The Ghost of Captain Hinchliffe Page 4

  “I've told you, Millie. She's part of the P&O shipping family. She's a feminist. Wants to back the venture to highlight women's rights.”

  Millie rolled her eyes. “God help us! You can't take two and carry enough fuel for a flight like that. Lindbergh did it alone.”

  “I'll have a plane designed to carry enough fuel and two pilots. It'd be better with two pilots.”

  “So, she's a pilot? And she's beautiful! What about Lowenstein? Wouldn't he sponsor you?”

  “I'd rather not ask him.”

  Millie grimaced.

  “Look, it's strictly business, Millie. We'll be set for life if I can pull this off.”

  “If! ... And if you don't?”

  Millie turned away and went into the house and slammed the door behind her. Hinchliffe watched her. He understood perfectly. She had every reason to be worried. He decided to cut the lawn and let her cool down for a while. He went in and changed into casual clothes and then went to the vegetable garden to speak with Sinclair. He didn't divulge the details of his meeting with Elsie. He'd give it all more thought first. After chatting, he went to one of the outbuildings, grabbed the push mower and got started. While he worked, Millie sat sadly at her piano, playing Chopin's Prelude in E Minor op 28 No. 4.

  The haunting melody drifted across the garden. This didn't make Hinchliffe feel any better. He stared toward the French windows guiltily. In the meantime, Sinclair continued working on his vegetable garden behind the hedge, staying out of the way. If they were going to do it, Hinchliffe would need to speak to him about Elsie's offer. He was sure Sinclair would be up for it. They were always short of money and Sinclair thought the Atlantic record was worth a shot, especially if they got the best equipment and made meticulous preparations.

  After an hour or so, the lawn was cut and the piano was silent. Only the sound of a cooing wood pigeon could be heard now. Hinchliffe returned the lawn mower to the outbuilding and went into the house, looking for Millie. He went to the kitchen sink and washed his hands and then to Millie's studio. She wasn't there. He presumed she was in her adjacent dark room. He knocked on the door and went in. The room was lit by a candle. Millie was rocking a tray of photographic chemicals back and forth. An image of Millie and Joan gradually appeared—a photo Hinchliffe had taken a couple days ago in the garden.

  “What are you up to?” Hinchliffe asked.

  “Just finishing those shots you took,” she said.

  He put his arms around her from behind and squeezed her tightly, pressing his face against her wet cheek. Millie closed her eyes. He gently slipped his hands down over the baby.

  “Don't worry, my darling, nothing bad's gonna happen. I'll never let you and the children down, you know that, don’t you?”

  He'd always managed to reassure her he was invincible. Hinchliffe left Millie to calm down for a day or two. He told Sinclair about Elsie's proposal and Sinclair expressed keen interest. It'd be a wonderful deal as far as he was concerned—sixty pounds a month while he was on the payroll assembling the plane and conducting tests seemed too good to be true. And there was always the chance he'd wind up as Hinchliffe's copilot at the end of the day.

  Hinchliffe broached the subject again, telling Millie that he understood her feelings and that it was only natural in her condition—and he genuinely felt that. At one point, after Joan was in bed, he and Millie sat down with the Sinclairs and talked it over. Sinclair's obvious enthusiasm, together with Hinchliffe's, was formidable. Even Kate was positive about it, but Millie knew it was not her husband that would be at risk, unless Elsie backed out. Hinchliffe recounted the long-distance journeys he'd made: his trip to Baghdad with Thomson, his journey to Ismailia with Johnston, and other trips he'd made to Egypt. He'd flown for years with KLM and Imperial Airways for thousands of miles to Holland, France and Germany, without mishap—equivalent to crossing the Atlantic scores of times.

  Hinchliffe was convinced there'd be no more risk with this Atlantic flight. Preparation was key, and the right plane, of course. He'd make sure they had the best plane available. The Stinson Detroiter would be the right one. He'd studied the blueprints and technical data and was absolutely convinced that with some added modifications, the risk would be lower than flying to India and back. Millie was showing signs of relenting. Hinchliffe wisely decided not to push her. He thought she’d come around eventually.

