Inherit the Skies (25 page)

Sarah stared at him for a moment uncertain as to whether or not he was having a joke at her expense but he returned her gaze steadily.

‘My girls have to be able to support themselves on a trapeze,' he explained. ‘Try it.'

‘Very well.' Sarah took the bar between her hands, flexing her fingers, and lifted her feet off the ground.

‘Hold on,' he said, checking his watch.

Grimly Sarah did so. At first she was merely annoyed at the undignified picture she was sure she was making, then as the seconds ticked by and the weight of her body began to drag on her arms she could think of nothing but the effort of hanging there. She flexed her fingers feeling as if her arms were being dragged from their sockets and small beads of perspiration rose on her forehead. At last, just as she thought she would be forced to give in, he nodded.

‘Good. You are stronger than you look, Miss Thomas. Very well, you can come down now.'

Relieved Sarah released her hold on the bar and lowered herself to the ground.

‘Well?' she said, gently chaffing the life back into her tingling fingers and trying to appear composed. ‘Do I pass your test?'

‘With flying colours. Five minutes – very good for a first attempt.' He smiled. ‘Unfortunately however I have a full team at the moment. I do not need any more girls.'

Sarah experienced a stab of anger.

‘You mean I went through that for nothing?'

His teeth gleamed very white.

‘I'm afraid so. Unless something happens to one of my girls – an accident – or perhaps one of them may decide to give up … But ballooning is a drug, Miss Thomas. Most of them stay for quite a long while.'

Sarah drew herself up. Disappointment was a hard knot inside her; she was afraid if she remained there a moment longer she would disgrace herself by bursting into tears. After all her high hopes she hated to give up so easily yet her fierce pride would not allow her to beg and besides she knew instinctively it would do no good. She summoned her remaining reserves.

‘In that case, Captain Gaudron, I am sorry to have taken up your time,' she said stiffly and turned away before he could see those treacherous tears shimmering behind her long lashes.

‘Just a moment!' It was the other man, Captain Gaudron's companion, who spoke. Sarah stopped, holding herself stiffly. She did not dare to turn around. ‘You really want to parachute?' he asked.

He had a gentle voice, lacking Auguste Gaudron's natural authority. She blinked away the tears and turned, looking at him for the first time and seeing a slightly built man a few inches taller than herself. Sandy hair was slicked away from a narrow, interesting face, a moustache, so light in colour as to be almost indistinguishable etched a light shadow on his upper lip and above the high cheekbones his eyes gleamed, tawny as a cat's behind a pale fringing of lashes.

‘Well of course I want to parachute,' she said, disappointment and the still-threatening tears making her voice sharp. ‘That's why I'm here.'

‘Then perhaps I can help you,' he said. ‘In fact, we may be able to help each other.'

‘You?' No sooner had the exclamation left her lips than she realised how rude it had sounded and she flushed. ‘I'm sorry. How can we help each other?'

The amused curve had returned to Captain Gaudron's lips. He clapped a hand around his companion's shoulders.

‘Allow me to introduce you. This is Captain Eric Dare. Perhaps you have heard of him. He and his brother Henry are also balloonists. The Flying Dares.'

‘Oh, yes,' Sarah said faintly. She had indeed heard of the Flying Dares. It was simply that she had paid little attention to them. Here at Alexandra Palace in the shadow of the most illustrious balloonists they had seemed of little account. Even in appearance Eric Dare was pale by comparison with the great Auguste Gaudron.

‘I realise flying with me is a pretty poor substitute for the famed Gaudron team,' he said wryly. ‘But as you may know my brother and I also entertain with displays of aerobatics to help us finance our serious research work. I have thought for some time that what we lack is a little glamour. However impressive my stunts there is no doubt the public like to see a pretty face and a trim figure.'

Sarah nodded, accepting the compliment in the spirit it was meant, although she was aware of Eric Dare's eyes appraising her.

‘Yes,' he continued affably. ‘I think we might very well be able to come to some arrangement. Why don't you come with me and meet my brother Henry and we'll see what he has to say.'

