Chapter Four
It was a clear day, and Point Cook was practically deserted when the ceremonial party arrived for Sir Andrew's little jolly. It was a low-key affair – only the Mayor, the Chief Commissioner (acting social secretary) and a few hangers-on were in attendance to watch Wing Commander Matthews take the Englishman for a spin. Detective Inspector Jack Robinson and the Hon Phryne Fisher were there purely because they had nothing else to do at the time (after all, what else were Thursday afternoons for?).
The fact that Mr Butler had felt it important for them to attend as soon as he heard the event was taking place was immaterial, and he drove them there himself. He then sat in the Hispano enjoying a pipe. Jack was a bit jealous of that, if truth be told – not the pipe, just the ability to escape the unedifying scene of the privileged classes shaking each other by the hand prior to enjoying some privileges.
"Remind me, why did we come along to this?" he muttered to Phryne as they exhibited matching saccharine smiles from their position leaning against the car's elegant wheel-arch.
"Jack, all I know is that Mr B said he would pack us a picnic. He said it very firmly, so I realised that meant we would be here," she hissed back. "Look on the bright side – it's one of Mr Butler's picnics".
Mollified, he leaned back against the car, stuck his hands in his pockets, and contented himself with wasting otherwise valuable time standing next to the most fabulous extant example of Christendom, who also happened to be his wife.
The Moth took off.
"I must say, I'm impressed with Matthews," remarked Phryne, taking her binoculars from her eyes once take-off was accomplished. "If I was going to take someone for a joyride, I'd probably try to avoid it being Pallister."
She returned her gaze to the plane.
"Oh well, he can get a lovely view of our city from a few thousand feet, which is probably all he wants anyway."
Then she straightened, and her nose twitched in amusement. "Oh, hel-lo! A tidy little roll. Well done, Wing Commander!"
Jack glanced back to the plane, and saw it inverted, half way through a clinically-executed roll. "I don't suppose," he asked delicately, "the Wing Commander could simply have been trying to make Sir Andrew lose his breakfast?"
Phryne looked across at him with barely-hidden glee.
"It's got to be a possibility, and one I think we can all applaud, Jack, don't you?"
She returned her gaze to the skies, and smiled in satisfaction as the plane swept a broad curve above the western fringe of the city, before heading back towards the airfield. Just as it was coming overhead once more, it turned nose up, and began an elegant circular climb on a vertical axis.
"Oooh!" Phryne was pure admiration now. "He's going to loop. No reason why not, after all, the Moth's up to it. Good for him! But … hang on, what's that?"
Jack was already running.
Something had fallen from the plane just as it passed the apex of the circle it was describing in the air. It appeared to hit the tail of the Moth a glancing blow before descending to the ground, and the aircraft, rather than completing its loop, rolled back to upright.
The something had waving arms. Also legs.
Both arms and legs ceased to wave quite quickly, as their owner perhaps comprehended the most likely subsequent event.
The element of air may have embraced him, but the element of earth proved unforgiving in its welcome to Sir Andrew Pallister.