Page 161 of The Gathering Storm

Charlotte stood up, resolve hardening. ‘No, I won’t be dining in,’ she said. ‘Pack me an overnight case. The yellow linen for tomorrow will do, with the two-tone shoes. I shan’t need you with me. I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon, and I’ll talk about the rest of the packing then.’

Polly and Lennie were coming back from a ride, talking about the harvest. The wonderful dry, clear weather had resulted in an excellent wheat yield, which they had been able to get in early. Now in August the oats were about ready, and there would be a good second cut of hay.

‘Second cut always smells so much sweeter,’ Polly said.

‘It’s more nourishing, too,’ said Lennie.

She looked at him. ‘How would you know that?’

‘John Burton told me,’ he admitted. ‘Don’t laugh at me. I have to learn these things. Are you going to put the sheep onto the stubble fields?’

‘Yes, Farmer Giles! They help to manure it. At Moon’s Rush they put pigs on the stubble – they’re as good as ploughing for turning over the soil.’

They had reached the Monument and Morland Place appeared at the bottom of the slope before them. Polly halted automatically. ‘I love seeing it from this viewpoint,’ she said. ‘It looks so welcoming. Does it look like home to you now?’

‘I think it always did,’ Lennie said. ‘Remember I lived here during the war. And back in the States it was always only an apartment. I don’t think you can get attached to an apartment in the same way. Look at it! Dreaming in the sun the way it has for five hundred years. It looks so unchangeable.’

Polly laughed. ‘Cross your fingers when you say that.’

They started down the slope. They heard the sound of an aeroplane’s engine, but paid no attention. There were so many of them now, it had become something you didn’t bother to notice.

‘It’s just a trainer,’ Polly said, when it came into sight, heading across her view from right to left.

‘An Avro 621,’ Lennie said.

She was amused. ‘Do you know everything?’

‘Very nearly,’ he said. ‘Probably some lad’s first solo flight.’

She frowned. ‘But he’s much too low. He needs to pull up!’

It happened so quickly. Even as her voice rose in alarm at the end of the short sentence, there was a tremendous bang as the fixed undercarriage hit the chapel roof. The plane ricocheted up, missed the top of the gatehouse by a whisker, rocked wildly as the pilot fought to regain control, skimmed across the track and the rails on the far side, hit the grass, stuck its nose down and flipped over onto its back.

Polly and Lennie were already cantering down the slope. People came running out of Morland Place, across the drawbridge, vaulting or climbing over the rails. Thanking heaven she was on Zephyr, Polly popped him neatly over into the field, and shouted to Hodgson, one of her grooms, to come and take him. Lennie could not get his mount to jump into the field, scared of the alien thing in it, and had to grab someone to hold it while he climbed over.

The first-comers had reached the plane. It looked so pathetic and helpless on its back, with one wheel still spinning, the other missing, presumably torn off. The pilot was, thank God, already crawling out, and willing hands grabbed him and hauled him to his feet. She shouted to everyone to get clear, in case it caught fire, but he said, ‘It’s all right, I’ve switched off.’

He pulled off his flying helmet as she reached him. He was as tall as her, and skinny, He looked, to her eyes, about fourteen. They were so young! He had straight dark hair, flattened by the helmet, and blue eyes. There was a big red mark on his forehead, already swelling into a lump, but he didn’t appear to have any other injuries, except for seeming, understandably, shaken.

Behind her, she heard Lennie tell someone to go back to the house and telephone the base. ‘They’ll have to send a lorry to fetch the machine.’

The boy turned his attention to Lennie, instinctively recognising authority. ‘I’m awfully sorry, sir,’ he said. ‘Is it your house?’

‘It’s my wife’s,’ Lennie said, reaching Polly’s side just as she answered, ‘Yes,’ to the question. ‘Are you all right?’ Lennie went on.

‘Yes, sir, I think so. Oh, Lord! I’m frightfully sorry about … I hope I haven’t done too much damage. Oh, God, Wing’s going to slaughter me.’

‘Very likely,’ Lennie said. ‘What happened?’

‘I don’t know. I misjudged it. I tried to pull up, but …’ He looked round at the Avro and registered the missing wheel, the other damage to the undercarriage. ‘Wing’s going to kill me,’ he whimpered.

‘You’d better come back to the house, and we’ll put something on that bump,’ Polly said.

He put a vague hand to his forehead, but said, ‘Oh, no, thanks awfully, ma’am, but I must stay with my ’bus, make sure nobody touches her. Oh, Lord, I’ve busted your house! They’re absolutely going to kill me.’ He looked as though he was about to cry. ‘My first solo, and I’ve made such a mucker of it.’

Polly and Lennie exchanged a look. ‘I’ll go back and see what’s happened,’ Lennie said. ‘You stay here until they send someone. They won’t be long.’ He patted the boy’s shoulder. ‘Take it easy, son. It doesn’t look as though you’ve done too much damage, and the government will pay.’

The words didn’t seem to comfort him much. He looked so miserable that he plucked at Polly’s motherly instincts. She suggested he sat down, and said a cigarette might calm him. ‘I don’t smoke,’ he said. But he sat on the grass, rather suddenly.