As if by Magic (24 page)

‘George?' asked Stella once they were out of earshot. ‘What's wrong?'

George's face was like thunder. ‘Didn't you see how he looked at you? The man's an absolute creep. I felt like hitting him.'

Stella Aldryn giggled delightedly and caught hold of his arm. ‘Are you jealous? That's so sweet of you.'

George's frown melted into a sheepish look and Stella giggled again. Jack, feeling that three was definitely a crowd, faded into the background. He might as well listen to Nigel Lassiter, he decided, and edged his way into the group of pressmen. Nigel, his face alive with enthusiasm, was going at full throttle.

‘. . . we have encountered various problems connected with the sheer size of the machine that have had to be overcome. The top wing span is a hundred and fifty feet and we had to go back to fundamentals when it came to the interior construction of the wings. If you would care to visit the spar shop, the foreman will show you the radical solution we employed. As far as the passengers are concerned, the most striking innovation concerns the seating. Instead of building a car into the fuselage, the pontoons, or floats, which are sixty feet in length, are designed to serve as commodious saloons. We hear a great deal about the luxurious conditions aboard airships. I can safely say, gentlemen, that the passenger accommodation will easily rival, if not surpass, any airship either in existence or currently under construction, without, of course, the appalling hazard of fire justly associated with lighter-than-air flight.'

Freddie Talbot of
Modern Flight
ventured a question.

Nigel Lassiter nodded gravely. ‘Safety has been our major preoccupation, as it is with all our machines.' It was just as well the pressmen didn't know about the wings trying to twist apart, thought Jack. ‘I am pleased to say that most parts of the seaplane have a safety factor of five and certain parts, which endure the biggest stress, have a safety factor of six.' The men from the aviation papers looked impressed. The men from Fleet Street looked baffled. ‘Which means, of course,' said Nigel, so smoothly that no one would suspect him of talking down to his audience, ‘that the machine is capable of sustaining at least five or six times the strain which it will ever be called upon to bear.' The crowd made approving noises and Jack slipped away.

Old Mr Lassiter had briefly escaped his guests and was having a breather with David by the entrance to the dope and varnish room. David caught sight of him and beckoned an invitation to join them.

‘Those were very impressive statistics Mr Lassiter was quoting,' said Jack, hoping for a reaction. He got one.

‘Lies, damned lies and statistics,' said David ironically. ‘It's all right,' he said in response to his father's anxious frown. ‘I'm not going to say anything out of turn. It's just that with all the emphasis on the Pegasus, any other ideas have been kicked into touch. Perhaps now the aeroplane's finished I'll be able to go ahead with my plans.'

‘Do you have a new aircraft in mind?' asked Jack.

David Lassiter shook his head. ‘Not so much a new aircraft but a new way of owning an aircraft.' Jack looked a question and David Lassiter warmed to his theme. ‘You're a pilot, Haldean, and knowledgeable about aviation. You might not know this, but as far as most people are concerned, buying a private plane is still a rather daring thing to do.'

It was a shatteringly expensive thing to do, thought Jack as he looked at David Lassiter, schooling his face into blank and polite enquiry.

‘What I want to do is to take the average man and show him how easy it is to own an aeroplane. We'd build him a hangar – the Urbis has fold-back wings, so the hangar need be no bigger than a garage – lay out an airstrip in his garden or fields, sell him a flying kit, provide flying lessons if he wants to fly it himself or hire out pilots to act as chauffeurs if he doesn't. I wanted to set up lorries which would act as mobile garages staffed by our mechanics to repair and service the planes regularly at the customers' own homes. I did manage to get a decent insurance deal arranged through a City firm. It's honest and more economical than anything an individual could arrange for himself. We make a small but worthwhile profit on that but it's nothing compared to what we could make if only I could get things under way.'

Jack, whilst boggling slightly at David Lassiter's conception of the average man, was intrigued.

‘You see,' continued Lassiter enthusiastically, ‘I want to make owning a plane as easy as owning a car. It could be done. And when I say “man” don't think I just mean “men”. There's a huge unplumbed women's market out there, and women make excellent pilots. They have a light touch which men often can't master, but it's the mechanical side of things that puts them off. I'd take care of all of that.' He finished his drink. ‘Anyway, I suppose I'd better go and do my bit.'

