‘Not really. I’ve got a picture of him. I know what he looked like.’
‘Will you show me sometime? I’d like to see it.’
‘’Course…Hey, what time is it?’
He took his pocket watch from the fob in his waistcoat. ‘Nearly nine, according to this.’
‘Maybe we should head back to meet the others.’ She smoothed the back of her skirt with her hands and stood up, ready.
‘I suppose you’re right, Clover.’ He put the photographs back into their envelope and stood up with her. ‘Look, I might not get the opportunity later, so do you mind if I ask you something now?’
The sun was going down and the sky was shot with streaks of orange and magenta. Distant clouds that had settled on the horizon were caught in the blaze, daubed with the same vivid colours. Tom and Clover started walking, casting long shadows across the neat lawns of the park.
‘What did you want to ask me, Tom?’
‘If I can see you again – another evening.’
‘Yes, please, I’d like that,’ she answered softly, sincerely, looking into his eyes. ‘When?’
‘Whenever you can. How about Wednesday?’
‘All right, Wednesday. Eight o’ clock again?’
‘Eight o’ clock would suit very well…’
He smiled, took her hand and her heart starting beating noticeably faster.
Clover, her bright eyes alive with the exhilaration of one hour alone with Tom Doubleday, walked buoyantly down the passage and through the door of the snug. When he saw her, Ned looked at her in disbelief and unwittingly stood up. He’d never seen her looking like this, like a princess all in white, with her hair done so elegantly beneath the pretty hat that was adorned with flowers. The Brisco family were already supping their first drinks with Julian Oakley and a mousy young woman who was evidently his wife. Ned looked disconcerted standing there, trussed up in a stiff collar and necktie as he supped a pint of mild ale. Florrie Brisco wore a grey dress that she’d evidently bought when she was a stone and a half lighter, and Old Man Brisco wore a striped shirt with a mismatched, crumpled collar beneath his unpressed serge suit.
‘Clover!’ Ned greeted. ‘Where’ve you been? Your stepsister said you’d gone —’
Then he saw Tom.
He watched Tom follow this princess in. He watched her turn to him and smile enigmatically, as if they shared a thousand secrets. Ned’s mouth fell open with disappointment that was rapidly spiralling into an abyss.
‘I went for a walk in Buffery Park with Tom,’ she said casually, as if it was an everyday occurrence, trying to make his fall gentler. ‘He wanted to show me the photographs he took this morning. They’re ever so good.’
He nodded unsurely. Maybe he was jumping to conclusions too quickly. ‘I’ll get you a drink, Clover. And you, Tom,’ he added, trying to hide any animosity. ‘What would you like?’
‘A half of shandy, please,’ Clover answered.
‘A pint of bitter, Ned, if that’s all right,’ Tom said.
‘Can we see the photos?’ Julian asked, lighting a cigarette. Tom handed him the envelope and Julian opened it with a professional keenness. ‘Oh, yes…This is exactly what I need to illustrate the report I’ve written,’ he said when he’d looked at them. ‘Can I have these, Tom?’
‘You’d best let Ned see ’em first. They’re for him. I could bring some prints round to your office tomorrow.’
Meanwhile, Amos was keen to introduce Clover to his wife. ‘Clover, come here a minute and meet our Ida…This is Clover, our Ida. Dint I tell yer as she was a bit of a bobbydazzler?’
‘What a beautiful frock,’ Ida commented, scrutinising Clover’s lovely outfit. ‘You never work in a foundry?’
Clover laughed generously. ‘Not in this outfit. But yes, I work at the Coneygree – when I’m not helping Ned build his machine.’
‘Dint he do well, eh? Amos is that proud…I wished as I’d sid it meself.’
‘Well, I daresay there’ll be other opportunities, Ida,’ Clover assured her. ‘He’s not going to give up now.’
‘And him getting his name in nex’ wik’s paper and all.’
‘And his picture,’ Clover added.
And so it went on. Amos fetched a round of drinks from the hatch in the passage that opened into the taproom, then Tom paid for a round. The party was beginning to get noisier, the room smokier and soon Elijah joined them. He, too, paid for a round while Jake came in carrying a lighted spill and lit the oil lamps. Mary Ann put in an appearance on her way to the taproom and Ramona joined them later.
‘Ramona, you haven’t met Ned before, have you?’ Clover said.
‘No.’ She looked around. Tom Doubleday smiled his good wishes but she failed to acknowledge him and her eyes settled on the only man other than Elijah who was not ostensibly with a woman.
Clover introduced them and Ned stood up. He shook Ramona’s hand uncertainly and sheepishly avoided eye contact. ‘Nice to meet you, Ramona. Clover’s told me about you.’
‘Nice things, I hope.’
‘Nothing bad.’ He smiled self-consciously. ‘Er – can I buy you a drink? It’s my celebration and I think I’ve bought everybody else one.’
‘There’s no rush, Ned,’ Ramona replied easily. ‘I’ve not long had a drink. Somebody bought me one in the taproom. Tell me about your flying machine first. It sounds really interesting.’ She smiled, a warm, open smile.
‘What do you want to know?’ he asked, at once feeling comfortable with Clover’s pretty stepsister.
‘Oh, I dunno…How you got started, why you decided to build your own machine. Things like that. I think it’s really interesting. I think you’ve done wonders, Ned, I really do.’
‘D’you want to sit down, Ramona?’
‘Thank you.’ She sat beside him and Ned shuffled along the settle to make more room. ‘You’re a real gentleman, Ned and no mistake. So what a day you’ve had. What a triumph. Are you going to let me see the photos Tom Doubleday took?’
Ned retrieved them and opened the envelope. ‘Here, look. Here’s one of me actually in flight…’
‘My God…’ She looked up from the photograph and glanced at him, catching the pride in his eyes. ‘How did it feel, to be actually flying?’
Ned shook his head. ‘I can’t describe it, Ramona. I haven’t got the words. All I can tell you is the human race should’ve done it a long time ago.’
She looked at him again, her clear brown eyes meeting his with all the appeal she could summon. He could not maintain the eye contact, however. Her look seemed brim full of veneration, of wonderment. No girl had ever looked at him like that before – with such beautiful eyes. He did not know how to react. He glanced towards Clover; she was intent on something Tom Doubleday was saying.
‘So what gave you the inspiration, Ned?’
‘Well, when I was about ten years old my father bought me a book called Progress in Flying Machines. It was written in 1894 by an American called Octave Chanute. Ever since then—’
‘Did they build flying machines that long ago? In 1894?’
‘Even before that. Years and years before.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes. In 1809 Sir George Cayley,