The Last Letter from Juliet - Melanie Hudson Page 0,18
watched him. He tittered to himself while reading, seemingly a different man from yesterday – a happy-go-lucky, relaxed man. I coughed to attract attention and hoped that the midday winter sun backlighting me in the doorway would highlight the copper (my mother called it red) hair in just the right way. He looked up and smiled.
‘Hello, there,’ he said, putting the comic down before making his way around the wing and stepping towards me. His greeting had the casual air of an old friend about it.
Who was this new man with his relaxed airs?
Whoever he was he was dressed in layers of warm clothes.
Ready for flying, no doubt.
The presumption!
‘I thought I’d check the aircraft over for you,’ he said. ‘Make sure she survived the night. She seems perfectly fine, though – not a cow scratch in sight!’
Humour, now? I didn’t smile but sniffed out a kind of thank you. He followed me around the aircraft as I checked her over for myself.
‘You got my note, then?’ he asked.
I paused by the propeller and looked him in the face. ‘Note?’
His expression was perfection – there is nothing more satisfying than witnessing the sudden onset of self-doubt in an overly-confident man.
‘Yes, note,’ he repeated. ‘I delivered it to Lanyon myself, this morning. I asked the maid to take it to you directly.’
I shook my head before unclipping the stowage door. I removed my tool bag and a spare set of overalls and dropped them onto the barn floor.
‘I received no note this morning.’ I glanced up at him again, pulling the overalls on over my flying boots. ‘What did it say?’
‘Say?’ Edward was rubbing his temple now.
‘Yes. The note?’
He considered this.
‘Well, it, er … it …’
I rummaged unnecessarily in the bag before taking out a spanner, stood to my full height – all five foot five inches – and looked up at him.
‘It said that I’d …’ He glanced around the barn, still considering his next sentence.
‘That you’d?’
‘Well, that I’d be here – waiting for you – in case you were free to take me flying this afternoon. You did offer. I’m sure you did.’
I walked around to the engine housing and lifted the casing away.
He followed me.
‘Pass me my tool bag, would you?’
He sighed, picked up the bag and joined me by the engine. I took an oil-stained scarf out of the bag and tied my hair back before finding another rag to check the oil.
‘So, how about it?’ he said, watching me.
‘How about what?’
‘The flight you offered – my flight. How about it?’
I paused to look at him.
‘Today?’ I asked. ‘Right now?’
‘Yes.’
I shook my head and returned to the engine. ‘That’s not possible. Today is a day for essential maintenance. She was a bit sticky in the rudder on the way down and I want to sort it out.’
‘You do?’ he said, his voice playful. ‘You need to sort it out? You’re doing the maintenance?’
Not this again.
‘Yes, Mr Nancarrow. I’m doing the maintenance.’
‘But, how …?’
‘My father wouldn’t allow me to fly solo until I knew how to fix her. He’d say, “There’s absolutely no point gallivanting off around the countryside if you can’t fix your own kite, you know, Juliet, no point at all!” I know exactly what I’m doing, but if you aren’t happy with that state of affairs then I suggest you find someone else to take you flying – a man, perhaps. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m very busy and I suppose you’ll be wanting to be on your way.’
I turned back to the engine.
He smiled then and his shoulders relaxed. I didn’t see the smile or the relax, but I felt them. And then a hand rested gently on my shoulder.
‘You misunderstand me,’ he said. ‘I think it’s wonderful that you know how to maintain her. Truly. And I’d be honoured to fly with you. Today, tomorrow, the next day. Whenever you’re free.’ His hand fell but I didn’t turn around. ‘Perhaps, like you said yesterday, we can shake hands and start again. I have a feeling that I was a bit of a pompous ass yesterday. It’s just, at the time I thought you were very lucky not to crash, and that would have been a terrible waste. I don’t like waste. I’ve seen a lot of unnecessary waste in my life and I over-reacted, I’m sorry.’
I turned to face him, the spanner still in my hand. I eyed him as a mouse would eye a smiling ferret. ‘Start again?’ I asked.