“That won’t happen again, Nigger,” she said. “Not that one, anyway.”
“They gave us all our licences in a great hurry last Monday,” he remarked. “Did something blow up in your place?”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “I know Philip sent for Lord Coles on Saturday and he had him in the study for nearly half an hour. I don’t know what they said, of course. I only know Lord Coles had a smile on his face when he went in, and he hadn’t got it on when he came out.”
“Too bad,” said the pilot. He paused, and then he said, “Charles is in Canada with all his family by now, and with three quarters of a ton of luggage. I’m taking Princess Anne to Nyeri with Havant and all their family, and I suppose there’ll be three quarters of a ton of luggage going with them, too.”
The girl nodded.
“There’ll only be the Queen and the Consort left in England, in the direct line of the Monarchy,” he said.
Rosemary dropped her eyes, and studied the dish in front of her. “That’s happened often enough before.”
“Maybe. But Frank Cox wants me back here quick from Kenya, because there may be another job for me to do.”
The girl glanced at him, troubled. “You think too much, Nigger,” she said. “You go putting two and two together when there’s no occasion to. You don’t have to know what’s coming, and it’s better not to, sometimes.”
He smiled at her. “I’m not prying into the secrets of the Royal Family,” he said. “I’ll do what I’m told to do when the time comes, and I’ll ask no questions. I’m thinking about you and me. Will you be coming too, this time?”
“I think so,” she said slowly. “Whatever comes out of this, I think Major Macmahon will be with her, and I’ll be with him.”
“Fine,” he said. “That’s all I want to know.”
She sat in silence for a time. “David,” she said at last, “I want you to be very, very careful in the next few days. People may try to get things out of you, but they mustn’t. People may try getting at your crew in some way—I don’t know. They might try and put the aeroplane out of action, even. Funny things are going on that I can’t possibly talk about, even to you. But if you want to do a good job for the Queen, be very, very careful in the next few days, till after Christmas.”
He met her eyes. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I’ll remember that.”
They got up from the table presently, and stacked the dishes for her caretaker to wash up in the morning. Then she poured out cups of coffee for them from the percolator, and they went back into the sitting room, and sat down before the fire again. “You’re very tired,” he said quietly. “You must go to bed and get a long night’s sleep. I’m going home when I’ve drunk this.”
“I’m not tired,” she said. “It’s just that it’s a bit of a strain on all of us, with all this going on.”
He smiled gently. “You’ve had three years of it,” he remarked. “I think that’s enough for anyone, but possibly I’m biased.”
The girl said simply, “She’s had thirty years of it, David.”
“It’s not always been like this, though, has it?” he remarked. “I mean, this is a specially bad time—this trouble with her ministers?”
She nodded. “I think it is. But the work’s always been too heavy for one woman, David. Even in the easy times, the mass of State papers that she’s got to read and sign, the mass of things she must attend to personally, the stupid social functions that she must attend. It’s been too much for anyone, for the last hundred years. Ever since the Monarch became serious and responsible, he’s been grossly overworked. It’s nothing new, this thing.” She paused. “Prince Albert died of overwork, Albert the Good. Victoria could only tackle it alone by withdrawing from society completely. Edward the Seventh and George the Fifth—they neither of them made old bones; they worked at their desks all day until they went to bed to die. George the Sixth worked himself to death, like Albert the Good. Elizabeth and Philip have had thirty years of it, longer than any of the others except Queen Victoria. They’ve stuck it out—they’ve been able to carry the job because they’ve worked together as a team, and they’ve done marvellously. But they can’t carry it much longer. They’re getting old now, David, old before their time.”
There was a silence. “Well, what’s the answer?” he asked at last. “When she dies, will the Monarchy break up? Is she the last King or Queen of England?”
“Not if she can help it,” the girl said. “You see, if that happened it would mean the end of the Commonwealth.”
She got to her feet. “Don’t let’s talk any more tonight, David,” she said. “I can’t keep secrets from you, and I’ve got to keep them a bit longer. You do understand, don’t you?”
