“MAN FROM THE AIRPORT”

Wairarapa Times-Age, 16 December 1939, Page 12

“MAN FROM THE AIRPORT”

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. COPYRIGHT.

By

LESLIE BERESFORD.

Author of “Mr Appleton Awakes,” "The Other Mr North," etc.

CHAPTER V. Continued. “I look like being left on the shelf," she told her reflection in the mirror, and then shrugged her shoulders. "Well, it’ll be a shelf full of money, anyhow. So—what does it matter?" ,She drove down to Gatwick next morning, lunched, there at the airport restaurant, changed into air-kit, and received her private plane over from the mechanic. One thing she could unquestionably hold, to her credit. Her flying was perfect. In fact, she was happiest when in the air. The trouble was that you couldn’t stop always in the air, and so those periods of happiness were short. This afternoon, flying was easy. A cloudless ■ sky, a practically windless day, made the going almost child’s play. It was quite a short flight from Gatwick to Buckinghamshire, but —to get the utmost enjoyment out of it—she lengthened it considerably. When, in the end, she came over the landing ground at Beaconsfield, she lingered for a while before she came down. From the air, the bird’s bye view was delightful. Into the carpet of woodlands and cultivated acres below, there seemed to be woven like gems, the tiny hamlets, the towns, the isolated country-houses which included her own. That lovely place, just on the outskirts of Beaconsfield,, thrust upwards its turrets of white, and its blue-tiled roof. It was surrounded by beautiful flowered grounds, a blaze of colour in in the afternoon sun. Paula, flying low over it, let her engine run full out, and swing round to make her landing into the wind at the Beaconsfield flying field. It was a wild, almost dangerous, landing which eventually she achieved. She was in a wild, irresponsible mood, anyhow. The wheels of the undercarriage jarred roughly, and her taxi-ing was sufficiently erratic to earn the disapproval of the ground-staff.

Some of these hurried over to receive he) - , for she tipped heavily, and so was a marked person, on whom attention should be lavished. She noticed vaguely, before she had cut off her engine, that the men were waving frantically at her, and shouting a warning she did not understand at once. Coming down from the machine, she was less vaguely aware of a man whose lean and tanned face immediately arrested her attention, because of the violent fury glittering in his eyes. He came towards her, ahead of the groundstaff. “What sort of a fool flyer do you call yourself?” he demanded of her, in a voice which had the faintest of American accents in its note. She stared at him in amazement and cool contempt. "Who are you? she asked. "And how dare you talk to me like that? You evidently don’t know who I am “And I dont want to know." ho retorted. ‘Excepting that I shall report you to the Air Ministry, and do all I possibly can to have your licence taken away. The air isn’t the place for potential suicides, even if they are women.” Paula, acknowledged even by the best flying men to be an accomplished aii woman, stared at the lean and tanned face of this complete stranger. His remarks were an insult. A flush dyed her cheeks, then drained away, leaving her pale and cold. “Are you trying to be funny?” she asked. “Funny ?” He asked her angrily. "There’s nothing funny about escaping death by a hair’s breadth, as I’ve just done— arid no thanks to you and your careless handling of that ’plane." She realised, now for the first time what actually was the trouble. She must have come very near to crashing into a machine, standing now only a few feet away. She remembered, vaguely having noticed a little group of people hurriedly dispersing as she landed.

She was not prepared, however, to admit herself in the wrong. The less because somehow she found herself rather attracted by the man's face, as we!! as something dominating in his manner. She allowed her gaze slowly to impress his picture on her mind. "Really?" she retorted in her cool, aloof voice. "American, aren’t you?" "Canadian," ne corrected her, and added: "Not that it matters who or what I may be. The point is that you ought not to be allowed to run amokon a flying ground like this ” "No?" she caught him up, with a dry little laugh, slipped a cigarette from a slim gold case, placed it between her lips and snapped a tiny flame from a petrol-lighter. She puffed out a little blue cloud of smoke on the still, warm air. "If you'll make a few enquiries,' she said, "you'll find that I happen to own this flying-ground, as well as a good deal more of the country round this part." "Is that so?" he mocked her angrily. "The more reason why you should be taught your responsibilities. I'll see to it." With which lie turned his back on her, striding over to the machine near by, accompanied by a couple of the ground-staff standing by. Paula turned to one of the men who remained to attend to her. "Who is lie?" she asked tersely. "A Mr .John Peters, miss,” responded the other with an air of awkwardness. "He’s been pilot for a Canadian company connected with Trans-Atlantic service." "Has he?" Paula rejoined. "Pity he didn't stop in Canada, instead of getting in people's way over here." She knew that she was in the wrong

