As if by Magic (18 page)

They retreated out of the factory back into the corridor, the sound of machinery muffled behind them.

‘How did the firm get started, sir?' asked George as they walked up the stairs.

‘We were boat builders,' said his grandfather, after a pause to catch his breath. ‘However, Nigel was fascinated by the experiments in flight and I caught his enthusiasm. You won't have heard of it, but there was an Air Week in Reims in 1909 where the American and the various European aviators got together. I attended it with Nigel and David. I came away convinced that heavier-than-air flight was the way of the future and started experimenting with building our own craft.' He smiled reminiscently. ‘I was in my sixties then and had been thinking of retirement, but the idea of starting a fresh enterprise gave me a new lease of life. The first of the LEs, the Lassiter Experimental Number One, was flying by 1910. It was the war that really set us on our feet, of course. That's when we dropped the boat part of the business. We still use the boat yard, but nowadays it's to build floats for seaplanes. Nigel's keeping them all busy at the moment.'

They heard a shrill whistle from the factory and the noise of machinery was abruptly cut off. A swell of purely human sound filled its place. Mr Lassiter, who had evidently been finding the stairs difficult, stopped, took out his pocket watch and nodded. ‘Three o'clock. Tea break.'

‘Are you all right, sir?' asked George.

The old man smiled deprecatingly. ‘I had a bad cold a few weeks ago and it's left me a bit chesty. It's at times like this I realize that I'm not as young as I was. I just need to wait here for a couple of minutes. I'd like a cup of tea, I must say.' He held on to the balustrade with one hand and leaned on his stick with the other. The window on the stairs looked out across the yards and the new steel-built hangar. Mr Lassiter shook his head. ‘There it is. It's a vast thing for a vast aircraft. I sometimes wonder if Nigel's taken on more than he can cope with.' He sighed, gathered his strength, then straightened his shoulders. ‘Let's get on.'

They climbed the remainder of the stairs and came to a door marked
Mr Nigel Lassiter.
Maguire knocked and, in response to a shout from Nigel, opened the door.

‘There you are,' said Nigel Lassiter. He smiled, the smile lighting up his rather sulky face. He seemed happy and relaxed and a very different character from the furious man Jack had encountered on Saturday. He crushed out a cigarette, got to his feet and came out from behind the desk. ‘I've been expecting you. Let's go to the hangar. Wait till you see the Pegasus, Roger. You'll appreciate the progress I've made.'

‘I wouldn't mind sitting down for a while,' said his father. ‘Could we have some tea, Nigel?'

‘Tea?' Nigel looked blank. ‘I suppose so. Yes, of course, if you must. I never bother as a rule.'

‘I was impressed by the Urbis,' said Dr Maguire.

Nigel grinned. ‘The Pegasus makes the Urbis look like a paper aeroplane. If only Mrs Culverton will see sense, it'll revolutionize flying.'

It was the mention of Mrs Culverton which had brought it to mind, but Jack couldn't help comparing the grandeur Culverton had surrounded himself with to the very workman-like setting Nigel Lassiter preferred. A desk with neatly stacked papers stood in the middle of the room and pinned to the wall were draughtsman's drawings of various sections of an aircraft. Another door led out of the room, presumably to the clerk's office. A drawing board, with a detail of the inside of a wing fastened to it, stood where it received the natural light from the window. The window itself looked out on to a wide reach of the Thames. The only concession to comfort were the yellow-and-black cushions which softened the angular chairs.

Mr Lassiter sank gratefully on to a seat. ‘Can you arrange for some tea, Nigel?'

‘Just as you like,' said Nigel. ‘I'll tell my clerk.' He rang the bell on his desk.

The door from the next room opened and Jack glanced up, raising his eyebrows in involuntary appreciation at the girl who stood in the entrance. For some reason he had expected her to be very ordinary. It was probably the word ‘clerk' that had done it, but he had imagined a dowdily dressed female with scraped-back hair and spectacles on a chain. This girl wasn't dowdy and she certainly wasn't in the least ordinary. She was fair-haired and blue-eyed with a timid, hesitant charm, the sort of charm that would make most men want to open doors, help her on with her coat, carry her shopping and generally – he could almost hear his cousin Isabelle saying it – behave like absolute idiots in her presence.

She walked to Nigel's desk. ‘You rang, Mr Lassiter?'