He rose, and stood beside her. “Sure,” he said. “It’s time you went to bed. Will you sleep all right, with all this on your mind? I’ll go out and get you something, if you’ll take it.”
She smiled. “I’ll sleep all right. I’ve got some stuff to take if I can’t, but I hardly ever use it. You’ve got to get a good night’s rest yourself. You’ll be up all tomorrow night, won’t you, flying to Kenya?”
He nodded. “I’ll be right. I’ve got a straight job with no worries, nothing to lose sleep over.” He smiled down at her. “You’re my only worry at the moment.”
She reached out impulsively and took his hand. “Dear Nigger …” She smiled up at him. “It was very sweet of you to come this evening, and it was a lovely dinner.”
He took her other hand and drew her to him; she relaxed into his arms and put her face up, and he kissed her. She stood for a few minutes nestling in his arms while he kissed her face and stroked her hair; then she withdrew a little. “We mustn’t start doing this,” she said quietly. “Not yet.”
He smiled down at her. “It’s a bit late to say that,” he replied softly. “We’ve started.”
“I know,” she said. “But we mustn’t go on.”
His arm was still around her shoulders. “We can take it easy till things straighten out a bit,” he replied. “But you won’t forget this, and I won’t either. We go on from here till we get married, and it can’t be too soon for me.”
“Dear Nigger …” she said again. And then she looked up into his face. “We won’t wait any longer than we’ve got to. It may not be so long as I thought once.”
“How long?”
“She may be in calm water in a few months’ time,” the girl said. “I could leave her then.” And then she withdrew herself from his arms, and only held one of his hands. “You’re making me talk again,” she said. “I mustn’t talk, David. Please.”
He smiled at her. “I’m going to go away,” he said, “and you must go to bed. Wish I was coming with you.”
She laughed. “David! If you talk like that I’ll think I’m not safe with you in the flat.”
“No more you are,” he said. “You’re taking a great risk.” He turned and picked up his uniform coat and cap. “It’s girls like you,” he said, “that make boys go wrong.”
“We’ll go wrong one day,” she said, “when she’s in calm water. I’ll promise you that.”
“That’s a bet,” he said. He bent and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Good night, Rosemary.”
She said softly, “Good night, David dear. Look after yourself on the way to Kenya.”
He drove back to Maidenhead in his small sports car in a rosy dream, but not so far lost to the world that he was unmindful of her warning to be careful. He slept soundly in his bed, but by ten o’clock next morning he was back in London, in an office in Shell House, and closeted in privacy with the Chief Aviation Representative, a Mr. Corbett. To him he disclosed the fact in strictest confidence that he was leaving on a long flight that evening. “I want a couple of empty tank waggons down this afternoon, and an oil truck,” he said. “I want every drop of fuel and oil pumped out of my Ceres and inspected by someone on your staff with some kind of a sample analysis. I don’t want to find when I
switch on another tank that there’s water or sugar or some other damn stuff mixed up with the fuel, or the oil. Then when you give it a clean bill, we’ll pump it back again into the aircraft.” He paused. “And I don’t want it talked about.”
Mr. Corbett raised his eyebrows. “I’ll come down myself.”
The business took about three hours that afternoon; by five o’clock the aircraft was refuelled and given a clean bill. David had the whole crew at the hangar while this was going on except the stewards; when the tank waggons had gone he sent half of the crew away to get their luggage and stayed in the machine with the other half; he was taking no chances. At ten o’clock they pulled the Ceres from the hangar with the tractor and ran each engine for a few minutes; while they were doing this a closed van loaded with luggage arrived. At a quarter to eleven the Princess Royal with the Duke and their three children drove up, followed by another car with nurse, maid, and valet. Frank Cox and David met them on the tarmac and showed them into the machine; then Frank Cox got out, the door closed, and David went forward to his job.
