Page 37 of The Gathering Storm (Morland Dynasty #36)

CHAPTER NINE

He was about to go looking for someone when a familiar figure came hurrying out, his broad, pleasant face wreathed with smiles, his thick fair hair escaping from the morning discipline of oil and responding like Jack’s to the teasing fingers of the breeze.

‘Mutt! By all that’s wonderful, Mutt Summers!

’ Jack said, allowing his hand to be engulfed by a big paw.

Joseph ‘Mutt’ Summers had got his nickname during the war.

When they scrambled he would always urinate on the rear wheel of his ’bus before climbing into the cockpit.

It was a sensible precaution, given that a full bladder could prove fatal in a crash, but his fellow fliers had joked that he was marking his territory, like a dog.

He was a Yorkshireman, like Jack, coming originally from Hull, but younger than him.

‘It’s good to see you, old man,’ Summers said, grinning like a dog.

‘Not so much of the “old”, if you please,’ Jack said. ‘Chief test pilot, eh? Now, remember, you’re not supposed to leave the cockpit until you’ve landed.’

Summers laughed. He had been testing an aeroplane one time when it went into a spin, and, unable to stop it, he had tried to bail out.

He had actually climbed out onto the mid section when it stopped spinning and went into a dive.

With only two thousand feet to go, he had stretched out his leg and pushed the stick with his foot, and was able to level the flight and climb back into the cockpit.

‘Never forget that, will you?’ he said. ‘I was damned lucky that day.’

‘Pilots have to be lucky,’ Jack said. ‘If you’re not lucky you’re—’ The last word was ‘dead’, but he stopped short of saying it.

‘I was damned sorry to hear about Reggie Mitchell,’ he said soberly.

Mitchell, the chief designer, had died only the week before.

Jack had met him many times during his days working on seaplanes for the Schneider Trophy.

He’d had a reputation as a difficult man, but all his team had loved him.

‘It was a rotten thing,’ Summers said. ‘The old trouble, you know – it came back. He went on working until a few months ago. Went to Vienna for some new treatment, but no go. Payn’s taken over as chief designer.’

‘“Agony” Payn?’

‘The very same. Large as life and twice as ugly. He’s waiting for us in the shed. Wants to pick your brains.’

‘Well, I was hoping someone would let me know why I was summoned here,’ Jack said, falling in alongside Summers. ‘What is it – the Type 300?’

Summers grinned. ‘Trust you to sniff it out.’

‘I like to keep on top of things,’ Jack said.

The air ministry had issued specifications for a new fighter plane to several manufacturers in 1931, and with Supermarine keen to widen its range from flying boats, Mitchell had taken up the challenge with the Type 224, an open-cockpit, gull-winged monoplane with a fixed undercarriage and a Rolls-Royce Goshawk engine.

It had been unsatisfactory in many ways, and he had started modifying it, until the Type 300 hardly resembled it, with a closed cockpit, oxygen apparatus, a retractable undercarriage, shorter and thinner wings, and a much more powerful Merlin engine. ‘Haven’t they called it the Spitfire?’

Summers smiled. ‘Mitchell thought it was a damned silly name but, then, aren’t they all?’

‘Have you flown it?’

‘Took it up for the first time back in March, at Eastleigh – showing it off for the air min. They were so impressed they ordered three hundred and ten of ’em. Of course, we’re still modifying it. Lots to do.’

‘You sound worried,’ Jack said.

‘Oh, not really. I mean, you know yourself, you keep on ironing out the wrinkles, even after they’ve gone into production.’

‘So what is it, then?’

‘Well, Sir Robert McLean – you know, the big boss at Vickers? – he got rather carried away by enthusiasm and guaranteed the air min delivery of five ’buses a week, starting fifteen months from the date of the first order.

And since the order was put in on the third of June, that means we’re supposed to roll the first ones out by next September. ’

‘That’s a tough one,’ Jack said.

Mutt leaned closer, and became confidential.

‘Just don’t see how it can be done. We’ve only just started fitting out the works for the production.

And apart from anything else, we simply don’t have the physical space here.

This one order is more than double the total number of aircraft we’ve built in twenty years together. ’

‘New premises?’ Jack hazarded.

‘There’ll have to be,’ Summers said. ‘I think they’re looking at some empty space further up the river.

But for now,’ he went on, pausing with his hand on the door of the design shed, ‘we have to concentrate on the modifications. Reggie was never shy of picking other people’s brains, and Agony doesn’t suffer from any false pride, so he suggested we got you here to have a look at the retractable undercarriage, seeing as it was you who designed the bally thing in the first place. Are you game?’

‘All in a good cause,’ Jack said. ‘When the balloon goes up, I want us to have the best there is. What’s she like to fly?’

