Wings of the Morning (25 page)

When I arrived here in Singapore, I was very shy and withdrawn. They were all so kind to me in this house, and the Colonel was very insistent on giving me all the space and quiet I wanted. It
took time for me to have the confidence to talk to Izzy, and by then I knew of course that things were not ... well not as normal with me.’

Conrad was touched that she was being so diffident but he said nothing to interrupt her.

‘Finally, Izzy coaxed me into a full conversation with her and I relived the whole business. I got myself back into a real state, but she was a proper tigress for me. She refused to allow
Seb, and not even the Colonel himself to speak to me. I went to the clinic with Izzy where they confirmed my pregnancy, but said that it would be possible for me to have a termination although they
couldn’t offer guarantees about all the consequences. Izzy and I went home then, and we sat out here on the veranda for a whole long afternoon, just talking things through. By the end of it,
I knew what I wanted to do. I would have the babies, and I’ve never regretted that decision, never once.

‘Why? Well, Connie, two reasons. The first is that as a woman, you separate in your mind the acts of conception and birth. For certain sure, there is cause and effect. In my own case, I
had blood and pain and mess and trauma at both the beginning and the end of the whole process and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. But however beautiful the start, and however easy the
conclusion, the part which really matters lies between them, when you have a new life waking up inside you, a person or persons who aren’t concerned by their creation, but more by what
they’re going to do with the life which is offered to them. I love my sons and I’ll do all I can for them, but my greatest gift to them will have been life itself.’

She was silent for so long that Conrad felt he must help her to conclude.

‘You mentioned two reasons.’

‘Yes. Sorry. The second is something very different. During our talk that day, Izzy told me that she can’t herself have a child. She and Seb have tried everything and were desperate
for a large family, but it’s not to be. She can’t conceive. She’s marvellous about it, and so is he. She didn’t tell me to apply any pressure; it just came out in our
conversation. But the knowledge made itself a part of my decision.’

He knew she wouldn’t say more after that, so he simply smiled at her.

‘You’re very brave. And you are wise. Thank you for telling me all this.’

‘You needed to know. I’ve got no regrets, except one, and that is that I will honestly never be able to tell my sons who is their father.’

The following day at work was manic for Conrad and he thought he was about to be called away, so he rang and asked Tepee to meet him on the beach that evening. They meandered in walk and talk.
Connie rambled and Tepee stayed silent, occasionally squeezing his hand in what he decided was a sign of patient encouragement. He stopped abruptly and turned her to face him.

‘I can’t leave you like this,’ he said simply, ‘I love you completely and would like to ask you if I may become the father to your sons.’

Tepee’s answer came without words as she clasped her arms around him and rested her head on his chest. He felt her tears soaking through his thin shirt but he was sure they were shed in
acceptance of his proposal. Engulfed in their happiness together, they wandered for a further hour and it was well into drinking time before they walked up the veranda steps to join the others.
Izzy fixed a beady eye on Tepee and immediately let go with a drum splitting screech of excited joy.

Very soon, the whole neighbourhood would have known from the whoops of joy and the popping of corks that something was up and a party in full swing. They had a very late and liquid dinner during
which Conrad was worried that he had done nothing about a ring and Izzy was so amused that she fetched a rubber band from the kitchen which would have to do temporary service. With dishes, plates
and glasses still littering the table, Seb announced that the Regimental tradition for welcoming a new member must now be enacted, and his father agreed with twinkling delight. Conrad wondered what
sort of horror he was in for, especially when Tepee looked bemused and Izzy protested that this would be an unfair contest. But Seb would, just for once, have none of her objections and set about
clearing one end of the long teak table, carefully placing chairs on either side and declaring that the honour lay in the conduct of the contest rather than in the result.

It turned out to be a simple boy’s game — just an arm wrestle at which the new arrival was expected to give of his best. Connie was fairly flying by this stage and it hit him that
they would have no idea of his particular strength to which this game played so well. He thought it was fair enough to show off a little on such an evening, so he settled himself at the table and
stretched out his right arm, elbow flat, upper arm vertical, hand open.

Opposite, Seb regarded him with a friendly grin, flexed his gigantic arm muscles and advanced to grip Conrad’s hand. The Colonel, glass of Armagnac in hand, pulled up a chair at the head
of the table and the girls ranged themselves for best view, Izzy still protesting that ‘you great ox’ as she lovingly referred to her husband should not be taking advantage of her
friend’s fiancé.

The Colonel tapped the table lightly and the two contestants took up the slack and started to apply some pressure. Conrad was unsurprised to know immediately that he was going to win at a
canter. The killer strength which had taken him straight through the opposition in Bahrain airport was now further honed and better directed. So now he allowed Seb to build up the pressure, putting
his effort into bending Conrad’s arm back from the vertical and into a reverse decline from which there could be no recovery. But the arm wouldn’t move. Conrad was quite able to keep
himself almost motionless, his arm wavering either side of the upright, and his eyes fixed on Seb’s face, watching as the sweat built up on his brow and the bemused doubts grew in his
eyes.

Suddenly Conrad felt it was enough. He’d made his point already. He picked up the pace and started his own pressure. Seb gave a groan of astonishment, trying to get back in the contest,
but his huge arm went steadily backwards, gathering pace as it passed the fulcrum point to land with a mighty crash on the table top.

The Colonel looked thunderstruck. His glass wobbled and spilled his precious liqueur. Izzy whooped with the excitement, Tepee smiled smugly, Conrad looked embarrassed. But credit for the remark
of the evening belonged to Sebastien. He smiled widely as he massaged his defeated arm and said.