It was a blustery, moist night on the ground, and they entered cloud at about a thousand feet. They broke out of the last layer at about sixteen thousand, and climbed up on their course in the bright moonlight. Princess Anne came forward to the cockpit with her husband for a few minutes and talked to the pilots, but there was nothing to be seen but the blue night and the bright moon and the cloud floor far below, and presently they went aft to lie down.
They left the cloud behind as they passed southwards, and at midnight they came to the Mediterranean and got a glimpse of the lights of Genoa between the parting clouds. At one-fifteen they crossed the end of Sicily somewhere near Catania, and at two-fifteen they crossed the coast of Africa at Benghazi. At four-thirty their radio bearings showed Khartoum abeam and some three hundred miles to the west of them, and here they met the dawn, for they were flying to the south east. An hour later David started on the long let down, and at six-fifteen he picked up the black line of the airstrip on the north side of Mt. Kenya. He approached it cautiously in wide descending circuits, for he had never been there before, and at six-thirty-five by Greenwich time he touched his wheels down on the tarmac and taxied to the cars parked by the runway. On the ground it was nine o’clock in the morning, and the African sun was already hot.
He stood for a few minutes on the tarmac talking with the Princess Royal and her husband, and with the sleepy children only just awake. Then they got into their cars and were driven off towards Sagana and the Royal Residence, and the Australians were left to make their way on to Nairobi for refuelling, and thence to England. They accepted an invitation to breakfast from the local Police Commissioner who had it organised for them, and they showed a few local farmers and planters over the machine, including two negroes who spoke perfect English. Soon after eleven they took off for Nairobi, and put down there half an hour later.
They refuelled the machine and went to the hotel in which accommodation had been booked for them. By seven o’clock next morning, local time, they were in the air on their way back to England. They put down at White Waltham shortly after noon by Greenwich time, and David had the Ceres refuelled and inspected that same afternoon, Sunday December the 17th, and made ready for another flight. That evening he rang up Group Captain Cox, and reported readiness again.
To his surprise, he found Sugar in the hangar, back from Canada. During a pause in the work he asked Wing Commander Dewar what had brought him back.
“Brought the Governor-General,” the Canadian said laconically.
“Tom Forrest?”
“Field-Marshal Sir Thomas Forrest to you,” said the Canadian.
“What’s he come back for?”
“He didn’t tell me.”
“Anyone come with him?”
“Nosey. No, he came alone. How did your trip go?”
“Just like that,” said the Australian. “We got there, put some juice into the thing, and turned round and came back.”
“Exciting, isn’t it?” said the Canadian.
“Like hell. Give me Luna Park.”
Later on, he talked privately to Dewar in the office. “I got the wire there may be trouble in this bloody country,” he said. “There’s just a possibility of sabotage on one or other of our aircraft. Seems like the Monarch’s getting a bit too independent in her movements, with our aircraft here, to suit some of the Pommies.” He told Dewar about his precautions with the fuel. “I’m worried about people getting in at night,” he said. “There’s only the one watchman.”
The Canadian said, “Think some of us ought to be here nights?”
“I think we should. Run some kind of a guard.”
“I’ll row in while I’m here, with my boys,” said Wing Commander Dewar. “I’m going back to Ottawa tomorrow, though. Seems like I’ve got to stand by there for quite a while. I’ll keep half of my crew on guard tonight, though.”
David thought for a moment. “Better not if you’re flying tomorrow. I’ll keep half mine here, to watch the two machines. I’ll fix up something better in the morning. Are you taking anybody over with you?”
The Canadian shook his head. “Going over empty, far as I know at present.”
David stayed in the hangar that night with three of his crew, running a four hour watch with two awake on guard and two asleep in the flight deck of Tare. By eleven o’clock next morning he was in Australia House, waiting to see Vice-Admiral Sir Charles O’Keefe of the Royal Australian Navy. Charlie O’Keefe knew all about Nigger Anderson, and had flown with him once in the third war. He greeted him cordially, and offered him a cigarette.
