began to walk away.
‘Wait!’ I said, running in front of him, forcing him to stop. ‘Sorry, sorry to impose – again – but if I show you how, could you turn the propeller for me to get her started?’ I spun my arm in a clockwise direction. ‘I would do it myself, but it’s much easier with two, and it would be better to taxi her across to the barn under power than to push her all the way.’ I glanced down at Amber. ‘You might want to tether the dog first, of course.’
Edward took a deep breath. For a moment I think he considered walking away – it seemed he also had a devil and angel on each shoulder, too!
The angel won.
He changed his mind.
‘I know how to spin a propeller.’
He strode back to the Tiger Moth ahead of me.
But then, from nowhere, his face softened and his eyes danced when he noticed the paint work on the side of the aircraft.
‘The Incredible Flying Fox?’ He turned to me, smiling. ‘That’s never you?’
I shrugged. ‘Once upon a time, yes.’
‘You’ve got to be kidding? But you’re too young, surely.’
He was genuinely shocked. My heckles started to twitch.
‘Kidding? Not at all. I’d take you up, take you through my routine, but I doubt you’ve got the stomach for it. Few do.’
My ‘I dare you’ expression set off a further glimmer of amusement in his eyes. He took the bait and ran with it.
‘Oh, I’ve got the stomach for it, but only if you truly know what you’re doing. I’ve no wish to die young.’
‘Ah, I see.’ I turned away and knelt to duck under the aircraft to remove the chocks while talking. ‘You’re one of those men.’ He followed me.
‘Those, men?’
‘Yes, the type who can’t believe – or cope with – a woman doing anything outside of the ordinary drudge they’re usually stuck with. I grew up with a thoroughly modern and fair father – progressive, as you said – and I’m simply not used to being around men like you.’ I glanced up at him.
He raised his brows into a question mark.
‘Dinosaurs,’ I said.
I expected a smirk. But he smiled. A soft smile. He stepped towards me.
‘I was joking. Truly. I’m not at all one of those men.’
It was my turn to take a deep breath. I’d been overly nice to this man long for enough. I put on my helmet, goggles and gloves with sharp snatches.
‘So, will you help? Because I can manage on my own if not.’
‘I’ll help,’ he said.
‘And you’ve started a propeller before, you say?’
He nodded. ‘A few times, yes.’
‘I’ll jump in and leave you to it, then.’ I paused. ‘But only you’re sure you know what you’re doing?’
‘Of course, I do.’
‘Good.’
‘Good.’
I climbed into the back seat and prepared the Moth for taxi. He turned the propeller and then …
‘Contact?’
‘Contact!’
And off the little Tiger Moth went.
Juliet
Lanyon
I grabbed my bag and ran away from the field, sharpish, arriving at Lanyon half an hour later to find a concerned Charles on the drive pacing outside the grand front door.
‘Oh, hello, darling,’ I said, blundering my way into the hallway ahead of him. ‘Sorry I’m late. I had to put down in a field and ended up having a bit of commotion with some cows, but it’s all sorted now.’ I pecked him on the cheek. ‘Where’s Lottie,’ I asked, taking off my flying helmet while glancing in the hall mirror. God! Had I really looked like that in front of Edward? I quickly tidied my hair and tried to rub a smudge of oil away with the back of my hand. ‘Only I’m desperate to catch up.’
Charles didn’t answer but took my hands.
‘But … Darling,’ he paused. ‘Before you see Lottie, I really do think we need to talk about, you know, the arrangement … only, Pa wants to iron a few things out. Details, you know.’
I shook him off with a peck on the lips.
‘Yes, I suppose we do. But not now though.’ I smiled my brightest smile and patted him on the arm. ‘I’m desperate to get in front of the fire and warm up, it was absolutely freezing up there today. Oh, and I’m afraid I rather upset those cows when I landed. Do you think you could send a thank you to your man … Jessops, is it? Perhaps some cider or something? He was ever so helpful, moving the cows to another field. And I’ve left the Moth in a barn.’
Charles laughed.
‘Poor Jessops. Yes, of course I can. I’m visiting him tomorrow. I’ll take something to him then.’
I kissed Charles again, with a little more enthusiasm this time, before striding across the hallway and placing my hand on the sitting room door handle. ‘Is Lottie in here?’
Charles nodded. Smiling, I slipped off my muddy flying boots and turned the brass knob on the large panelled door.
Lottie was dozing on a large sofa by the bay window. A King Charles Spaniel lay by her feet. An embroidered shawl, the most perfect shade of russet red, was wrapped around her shoulders.
‘Juliet!’
Lottie, stirring at the sound of the door, threw her legs off the sofa and crossed the room to hug me. ‘I’ve been waiting for you all afternoon. We saw you fly past ages ago. Charles imagined you dead in a ditch somewhere, although why a ditch always has to be involved whenever anyone goes missing is beyond me.’ She took a step backwards to look me up and down. ‘But looking at the state of you, I think you really have been in a ditch!’ She turned to Charles who had followed me into the room. ‘Do leave us to catch up in peace, Charles! And perhaps arrange for some tea?’
Charles shook his head in mock disapproval, crossed the room to kiss me once more before turning on his heels to leave us alone. Lottie returned to the sofa while I mothered around her, straightening her shawl around her shoulders. It was Lottie’s comfort shawl from school, the thing she always turned to in moments of distress (that and a book of Christina Rossetti poetry). This wasn’t a good sign. If the shawl was out, before you knew it the poetry books would also be out and Lottie would spiral into a depression that could last for weeks. The door clicked shut.
‘Good, he’s gone!’ Lottie said, lounging back into the sofa. ‘So, tell me, what have you really been up to all afternoon?’
I was just about to sit down myself and launch into a watered-down version of the truth when the door clicked open again and Charles’ mother rushed into the sitting room carrying a bed sheet.
‘Ah, Juliet. You made it. Jolly good …’ She glanced at my clothes and then at the bed sheet. ‘It’s because of the oil, dear,’ she said kindly, before laying the sheet across a chair.
‘Sorry, Ma,’ (Lottie insisted I called her this, although Mrs Lanyon and I both seemed to wince every time I said it) ‘But I did take my muddy boots off in the hallway.’
She glanced at my stockinged feet – men’s stockings –