My Heart Has Wings (3 page)

Jan digested this unexpected snippet of biography in silence. Since Helen knew so much about Mike, was it possible she knew still more. A question, firmly
c
onsigned to the back of her mind crept forward, trembling on her lips. Though its import was no concern of hers it would be interesting to have it answered. She said in a carefully casual tone: “I had no idea Mike was related to the Scott-Manlys. I thought he visited them
...
because of Erica. They are good friends, aren’t they.”

“Well, they should be,” Helen returned easily. “They’ve known one another a very long time. They’re very fond of one another, and I shouldn’t be at all surprised if it flared up into something more one of these days. Sir Mark would like it that way
...
and I’ve got a pretty shrewd notion Mike would too!”

Jan snapped the lid of her compact shut. “Then what are they waiting for,” she asked tonelessly.

“Erica,” Helen said. “She adores having Mike at her beck and call, but she is too busy being brilliantly clever to realize yet that she has a heart. She’ll wake up to it sooner or later.” Helen gave a queer hurt little laugh that held an undertone of pity. “And when she does there’ll be no holding her. She’ll go overboard with a wham! Her sort always do.”

“Supposing it isn’t for Mike she goes overboard?” Jan said.

“Oh, it probably will be,” Helen declared. “In the end. Mike is the kind who gets what he wants
out of life, and they are absolutely made for one another
...
interested in all the same things.”

Like aerodynamics, Jan thought grimly. That fearsome-sounding post-graduate course Erica had embarked upon—as if it wasn’t enough to have taken, at twenty-two, an honours science degree. S.M. was terrifically proud of her. Naturally. Daker said the old man put her in the place of, the son he had never had, and that one day she would enter the firm as his partner. Already she spent much of her spare time at the works; mostly in the research department. Or tinkering about with her own private plane, a smart little sporting two-seater, specially designed for her use. She was a member of an exclusive flying club, and of course she held a pilot’s licence. But in spite of all these fortunate attributes, and the adoration of her rather elderly parents, she didn’t appear to be spoiled. She had a natural friendliness, and mixed easily with her father’s employees on all levels. Everyone liked her. Even Jan!

“And if you’re going to eat that cream bun,” Helen said, “you’d better get cracking. Mike doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

CHAPTER
TWO

He
was sitting
on one end of the red-topped stools by the snack counter when Jan entered the canteen, and stood up to greet her. In the mirrored panels behind the tea urns she could see herself advancing. Her grey linen suit, she thought, looked terribly ordinary, and she wished she had had time to wash the ink stains off her fingers. The fluorescent strip lighting above the counter made her face look a bit artificial, exaggerating lip rouge and eye shadow—but it did nice things to her hair.

Mike said, “I’ve ordered the cream bun.”

She slid on to the stool at his side. The counterhand was putting a plate of sandwiches before him. “Unless you’d rather start with one of these?” he said.

Jan shook her head. “I wouldn’t dream of depriving you. I bet you didn’t have time for any lunch today.”

“No,” Mike said. “I didn’t. Test flights invariably seem to crop up around about lunch-time, and this morning there was a good deal of preliminary hanging about while the, chaps tinkered with the fuel control.”

“It must have been rather marvellous up above today?” Jan said, seizing on the first topic to hand.

But Mike wasn’t unbuttoning about his flight. “I was far too busy to notice the weather,” he said shortly. “What’s this conference that’s going on?” he shot at her.

“I haven’t a clue,” Jan confessed. “S.M turned up all in a hurry, it seems, and dragged the entire
executive away from its after-lunch coffee and cigars.” The sparks of interest died out of Mike’s eyes and he munched sandwiches in silence. Jan scooped up the last morsel of cream bun, having eaten it much too quickly out of sheer nervous
.

“Have another?” Mike offered expansively.

“No, thanks. Bad for the figure.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” he assured her, but his tone was automatic.

“I don’t worry,” Jan said. “I’ve no time.” I’m boring him to tears, she decided wretchedly. If only she’d been' able to tell him more about the conference. The deep-set eyes were watching her intently, waiting for her to go on
...
t
o say something amusing. “I live a double life, you see,” she hazarded wildly. “Putting in eight hours a day at the office, and on top of that being head cook and bottle washer at home.”

“You live at home?” A mobile eyebrow shot up, quizzical, alert. “Whereabouts?”

He couldn’t really want to know. He’d just, pounced on it to make conversation.

“Between Chiswick and Hammersmith,” she said. “Right on the river. We’ve got one of those tall narrow old houses that look small, but aren’t. Three rooms on each of three floors, with a basement and attic thrown in. It isn’t easy to run ... but we love it.”