‘At last an English Para! I have found him, and he is my brother-in-law.’ With that he came around the table as Conrad rose to meet him and Seb swept him up into a bone crushing
hug.

Conrad and Tepee were married the following month, and in the September, they went on a delayed honeymoon in Australia, timed to permit their attendance at the wedding of Alexa to Peter
Bushell.

Conrad interrupted his reverie. He was back in England. It was four years on. He was travelling home on his first day of life as a civilian. It had been a serious decision. He had expected to go
on until he was retired sometime in his fifties and then to look around for some little job to finish off with, but Tepee was worried he would end up bored and unfulfilled. Then Roger Mantel had
come to stay for a weekend and he had come up with an offer. His business had prospered and now he and Seb wanted to expand by opening an office in London. They wanted Conrad to run the UK
business.

Conrad’s interest was stimulated but he did take his time. He talked to Tepee, to brother officers and friends. He wasn’t surprised to find that the best advice came from David
Heaven.

‘Connie’, David said, ‘you must absolutely go for this! Your Colonel is dead right. Across Africa, there are squabbles and fire fights going on all the time, plus kidnaps and
political shenanigans. Things aren’t getting better and the trend’s not going to change in my view. This is an opportunity tailor-made for you and you’ll be brilliant at it. Also,
there’s a huge bonus. You know these guys. You respect them and like them. They are, in effect, Tepee’s family. It really can’t get much better for you than this.’

Conrad reflected, but not for long. With the enthusiastic support of Tepee, he accepted the Colonel’s offer, and now he was about to embark on this new life. He slowed to pull into the
narrow gravel drive He waved to his boys as they rushed towards his car, leaving their sister to stagger along in their wake. Tepee appeared through the front door, looking graceful and alluring,
excited as she waved a celebratory bottle. He was home.

ALEXA BUSHELL — 1977

Peter Bushell died towards the end of February 1977, two months short of his fifty-seventh birthday. Alexa had settled him in his reclining chair on the balcony of their Double
Bay apartment before she left for a short afternoon in her City office. She was worried that it would be too hot for him, but had been persuaded by his insistence and by the gentle breeze blowing
in to ease the heat and humidity. Peter was lying there, content with the beauty of the constantly changing view over the Harbour and as the sun began to dip away, he reflected on his good fortune
notwithstanding the depredations of the disease which had become too strong to resist. Presently, he closed his eyes sleepily and they did not reopen. He simply slipped away.

When Alexa returned later, she looked at him from inside the apartment and sensed his demise but couldn’t accept it. He looked just as she had left him. She picked up the phone with tears
in her eyes, and was still sitting there when Mark arrived at the run. He went to his brother’s side and was back sitting beside her in a matter of seconds. He didn’t have to speak to
confirm her assumptions.

They say you are never prepared, that there is shock to absorb and a disbelief which will engulf you whatever your expectations. This held true for Alexa, but she found her equilibrium returning
swiftly in the days after Peter’s death. They had often talked, with black humour, of her ‘afterdeath’ and Peter had always said that as she would be easing him into death, so
would he be helping her into a new life. Now he’d gone, she could fully appreciate just how right he had been. He would always be indescribably precious to her. He had saved her all that time
ago in Bahrain, and he was still saving her now.

She went about the necessary arrangements. She devised a moving funeral service at the island church in which they had married. Deliberately, she didn’t tell people in Europe of his death
— not even her own parents — until it was too late for them to travel out to Sydney. She was clear that this was a departure both for and from Peter. This was his time and hers would
come later.

Two days after the funeral, Mark stood beside her on the balcony in Double Bay as they watched the final farewell which Alexa had planned with Jeff Woods, a close friend of Peter’s. They
had enrolled together on a Qantas training programme years ago and Jeff was still flying 747’s around the globe. Piloting was his passion and his hobby was performing aerobatics in a small
display aircraft. He pulled in all sorts of favours with the authorities to honour his old friend in this style as he wove through the air over Sydney Harbour bringing whoops of joy from Mark, who
watched spellbound as the tears cascaded down his face. And finally, suddenly, miraculously, the pilot brought the little plane to what seemed to the watchers on the balcony to be a complete halt
in mid-air, right opposite them. The keener eyed amongst them could make out some movement of the cockpit canopy, followed by the release of a green flare which, as Alexa whispered to Mark,
heralded the release of his brother’s ashes out into the sky which he had so loved, to fall gently to the harbour’s waters which had given him such pleasure. Then the plane described a
wide circle and came past them for a final circuit, but much closer to their vantage point. They could see the pilot lift a hand in salute and he put the plane into a slow victory roll as he flew
out to sea and reached the Heads, where he pulled back into an almost vertical climb and vanished into the setting sun.

Mark’s face was still wet with tears as he turned to face her.

‘I dunno how you managed that, Alexa love, but it was brilliant: just what he’d have wanted. You’ve done him proud. Thanks.’ They were all the words he could manage.

Alexa didn’t stop at that and she moved quickly. Peter’s collection of Russell Flint paintings went to Mark, and generous sums in trust for his nephew and niece. There were legacies
to charity; some treasured photographs of pioneering flights went to the Qantas Museum in Longreach. The remaining majority of his estate, including the apartment in which they had lived together,
was willed absolutely to her. Alexa completed all the formalities and consulted an agent in Rose Bay who specialised in prestigious harbour front property. In the middle of April she exchanged
contracts of sale on the apartment in Double Bay. Then she went to speak to Mark.