Page 106 of The Gathering Storm (Morland Dynasty #36)

‘Well, they’ve been doing proving flights for five weeks, of course, carrying mail only,’ Jack said.

‘And then there was an inspection flight with just twelve passengers, members of the press, before they could get the CAA certificate – that’s the Civil Aviation Authority.

But they’ve been testing mail routes since last year.

The problem has always been how to carry enough fuel.

The mail clippers used up so much of their internal space with fuel tanks there wasn’t room for passengers. ’

‘They tinkered with the idea of air-to-air refuelling,’ Helen said. ‘You know, Alan Cobham’s probe-and-drogue system. But I doubt they’d ever get permission to do that with paying passengers on board.’

‘I don’t suppose the passengers would care for it much, either,’ said Basil. ‘Anyway, I must say, if I were crossing all that water, I think I’d like to know it was on a sea plane, just in case.’

‘Darling, you can have no idea how nearly impossible it would be to put down a sea plane safely in mid-Atlantic,’ Helen said.

‘So what’s the point, then?’

‘Being able to stop and refuel at places without air strips,’ Jack said. ‘Like Horta on the southern route to Europe, and Ireland and Newfoundland on the northern route to America.’

‘I expect it was very luxurious,’ Basil said.

‘They did their best,’ said Helen. ‘The bunks convert into beds. Dinner was silver service, six courses, with chefs trained in four-star hotels. Separate lounge and dining areas. Male and female dressing rooms so they could change for bed. I read an account by a passenger who said it was all so nice she forgot she was flying.’ She shrugged.

‘I can’t quite see how that was possible, given the noise.

Aeroplanes are never quiet. I suppose it was poetic licence. ’

‘Given enough champagne and caviar, people can ignore anything,’ Basil said.

‘These flying boats are only an interim measure, anyway,’ Jack said.

‘They’re too slow, and the choice of routes is restricted.

Lufthansa flew an airliner non-stop from Berlin to New York last year as a proving flight for a landplane service across the Atlantic.

I’ve heard they’re working towards a regular passenger service.

It would be a pity if we let the Germans get ahead of us, like they did with the airships.

Especially given the situation.’ He looked at Basil speculatively, a question forming in his eyes.

‘Have you heard from Michael recently?’ Basil asked, desperate to keep the conversation going.

‘Yes, last week. He’s just been commissioned into a frigate, HMS Fortunate ,’ Helen said. ‘You know he’s a sub-lieutenant now?’

‘He’ll be made up to full lieutenant automatically as soon as the war starts,’ Jack said. ‘Promotion’s always quicker in wartime. And what about you, Basil? When are you going to start taking this seriously?’

So they had arrived at him at last, despite his efforts. ‘I take everything seriously, Dad,’ he said. ‘I’m a reporter. We see all the worst aspects of humanity. It doesn’t exactly make for frivolity.’

‘And yet here you are being frivolous,’ Jack said.

‘Darling,’ Helen protested.

Jack was not diverted. ‘Where will you be when war is declared? You could have volunteered and been in uniform by now. Are you hoping to stay a journalist all through? You know that’s not a reserved occupation, don’t you?’

‘I have plans in place,’ Basil said.

‘What plans?’ Jack said suspiciously.

There was no help for it. ‘I have been approached by – certain people. High-up people. But I can’t tell you more than that. I’ve been told not to talk about it.’

His father was still bristling with doubt, and Basil couldn’t blame him, given his history. So he smiled at his mother, who came to his rescue.

‘Of course, if you can’t talk about it, we must respect that,’ she said.

She was giving him a searching look, but he thought it was not a suspicious one – more that of a mother hoping that whatever he was going to do would not be too dangerous.

Unfortunately, she was deflected onto his personal life.

‘How are things with you in general? Have you met any nice girls? When are you going to bring someone home for us to meet?’

‘You know me, Mum,’ he said. ‘You’re the only woman in the world for me.’

‘Flummery,’ Helen said. ‘I’m sure you—’

Time to divert attention again. ‘I think you really ought to call the baby Dixie,’ he said to Freddie, who had been following the conversation like someone at a tennis match. ‘It’s a delicious name – and unique. What do the boys think about their new sister?’

There was nothing Freddie liked talking about more than his children. The topic lasted until tea arrived, and the nanny brought in Douglas and Peter to entertain the company.

‘There’s another one!’ Basil said.

‘Another what?’ Richard asked.

‘Woman carrying a gas-mask.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Richard.