The pilot said, “I’m in a bit of a spot, sir, and I can’t say much about it, I’m afraid. What I want is a guard for my machine, in the hangar at White Waltham, and I don’t want to ask the R.A.F. for it. The aircraft is Australian property. I was wondering if you could spare a party from one of the Australian ships over here.”
“I see,” said the Admiral. “How long do you want them for?”
“Till after Christmas,” said the pilot. “Say about three weeks, to make it safe.”
“Gona’s in Portsmouth dockyard till the middle of January. When do you want them?”
“This afternoon if I can have them, sir. I’m afraid I’ve got no accommodation, though.”
“They can sling hammocks in your hangar?”
“Oh yes, they can do that.”
“Can do. Two officers and fifty ratings be enough?”
“That’s ample, sir.”
“They’ll be there this evening, Wing Commander. You don’t have to say any more.”
Three trucks full of sailors, rations, and hammocks turned up at the hangar that afternoon, and took a load off David’s mind. In the evening he drove over to the little Grace and Favour house that Frank Cox lived in on the edge of Windsor Great Park, and presented the fait accompli to his chief. “I hope you don’t mind all these Australian sailors in the hangar, sir,” he said. “You see, Tare’s the property of the Australian Government, and I wasn’t quite happy about things.”
“I see,” said the Group Captain quietly. “That’s the line you’re taking, is it? That they’re just there to look after the property of the Australian Government?”
“That’s right, sir. I hope you don’t think I’ve been acting out of turn.”
“Of course you have,” the Group Captain said. “It’s absolutely watertight.” He paused, and then he said, “How did you get the idea that a guard might be a good thing?”
“I’m a very nosey person, sir,” the pilot replied. “I’m not an English gentleman.”
Frank Cox laughed. “An Aussie bastard is the right term, I believe.”
“That’s right,” said the pilot equably. “I’m an Aussie bastard, so I’ve got a nose for what the other bastards may be up to.”
He drank a tomato juice cocktail with his chief before starting back to Maidenhead. “Got anything to tell me about this other job?”
“Not yet.”
“I suppose Tom Forrest will be going back to Ottawa some time. Will we be taking him?”
“You’re fishing,” said the Group Captain. “I don’t know myself yet, Nigger, and if I did I wouldn’t tell you or anybody else before it’s necessary.”
The pilot laughed. “Sorry. I wasn’t fishing really. I’d like to take Tom Forrest somewhere.”
With most Service men of that generation, he had a veneration for the Field-Marshal. Like Nigger Anderson himself, Tom Forrest had come up from the bottom. Tom Forrest was the son of a man who ran the boilers of a little laundry in Roundhay, a suburb to the north of Leeds. He was a Territorial week end soldier before the second war and rose to the rank of corporal in the first days of the war; by the end of it he was an acting brigadier. In 1946 he succeeded in staying in the Army with a permanent commission as a captain, and he entered the third war as a major. He came out of it as a lieutenant-general, and it is perhaps an indication of the quality of the man that all through his career, from laundry to general, he had been known to everybody as Tom Forrest. Such political opinions as he held were mildly socialist as would be expected from his origin, but he was the confidant of princes, and in particular he was a great friend of the Prince of Wales. In another sphere, he was liked and respected by most of the members of the Cabinet, and he was generally with Iorwerth Jones to watch the Cup Final at Wembley. He was now sixty-one years old and he had been Governor-General of Canada for about two years, a competent and a popular representative of the Queen in the Dominion.
That day was December the 18th, a week before Christmas. David drove back from Windsor in his little sports car, and deviated from his road home to Maidenhead to look in at the hangar at White Waltham aerodrome. A hundred yards from the hangar a naval sentry stopped him, a dark figure in a long blue coat with a white webbing belt, and David saw the rifle with fixed bayonet pointed at his chest. He was held there while a runner went to fetch the officer, to his intense pleasure. The sub-lieutenant came and released him, with apologies, and got told to do that every time.