Chapter Nine

 

“So, Buxton, that’s my proposition.” Hiram Stillwater stood in front of the window in his office and looked out over the flattened grass of the airfield and the row of hangars on the far side. “What do you think?”

Randolph sat back in his chair and casually crossed one leg over the other but his mind whirled with all the information Stillwater had presented to him. “You make it sound very attractive, but the returns you are talking about are based on the number of planes you can produce if war is declared and that hasn’t happened.”

“Yet. Not yet. Don’t forget that, Buxton.”

“Why are you so sure there’s going to be a war?”

Stillwater flung himself into another chair.

“Oh, come on,” he huffed. “You can’t sit there and tell me that you don’t know what’s going on in Europe. It’s a mess, man. Even before the Entente Cordiale, and maybe because of it, the news hasn’t been good. Bosnia got annexed by Austria-Hungary, there’s fighting in Morocco and that Balkan war has only just ended. And keep your eye on Albania, too. It won’t be long before the whole works goes up in flames.”

“I agree feelings are running high. It’s long been known that our King, the Tsar and the Kaiser do not see eye to eye, but that is still not a war.” Randolph frowned. “But I must admit that I am not quite comfortable with the idea of profiteering from that eventuality.”

“There will be plenty who will, but that’s the beauty of B-B’s design. It’s adaptable. For now we continue manufacturing the Stillbee Mark I just as an all purpose aircraft. If it’s necessary, it can be easily armed. We make money with it either way.”

“Hmm, I do see your point.” Randolph rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I must say, I am rather surprised at Sir Hilary’s skill. Not something I would have thought him capable of.”

“You’ve known him a long time then?”

Randolph laughed. “For as long as I’ve known Serena and of his family long before I met her. He was always something of a playboy but I think that came from being the second son with no real expectations.”

Stillwater shook his head. “You Brits and your hidebound traditions. I’ll never understand it. Makes me glad I was born in this country and not yours, no offense meant.”

“None taken.” Randolph shrugged, ignoring the undercurrent of dissatisfaction in Stillwater’s tone. “It’s our differences that make the world an interesting place, don’t you think?”

Whatever Stillwater might have thought evaporated as he narrowed his eyes and peered out of the window at something beyond Randolph’s vision.

“That’s odd,” he muttered. “I didn’t think we had any scheduled flights today. Come on, I need to check this.”

He heaved himself out of his chair and Randolph followed him out of the office, down a flight of stairs and out into the afternoon sunlight. Stillwater shaded his eyes, tipped his head back and scanned the sky intently.

“There.” He pointed at a black speck and Randolph had to squint to make anything of it. “I have to find Stiles. Will you wait here, or come with me?”

Meeting Stiles was inevitable and bound to happen sooner rather than later. Randolph would have much preferred later. He smiled pleasantly. “No, I think I’ll wait here, if you don’t mind.”

Stillwater strode off, back towards the offices. Randolph shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled across to the edge of the airfield, kicking at tufts of grass as he went. In different circumstances Stillwater’s offer would have been intriguing but he now would have to frame his refusal to the scheme as politely as he could. No point alienating the fellow any more than necessary. He suddenly realized that he had not seen Serena in a while. She wanted to find Hilly, she said. Struck by a thought, Randolph looked up at the aircraft still buzzing around above his head. A slow grin started on his lips.

“Looks like you found him, didn’t you?” he muttered. The smile that might have developed while he considered Serena’s boldness died when Stillwater called him.

“Buxton, I want you to meet my head of security.”

Randolph turned slowly. His heart beat slightly faster, his breath hitched a little and the knot on the back of his neck tingled as he came face to face with George Stiles.

Stiles wore a smirk on his face and an expression of insolence in his dark eyes. He continued to stare at Randolph as Stillwater made the introductions which Stiles brushed away with a terse, “We’ve met.”

Stillwater, clearly puzzled, looked from Randolph to Stiles and back again. “You have?”

“About six years ago,” Randolph admitted, not willing to furnish any other information until he knew how much Stiles might divulge.

“Oh, well then. No introductions necessary I guess.” Stillwater looked up again as the plane swooped down before soaring away from them again. “Did you see who that was, Stiles?”

“Blenkinsop-Brown and Lady Buxton.” Stiles turned to Randolph. “Amazing woman, your wife,” he said softly. “What will she do next?”

