Джеймс Блатч - The Final Flight

Three nights of quiet crying in a strange bed had taken their toll.

After breakfast, she decided she needed to take action.

She tried her best to put aside the emotion that clouded her thoughts and remember what exactly Rob had said.

Not much. But enough for her to believe she was missing something.

Something that involved Millie. Something that began a series of events which ultimately led her here, living with a snobby woman and her compliant husband.

The type of happy marriage she couldn’t begin to contemplate.

Janet had insisted that Rob be given no more chances. But she hadn’t really given him one chance.

She was losing him, even before Janet Laverstock had called with her shocking news. She knew that. But in the clear light, Mary found it hard to believe she’d lost him to a young lover.

His insistence, full of clichés about it not being what it seemed, played over in her mind.

But what to do? She didn’t want to simply arrive back at Trenchard Close.

She needed to embrace something that had been absent from their marriage for some time.

Truth.

And there was only one place she could start.

Only one person she could truly trust.

A noise came from the kitchen as Janet hung up the phone. She appeared, with her trademark bouffant of perfect hair.

“Good news,” she announced. “I’ve found her.”

JR TOOK them low over the island while he and Rob scrutinised the strip.

“It looks smooth enough, but then it would from up here,” Rob said.

They searched for clues to help them with wind speed and direction, eventually spotting a bonfire that showed a fairly stiff south-westerly.

JR descended on the dead side of a left hand circuit and set them up for a slow approach.

The Anson banked onto final. Rob gave JR full flaps. He slowed the aircraft down to sixty knots. With the stiff breeze that gave them a pleasingly slow ground speed, he felt confident that the short strip would accommodate them.

Rob watched as JR skilfully applied thrust with the nose attitude up, holding the aircraft just above the ground, and enabling him to drop on the first part of usable strip.

He glanced back at Susie, who gazed out of the window.

They landed with a thump and JR immediately pulled the throttles back to idle and lowered the nose. The ground was indeed rougher than it looked from above. They bounced in their seats before slowing enough to turn.

It didn’t look like they had much of an area to park, but JR carried on down the strip until they saw a small portion of cut grass off the westerly end.

After bringing the aircraft to a stop, pointing into wind, JR shut her down. Susie appeared behind them.

“We have a visitor.”

She was looking out at a man, maybe in his sixties, walking with a limp toward the aircraft.

Rob unstrapped and went to the door, opening it and lowering the folding stairs to allow Susie to leave first. He pulled off his flying coveralls before following her.

“This is Mr Bonner,” said Susie, raising her voice over the stiff breeze. “He knows where Professor Belkin’s cottage is.”

Rob leant back into the aircraft.

“We’re off. I hope we won’t be too long.”

“No problem,” said JR. “I’ll sit here and contemplate my next career.”

They walked from the grass strip, along a plateau that covered most of the island. Ahead of them lay what looked like a stone lighthouse, isolated and exposed to the prevailing wind.

“The old Light Cottage in the garden.” Bonner pointed at a small stone building. “The MacPhersons own it now. He’s staying there.”

Susie thanked him, but before they could walk off, the man asked them, “Who did you say you were again?”

“Oxford University business,” she replied. “Very urgent.”

Bonner didn’t look convinced.

“An urgent maths problem?”

“Yes!” said Susie brightly, and they set off.

THE COTTAGE WAS TINY. As they approached it, Rob looked for signs of an ageing maths professor, but it appeared empty.

They arrived at the small wooden door and glanced at each other before Susie gave it a few hefty thumps with her small fist.

No sound from within, but the wind carried a new voice to them. They whipped around.

“Are you looking for me?”

A grey-haired man, with woollen jumper and baggy red trousers, lowered himself down the grass bank with the aid of a walking stick. A pair of glasses hung from a chain around his neck, and he carried a pair of binoculars.

“Professor Belkin?” called Susie.

He didn’t immediately answer, but concentrated on the last few steps. Rob went forward to help him down.

He steadied himself on the flat ground that ran around the cottage.

“I am he. To what do I owe this pleasure?” Belkin said, and gave them a warm smile.

“I’m Robert May and this is my colleague Susie. Perhaps we could go inside?”

“Yes, if you like. I have little to offer, I’m afraid, but I could rustle up a cup of tea. Or maybe something stronger?”

He opened the door, which wasn’t locked.

“Arrive in that thing, did you?” Belkin said, motioning toward the airstrip.

“We did. I’m afraid it’s rather urgent.”

The professor took a seat by the door, next to a small cabinet. “Perhaps one of you would be kind enough to make the tea? The fresh air does rather take it out of me. But I enjoy feeling tired. It’s one of life’s pleasures when you get to my age.”

Susie got up and moved to an old range at the side of the room. She found a stainless steel kettle and a china teapot.

“Professor Belkin, we’ve taken a considerable risk to visit you today. In fact, believe it or not, the RAF is currently looking for that aeroplane we arrived in.”

“I see,” the old man said.

“Can I ask you if you have ever met Squadron Leader Christopher Milford?”

The professor considered the question for a moment. “Perhaps you should tell me why you’re here.”

Rob glanced at Susie; she gave a small nod.

“I’m very sorry to tell you that Millie died in an aircraft accident on the 24th June.”

The professor bowed his head. “Oh, dear me. That is terribly, terribly sad. I am so very sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you, Professor. He was a good friend. But I’m afraid I rather failed in my duty to him. We’re here to make amends.”

“Did the bastards kill him?” the professor asked with nonchalance, as if this was a perfectly reasonable question in the circumstances.

Rob again looked at Susie.

“We don’t know,” she answered. “Maybe.”

The professor nodded, appearing to accept this as a potential outcome for Millie.

“After Millie died,” Rob continued, “they found out what he had been up to. They’re currently trying to portray him as a traitor, but we know better. We know he was trying to prove a new guidance system was fatally flawed, and that the trial to see it into service was a sham. I believe you may have helped him?”

The professor didn’t answer. Susie left the tea-making and moved from the kitchen area, pulling a piece of paper from her pocket. She unfolded it and handed it to Belkin. He put his reading glasses on and held it up to catch the light from the window.

Susie sat down at the table.

Eventually, the professor relaxed his hand, let it drop to his lap and looked at them expectantly.

“So, what do you need to know?”

“What does it mean? What did you find out?”

He looked across to Susie. “I can see that Mr May is with the Royal Air Force, but may I ask about your role, miss?”

“Attenborough. Susie Attenborough. Can I assume it was you who passed a certain telephone number to Mr Milford?”