“Right on the river!” he echoed. “Sounds pretty good. I’ve always had a yen for that part of the world. Barges and houseboats willed with intelligentsia, pubs lining the towpath, and the Varsity boat race going past your front door.” The eyebrow shot up again. “Who’s ‘we’?” he asked. Because, Jan reminded herself, he had the kind of scientific mind that chased after details
...
even uninteresting ones. “My father,” she said, “Carole, my, younger sister, and Peter, my schoolboy brother. He’s at St. Paul’s, and Carole is studying art
.
So I do the housekeeping. My
mother
...
you see
...
my mother died about three years ago.” Even saying it now, all this time after, her voice changed a little, wasn’t quite under control.

“I’m sorry,” Mike offered gently.

She hoped he’d leave the details alone this time. She didn’t want to go on talking about her mother. He seemed to sense this, and for a few minutes busied himself with his sandwiches. But it was an easier silence now
...
warmer, more companionable. Then he said consideringly, “It must be rather a lot for you, holding down an exacting job here with old Daker, and running a household as well.”

“It is a lot, but I enjoy it,” Jan assured him with exaggerated heartiness. No need to let him know that there were times when it almost got her down. Rushing off at the crack of dawn every morning, leaving frenzied notes for Mrs. Costello, the daily woman—who came in for three hours. And they couldn’t really afford that. The cold panic that was never very far off these days stirred in Jan’s heart, sharp as a physical pain. But Mike mustn’t guess at it, she must smile, talk brightly, keep the glitter of fear out of her eyes. She said, because it sounded unusual, even amusing
...
and misleadingly prosperous: “My father is a playwright. Hart Ferraby. He wrote
Hungry Harvest.
It ran at the Mitre for quite a while
...
two years ago. Maybe you saw it?”

“No,” Mike said. “I’m afraid I missed it.” He looked as though he were stifling an interior yawn. “I don’t go much to the theatre
...
it’s not in my line.”

Of course it wouldn’t be, Jan thought. His own life was so packed with drama, he’d have no need for theatres. She ought to have realized play-writing would seem to him a pretty vapid occupation. She’d been far too garrulous about her family and background. “I ought to be going,” she murmured despondently.

Mike gazed at her absently, as if he had not heard her. “How do you get here?” he asked.

She stared at him wide-eyed, not catching his meaning.

“I mean,” he elucidated, “it’s a heck of a way , from Hammersmith to
Kingsfold for a daily journey. Do you run a car?”

“Good heavens, no!” Jan almost shouted at him.
A car! She would be lucky to be able to afford a bike. “I come by train and bus,” she said.

“Bit of a bind, isn’t it? Takes up a lot
of time.”

“Oh, I read,” Jan said. “And knit.” Sweaters for the entire family’s winter wear, stockings for Peter, she could have told him; the kind he couldn’t wear out. Those daily hours of travel were as precious as any others in her crowded life—and as cunningly budgeted. She said gaily, “It’s really quite fun. You see the same people every morning flocking into the station, and
queuing
for the buses
...
you get to know them so well that you begin to make guesses about their lives
.
”

He broke in, apparently bored with this whimsy
.
“What time do you pack up here at Kingsfold in the evenings?”

“About five-thirty,” she told him. More details, she thought, and added for good measure, “I get a Green Line bus at the crossroads. That takes me a far as Staines
...”

But he wasn’t listening any more, his lean face coming suddenly alive as he turned to the tall, blonde girl who was approaching them.

“Hullo, Erica!” he called out. “You coming to have some tea?”

She shook her silver-fair head. “No, it’s too early. One of the mechanics told me I’d find you here ... I wanted to ask you about this evening.” She flashed her brilliantly blue-eyed smile at Jan, who had jumped down from her stool. “Don’t let me drive you away,” Erica said genially. “I’m not stopping a moment.”

“I was going anyway,” Jan
murmured
.

“I don’t believe you were,” Erica said.
“
You haven’t
half-finished
that cup of tea.” She put a detaining hand on Jan’s arm as she peered into the thick delph cup on the counter. If there was a degree of arrogance in her manner, it was quite unconscious. In her fortunate young life
she had found, so far, no need for diffidence. Secure in her luxurious home, effortlessly successful in her studies, nothing had ever shaken her self
-
confidence. The world was her oyster. Overflowing with good health, good spirits and a constant delight in herself and her surroundings, she radiated vitality and charm. Lingering when she ought to have been on her way, Jan watched the mobile, animated face, which would have been strikingly beautiful if it had not been for the
o
ver-emphasized Scott-Manly nose—inherited from her father.

“What about this evening?” Mike was asking.

“It’s this afternoon, really,” Erica said. “Paleski is coming out to Sheldrake for cocktails, about five-thirty, and I’m trying to round up one or two people to meet him.”

“Paleski,” Mike echoed
,
sounding a little sullen.

“My boy friend from the flying club,” Erica said lightly. “The ravishing Polish instructor. I’ve told you about him heaps of times. Don’t pretend you’ve forgotten.”