They were walking in Green Park, looking for an empty bench, having bought sandwiches at the coffee stall by the gate. Richard had phoned to suggest they had lunch together, but when they met, Basil said it was too nice to be indoors.

‘Apparently, the wardens are telling people they should get into the habit of carrying them about all the time,’ Basil said.

‘I heard that some women are treating them as a fashion item. The Army and Navy are even selling a special gas-mask bag you can wear over your shoulder.’ It was Gloria who had told him that.

She’d said it was a ridiculous idea, and the bags were hideous.

‘Here’s a bench,’ Richard said.

They sat and opened their sandwich bags, and at once, as if by magic, the path in front of them burst into a full bloom of pigeons.

It was another lovely day in what had been so far a lovely summer. The weather was clear and hot, with no oppressive mugginess. ‘This is nice,’ Basil said. ‘I’m glad you suggested it.’

Richard gave a rueful smile. ‘I don’t have much else to do. My business is in the doldrums, and my family is far away.’

‘Yes, I’m sorry about Cynthia. But I expect she feels safer over there.’

‘She writes cheerful letters,’ Richard said, ‘but with a hint of second thoughts, if I’m reading between the lines. It was a drastic solution.’

‘Are you still working with the Kindertransport scheme?’

‘We’re busier than ever. We’ve got to get as many out as possible while we still can. It gives me something useful to do, at any rate.’ He examined his sandwich, and took a bite. ‘You’re the one with the best access to the news. What’s going on over there?’

‘Oh, the German press is full of anti-Polish propaganda, trying to destabilise the Polish government and whip up German fighting madness. You know that Hitler revoked the non-aggression treaty they had with Poland?’

‘Yes, I read that.’

‘And the German ambassador in Moscow, von Schulenberg, is busy trying to woo the Soviets – which, after the years they’ve spent denouncing Jewish Bolshevism as the greatest threat to civilisation, would be quite funny if it weren’t so serious.’

‘But I thought we were trying to woo the Soviets,’ Richard said.

‘We are – us and France,’ said Basil. ‘With the greatest reluctance, of course. Our leaders would much rather come to an accommodation with Germany, which is at least a civilised country. And the prospect of a Soviet Union bolstered by victory is horrifying – except to my editor and the Left Book Club. So we woo, but without much enthusiasm. And it’s anyone’s guess which way Uncle Joe Stalin will eventually jump.

At the moment, I understand, the Reds simply don’t believe the Germans are serious about a rapprochement , so that works in our favour. ’

‘If they side with us, will that be enough?’

‘To prevent war? I don’t know. When you’ve got a madman drunk on fantasies of conquest, rational decisions can’t be relied on.

There’s no doubt that Hitler’s planning an invasion of Poland – has been for months.

Whether it will go ahead depends on whether he can be persuaded out of it.

’ He looked at Richard. ‘Frankly, I’m not holding out much hope. ’

Richard nodded, and they were silent for a while, eating, watching the endless stream of passers-by, lulled by the burbling of the pigeons, the soft background sound of conversations and the further-off murmur of traffic.

The world seemed like a big, peaceful humming top, spinning on the point of Green Park.

Then Richard said, ‘There’s another one. God, I hate the sight of those things! I think it was the gas mask that was the last straw, as far as Cynthia was concerned.’

‘They’re pretty ugly,’ Basil agreed. ‘And I’ve never liked anything over my face – makes me feel panicky. I find it a bit sinister that the special mask for small children has a safety catch to stop them being able to get it off. Now that would have had me in hysterics when I was a kid.’

‘Better than being gassed, though,’ Richard said. ‘Uncle Oliver saw the effects of gassing during the war. He doesn’t like to talk about it, but when he does … Well, you wouldn’t want to go that way.’

‘No, I suppose not. How is it, living there?’

‘Altogether too easy,’ Richard said. ‘They’re so tactful. I’m welcome to come through any time, but they never bother me. One of their housemaids comes in when I’m out and cleans, and if I leave a note saying I’ll be in for dinner and what time, she cooks and serves it.’

‘You’re spoiled. If I eat in, I have to manage for myself. Sausages feature heavily on the menu. If I were you, I’d accept every invitation to dine with my dear old uncle. Have you seen anything of Charlotte, by the way? Does she visit them?’

‘I haven’t seen her at all,’ Richard said. ‘And, no, she doesn’t. She and Launde seem to live a completely separate life from everyone we know.’