Sarah's heart sank. The young man's offer might yet be vetoed by his brother. As if reading her mind Eric smiled.

‘Don't worry – he's not an ogre. In fact as long as Henry has the resources to continue with his work perfecting his very own dirigible model very little bothers him. I'm sure I can convince him of the advantage in my plan.' He slapped Auguste Gaudron lightly on the upper arm. ‘I'll see you later, my friend. Come along, Miss Thomas. Let me show you the way to our corner of the workshop.'

He placed an arm on Sarah's waist to guide her through the maze of equipment and for the first time since her experience with Hugh Sarah did not shy away from the touch of a man. It was a pleasant touch, friendly and unthreatening, and Sarah warmed to it. He might not be Captain Gaudron, leader of the famous Gaudron team, but he was a very nice young man. And if he could help her achieve her ambition then really she could ask for no more. Excitement throbbed in her, touching her cheeks with colour and bringing a sparkle to her eyes.

It looked as if her boldness was going to pay off after all – and she intended to gain every possible advantage from it.

Now, two years later, as she made for the aeronauts' workshop, Sarah found herself remembering that first momentous visit with amusement – and not a little pride. From that day on she had never looked back. From her first tentative jump from the edge of the balloon basket she had progressed to advanced ascents on the small swaying trapeze, and graceful well-judged descents. She had gained acclaim wherever she went and although it was the Dares who had made it possible, Sarah knew that it was her own audacity and initiative that had taken her from her humble life as a kitchen maid and the humdrum day-to-day routine of waiting at tables to her present enviable station as one of the undisputed queens of the sky.

As she entered the vast hall the noise of the sewing machines, the busy chatter of the ballooning fraternity and that indefinable dusty smell enfolded her just as it had done on that first day but now it was as familiar to her as her own breath and she picked her way with accustomed ease between the wicker baskets and coils of rope towards the corner which the Dares had made their own. As she went some of the men called a greeting and she acknowledged them with a wave of her hand but most were totally absorbed in their work. It was always this way; ballooning was a way of life which demanded total allegiance, body and soul, from those who loved it.

At the far end of the hall she could see the slim whippy figure of Henry Dare as engrossed as any of them and she smiled to herself. As Eric had told her that first day she had met him, Henry was one of the most fanatical of the balloon fraternity, a man totally dedicated to the pursuit of excellence and without a single interest unconnected to the passion which was his life. In some ways he reminded her of a professor or boffin for often he would arrive at the balloon centre so eager to put some new idea or theory to the test that he would have quite forgotten to comb his hair or the light thready moustache and side whiskers which were even paler in colour than his brother's or even to button his shirt correctly. On one famous occasion he had arrived wearing no shirt at all – his waistcoat and jacket pulled hastily on over his thick flannel vest – and wearing odd shoes, one black, one a brown elastic-sided boot. But where ballooning was concerned there was nothing in the least absent minded about Henry. Every detail was checked and rechecked and he could work out complicated calculations at lightning speed barely jotting down a single figure on one of the scraps of paper that he could produce from his copious pockets like a magician producing a rabbit from a hat. Meteorology and aerodynamics were the breath of life to him – whilst he seldom knew what day of the week it was and Eric was forced to remind him of every appointment, every high day and holiday including Christmas and his own birthday, he was a fount of knowledge on air speeds and cloud movements, on the relative attributes of a few extra pounds ballast on drift with an accuracy that left Sarah breathless.

‘Good morning, Henry,' she greeted him. ‘How are you this fine morning?'

He glanced up, acknowledging her with a birdlike nod of the head before bending once more to examine some imagined fault in the burner he was holding.

‘Me? I'm fine! I wish the same could be said of these components. The standard of workmanship these days – appalling!'

‘I'm sure there's nothing wrong with it,' she soothed. ‘You are a dear old fusspot, Henry.'

He looked up again, his light eyes darting over her face.

‘And it's thanks to me for being a fusspot that you are still alive and sound in wind and limb, Sarah. You can't afford to take chances up there, my dear – and don't you forget it!'

‘I won't, Henry,' Sarah placated him. ‘ Where is Eric?'