As she spoke, Jack saw her face alter, and she stared in bewilderment at George. For George gave a choking gasp, stepped forward and, before anyone could save him, crumpled to the floor.

Jack reached George first. Kneeling down, he put a hand on his friend's shoulder and turned him over. To his relief, George's eyes flickered open.

‘Let me see him,' said a calm voice beside him. Anne Lassiter, kneeling on the floor, undid George's tie and collar and, taking his hand, felt for his pulse. ‘Be still,' she warned, as George tried to move. ‘Roger,' she added, without turning her head, ‘get a glass of water, will you, please?'

‘I'm sorry,' began George in a weak voice but Anne stopped him.

‘Just lie there for a few moments. You've fainted and need time to recover.'

‘What the devil's wrong?' asked Nigel. ‘What on earth came over him?'

‘I don't know,' said Maguire, stooping down. ‘He's been ill, though, hasn't he?'

George tried to speak but Anne stopped him once more. ‘Keep quiet.' She looked at Maguire. ‘Roger, we need that water.'

‘A tot of brandy might be better,' said Maguire. ‘Nigel, have you got any?'

‘Brandy?' repeated Nigel. ‘Of course I haven't got any brandy.'

Anne sighed impatiently. ‘Roger, can you help?'

‘Nigel,' demanded Maguire, ‘is there any brandy in the factory?'

Nigel shrugged. ‘How the devil do I know?'

Maguire sighed, controlling his irritation. ‘Look, old man, don't you have anything to drink? Perhaps in one of the other rooms?' He took Nigel by the elbow. ‘Can we at least go and see? The poor devil needs something to bring him round.'

‘There might be something in the meeting room,' said the clerk. She glanced at Nigel. ‘I don't know if I'll be able to take it without permission. Perhaps . . .' She hesitated before making the suggestion. ‘Perhaps it would be better if you came with me, Mr Lassiter.' She cast wide appealing eyes at her employer.

‘Come on, Nigel,' said Maguire. ‘Let's go and find it.'

They left the room. After a couple of minutes George took a ragged breath. ‘Can I sit up now?'

‘Carefully does it,' warned Anne. With Anne's help, Jack got George to his feet and sat him down in a chair.

‘Are you all right, my boy?' asked old Mr Lassiter anxiously. ‘You look washed out. I'm sorry if the trip's been too much for you. I should have postponed it.'

‘It isn't that,' said George. ‘I'll be fine, sir. I will, really.' He put a shaky hand to his forehead and breathed deeply. ‘I'm awfully sorry,' he said after a while. ‘I couldn't help it.' He looked at Anne. ‘Who is she? That girl, I mean? The one who was here just now.'

Anne looked puzzled. ‘Nigel's clerk? That's Miss Aldryn. Stella Aldryn.'

George shuddered, looking at Jack helplessly. ‘I don't know if you're going to believe this. She's the girl I saw in the kitchen.'

‘What?'
Jack stared at him in disbelief. ‘She can't be, George. You said the girl in the kitchen was dead.'

‘I thought she was. She was dead, God help me. I know she was dead. She was dead in the kitchen.'

Anne exchanged worried looks with old Mr Lassiter and Jack. ‘Perhaps we'd better ask Roger about it,' she suggested tentatively. ‘He is a doctor, after all.'

George gave a humourless laugh. ‘A loony-doctor. You think I'm crazy, don't you?' He buried his head in his hands. ‘Maybe I am.'

It was nearly ten minutes later before Nigel Lassiter returned, together with Dr Maguire and Miss Aldryn. David Lassiter, holding a bottle of brandy and a soda siphon, brought up the rear. He had come across the others on the way to the meeting room and wanted to see how George was.

Jack, for one, was glad when they arrived. It had been an awkward few minutes. Mr Lassiter was anxious about George and tried to fuss, which didn't improve George's temper. Anne, although clearly worried about George, had irritated him by repeating her suggestion he consult Maguire, and Jack, although he didn't fuss and thought Anne's idea was remarkably tactless, was, in addition to being concerned, badly puzzled. George was making such a good recovery that his relapse seemed inexplicable.

‘What happened?' asked David, pouring brandy into a glass and filling it up with soda water. ‘I know you've been ill. Did you have a bad turn?' He put the glass into George's hand. ‘Drink this, old man, and get some colour in your cheeks. You look done in.'

