whose presence in her life he
deplored.
They refuelled in Bordeaux and again, just before they crossed the border, at Saint Jean de Luz. The moment they flew into Spain the weather worsened. As they crept over the harsh terrain
– almost a desert – Verity began to feel excited and rather scared and wondered what she would do if she had to pee. Unlike Edward, she had not flown in an aeroplane before and
it satisfied her yearning for urgent action even if in the long run it was fruitless. It was bringing her back quickly to where she wanted most in the world to be but, though she would never admit
it to Edward or anyone else, she felt that flying was an unnatural way to travel. Perhaps if she learned to fly herself, she thought, she would feel differently.
Soon they were over the Sierra de la Demanda and the little aeroplane seemed to chug and shuffle over the snow-peaked mountain tops as if some immense magnet was drawing them earthward, to be
spiked like an unwanted document on one of the razor-sharp pinnacles of rock. At Burgos, they landed again and refuelled the ‘old gel’, as Bragg called his steed, for the last time. As
Edward and Verity stuffed themselves with sugary buns washed down by scalding black coffee, they exchanged small talk, somehow not wanting to consider the real business of their flight across
Europe. The final hop to Madrid’s splendid new Barajas airport was made in bright sunlight but to Edward’s disappointment it was still very cold. He had been longing to bask in Spanish
warmth but apparently Madrid in February could be as cold as England. As they circled the two steel-and-glass control buildings, Verity gripped Edward’s hand. Her courage had all but left her
during the long, exhausting flight. They were here at last but what could they hope to achieve? David was doomed and Edward had as much as told her so. But oddly enough, as Verity’s spirits
had sunk, Edward’s had risen. As they landed, they could see beyond a huge hangar the solitary figure of a tall woman, standing immobile beside a motor car. Only the long silk scarf round her
neck fluttering behind her in the wind gave any life to the picture.
‘Who’s that?’ he shouted to Verity over the roar of the engines.
‘That’s Hester, Hester Lengstrum. We share an apartment. She’s a Swedish baroness.’
This was the first Edward had heard of Hester Lengstrum but there was no time to ask further questions. They landed with a bump, rolling across the grass right up to the stationary automobile.
Harry helped them down. It was good to feel solid earth beneath their feet but they were both very stiff and Verity stumbled. She felt light-headed from spinning through the ether but she got out
her ‘thank you’ to Harry Bragg before turning to greet her friend.
As Edward said goodbye to Harry, he watched Verity’s friend out of the corner of his eye. She was a striking girl, about twenty-five he guessed, with long black hair flowing down her back
which she shrugged now and again almost as if she wanted to be sure it was still there. She was tall, tall as himself, and he was six foot. Verity had to stand on tiptoe to kiss her. It had often
amused him how much Verity hated being small; to her annoyance, she was just five foot three or, as he said, five-four when angry. Edward liked the way Hester held herself: straight as a guardsman,
as if she scorned trying to disguise her height by leaning forward, as he had seen many tall people do. She was cool responding to Verity’s puppy-ish embraces, a calm smile and a toss of her
hair saying as much as she wanted about her pleasure in having her back. He guessed she was naturally economical with her smiles and grinned inwardly. She might add interest to his investigations,
he thought.
‘I’ll wait to hear from you,’ said Harry, smeared with oil and grease. He had taken off his goggles which had left him with owlish white rings round his eyes. ‘I have to
go back
deplored.
They refuelled in Bordeaux and again, just before they crossed the border, at Saint Jean de Luz. The moment they flew into Spain the weather worsened. As they crept over the harsh terrain
– almost a desert – Verity began to feel excited and rather scared and wondered what she would do if she had to pee. Unlike Edward, she had not flown in an aeroplane before and
it satisfied her yearning for urgent action even if in the long run it was fruitless. It was bringing her back quickly to where she wanted most in the world to be but, though she would never admit
it to Edward or anyone else, she felt that flying was an unnatural way to travel. Perhaps if she learned to fly herself, she thought, she would feel differently.
Soon they were over the Sierra de la Demanda and the little aeroplane seemed to chug and shuffle over the snow-peaked mountain tops as if some immense magnet was drawing them earthward, to be
spiked like an unwanted document on one of the razor-sharp pinnacles of rock. At Burgos, they landed again and refuelled the ‘old gel’, as Bragg called his steed, for the last time. As
Edward and Verity stuffed themselves with sugary buns washed down by scalding black coffee, they exchanged small talk, somehow not wanting to consider the real business of their flight across
Europe. The final hop to Madrid’s splendid new Barajas airport was made in bright sunlight but to Edward’s disappointment it was still very cold. He had been longing to bask in Spanish
warmth but apparently Madrid in February could be as cold as England. As they circled the two steel-and-glass control buildings, Verity gripped Edward’s hand. Her courage had all but left her
during the long, exhausting flight. They were here at last but what could they hope to achieve? David was doomed and Edward had as much as told her so. But oddly enough, as Verity’s spirits
had sunk, Edward’s had risen. As they landed, they could see beyond a huge hangar the solitary figure of a tall woman, standing immobile beside a motor car. Only the long silk scarf round her
neck fluttering behind her in the wind gave any life to the picture.
‘Who’s that?’ he shouted to Verity over the roar of the engines.
‘That’s Hester, Hester Lengstrum. We share an apartment. She’s a Swedish baroness.’
This was the first Edward had heard of Hester Lengstrum but there was no time to ask further questions. They landed with a bump, rolling across the grass right up to the stationary automobile.
Harry helped them down. It was good to feel solid earth beneath their feet but they were both very stiff and Verity stumbled. She felt light-headed from spinning through the ether but she got out
her ‘thank you’ to Harry Bragg before turning to greet her friend.
As Edward said goodbye to Harry, he watched Verity’s friend out of the corner of his eye. She was a striking girl, about twenty-five he guessed, with long black hair flowing down her back
which she shrugged now and again almost as if she wanted to be sure it was still there. She was tall, tall as himself, and he was six foot. Verity had to stand on tiptoe to kiss her. It had often
amused him how much Verity hated being small; to her annoyance, she was just five foot three or, as he said, five-four when angry. Edward liked the way Hester held herself: straight as a guardsman,
as if she scorned trying to disguise her height by leaning forward, as he had seen many tall people do. She was cool responding to Verity’s puppy-ish embraces, a calm smile and a toss of her
hair saying as much as she wanted about her pleasure in having her back. He guessed she was naturally economical with her smiles and grinned inwardly. She might add interest to his investigations,
he thought.
‘I’ll wait to hear from you,’ said Harry, smeared with oil and grease. He had taken off his goggles which had left him with owlish white rings round his eyes. ‘I have to
go back
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