  That issue was brought to a head the following day. Millie was in studio feverishly playing the stormy third movement of Moonlight Sonata. Hinchliffe was in the yard hanging Millie's new bird feeder. She thought she heard a motorbike in the front driveway. The doorbell jangled but Millie ignored it, playing until the end of the piece. The figure on the doorstep went to reach for the bell pull again, but then stopped to listen. When Millie had finished, she went to the door. There, she found someone dressed in a brown leather jacket, pilot's cap and goggles—about her own height.

  “You must be Millie!” the rider said in a husky voice, removing a pair of gloves.

  “Er, yes?”

  “Hello, I'm so pleased to meet you,” the woman said, thrusting out a beautifully manicured hand. “I'm Elsie, I hope you've heard of me.” She pushed up her goggles to reveal her exquisitely made up, gorgeous brown eyes.

  “Elsie…?”

  “Elsie Mackay.”

  The penny dropped. “Oh, yes, Elsie Mackay,” Millie said with a half-smile.

  “My goodness what wonderful playing. Was that you? I've been standing here for ages, listening.”

  “Yes, it was, actually. I’m so sorry—” Millie replied.

  “Oh, no, no. It was great! What was it?”

  “The third movement.”

  “The third movement? Well, whatever it was, it was absolutely bloody marvelous, if I may say so! And I just love your accent.”

  “Yes, I like yours too,” Millie countered.

  Hinchliffe was just coming in from the garden, and after puzzling for a while, figured it could only be Elsie at the front door. He wasn't sure where this would lead. It might spoil everything.

  “Elsie! What brings you here?” he asked.

  “I'm so sorry, Raymond, to drop in on you like this, but I was out riding through the South Downs on the old Harley and I thought, well, why not drop in and introduce myself to your wife—and yes, she is just as lovely as you said, and her music, oh my God!” Elsie clapped her hands together and rambled on in her frightfully, frightfully upper class accent. “Me, I know nothing about music—planes and horses are my thing—and a spot of tennis, of course.”

  By now, Sinclair was also entering the kitchen, leaving his vegetable garden to wash his hands for lunch. Kate joined them.

  “I suggest you take Elsie into the garden, Ray, and we'll bring tea and sandwiches,” Millie said, gesturing for Elsie to enter.

  “On no, I couldn't possibly—” Elsie began.

  “No. Please. Come on, Elsie, we can chat. Heaven knows we've lots to talk about,” said Hinchliffe.

  It was finally agreed that Millie and Hinchliffe would go and sit in the secret garden with Elsie, while the Sinclairs brought out the tea and a snack lunch, keeping Joan in the kitchen. They went to the garden. Elsie was impressed. She pulled off her cap and goggles and put them on the garden table.

  “This is enchanting!” she gushed, spinning around. “What a marvelous place. You could … you could walk around naked—”

  “Yes, I often do. It's my little piece of heaven,” Millie said.

  “And I can quite see why,” Elsie replied.

  “You're an actress, aren't you?” Millie said.

  “Well, yes, I have worked on a few films, but now flying is my vocation. It’s what I absolutely live for.”

  “The Atlantic?”

  “Yes. It's something I need to do. It's there crying out to be done, and I think your husband is the perfect pilot for me. I've been searching for someone of his caliber for ages.”

  “I see. Are you confident? Is it really worth the risk?
” Millie was weighing up her own risk at the same time, as spouses do.

  “Absolutely! With plenty of testing and real preparation, the risk will be minimal. And the rewards—will be out of this world. The contribution to aviation will be enormous. Oh yes, it would be a wonderful thing. Believe me, I do not take this lightly. I'll spend any amount of money to get the right plane and the right pilot. Safety is my main concern above all else.”

  Hinchliffe was pleased. Elsie's performance was dynamic. She was coming across as responsible and business-like. He could tell Millie was impressed. Elsie turning up on a motorbike in her leathers was a nice touch. Better than the ditsy flapper. The refreshments arrived and the Sinclairs made themselves scarce. Soon, Joan came out, dying to meet Elsie. “Are you a film star, miss?” she asked.

  Everyone laughed, and soon Elsie and Joan were playing with Joan's toys on the grass together. Elsie was a big hit. Later, the Sinclairs joined in the informal chat and Gordon was introduced as the possible substitute pilot. Elsie was thrilled to meet him.

