moving it along the engine bay, pooling light on the glistening valves either side of the exposed camshaft, and I thought again of Steve Liddell and his empty hangar, the concrete floor blackened where the Spitfire had gone up in flames. Harald was talking about boost pressures now and I left the two men to it, walking out into the sunshine and then looking back at our precious aircraft. The Harvard was in there too, a squat, heavy World War II trainer that I’d more or less mastered thanks to Adam, but the jewel in our crown was undoubtedly the Mustang.
Just the shape of the aircraft, the way it sat on its big, wide undercarriage and its neat little tail wheel, told you everything that you ever wanted to know. The big red spinner at the front, the long silver nose, the pert bubble canopy, the bulge of the underslung radiator, there wasn’t a line on the aircraft you’d ever dream of changing. It was like an animal. You could almost reach out and stroke it. You could almost feel how slippery, how fast it was.
I heard Harald laughing, something he didn’t do too often, then he was out in the sunshine again, joining me on the grass. Dave had made a little plaque for him, a replica of the original registration on the cockpit dash, and after he showed it to me he tucked it into the top pocket of the denim shirt he was wearing beneath the leather jacket. He stood beside me, watching a young student pilot making heavy weather of a touch-and-go. Then he jerked a thumb back towards our hangar.
‘ You know the offer’s still there,’ he said. ‘You only have to say the word.’
I nodded. Harald had never made any secret of his desire to buy the rest of the Mustang. He’d even named a price that would, in my present predicament, make life a great deal easier.
‘ Four hundred and ninety-five thousand dollars,’ I murmured. ‘It’s written on my heart.’
‘ I’d go higher,’ he said at once. ‘We could talk about five hundred and fifty.’
‘ Really?’ I looked at him, almost tempted, then he reached out and patted me on the shoulder, as calm and unhurried as ever.
‘ Think about it,’ he said. ‘There’s no rush.’
I returned his smile. He gave me a brief hug and then said goodbye. He’d phone me if there was any news from his boys in mid-Channel. In the mean time, I was to take care. He gave me a nod and a smile and walked away. I watched him circling the Yak, bending to inspect the tyres, then I returned to the hangar. Dave was about to break for lunch and we talked for a couple of minutes while he gloved his hands in Swarfega, getting rid of the oil and the grease. For the moment, I told him, we had to go easy on the maintenance budget. Not that there was a crisis. Not that there was any kind of financial problem. But Adam’s death had naturally turned things upside-down, and just now I was keen to get my bearings before taking the next step. Dave nodded and said it wouldn’t be a problem. He was older than Adam and myself, barely a year off his fiftieth birthday, but he’d always liked Adam and I know the accident had shaken him badly.
Outside, I could hear the burble of the Yak’s big radial as Harald ran through his engine checks. I watched him taxi to the end of the grass strip. His take-off run must have been less than three hundred yards. Then he was airborne, retracting the undercarriage and easing the Yak into a steady climbing turn, the little plane growing smaller and smaller until all I could hear was the faraway beat of the engine.
I turned away. Beside the hangar was the second-hand Portakabin Adam had bought as an office and an ops room. Over the years we’d been on the island, he’d made it his own, cluttering it with half a lifetime’s collection of maps, and snaps, and odd little mementos. Sooner or later I knew I had to go in there and start sorting things out, but I’d been putting off the moment ever since I’d first got the call from the police about the Cessna going
Just the shape of the aircraft, the way it sat on its big, wide undercarriage and its neat little tail wheel, told you everything that you ever wanted to know. The big red spinner at the front, the long silver nose, the pert bubble canopy, the bulge of the underslung radiator, there wasn’t a line on the aircraft you’d ever dream of changing. It was like an animal. You could almost reach out and stroke it. You could almost feel how slippery, how fast it was.
I heard Harald laughing, something he didn’t do too often, then he was out in the sunshine again, joining me on the grass. Dave had made a little plaque for him, a replica of the original registration on the cockpit dash, and after he showed it to me he tucked it into the top pocket of the denim shirt he was wearing beneath the leather jacket. He stood beside me, watching a young student pilot making heavy weather of a touch-and-go. Then he jerked a thumb back towards our hangar.
‘ You know the offer’s still there,’ he said. ‘You only have to say the word.’
I nodded. Harald had never made any secret of his desire to buy the rest of the Mustang. He’d even named a price that would, in my present predicament, make life a great deal easier.
‘ Four hundred and ninety-five thousand dollars,’ I murmured. ‘It’s written on my heart.’
‘ I’d go higher,’ he said at once. ‘We could talk about five hundred and fifty.’
‘ Really?’ I looked at him, almost tempted, then he reached out and patted me on the shoulder, as calm and unhurried as ever.
‘ Think about it,’ he said. ‘There’s no rush.’
I returned his smile. He gave me a brief hug and then said goodbye. He’d phone me if there was any news from his boys in mid-Channel. In the mean time, I was to take care. He gave me a nod and a smile and walked away. I watched him circling the Yak, bending to inspect the tyres, then I returned to the hangar. Dave was about to break for lunch and we talked for a couple of minutes while he gloved his hands in Swarfega, getting rid of the oil and the grease. For the moment, I told him, we had to go easy on the maintenance budget. Not that there was a crisis. Not that there was any kind of financial problem. But Adam’s death had naturally turned things upside-down, and just now I was keen to get my bearings before taking the next step. Dave nodded and said it wouldn’t be a problem. He was older than Adam and myself, barely a year off his fiftieth birthday, but he’d always liked Adam and I know the accident had shaken him badly.
Outside, I could hear the burble of the Yak’s big radial as Harald ran through his engine checks. I watched him taxi to the end of the grass strip. His take-off run must have been less than three hundred yards. Then he was airborne, retracting the undercarriage and easing the Yak into a steady climbing turn, the little plane growing smaller and smaller until all I could hear was the faraway beat of the engine.
I turned away. Beside the hangar was the second-hand Portakabin Adam had bought as an office and an ops room. Over the years we’d been on the island, he’d made it his own, cluttering it with half a lifetime’s collection of maps, and snaps, and odd little mementos. Sooner or later I knew I had to go in there and start sorting things out, but I’d been putting off the moment ever since I’d first got the call from the police about the Cessna going
Similar Books
