! she thought, a word of encouragement to tell her whether she had got it right or wrong. But he wouldn't. He sat there almost nonchalantly, not saying a word, letting her work it all out for herself. Except of course that she was confident he would not actually let her crash. If she got into a really bad mess then he would step in at the last moment.

The wheels touched the ground, bounced once, twice, and then held. The little training aircraft came to a halt, poised at the very edge of the tarmac. For a moment she could hardly believe she was down, then she pushed her goggles up her forehead and laughed aloud.

‘I did it! I
did
it!'

‘A few more yards and you would have discovered what landing was like in the days before we had the acceptance park and the runways were laid,' he called over his shoulder. ‘The Galloping Major had nothing on us, I assure you. It was ‘‘bumpity, bumpity, bumpity bump!'' all the way!'

‘Oh don't be so mean, Adam!' she cried, her voice a little shrill with the exhilaration of her flight. ‘I didn't land us in the sewerage pits, after all – or up a tree. You might give me just the teensiest bit of encouragement.'

‘You don't need encouragement, Sarah. You do very well without it.'

‘So you admit it? I am doing well?'

‘Of course you are. I never doubted you would.' He swung himself down easily from the cockpit and came around to help her down. ‘I expect you would have learned years ago if it hadn't been for the war.'

‘And Eric. I thought he was never going to give in and let me learn.'

A corner of Adam's mouth twisted wryly. ‘ He should know, just as I do, that you always get your way in the end.'

‘I don't think he would have allowed it if you hadn't agreed to teach me. He thinks you are an ace when it comes to teaching. Not to mention flying, of course.'

Adam said nothing. It struck him as extremely ironic that Eric should have chosen him as mentor when Sarah's demands to fly had finally become irresistible. If he had known that two years ago we were on the point of going off together he might have been less anxious to trust me, Adam thought. But Eric did not know and since he had not wanted to teach his wife to fly himself Adam, crack RFC instructor, had been the obvious choice.

‘How long do you think it will be before I can go solo?' she asked now without so much as a flicker.

He shook his head. ‘ For goodness' sake, Sarah, you have to learn to walk before you can run. You have just landed an aircraft for the very first time. Let's get things right with me there to get you out of trouble if necessary before you start thinking of going up on your own.'

‘I suppose so. Though to be honest it
felt
as if I was on my own today.'

‘Because you will be a better pilot if you learn by your own mistakes.'

‘And it's just three hours' solo flying that I have to do to get my ‘‘A'' licence – is that right?'

‘Yes,' Adam said, ‘but don't forget you have to pass tests in navigation and technical knowledge as well. Not to mention a medical examination and eye tests.'

Her chin hardened. ‘You didn't.'

‘That was because I was flying before the international system of licensing was drawn up.'

She tossed her head, supremely confident. ‘It's a nuisance. But I shall make sure I pass anyway. I quite like engines so long as there's someone to deal with the messy bits for me, I don't mind studying and I am as fit as a flea. So there shouldn ‘t be any problem.'

In spite of himself Adam was unable to restrain a smile. Sarah was twenty-seven years old now and still as impetuous as she had been when he first met her. Marriage, responsibility, motherhood and the tragic loss of her son, all had left their mark on her yet there was still a vitality about her and an irrepressible spirit of adventure along with a determination so fierce it was awesome. He had a sudden vision of her as an old, old woman, with the same unquenchable love of life shining out of her eyes and something twisted within him, sharp and painful.

Christ, how he loved her still! Loved her with the same passion she had always stirred in him, part physical, part spiritual. It burned him up, that love, whenever he looked at her, just as it always had. But it seemed that whatever had been between them had died whilst he was a prisoner in Germany. Never had she written one single word to him; when letters had been passed to him by the Red Cross he had always looked for her handwriting on the envelope in vain. And when he had returned he had found her so changed towards him she might have been a stranger. He had sought her out and tried to talk to her but he might as well have tried to talk to a statue. ‘There is nothing to say, Adam. It was all a mistake – the sort of thing that happens in war time. I am a married woman and you are a married man with a child. No! Please don't say any more! I don't want to talk about it. Let us just forget it ever happened, shall we?'

Angered by her attitude he had treated her with reciprocal coldness. If that was the way she wanted it then so be it. He had never crawled to any woman and he did not intend to begin now, however much he might want to. Then gradually her aggression lessened so that she was able to laugh and joke with him again, whilst still keeping him very much at arms' length. To the outside world it would have appeared that their relationship was much as it had always been – that of good friends – and he joined her in preserving the illusion. But in reality, he thought, she was as bright and brittle as an icicle – and as cold to the touch. If anything of the old spark was there – and he sometimes thought in spite of everything that it was – then it was well hidden, and if an unexpected touch evoked a response then it was cut off instantly as if by an all-powerful circuit breaker.

He felt it now as he gave her his hand to help her down from the cockpit. Her knees, weak from the drain of adrenaline, gave way slightly as she climbed down and she stumbled against him, but instantly she stiffened, pushing herself away with a little laugh.

‘What ever is the matter with me? I feel quite dizzy!'

He made no effort to steady her but turned on his heel. There was only one way to deal with determined indifference and that was to match it.

‘You'll get used to it.' A mechanic was hurrying towards them across the tarmac. ‘ Check the machine over, Perry, will you?' Adam said to him, then undid his leather flying jacket and looked at his watch. ‘I'm a little pushed for time, Sarah. We have a board meeting this afternoon – rather an important one. I ought to be getting back.'

‘Of course. Thank you for my lesson.' She smiled, that bright brittle smile. All the spontaneity that the excitement of flying had sparked had been dispelled by that touch and the restraint it had necessitated. ‘ I'll stay here and watch Perry check the plane. If I am supposed to know about the mechanics of the thing I could do worse than take a practical lesson here and now.'

‘Very well.'

‘But you never know – you might hear something of me at that meeting.'

Puzzled, he glanced swiftly at her. Sarah was not a director. She did not attend board meetings. But she did not explain herself and he did not ask.

He nodded, raised a hand in a farewell gesture and walked off across the tarmac.

Watching him go Sarah felt an unexpected knot of tears tighten in her throat. She had thought she had grown used to dealing with the emotions Adam had always aroused in her; now she supposed it was the excitement of the last hour, the fierce concentration followed by the exhilaration and the release of tension when she had finally touched down again that had laid her bare.