  Finally, Elsie jumped up. “Well, I must be off,” she said. “It's been a thrill to meet you Millie, and your darling little girl. I'm so impressed with the family and everything. So, please think things over.” She turned toward the house and then hesitated. “And look, Millie, if you're not all for it—I will understand, truly I will.”

  They entered the house and as they were passing the French doors into Millie’s studio, Elsie saw the artwork and the piano. “Oh, what's this? May I see?” They all went in and Elsie's eyes were everywhere. She breathed in the odor of oil paint and turps as if they were fresh cut roses. “Oh, I do love that smell. Good Lord, what marvelous stuff!” She scrutinized the half-finished painting of Hinchliffe and then a finished portrait of Joan. “Oh, you must do me! Will you, please?”

  “Yes, of course,” Millie said.

  “Oh, do promise me? I'll pay you, naturally.” Elsie made for the door and hugged Millie. “And of course, I'll abide by whatever you decide, Millie. Lovely to meet you. But you know, I think it's all coming together. I think it's meant to be.” With that, Elsie donned her cap and goggles and they watched her hop on and kick over her huge, gleaming Harley Davidson and cruise off down the driveway.

  “That's one impressive woman,” Sinclair said.

  “No one could deny that!” Millie said.

  Hinchliffe grinned and gave Sinclair a sly wink.

  Millie began to relent. Maybe she was worrying unduly. He'd always come back. Why had she been worrying so much? Hinchliffe's, and now Elsie's, enthusiasm was infectious, and Sinclair backed their confidence. That confidence now permeated the whole house. Maybe this was their big chance—one that might only come along once. They'd be secure for life! That evening, Millie gave the project her blessing. Hinchliffe hugged her with glee. “Thank you, my darling,” he said. “Thank you for having faith in me.”

  They went to bed feeling things had been resolved. Millie once again had her recurring dream. The entity came to her in the dead of night and leaned over her. She felt its kiss upon her lips. She was sure it was a man, but could see no face, just its black form. Again, she felt nothing but comfort, kindness and love emanating from it. She fell back into a deep sleep.

  7

  THE PLANE

  Sunday, June 19, 1927.

  Within five days, Hinchliffe was on board the White Star Line's Olympic, sister ship to Titanic, bound for New York. By June 26, he was in the offices of the Stinson Aircraft Company in Detroit. He'd sent them a telegram stating his interest in a modified Stinson Detroiter. The company confirmed that a plane was available and could be shipped almost immediately with the required modifications.

  Hinchliffe spent four days at the factory and made friends with the managers and staff, including Eddie Stinson himself—another enthusiastic aviation pioneer. Hinchliffe went over every part of the plane: the Wright Whirlwind nine-cylinder engine; the tubular steel structure, including its type of wood and fabric; the wheels, tires and unique braking system; and its all-important instrumentation. They talked about radio equipment, but it was decided to save that weight and carry a few more gallons of fuel—that was an agonizing choice. A cabin heater was ordered and an electric starter. Elsie would be pleased about that. On Hinchliffe's instructions, she wired half the money before he returned home. The balance would be sent a month after the plane had been delivered to England.

  The factory managers had an idea what the plane would be used for and promised to keep it quiet. The rear seats were removed and two large fuel tanks installed. This hugely extended the range.

  After five enjoyable days, Hinchliffe was back in New York boarding the Cunard's RMS Mauretania bound for Southampton. It had been a pilot's dream. Most pilots would never get to order the plane of their choosing—not to this degree—built to their own specifications. He was back home at Pickwick Cottage by July 6th—the same day the plane was ready for shipping from Detroit.

  While Hinchliffe was in the States, Brancker had visited Millie's studio and sat for his portrait. By the time Hinchliffe got back it was taking shape. Brancker had struck a wonderful pose in his military tunic with a sash and a chest full of medals, a glint of light on his monocle. Millie had captured his charisma—the intrepid leader—Air Vice Marshall Brancker, Director of Civil Aviation! Millie sensed he was a man who loved the ladies. She could easily see why they loved him and his rakish mustache. The monocle, toupee and mustache contributed to his persona, but it was his vibrant enthusiasm for life that captivated everyone. He attracted people into his orbit like a star attracts planets. Hinchliffe thought 'old Branks' would be well-pleased. Millie said Brancker had a wonderful aura, full of blues, reds, white and gold, and she'd depicted these colors around him.