‘You won't say anything out of turn, will you?' asked his father. ‘After all, the whole company, you included, needs the Pegasus to be successful.'

David Lassiter suddenly grinned. ‘Don't worry, Dad. I want the plane to succeed as much as anyone else. We've put far too much in to see it thrown away.'

‘Why don't you talk to Mrs Culverton?' suggested his father. ‘I know she had to warn us on Sunday that she might pull out but the India route is still a good commercial proposition. There's a lot of money to be made there, David.' He put down his glass. ‘There are some people I could do with seeing, as well.' He looked across the room. ‘Instone's taken up with Samuel Hoare but there's Burton of City and Commercial and John Frazier of Capital Air. I know Frazier had hopes of a directorship in any state airline, so if you'll excuse us, Major Haldean, we'd better be off.'

Jack, temporarily alone, looked round the crowded room. Nigel Lassiter had finished addressing the crowd and was talking earnestly to Martin Ridgeway.

Anne Lassiter and Roger Maguire joined him. ‘Wasn't Mr Ridgeway horrible?' she said in a low voice. ‘Did you see how he looked at Stella Aldryn? I thought George was going to hit him.'

‘It's as well he didn't,' murmured Maguire. ‘That would really spoil the party. You're making too much of it, Anne.'

‘You must be blind,' said Anne with a toss of her head. ‘The kindest explanation I can think of is that he's drunk too much. What's your opinion, Major Haldean?'

‘I think if Ridgeway sinks any more of that champagne he'd buy a brick balloon,' said Jack. Maguire grinned. ‘He's been shovelling it down. I didn't like the way he goggled at Miss Aldryn, either.'

‘
In vino veritas
?' suggested Maguire. He took Anne's arm. ‘She's a pretty girl and he noticed. So what? Don't get so upset. Hello, what's Nigel doing now?'

Nigel Lassiter had finished talking to Ridgeway and, in a consciously dynamic pose, mounted the first few steps of the ladder up to the crane. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,' he began in a carrying voice. ‘Thank you for your attention.'

The hum of conversation in the room petered out and the crowd looked at Nigel obediently and expectantly. ‘On behalf of the Lassiter Aircraft Company and all the Lassiter family, I am happy to welcome you this afternoon. I am not going to make a speech.'

I bet you are, thought Jack.

‘Very shortly you will be invited to see the Pegasus. I would be lacking in my duties as a host if I failed to point out what a huge step forward the aircraft represents. It is a completely new departure in civil aviation, one that will surely both pioneer and set the standard for trans-oceanic flight for years to come.' Nigel Lassiter's voice took on a sorrowful note. ‘You will all have heard of the tragic and premature death of Mr Alexander Culverton. I may say that it is in some degree because of his vision that this unique aircraft, the Pegasus, exists at all.'

And that, commented Jack to himself, was true enough.

‘His generous and unstinting support was valued more highly than he could ever have known. Mrs Culverton, who has, I am sure, the sympathy of everyone here, has graciously consented to come here today to see what can only be regarded in very large part as a memorial to her husband.' He stooped down, picked up a glass from the table beside him and raised it high. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Alexander Culverton.'

Jack drank the toast, wondering how many others in the building felt as hypocritical as he did.

‘My most grateful and sincere thanks are also due to our other two principal supporters, Mr Martin Ridgeway and Dr Roger Maguire. Mr Culverton is beyond the reach of such petty considerations as a just and generous return on his investment. Mr Ridgeway and Dr Maguire are, I am glad to say, on the verge of seeing a very tangible reward for their faith and vision in bringing into existence the Pegasus, the aeroplane of the future. Ladies and gentlemen, the future is here.'

On which exit line and to a burst of applause, he climbed down from the ladder and led the chattering group out of the factory towards the new hangar. It had been nicely done, Jack reflected, as he walked round the testing field in the company of the others. Just the right amount of very respectful pressure on Peggy Culverton and a heroic interpretation of the role of money-lender.