“I hadn’t forgotten,” Mike said, in a tightened tone. “But I didn’t know he was on visiting terms at Sheldrake.”

“He isn’t yet, but I wanted to introduce him to the parents ... and I thought if I asked a few people in it would make it easier.”

“Why should it be so difficult?” Mike asked stonily.

Erica coloured slightly. “Oh, Pa is ... a bit contra. He saw Pal in the distance—at a flying club a while ago—and took one of his instant dislikes. You know what a cynical old so-and-so
he can be about any man he thinks I may be interested in
...
unless it happens to be you.
”

Mike ignored the final flattering implication. “And you’re interested in Paleski?” he persisted.

“Yes, I am,” Erica declared staunchly. “Apart from being a very nice person, he’s clever, full of enterprise
...
and desperately poor. A pretty frustrating combination. He wants to run a private air-hire service ... if he can scrape together enough to buy a commercial plane and found a small company. That’s where I thought Pa could help. If we can win him around.” She took her detaining hand from Jan’s arm and laid it on Mike’s. “Be an angel, darling, and come and give me your moral support!”

But Mike remained stony. “Sorry, my dear, but I’m afraid I can’t. I’m rather tied up round about five-thirty.”

“Then come along later.”

“I shan’t be free all evening. At least I’m hoping
not!”

“Oh, Mike, don’t be so maddeningly elliptical! What is this vague date? It sound as if you are
making
it up just to annoy me. Don’t you want to meet Paleski?”

“I can hardly wait!” Mike said. “But I have got a date tonight, Rikky. Honestly!”

Jan stirred uneasily. “I really must go back to the office,” she said. “Thanks awfully, Mike, for the cream bun.”

He waved a hand at her in careless farewell, his glance fixed on Erica. “Let’s trot over to the experimental hangar,” Jan heard him say as she walked away. “They’re getting , down to those modifications of the power controls in E.106a. I think it would interest you.”

When she got back to the office she found with relief that Daker hadn’t yet returned. She would, with luck, be able to finish the letters before he appeared—in a bad temper most likely, bringing a
f
ile of data from the conference for her to so
rt
out. She worked steadily for half an hour, ignoring the small clamour that nagged at the back of her mind. Mike was jealous of Erica’s interest in this Paleski character. That stuck out a mile. And where there was jealousy there was love. So what! Of course he was in love with Erica Scott-Manly. Helen had said so. And anyhow it was obvious. Erica could wind him round her little finger
...
string him along while she amused herself with flying instructors. And when she was through, he’d be there. Waiting with, his characteristic self-assurance for her to turn to him—as she undoubtedly would. Nobody in their right mind
c
ould go on being interested in Polish flying instructors when they could have a man like Mike Carliss for the asking.

She was flicking the last page out of her typewriter when Daker came in, his wild thatch of hair standing on end, as it did when in moments of stress he ran his two hands through it
,
clutching it by the roots. The conference, Jan decided, had been as bothersome as she guessed.

Tactfully silent, she followed him into the inner office, the letters to be signed in her hands. He went through them rapidly—setting the more confidential letters aside. “In future,” he said, “there’s got to be a double check on the triplicate carbons to top secret correspondence. I want Mrs. Stanford to see to it. And they are to filed in the strong room.”

Jan murmured her acquiescence. Some new security regulation, she thought, undisturbed;
they were always cropping up. Though it was a little peculiar to give the responsibility of the new filing system to Helen the newcomer, but she wouldn’t dare suggest this to Daker in his present, obviously prickly, mood. She said, “I’d better get on with the play-back of Mr. Carliss’ flight, hadn’t I?”

Daker went a queer dull red. He seemed unable to meet her eye as he answered hurriedly, “You
won’t have to bother. S.M. has issued an edict that all loaded wire recorders are in future to be dealt with in his own office.”

“Won’t that hold things up rather?” Jan asked.

“Bound to,” snapped Daker. “But that’s how S.M. wants it.” He raised his wild dark head and gave her a glance of piercing scrutiny. Her young face bore a pondering look, innocent, untroubled. First the tightening up on the filing system and now this queer new rule about the wire recorders
...
an outcome, obviously of the emergency conference. “Has something gone wrong
?
” she asked.

“What do you think?” Daker returned
most
strangely. “What could have
gone wrong
?
”

The hazel eyes regarded him squarely, limpid with unconcern. “I don’t know. An Air Ministry row, or something?”

He shook his head. The piercing glance filmed over, slid evasively away with a curious suggestion of embarrassment. “It’s nothing like that,” he said. “Just do what you’re told, and ask no questions ... and thank your stars you’re not an executive!” He drew a folder from a drawer in his desk. “These notes of mine on the proposed new wind tunnel
...
maybe you’d have time to type them out before you go home?”

He stood up with a harassed glance at the synchronized wall clock. “Where is Carliss?” he demanded.

“He has gone over to the experimental hangar,” Jan supplied.