  The disassembled plane was delivered to Brooklands Aerodrome, owned by Vickers Aircraft, July 17th, where Hinchliffe, Sinclair and Elsie were eagerly waiting to uncrate it. Elsie had rented a hangar and the threesome got right to it. They worked long hours, sometimes well into the night, and within two weeks the plane was assembled.

  They all submitted a name and finally Endeavour, Millie's, was chosen. A sign writer was hired and he came down and painted the name on both sides of the plane with a brightly colored Union Jack. The plane, jet black with gold wingtips, looked magnificent. They thought that by next year, the Americans would be admiring it. Maybe they'd put it in the Smithsonian or the British Museum.

  For the next few months, Hinchliffe, Sinclair and Elsie took the plane up for test flights. She behaved beautifully. The Brooklands runway, however, was too short for takeoff with a full fuel load. They'd have to find another runway, and they'd need to pay a visit to Cardington soon to organize weather reports.

  During August, Hinchliffe was surprised to learn that a good friend of his, Fred Minchin, had been preparing to make an Atlantic bid with Leslie Hamilton in a Fokker monoplane called the St. Raphael. Everything had been kept secret so as to steal a march on other contenders, including Hinchliffe and Elsie. But the thing that concerned Hinchliffe most was the fact that the project was being sponsored by Lady Anne Savile and that she, together with her extensive wardrobe, would be accompanying them. He'd told Charles Levine to go to hell for that very reason—three's a crowd. Hinchliffe reluctantly went down to RAF Upavon to see them off. He doubted that they'd make it. And they didn't. After leaving Ireland they were never heard of again. Though this left the field still open, Hinchliffe was sick about it, and Millie even more so—she'd secretly hoped that Minchin's flight would succeed. Thereafter, the subject was avoided.

  At the beginning of September, on a rather damp, cool day, the man with the five-o'clock shadow stood at the edge of the woods near Brooklands Aerodrome. He blended in perfectly with the oaks and bracken, his binoculars trained on the sky. The droning of a single-engine plane carried down to him. He studied it for a few moments and then turned his attention toward the buildings. Millie and Elsie were standing at the doors, shielding their ey
es, looking at the sky. Behind them, he spotted Hinchliffe and Sinclair emerging from the hangar, also looking up.

  The observer’s name was George Hunter, a reporter with the Daily Express. He watched the Gypsy Moth circle and then touch down on the short, grass landing strip. He removed his binoculars and smiled. “The Director of Civil Aviation no less! Very promising indeed!”

  Hunter patiently waited as the plane came to a standstill near their hangar. He witnessed the big fuss taking place as Hinchliffe's group welcomed Brancker and Miss Honeysuckle, his leggy, blond pilot and chauffeur. There was a lot of handshaking and backslapping, with the monocled Brancker strutting around like a little turkey cock. The reporter thrust his binoculars into his scruffy gaberdine raincoat and moved to a new vantage point.

  The group made its way toward the hangar, led by Hinchliffe. Brancker spoke from behind him as they paused outside. “I just heard those ruddy Germans are breathing down our necks!”

  Millie looked hopeful. “Will they be ready soon?” she asked.

  “My spies in Germany tell me their plane could be ready anytime for testing,” Brancker replied.

  “We're going to beat them to it!” Hinchliffe assured him.

  Millie looked down at the ground sadly, thinking about Minchin. She’d met him on a few occasions at Croydon airport where he, like her husband, had operated from as a pilot.

  But Elsie was chipper. “Let's go in and eat and christen this bird,” she said. She led them inside the hangar. Elsie had set up a table in front of the plane with a white tablecloth laid out with caviar and champagne. The plane was shrouded with sheets.

  Brancker glanced toward it. “So, how is the new kite?”

  Hinchliffe responded. “She handles extraordinarily well. But this runway's much too short.”