فصل 20

CHAPTER TWENTY

A final test

Three hours later, having left the Cessna in the temporary care of a very surprised farmer, Francesca was taken by police back to the airfield at Norwich.

‘So, you’re telling me Doug put water in my fuel and then he was the one who telephoned the control tower?’ Francesca said.

She was back in the Flying Start office with Tom and George, gripping a cup of coffee tightly.

‘Yes,’ Tom answered miserably. ‘I should have known there was something up when we couldn’t get those other two litres of fuel in the tank. I don’t know what to say Francesca; it’s my fault.’

‘Rubbish,’ George broke in. ‘There’s only one person to blame, and it’s not you. Just get on with the story.’

Tom hesitated for a moment, then continued.

‘Well, it seems Doug was sitting in his car up here at the airfield, when he saw you going past, and suddenly he realised the seriousness of what he’d done. He claims he never imagined you’d even get as far as the runway - that the engine would cut out long before take-off and he just wanted to scare you. But when you went past it was like waking from a dream; he realised you might actually die and that he would be responsible for murder. Apparently, he called the control tower from his mobile just as you were taking off.’

Francesca shook her head in disbelief, and gripped her cup of coffee even tighter.

‘And then he gave himself up to the police,’ she said quietly.

‘Yes,’ Tom replied. ‘Once he’d called the control tower, he phoned the police himself and just sat in his car until they arrived. He made no attempt to get away.’

Francesca shivered. ‘The poor guy,’ she said quietly. ‘He really must be ill.’

‘Insane, more like it,’ George broke in. ‘They should lock him up and throw away the key.’

Francesca smiled, touched by the anger that her instructor was showing. George reminded her of her grandfather, who, although the kindest and gentlest of men, would be furious at any mistreatment of a family member. She tried to change the subject.

‘So, why didn’t the engine stop immediately?’

‘Ah,’ said George, ‘that’s the remarkable thing.’ He sat up. ‘The point is this: at some time today after its first flight, the stupid fool got to the aircraft and poured a couple of litres of water into one of the tanks. Now, as you know, fuel floats on water, so with the tank up on the wing, the water would feed very quickly into the engine. However, there would have already been some fuel in the system, so clearly in driving round and taking off, you used up that fuel, and only a minute later the water got in. Then, the engine stopped!’

Francesca half understood. If she was totally honest, she wasn’t fully listening. Every now and then, the true horror of what had happened hit her again. She’d been closer to death than at any time before in her life - at that moment, she might be lying dead in a field inside a broken plane. She shivered once again.

‘I just hope the bloody fool hasn’t put you off flying,’ George went on. ‘Most experienced pilots wouldn’t have made a better forced landing than you did. You’ve got a brilliant flying future ahead of you.’

In spite of everything, Francesca felt a glow of warmth at George’s remark. But then, all of a sudden, she imagined her next flight - later that week, next week, whenever it might be - and she felt a sense of panic. Something told her she wouldn’t be able to do it. The longer she waited, the worse it would be. The thought of what Doug had done would stick in her mind like a seed and grow there, filling her head with fear. Afraid her hand would begin to tremble, she quickly put down her cup of coffee.

And then it came to her. If she were ever going to fly again, it had to be as soon as possible. She sat up and turned to George.

‘George,’ she began, ‘would you consider allowing me to take the other Cessna for a flight?’

‘Of course,’ George replied. ‘When?’

‘Now,’ Francesca answered.

‘What!’ George exclaimed.

‘Now. This minute,’ Francesca said firmly. ‘I know that if I don’t go today, I’ll never get in the pilot’s seat again; I’ll completely lose my nerve.’

George shook his head immediately. ‘No, Francesca, I’m sorry, but it’s quite out of the question. You’ve just had a terrible experience; you’re not thinking straight, you’re far too emotional. Look at you, you’re shaking.’

Francesca looked at George desperately. ‘Just one short flight,’ she said. ‘Take off and land, like my first solo. If I don’t, I’ll never fly again.’

‘Well, I’ll come with you,’ George said.

‘No, it has to be solo,’ Francesca insisted.

George closed his eyes, then opened them. He looked across at Tom. ‘You tell her, Tom. You’re her boyfriend. Perhaps you can make her see some sense.’

Francesca turned to Tom. He was looking down, his head in his hands. Now, he looked up. Francesca watched him. For a moment, he reminded her of Andrea with his head held high like that.

‘I think you should let her go, George,’ he said quietly. ‘I think you should let her decide.’

George stared at Tom in shock. Then, after thinking for a while longer, he finally gave a tiny nod of his head.

Less than half an hour later, Francesca was approaching the runway for the second time that day, in the other Flying Start Cessna, G-ABJN. She felt perfectly calm. She stopped the plane before the runway, turned into the wind, and did the power checks. Then she called the control tower.

‘Norwich Tower. Golf Juliet November is ready to line up runway zero nine.’

‘Golf Juliet November, please wait.’

Francesca did as instructed, guessing that another aircraft must be coming in. As she waited, she thought about Tom, about what he’d just done. George must have been quite certain that Tom would say this flight was a crazy idea. But he hadn’t. He’d taken Francesca’s side. He’d put his confidence in her and given her her freedom. That was the kind of love she wanted. He was the sort of person she could love.

A small two-engined plane flew past in front of her. She watched it land, first one of the main wheels, then the other, finally, the nose wheel - a good crosswind landing. Then came her call on the radio.

‘Golf Juliet November, line up runway zero nine.’

Francesca released the brakes and moved the plane forward, then swung round onto the piano keys and stopped.

Only then did nerves grip her stomach. Did she really want to do this? Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea after all.

In the distance the other plane had disappeared from the runway. She waited. Then came the call. ‘Golf Juliet November. You are cleared for take-off.’

Sitting there alone in the plane, she was suddenly overcome with fear as the memory of the forced landing came back to her. She had nearly died! What was she thinking of, going up there again? Down here on the ground she was safe.

The seconds passed. She had to do something. She could head back to the hangar or go ahead and take off. She stared through the windscreen down the runway, the white dotted line stretching away into the unknown. ‘Like the rest of my life,’ she thought to herself all of a sudden. Where would she be in one year’s time? Would she have passed her private pilot’s exams and be studying for her commercial licence? Would she still be living in England? Would she still be with Tom? And what about in five years’ time? She had her whole life ahead of her. The mystery of the future suddenly filled her with excitement.

Without delaying a second longer, she steadily pushed in the throttle. The little plane began running forward immediately, quickly picking up speed. This was it.

She pulled back on the control column and felt the plane slowly lift into flight.