Chapter Two
Charles threw down his fountain pen, leaned back in his chair, and stretched his arms in front of him before clasping them behind his head and exhaling. He rubbed the back of his neck to relieve the stiffness that had crept into the muscles from bending his head over the desk for the past two hours and blinked, trying to refocus his eyes. He hated paperwork. It was the worst part of his job here at the airfield.
Charles employed a part-time bookkeeper to ensure the accounts and ledgers were up-to-date; Miss Parkhurst. She was a prim, grey-haired, business-like spinster of indeterminate age although Charles judged she must be at least fifty or possibly even sixty. He sometimes joked to Molly that Pankhurst would have been a more appropriate surname as she was a stickler for correctness, insisting on not only being called by her title but refusing to call Charles by his first name as other employees like Donald MacKenzie were inclined to do. She asserted her rights at every opportunity and was forthright about her views on the employment of women, particularly married women and mothers, having told Molly on first meeting, "It's a disgrace to see talented young women with skills and experience tied to the kitchen sink the moment a man slips a ring on their finger. If women were good enough to be employed during the war it should make little difference now."
She heartily approved of Molly, respecting the fact that she was a skilled mechanic and pilot and consequently considered Charles to be a very modern and enlightened husband and employer. Thankfully, she was as good at her job as her assertions about women's abilities suggested she ought to be and had proved efficient and reliable. When Charles had once ventured to Molly, "I wonder if Miss Parkhurst would have a different view if 'Mr Right' had come along?" Molly had given him a long searching look and said, "That's the worst thing I've heard you say about women since you told me during the war that flying was a 'man's job'."He remembered that arrogant quip so well, the first time he had laid eyes on Molly Dawes at RAF Milton back in 1943. Well, she'd proven him wrong by becoming a competent pilot herself just like the many female ATA pilots he'd seen ferrying aircraft in the later years of the war.
Molly had then giggled and said, "You'd better watch out, Charles, 'cos it looks like Miss Parkhurst thinks you're Mr Right when it comes to husband material."
In spite of her ways, Charles liked Miss Parkhurst. He knew exactly where he stood with her. She liked everything just so and the correct rules of behaviour observed and to him it felt not unlike being back in the RAF where each knew their place determined by rank.
Aside from the everyday work at the airfield, there was, of course, a whole set of other paperwork that only Molly knew anything about. Everything that related to the other activities at the airfield in the services of the government was shrouded in mystery, disguised and kept firmly under the control of Gerald Harker.
During the past eighteen months Charles and Molly had come to know Gerald Harker and his wife, Felicity, better. A strange combination of factors had brought them to each other's attention: the purchase of Greystones following the death of Gerald Harker's Aunt, Richard Murray's recommendation of Charles to Gerald and Gerald's investigation into the strange disappearance of Alice Delaney in 1917, ultimately resulting in the discovery of a body at Hester Rise which was accepted to be that of the unfortunate Alice. The realisation that Gerald's Uncle Maurice, may have had involvement in Alice's death could have created difficulty, but with no blame ever been attached following the 'open verdict' of the inquest, Gerald was content to let the matter lie and was happy to continue with the proposal he had made to Charles.
The arrangement had proved satisfactory so far. Occasionally a light aircraft arrived at the airfield, often very late in the day or very early in the morning and invariably when activity was at its lowest point. A few packages would be unloaded and put away into a storage shed at the opposite end of the airfield away from the main buildings. They were usually collected under cover of darkness and Charles certainly never saw anyone there although he made a point of paying as little attention to the activities as possible. Very occasionally a passenger arrived and was met by an inconspicuous car and whisked away without delay. Charles received a regular payment and only he and Molly knew that the seemingly innocuous invoices and remittance advices from Chatsworth & Sons disguised their true origin and purpose.
However, Charles now had another problem with which to contend. Yesterday, Gerald had invited him over to Willow Dean House to discuss something in more detail. Charles had been to the house on a few occasions since that first nervous visit with Molly when they had been uncertain of Gerald's intentions or who they were dealing with. On the subsequent occasions Gerald had normally wished to discuss special arrangements with him. Charles had complied with his requests but taken the view that he didn't want to know any more than was necessary. He was happy to serve the government but he had no desire to know its secrets.
Gerald was a convivial host, happy to indulge his guest, ply Charles with compliments and, after deciding that the sun was over the yard arm, to offer him a stiff drink. Knowing the scotch would be of the highest quality, Charles accepted and sipped the amber liquid, feeling its warm, comforting glow spread over him.
"Well, Charles, how do you feel our arrangement is working?" Gerald fixed his gazed upon Charles waiting for a response.
Charles wondered what was behind the question. "Very well, Gerald. I trust you're happy with the way everything is operating."
Gerald nodded, "Certainly. We're very happy indeed. However," he paused and took a deep breath, "we'd like to step things up a bit."
Charles put down his glass, wondering what this would entail.
