Forty-eight

 

Not surprisingly, Edward found himself cold-shouldered by the local members of the Conservative Party. In the main street at Porthelt, they crossed the road rather than speak to him, and when he had a meal with Ginny at the Royal George, the silence that fell as they entered the dining-room could have been cut with a knife.

‘They don’t seem to like you very much, Spy darling,’ Ginny said.

‘Can’t say I’m too fond of them either,’ replied Edward with a large smile. But, while Edward was kept busy at the boat-yard, he was more than aware that Ginny also was being ostracised by the local women. She was fortunate to have Alice in the house and Rosina nearby.

‘Perhaps I should set up on my own somewhere else,’ he suggested.

‘I shouldn’t,’ Maurice advised. ‘People are going bust all over the shop.’

‘We’ll emigrate then. Australia, Canada… New Zealand.’

It wasn’t easy to adjust to life after the war. The old order had been overturned, and in its place a bitter and confused system struggled to make sense of things. But Maurice was undeterred by the prevailing gloom. He had dug out Egg’s plans for the hydroplane and was studying them with interest. ‘Might be something in this still,’ he said. ‘With the right engines, she could go at one hell of a lick. Feller called Gar Wood’s just shoved the world speed record up to over eighty miles an hour. That’s some going. Perhaps it’s time to look at a new design ourselves…’

A letter arrived from Augusta, full of apologies and explanations. Edward wrote back at length. It was the war, he said, as much as anything, that had destroyed their marriage. But he admitted, too, that he had not been the ideal husband. Two days later he married Ginny at the register office at Hamworthy.

 

A letter came one day from Fricky Leroux, the South African from Saldanha. Edward had almost forgotten him. The last time they had met was in 1916 as he passed through Cape Town on his way to Lake Tanganyika.

‘I’ve got a boat,’ he wrote. ‘And I’m going to break some records. I’m at Luino on Lake Maggiore and I need help. I want you and that little skellum who worked with you. I’ll pay you both well, plus any expenses. Can you come?’

Sam was dubious about Leroux’s chances. ‘Still,’ he said, ‘it would be a holiday and Rosina will jump at the opportunity to go back home for a bit.’

‘I don’t think Fricky knows enough about high-speed boats to go in for records,’ said Edward. ‘But perhaps we can stop him breaking his neck.’

‘Go for it,’ Maurice advised. ‘You might sell him something.’

Ginny agreed, and was secretly relieved that Edward had invited her to join him. She was determined to finish decorating their living-room and main bedroom, and arranged to follow with Rosina in two or three days.

 

For Italy, the war had ended in a rash of Communist-inspired strikes and an industrial recession made it impossible for a government to be formed. The new Fascist party, led by the journalist, Mussolini, was playing up the dangers of Bolshevism, and gathering enthusiastic support both from the middle classes and nervous industrialists. They had marched en masse on Rome, and the coup ended with Mussolini as prime minister.

It was impossible to ignore the groups of black-shirted men, when Leroux met them with a car at Luino.

Leroux’s daughter, Krissie, was waiting on the veranda of the hotel. She had grown plumper and pronounced frown lines were an indication that two failed marriages had left their mark. She shook hands warmly with Sam and greeted Edward with a kiss that warned him to be on his guard. Behind her stood a tall good-looking man with a wild shock of hair. His pockets bulged with papers.

‘This is Leonid,’ Leroux said. ‘Leonid Sazyko.’

Sazyko greeted them in English but with a heavy accent.

‘He’s a White Russian,’ Krissie explained. ‘He was in the Russian air force and had to flee when the revolution came. He found his way to Cape Town. He’s a genius.’

Sazyko grinned broadly.

Sam scowled.

As they ate that evening, Leroux produced the plans for the boat he’d built. It was not large, but was long and low with a high stern where the engines were housed, from which a battery of enormous exhausts protruded like gun barrels.

The bow was just above the waterline with a deep chine and what looked like the wings of a giant ray sprouting from the quarters to touch the water on either side.

‘We fitted them as stabilisers,’ Leroux explained. ‘She lifts her nose at speed and planes with only the tail touching the surface of the water. It reduces resistance, but she was wobbling a bit and the wings hold her steady. They were Leo’s idea. Gar Wood can’t do any better than us with Miss America II.’

‘I thought Gar Wood reached 77.79,’ said Sam, unconvinced by Leroux’s optimism. ‘He’s since pushed it up to 80.57.’

‘We can reach that easily,’ Leroux said.

Sam examined the plans. ‘What kind of engine has she got?’

‘Two six-cylinder seven-fifty-horse Rolls Royces. Navy surplus, from an airship. We fitted a heavy flywheel in place of the airscrew, a starting handle and a modified water pump. She has a straight drive and no gearbox.’ Leroux grinned.

‘Gar Wood had four aero-engines driving four propellers,’ Sam pointed out. ‘Modified Liberys producing sixteen hundred horsepower.’

‘My boat will do over a hundred miles an hour. When we break the record every navy in the world will be after her. Bourdillons can build ’em for me.’

‘What speed have you made so far?’ Edward asked.

‘Eighty-five.’

‘How does she handle?’ Edward asked.

‘There’s a tendency to swerve a bit at speed. But we fitted the wings and a steel plate to the underwater body of the boat.’

‘What’s the lake like for the job?’

‘Not perfect. The water’s not always smooth and you get unexpected gusts of wind that make it a bit tricky for ultra-light craft. We’ll have to wait for a good day because–’

‘Because what?’

Leroux shrugged. ‘Nothing. It’s going to be great.’