‘Oh, she’s a honey!’ Summers said enthusiastically. ‘Fast, light, manoeuvrable – the Germans won’t have anything like it. You know how you test for handling by throwing the ’bus into a flick-roll? Well, you can get two and a half flick-rolls out of her!’

‘Impressive.’

‘She’s a bit too sensitive in the rudder, but we’ll sort that out.’

‘God, I’d love to take her up!’

‘We might be able to arrange that.’

‘Really?’ Jack exclaimed.

‘If you can fly a Camel with Archie rattling your ears, you can fly anything. Come on in and talk to Agony and Joe Smith. Jeff Quill and George Pickering are here too – I leave a lot of the test flights to them these days. We’re planning to show her off at Hendon on the twenty-seventh – Sir Robert wants to convince the air min we know what we’re doing … ’

Later, Jack telephoned Helen to say that he’d be staying on for a couple of days. ‘There’s a lot to work out, and they assure me I can be a real help,’ he apologised.

‘Don’t pretend,’ Helen said, laughing. ‘You want to stay. Wild horses wouldn’t drag you away.’

‘Well …’ he admitted.

‘Have you got oil under your fingernails yet?’

‘No. I’ve been all day in the design shed. We’re just heading off for a beer and to find me some lodgings – probably at the Cricketer’s. I wonder how much it’s changed.’

‘Are you wallowing in nostalgia, my love? Revisiting your salad days, before you knew me?’

‘I can’t imagine not knowing you. Simply doesn’t make any sense. Look here, why don’t you come down at the weekend? You’ve nothing on, have you?’

‘The diary is clear. I’ll come on one condition—’

‘That you get to see the Spitfire? She is beautiful – and very different.’

‘Can you get me in?’

‘With your record? I’m sure I can. Did I mention “Agony” Payn is in charge of the design shed now?’

‘There’s a certain note in your voice, Jack Compton,’ Helen said suspiciously. ‘What are you not telling me?’

‘They said I might be able to take her up. There’s an adjustment needed to the rudder, and I said—’

‘Jack!’

‘It’s quite safe. I wouldn’t do any fancy tricks – for one thing, I couldn’t afford to pay for her if I ditched her.’

‘I’m definitely coming,’ Helen said. ‘If only to pick up the pieces.’

Emma and Kit were summoned to the Fort for the 19th of July, and were pleased to discover that, as well as Fruity and Baba Metcalfe and Eddie and Sarah, Oliver and Verena were guests.

‘It certainly helps to have one’s own friends here,’ Emma said.

‘We were caught off guard,’ Oliver said, ‘without a viable excuse.’

‘Don’t be naughty,’ Verena rebuked him. ‘Of course we had to come, to show our support, after that shocking incident on Thursday.’

The King and the Duke of York had been returning from a review of the Brigade of Guards in Hyde Park.

‘I was part of the escort,’ Eddie recounted, ‘but in the second row, and I didn’t see much.

Jack Aird was right behind the King, and he told me all.

The band was leading the way, then the King and Bertie York, then us, and the Brigade marching behind.

Just as we came out from under Admiralty Arch, one of the spectators brought out a revolver and pointed it straight at the King. ’

‘Oh, my goodness! Did he fire it?’ Emma asked.

‘No, because a woman screamed, and one of the police horses was startled and swung its rump round, and apparently knocked the gun out of his hand. It got kicked away under the horse’s hoofs, and three bobbies grabbed the man and hauled him away. Whether he would have fired, we shall never know.’

‘Who was this man, have they said?’

‘I spoke to Sir Philip Game on the telephone yesterday,’ Oliver began.

‘You really do know everyone, don’t you?’ Kit grinned.

‘Ah, well, he’s something of a movie fan. He has a particular crush on Mary Maguire, and thought I might be able to arrange for him to meet her when she comes over.’

‘Who is Mary Maguire?’ Sarah asked.

‘She’s an Australian film actress. You know Sir Philip was governor general of Australia until last year?

He saw her over there in something called Heritage and was struck all-of-a-heap by her nubile dewiness.

She’s just starred in a film called The Flying Doctor , which is a joint British-Australian production so it will be coming here next year, and the rumour is that she’ll be coming too. ’

‘But how do you know her?’ Kit asked.

‘I don’t, but The Flying Doctor is being released by Gaumont, and I know Mark Ostrer of Gaumont – removed a little mole for him last year – so I dare say I can arrange something through him for Sir Philip when the time comes.’

‘And how does he know? No, never mind.’ Kit interrupted himself this time. ‘We shall never get to the point this way. What did Sir Philip say about the thwarted assassin?’