They followed Nigel round the bulk of the building towards the inlet of the Thames. And then he saw it. In that moment nothing but the aeroplane existed. Riding at anchor was a huge, graceful biplane. The sun, which had been fitfully hidden behind scudding clouds, shone down as if it, too, had been orchestrated by Nigel, turning the dull Thames into a shimmering lake supporting the shining craft. The wood of the pontoons glowed a deep rich chestnut in the fleeting sun and the varnished fabric of the wings over the water caught the light and lanced it out in glittering, dancing darts.

Jack swallowed. The workman at the gate had said the Pegasus was a beauty and she was. Behind that beauty lay obsession, unfairness and greed, and yet it was still beautiful. Nigel Lassiter made little appeal to him, but there was no doubting what he'd achieved. Perhaps his very aloofness was essential to keep his dream intact. Jack had heard often enough that the Pegasus was a breakthrough in civil aviation but, confronted with the actual craft, the phrase was hopelessly inept. This aircraft could leap oceans and it was as if a new world had dawned.

Then, as always when confronted with a new aircraft, came the questions. How did she handle? Had Nigel Lassiter solved the problems with the wing? Did she – although this seemed an unnecessary question when he looked at the four meaty Rolls-Royce Condor engines – have enough power to support the enormous weight?

A gang-plank was laid from the shore to the pontoons and various guests were ushered aboard. Jack found a baulk of timber and sat on it, back to the hangar wall. Safety; he was glad David Lassiter, at least, was concerned about safety. He'd trust David Lassiter. He knew how dangerous aircraft could be. He grinned to himself and unconsciously patted his lame leg, souvenir of a long-ago flight when safety had been the last thing on his mind. By God, he'd been lucky. The sky had been full of Germans, his propeller was smashed and his petrol tank had been hit. One stray spark from an incendiary bullet or the magneto and he'd have been toast, not sitting here grumbling about his dodgy leg. He lit a cigarette and sat back, soaking in the impressions. People were coming and going from the craft, but he just wanted to sit and look.

Peggy Culverton, with Nigel and David Lassiter in tow, came down on to the shore and walked up the path towards him. ‘I'll let you know soon, Mr Lassiter,' Mrs Culverton said to Nigel. ‘I'm very impressed. The Pegasus is a wonderful machine but there are other considerations to take into account.'

Nigel's eyes narrowed, then he swallowed, nodding his head stiffly. ‘In that case, I await your decision, Mrs Culverton.' He turned and walked along the path, stopping as he noticed Jack for the first time. ‘Major Haldean? What do you think of the plane?'

‘I think she's superb,' said Jack, rising to his feet. ‘I must congratulate you, Mr Lassiter. It's an extraordinary achievement.'

‘Would you like to be part of it? I understand you're a successful author. We're looking for new investors, you know.'

Jack laughed. ‘I only wish I had the money. If I had . . .' The sentence finished abruptly as Nigel Lassiter walked away. Jack stared after him, taken aback by this monumental display of bad manners. Although the sun still shone, some of the gloss seemed to wear off the plane.

He walked back along the gleaming railway track to the factory. Before he turned the corner he looked once more at the Pegasus. It was still beautiful but the beauty was marred by the crass behaviour of its creator. Damn Nigel Lassiter, thought Jack. He wanted another drink.

Back inside the factory George was standing by one of the tables, champagne in hand. He looked ill at ease. ‘What's the matter?' asked Jack, picking up a glass from the tray.

‘I don't know if I should mention it,' said George awkwardly. He paused, obviously hunting round for something to say. ‘What did you think of the plane, Jack?'

‘Terrific. I don't think much of Nigel Lassiter, though. He's just snubbed me for not being rich enough to invest in it.' Jack took a drink. ‘What shouldn't you mention?'

George wriggled uncomfortably and looked round. The nearest people they knew were Anne Lassiter, Roger Maguire and Stella Aldryn. They were standing by the ladder of the crane a few yards away. Anne was pointing upwards, indicating the board-walk. No one was paying either Jack or George any attention. George drew closer and lowered his voice. ‘Look,' he said. ‘You know Culverton was murdered?' Jack raised his eyebrows in puzzled enquiry. ‘Well, you haven't told me much but I gather that you and Inspector Rackham are trying to find someone with a motive for bumping him off. Is that right?'