“Probably want to fly the damn thing herself,” Randolph commented, and immediately wished the words had not so readily leapt to his lips.

 

~*~*~*~

 

The wind buffeted her cheeks and thrummed along the wires that held the plane together. The sound of the engine echoed inside her helmet and roared in her ears while its vibration shuddered through her body. Serena held tightly to one of the struts, uncertain that the belt Hilly cinched around her waist would hold her securely enough.

He sat in the forward cockpit, hunched over the controls. She could see the irregular line of his hair across the back of his neck and realized he must have been cutting it himself, or maybe had one of the other mechanics cut it for him. How different to the elegant and careless young man she had danced with at country balls and raced with on horseback across hedges and fences after hounds.

Her head still buzzed with all his knowledge of pilots and the planes they flew, from Adolphe Pegoud and Alliott Roe to Bleriots and Farmans and the Wright Flyer. She caught her breath as Hilly banked the plane. Beneath her the soldier-straight rows of vines marched across the Napa Valley and beyond that, the vastness of the Pacific Ocean shimmered in the afternoon sunlight.

The little plane soared out over the rippling blue water, climbing steadily before Hilly turned north and flew parallel to the coastline delineated by the tumble of white surf and, in places, exposed narrow bands of golden sand. The fabric of the fuselage and the glinting array of wires holding the small craft together crackled and sang in response to the buffeting it received from the upper air currents, currents that Serena could not have suspected existed.

In one shocking moment the roar of the engine ceased and all Serena could hear was the distant mew of sea gulls and the wind in the wires.

“Hilly,” she shrieked. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, old thing.” Hilly glanced at her over his shoulder with a grin on his face that belied her panic. “I just switched the engine off so you could really get the feel of what flying is all about. Almost one of the birds, what?”

Serena looked along the wings, seeing wood and fabric, not feathers. “Not quite one of the birds, Hilly, but near enough,” she shouted back.

He pumped a fist in the air and gave her a thumbs up sign. The engine coughed into life again and Hilly turned the plane to hold a steady course over the rolling green landscape beneath them. As they approached the airfield Serena spotted a narrow track leading away from the perimeter towards a small house almost hidden from view amongst surrounding trees. She tapped Hilly on the shoulder and pointed down.

He nodded that he understood her interest but kept his course, diving down towards the airfield at a frightening speed but then lifting and banking so that one square tipped wing pointed directly to the earth. Serena’s heart lurched, but then the plane leveled and turned and Hilly flew over the house and upwards again. Serena tapped him on the shoulder once more and when he turned his head made a motion with her hand for him to turn the engine off.

When its throaty voice died away Serena shouted, “Who lives there?”

Hilly’s irrepressible grin creased his face. “That’s where Stiles and Mrs. Stillwater sometimes spend their afternoons.”

“Their what?” Serena nearly choked on her astonishment. “You mean, he sees her in secret?”

“Not so much of a secret when one can be seen from the air, is it?” Hilly chortled. “They think I’m stupid, but not stupid enough to not know what they’re up to.”

The engine burst into life again and Serena sat back in her seat, her mind processing this new information. Stiles and Miranda Stillwater? It could not be possible, but if Hilly said it was then she believed him, just as she had to believe that he would land the plane safely.

She had no sensation of the machine plummeting earthwards, only of the earth rising up to meet her at dizzying speed. The wind surged against her face, pressing her skin against her skull, parting her lips and tearing the breath out of her lungs. The ground became a flattened blur beneath her until, with a bump that rattled her teeth and a shudder of protest from its flimsy structure, the plane touched down. It bounced and became airborne again, dropped and bounced once more then pitched and skipped across the grass until finally coming to a stop beside its hangar.

Serena gasped to replace the breath she’d lost and then started to laugh with pure joy as Hilly reached in to her cockpit to release the waist belt.

“Alright?” he asked.

“Oh, Hilly, that was unbelievable,” she enthused. “What tremendous fun.”

“Now do you see why I love flying so?” Hilly asked as he helped her out.

Before Serena could answer, she heard Randolph calling her. She turned and saw him striding towards her, closely followed by Hiram and the one person she had hoped to never see again.

His clothes were of better quality and much cleaner than when she had first met him, but he still wore the same dour expression on his face and looked at her with thinly veiled contempt.

“Good afternoon Mr. Stillwater.” Serena’s voice carried a cool edge as she greeted Hiram but chilled completely as she added, “and to you too, Mr. Stiles.”