"We'd like to move more cargo through the airfield but it will mean improving the facilities and laying a concrete runway as soon as possible."
Charles raised his eyebrows. This was more than he had expected. Before he could respond, Gerald added, "We realise this will involve considerable expense and naturally funds will be made available for the work. However, you will need to make all the necessary applications for planning permission from the local council. Richard Murray will naturally assist you with the applications." He paused to allow Charles to take this information on board.
Charles' mind was racing. An expansion of this kind would open up many possibilities. Larger aircraft would be able to use the airfield, provided the runway was of sufficient length. He could expand the freight side of his business operations as well as maintaining the flying school. It was an appealing suggestion particularly as the cost would be met by Gerald's employers. Gerald must have realised it was an offer he couldn't refuse. He was sorely tempted to agree there and then but he remembered the one condition he had stipulated when he agreed to work for Gerald.
"I must discuss it with Molly before giving you an answer, but I'd be very surprised if we could find any reason to object to this proposal."
Gerald leaned forward and held out his hand to Charles, "I thought that would probably be the case, but please talk it over with her and let me know as soon as possible." Charles could tell that Gerald already considered it to be a done deal.
Sitting at his desk twenty four hours later, Charles wondered whether it would be quite as simple as it had sounded yesterday. Naturally, he had discussed the proposal with Molly when he returned home that night. She had immediately seen the benefits and been as excited as him about the possibilities.
As soon as he had walked through the door Molly had noticed a spring in his step.
"What's up with you tonight? You look like the cat who got the cream." She walked towards him, a quizzical expression upon her face, trying to fathom out the look in his eyes. It was half excitement, half playful. He reached out to grasp her by the waist as she drew near and pulled her close to him.
"Hey, what's this in aid of?" she laughed her arms naturally reaching up to rest on his shoulders as she leaned back a little, watching the smile hovering on his lips as he gazed down at her.
"Can't a man, kiss his wife when he comes home from work?"
"You'd better do it then," Molly chided him.
He leaned towards Molly and kissed her with such sudden, passionate haste that she was surprised and a little breathless when he released her a minute later and giggling she said in a hushed tone, "It's no good getting any ideas, Charles, Bella and the children are upstairs."
Charles sighed and hugged her close, stroking her long dark hair. "I love you Mrs James. Have I ever told you that?"
Molly laughed softly, "Yes. But remind me as often as you like."
For a brief moment Charles wished he and Molly had the house to themselves at this moment, "Oh, I'd like to remind you," he whispered, "but It looks like it will have to wait until later."
Molly reached up to touch his face, "Good job I'm the patient type then."
Charles laughed in disbelief, "Since when?"
"Since I realised that good things come to those who wait." Her tone was playful and Charles loved her for it. Not for the first time in the last ten years he thanked the good fortune that had brought Molly into his life that spring day back in 1943. He hadn't known it then but she had been destined to change his whole world.
They stood together in the hall, locked in a wordless embrace, each enjoying the quiet moment of togetherness, the feel of their arms around each other, Molly's head resting against Charles' chest, listening to his heart beating strong and steady. When he finally, reluctantly, released her, he reached for her hand and led her towards the lounge saying, "Come this way, I've got some news."
Like Charles, Molly could see no reason to object to Gerald's proposal. They had nothing to lose and everything to gain from the benefits it would bring and she readily agreed with him that they should accept the proposal. When Charles had called Richard Murray this morning he had been full of enthusiasm for the idea and ready to accept Richard's advice and assistance. The conversation had flowed much as expected with Richard running through the process and practicalities of putting the proposals forward for approval by the council. It was only as the conversation was drawing to a close that he had introduced one final point for consideration.
"There may be one slightly sticky point, Charles." Charles waited for Richard to advise him. "Your nearest neighbour, Sir Percival Wilton, isn't exactly a fan of the airfield. He's been expressing his views on it at every opportunity for the past fifteen years ever since The Air Ministry first acquired the site before the war. You were fortunate to purchase the lease when it became available."
Charles knew his name. He was a local dignitary, a Justice of the Peace and active in local politics.
"Unfortunately," Richard continued, "he's just been elected Chairman of the Planning Committee. We're going to have to tread very carefully with our application as I expect him to take a very dim view of it. We'll do everything we can to smooth the way for you, but we very much need it to be seen locally that the proposals are yours and yours alone. I'm sure you understand."
Hours later, sitting at his desk, trying to get his thoughts in order and put together the wording of the application Charles was beginning to appreciate how difficult his task was going to be. Richard was arranging for the necessary surveys and plans to be drawn up and for Charles to be furnished with all the technical details necessary but he needed to put forward sound reasons for the work to be done and state how he expected it to benefit the local area. He couldn't imagine that someone like Sir Percival Wilton was going to relish an increase in aircraft flying over his land and larger and noisier aircraft to boot. He was going to need more than a little luck to achieve his goal without relying on the intervention of those with considerably more power at their disposal than himself.