herself, of course, but she would not admit it. She changed the subject adroitly, discussing the faulty running of her engine, which had been causing her occasional anxiety previous to her landing. Then, she moved away towards the flying-ground buildings of white concrete, vivid against their background of green trees. She was not feeling particularly happy. She had become vaguely aware of what might, or might not have been a sullen resentment in the attitude of the groundstaff, something which she felt, although nothing had been said in words. It was, she supposed, due to the horrible publicity given by the Press to the raid on "The One-Eyed Moon.” This sense of barely suppressed antagonism angered her. She told herself that it was unforgivable, because —as she had said to that amazingly rude Canadian pilot-person—she owned the ground on which all these people earned their livelihood. It seemed to Paula, that, remembering this, they might at least oe loyal to her. Most of all. she was furious with the Canadian pilot-person, as she called him in her own mind. She was the more furious because, in that same mind, she knew that he had been in the right, that she had broken rules and the established code of manners. She tried to excuse herself on the ground of that engine-trouble which certainly had worried her not a little. Still, as she passed into the cool office she told herself that he should be made to realise her position and power. "And who may be that Peters person out there with that Fire-fly?" she ask ed of the official in charge, who came to greet her. "A stranger to these parts, Miss Accrington,” came the reply. “He’s down here. I understand, as guest of Sir Oscar Baring ” “A guest of Sir Oscar- ?”

Paula stared at the man in surprise. Next to herself, Sir Oscar was the richest person in the neighbourhood, and perhaps ne was even richer than she was. An eminent financier, he juggled with millions, and nobody knew quite how wealthy he was. Paula, however was not thinking so much of that as how it came about that an ordinary Canadian pilot should be the guest of such a man. "As a matter of fact, Miss Accringtin,” she heard the aerodrome official saying meanwhile, “I should imagine that this Mr Peters is someone a bit remarkable. Sir Oscar mentioned to me only this morning that he was interested in some invention of Mr Petei’S. which he said was likely to make a mint of money for them both.” "Really? How very interesting!” Paula remarked, not so much concerned in this information as annoyed to find the Canadian was not to be so easily despised as she had imagined. The though only strengthened her antagonism to him. "Anyhow,’ she said, “this Mr Peters has just been distinctly rude to me. He had the impertinence to talk about communicating with the Air Ministry and having my flying-licence taken away. Stupid nonsense, of course. But made so publicly as to be unpardonable. If you happen to see him presently, you might as well mention to him that I am taking the’matter up seriously—with my solicitors." While, a few minutes later, she drove her little sports-car towards the white and blue mass of “Sunnyside,” in its surround of flowering glory, she thought with some amusement, and quite a little affection, of old Mr Wallingford. She was given him plenty to do for her. these days. The matter of Emil Luttner, about which she had! telephoned to him in London. And now this insolent Canadian. She remembered suddenly that Mr Wallingford had just returned from Canada. She told herself that old Mr Wallingford was exactly the sort of nice family solicitor to strip all the impertinence from this arrogant backwoodsman, who —just because he was able to fly—thought no owned the earth.

Wallingford had been solicitor to the Accrington family just about so long as Paula could remember. He was very dear, very charming to her always. She had grown up to think of him in fact, as nearer and dearer to her than her own relatives. For her own father, she had never known any genuine affection. As for her mother, who had died shortly after Paula’s birth, Paula knew her only by reputation and photograph. A smart society woman, who rode to hounds with one of the best, packs, and who appeared in Society when there was still some distinction in Society. And then there had been a brother.

Most people knew, of course, that Clive Accrington, developing from boy to man, had made himself quite scandalously the black sheep of the family. He had long since disappeared abroad — into the Far East, though nobody knew, or cared, exactly where. The will left by Patda's father had completely cut him out. as unfitting for heritage, and Paula alone had found herself enjoythe Accrington millions to their uttermost. limit. This afternoon, as she came to "Sunnyside," and left her car in the hands of servants at the main entrance, she found herself think about Clive, and where he might be, what he was doing. Not that she was fond of him. On the contrary, he had seemed to her utterly unlovable, and she had felt highly relieved when —a few years since—he had disappeared into the unknown

,'t.j be Continued »