‘Hmm?' Henry had returned his attention to the burner once more and his tone registered his impatience with the irrelevance of her question. ‘Oh, he's gone to get a cup of coffee, I think he said. Always thinking of his stomach, that boy.'

‘I'm sure that's not true, Henry,' Sarah chided. ‘He knows that anyone – even you – can work better after a nice strong cup of coffee. I hope he thinks to bring one for me too.'

She neither expected, nor received, a reply, but after a moment Henry glanced up again.

‘There was someone asking for you just now. A man.'

‘Oh – who was that?' Sarah enquired without much interest. As Sweetheart of the Skies she was not unused to a steady stream of admirers, usually headed off by Eric.

‘I couldn't say. I told him you would be arriving shortly so he'll be back no doubt.' Henry brushed aside a limp strand of sandy hair which had fallen over his forehead and peered, eyes narrowed, past Sarah. ‘Here is Eric now. And the man who was asking for you is with him.' He sounded vaguely surprised as if he had half believed the enquirer to have been a figment of his own imagination.

Sarah turned, following his gaze, and felt the breath catch in her throat.

‘I don't believe it,' she whispered faintly.

‘What's that?' Henry asked mildly.

Sarah did not reply. Her mouth had gone dry and she raised a hand which trembled slightly to cover her lips. It couldn't be. Not after all this time. Not here at Alexandra Palace …

He walked towards her with the long measured stride she knew and loved so well. He was wearing a suit of fine dark blue wool; above the stiff shiny white collar of his shirt his fresh-complexioned face was grave. There was a little more silver in his hair than there had been, etching feathery wings in the crisp jet black, and it showed too in his neat dark moustache like a sprinkling of hoar frost on a dark winter garden. But his eyes were as clear and blue as she remembered them though there was a slight wariness in them that she did not understand and his height and the indefinable presence of him were as imposing as they had ever been.

She stood quite still, feeling her legs turn to jelly, but there was an eagerness bubbling in her so that in spite of the shock, in spite of the tumultuous inexplicable emotions that were making her dizzy, it was all she could do to stop herself from running to him and throwing herself into his arms.

‘Well, Sarah,' he said in that cool sharp voice that had always reminded her of frosty mornings. ‘So I've found you at last!'

She removed her hand from her lips and locked it with the other in the folds of her skirt to keep it from trembling. She lifted her chin, returning his gaze, and her face was as grave as his, not betraying for an instant the tumultuous delight that had begun to course through her in warm rushing waves.

‘Mr Morse!' she said, and her voice was little more than a whisper.

‘How you have grown up, Sarah!' he said. ‘I confess I would have scarcely known you.'

They were sitting at a table, in the very open-air restaurant where Sarah had worked as a waitress. It was the best place, Sarah had thought, for them to be able to talk away from the curious eyes of Eric, Henry and the others – and besides she had been desperate suddenly for fresh air, as if the closed-in, dusty atmosphere in the workshop was suffocating her.

In the restaurant Gilbert had ordered them a coffee each and a plate of pastries but the food lay untouched on the lace-doilied plate, and when Sarah raised her cup to sip the strong dark liquid she was annoyed to realise her hand was still trembling.

‘I'm seventeen now,' she said defensively.

‘Yes, I suppose you are.' He sighed, almost inaudibly. ‘Seventeen! It's strange but somehow I continued to think of you as you were when I last saw you – as if time had stood still. But of course that's nonsense. And look at you now! Not only a young woman but a very successful one. A balloonist, no less. How did that come about?'

‘Oh, it's a very long story.' A little haltingly because of the slight awkwardness that still lay between them she related how she had come to Alexandra Palace, met the Dare Brothers and begun to work with them. She made no mention of the time she had spent at Deedham Green. It was still too painful to her and she had no wish to sour this meeting by referring to it or even thinking of it. It hurt her still that Gilbert had made no effort to contact her during those dreadful months and though the memory of the despair and sense of degradation had dimmed, it was still there, a disturbing prickle beneath her skin like the fading yet persistent irritation of a virulent rash.