Джеймс Блатч - The Final Flight

An elderly woman with a shopping bag ambled along the pavement toward them.

They leant in to the door, trying to detect any sounds of life from within.

Rob knocked again.

“Can I help you?”

The woman with the shopping bag stopped by the door.

“Ah,” said Rob. “Yes.”

She put the shopping down and produced a small bunch of keys.

Susie leant forward and held out her hand. “Hello, I’m Susie, and this is my colleague Robert. We were friends of Christopher Milford. I believe you may have met him?”

The woman gave them a puzzled look and shook her head.

“I don’t think so. You must have the wrong house.”

With that, she pushed her key into the door and picked up her shopping.

“I’m sorry,” said Susie. “Maybe he used a different name. Rob, why don’t you describe him to Mrs…?”

The woman shook her head again and pushed the door open.

Rob gabbled out a description of Millie. “Fifties, balding, bit of middle-age spread. Moustache…” He tailed off, before adding, “and the nicest person you will ever meet.”

The women hesitated as she crossed the threshold into the cottage. She turned and gave Rob a polite smile.

“I wish you luck in finding your friend.”

She closed the door.

Rob looked at Susie; she bent down and opened the letterbox.

“We won’t find him. He’s dead. And that’s why we’re here.”

She stood up again. After a moment, the door opened a crack.

An eye appeared in the gloom of the doorway.

“Maybe you had better come in then.”

INSIDE THE DARK KITCHEN, the woman unpacked her shopping. She paused and looked over her shoulder.

“How did he die?”

“In an aeroplane crash,” Rob said. “I survived, but I’m afraid the other three men didn’t make it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. The professor liked him very much. I’m Mrs Lazenby.” She turned back to her unpacking. Rob watched as she piled up three jars of fish paste before opening a cupboard.

“Mrs Lazenby, can I ask you what your husband does?” said Rob.

The woman laughed. “Not much. He died in 1944.”

“Then who—”

“Professor Belkin lives here, and that’s who I suspect you need to speak to. I’m just the housekeeper.” She put away the last of the shopping as the clock in the hall struck the half hour. Rob looked at his watch; it was 10.30AM.

“But you’ll have awhile to wait, I’m afraid. He’s not here and won’t be back for another week.”

Rob’s heart sunk.

“We only have today, Mrs Lazenby. Perhaps you could tell us where he is?”

“Would you like a cup of tea?”

Susie smiled at her. “That would be lovely.”

With great deliberation, Mrs Lazenby took the kettle from the draining board and filled it with water over the sink. She placed it on the stove and then spent a long time fiddling with the gas and box of matches.

Rob looked across at Susie with impatience, but she put a finger to her lips.

“Mrs Lazenby, do you know why we are here?” Susie asked.

The housekeeper pulled a chair from under the table and sat down opposite them.

“Was it an accident?”

“I’m sorry?” Rob replied, even though he had heard her clearly.

She turned to face him. “The aeroplane crash. Was it an accident?”

Susie answered, “We don’t know. Why do you ask that?”

Mrs Lazenby looked vague for a moment, as if recalling a dim memory. “It’s not my place to discuss this. You really are best waiting for the professor.”

“I understand that, Mrs Lazenby,” said Susie, “but we are in a rather desperate position. As I think you realised, Mr Milford took a great risk in coming here and now that he’s gone, we are all he has left to ensure that risk wasn’t for nothing.”

The kettle whistled. Mrs Lazenby stood up.

Susie continued. “We think Professor Belkin is the only person who can help bring to a conclusion the work Mr Milford was doing and we need to speak to him today.”

Mrs Lazenby slowly poured the boiling water into a teapot which she then covered with a knitted cosy. Without turning around, she asked, “And who are you again?”

Rob watched her lift the teapot onto the table.

“I took a significant risk coming here today, Mrs Lazenby. If you telephone RAF West Porton to confirm my identity, I guarantee the next thing that will happen is that police officers will arrive at this house and arrest me. I have a career as a test pilot at risk. And a wife.” His voice cracked with the words. “I realise you only have my word on this, but please, Mrs Lazenby, I would give everything I have to ensure that Squadron Leader Milford’s discovery does not die with him. Please help me.”

Mrs Lazenby reached into a cupboard and retrieved three cups, followed by three saucers.

Finally, she returned from the refrigerator with a jug of milk.

“I see,” she said, and sat down. “I’m afraid you won’t want to hear what I’m about to say. The professor is a long way away. More than a day, I fear, with the ferry crossing times.”

“Is he in France?” Susie asked.

“No, not France, but he may as well be. The professor takes his summer holiday on Lundy, and he has done every year that I’ve known him.”

“Lundy?”

“An island off the north Devon coast,” Rob said. He looked at Mrs Lazenby. “I didn’t know anyone lived there.”

“I believe there are some holiday cottages. The professor has an arrangement with a gentleman. Mr MacPherson.”

Susie had visibly slumped.

But Rob was already thinking about their next move.

“We can get there today.”

Mrs Lazenby looked doubtful. “I can give you the address, but it takes the professor more than five hours to drive to the port, and then I understand there’s only two crossings a day. You’ll be lucky if you’re there before tomorrow lunchtime. So, unless you brought one of your fancy aeroplanes with you, I’m afraid you’re out of luck.”

Susie looked at Rob with an eyebrow raised.

He was smiling.

THEY STEPPED onto the street into bright sunshine. Rob turned back to Mrs Lazenby at the door.

“You’ve been extremely helpful. I can tell you guard the professor’s privacy closely, but I believe you’ve done the right thing.”

“Mrs Lazenby,” Susie said, “did the professor take any work related items with him on holiday?”

She shook her head. “Not at all. He goes to get away from all that. He tells me he doesn’t even read the newspaper.”

“That explains why he hasn’t contacted us.”

They walked back to Susie’s car. Rob studied the brief address.

Old Light Cottage, Lundy

They pulled over at the first phone box and Rob dialled the Ministry operator, asking to be put through to the operations desk at 47 Squadron.

They quickly found JR.

The old pilot laughed when he heard the plan.

“In for a penny, I guess. I’ll do some planning and see if we can’t beg some paraffin from the good people at RAF Abingdon.” He paused. “I’ll have to look at the strip carefully. Getting in is one thing, but we’ll need to get out again.”

“Thank you, JR.”

Susie steered them onto the main road again, and they headed back toward Abingdon.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Rob said.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. We need irrefutable evidence, remember. I was hoping we’d be poring over results from the sixty reels by now, preferably with the tapes themselves still intact.” She shrugged. “What are we going to find in Lundy?”

“The truth?”

Susie changed into top gear. “Unfortunately, the truth isn’t usually enough.”