George took a gulp of brandy. ‘No, it isn't that.' He took a deep breath, looked past David to Stella Aldryn, shuddered, and tried to speak. ‘It's no use.' His voice trailed off miserably. ‘I feel such a fool.'

‘Can I tell them, George?' said Anne. George nodded. She put her shoulders back and spoke in a no-nonsense voice. ‘George was the man in the kitchen.'

‘What d'you mean, the man in the kitchen?' asked David. ‘What kitchen?'

‘The kitchen at home.' Anne's hand tightened comfortingly on George's arm. ‘You remember a man got into the kitchen and the police took him to hospital? Well, poor George is the man.'

David Lassiter gazed at her. ‘What?
George
was the man who broke in? Why didn't you tell us?'

Mr Lassiter coughed. ‘We thought it as well not to mention it.'

‘They were being tactful,' put in George with a whey-faced smile.

Maguire looked at George with a puzzled frown. ‘I don't quite understand. Anne told me about the man in the kitchen, of course, but why did you faint?'

Seeing that George couldn't bring himself to answer, Jack took up the story. ‘George was very ill that night. He was coming down with malaria and flu. He got into the kitchen at Eden Street and saw what he thought was a girl, a dead girl. That's why he made a run for it.'

Stella Aldryn still looked puzzled. ‘Excuse me, but I don't see –'

‘You're the girl,' said George, desperately. ‘You're the dead girl I saw.'

Stella Aldryn drew back, her eyes wide. ‘
Me
? But it can't have been. I'm not dead.'

‘No,' agreed George. ‘Of course you're not. I'm sorry. I've mixed you up with some sort of nightmare and I can only say I'm sorry. I've made a complete fool of myself and put you all to no end of trouble.' He made as if to stand up but Anne restrained him. ‘I feel an absolute idiot,' he added.

Maguire sat down and looked at him thoughtfully. His voice took on the professional sympathy of the psychiatrist. ‘I'd like to know what you did see, Mr Lassiter. You say you were suffering from malaria and flu? Perhaps you wouldn't mind just going through the story.' He held up a hand as Nigel tried to interrupt. ‘Let me hear this, Nigel. This is my province. I might be able to help.'

‘It was all so
real,'
said George helplessly. ‘I was completely desperate. I got into the kitchen because it seemed warm and I found something to eat and drink and I fell asleep. Then, when I woke up –' He broke off. ‘It's no use. I dreamt it. I must have dreamt it but I thought I saw you. Miss Aldryn. The only thing is, you were dead.'

She gazed at him, frozen into speechlessness. Then she shook herself and gave a puzzled laugh. ‘But I'm not dead. You can't have seen me.'

George looked at her miserably. ‘I know that.'

Maguire cleared his throat. ‘What were you doing before you went into the kitchen at Eden Street, Mr Lassiter?'

George shrugged. ‘Nothing much. I hung around various railway stations and so on, then I went into the park for a time.'

Maguire nodded. ‘I think you must have seen Miss Aldryn earlier in the day.' He glanced at Stella Aldryn. ‘I don't know if you recognize Mr Lassiter at all?'

She shook her head. ‘I've never seen Mr Lassiter in my life.'

Maguire clicked his tongue. ‘I think he probably saw you.' He turned back to George. ‘When your illness started to take hold, you mixed up the reality of what you'd seen earlier with your dream.'

‘I must be going crazy,' George stated flatly.

Maguire looked shocked. ‘Of course you're not. If you were suffering from malaria and flu, then it's only natural that you should be confused. That's a very different state of affairs from being crazy, as you put it.'

George sat silently for a few moments. ‘Thanks,' he said quietly.

‘However,' continued Maguire, ‘it might be as well if you consulted me professionally. There could be some underlying tendency –'

‘I'm fine,' said George sharply. ‘Thanks, but I don't need any help.'

Jack put his hand on his friend's shoulder. ‘Shall we go home?'

George nodded. ‘Yes, I'd like that.' He broke off, turning to his grandfather. ‘I'm sorry, sir. I'll wait for you, of course. You wanted to see the aeroplane.'

Mr Lassiter got to his feet. ‘I can see the Pegasus any time. I'm rather more concerned about you.'

Maguire reached out for Anne's hand and held it reassuringly. ‘Why don't you go back with the others?' He glanced at George. ‘It might be as well if you were there. I'd like to stay and see the plane but I think it's probably just as well if you're with them.'