скачать книгу бесплатно
‘Thank you for the offer,’ I said, suddenly coming to my senses, ‘but I’m not really dressed for …’
‘Nonsense! You look perfect!’ His eyes were so bright. So alive. So blue. ‘Come on, it will be fun! Come coddiwomple with me.’
Now, that got me. I smiled.
‘Coddiwomple?’
He nodded. We were still communicating through the gap between the two wings of the Tiger Moth.
‘I never heard of such a word.’
‘Oh, it’s a word,’ he said. ‘And I’ll tell you what it means if you come with me. How about I treat you to afternoon tea? Look, I’d love to know all about the flying circus, and I’d love to talk to you about flying, that’s all. I want to know about the flying fox. You, well, you fascinate me, Juliet.’
Fascinate? Well …
I knew I should walk away, stride out of the barn, open the gate, march up the hill and not look back. But the fire in his eyes was just too bright. It’s always the eyes that get you. He drew me in and I so desperately wanted to be drawn in.
‘All right,’ I said, in as nonchalant a manner I could muster. ‘Why not? But I’ll have to finish up here, first.’
He dashed around the wing and joined me by the engine, talking off his heavy overcoat and placing it on an obliging hay bale before appearing by my side, full of enthusiasm.
‘In that case, think of me as your apprentice. How can I help?’
‘No one works on my aircraft but me, I’m afraid.’ I nodded towards the comic left abandoned on the bale. ‘Perhaps you could carry on reading your newspaper …’
He laughed and returned to lounge on the hay bale while I worked away.
‘But why don’t you want to know what coddiwompler is?’ Edward asked as we sauntered, arms swinging, down the lane to the village, my hair still held back with a rag. I’d taken off my overalls but my flying jacket was a must. Yes, it was far too big and smelt of a mixture of fuel and cigars, but it was like being wrapped in Pa’s arms again, and I treasured it.
‘Because you made it up.’ I flashed him a quick smile as we walked down the lane.
‘Well, I’ll tell you anyway, because I think you’re a fellow coddiwompler, you just don’t know it, and that would be terrible.’
‘What would?’
‘To be one, and to never to know.’
We arrived outside the village hall. He’d got me now. I stopped
‘Go on then,’ I said. ‘Tell me.’
He shook his head.
‘It’s too late. We’re here.’ He leapt up the steps to the hall. ‘You’ve missed your moment. I’ll have to tell you later …’ He winked and opened the door for me to step inside. ‘Or tomorrow, when we go flying.’ I stepped through the door and as I did so our hands brushed, and not quite by accident, I thought.
We spent the afternoon helping with the teas and making paper chains and Christmas cards with the children. Edward had a natural manner and was clearly the darling of the ladies’ committee. It was light. It was easy. It was fun. And as the afternoon moved on, I had the distinct feeling that E. Nancarrow was exactly the sort of man my mother had warned me to steer clear of.
When the children began to disperse, we took a moment to wander away from the hubbub of the hall to sit on the harbour wall. We sipped whiskey from Edward’s hip flask and talked of flying. The inevitable moment came when we began to explore into each other’s lives more purposefully, to tentatively probe, to edge-in sideways.
Edward began. He wanted to know the ins and outs of how a young woman, barely twenty years old, had spent her formative years as the child star of a flying circus, able to nip about the country in her own aircraft.
I explained some, but not all, of my story …
My father, Louis Caron, was a philanthropic and yes, a wealthy, man. He was the proud owner of the Caron Flying Circus, which meant that I had rarely spent more than half a day straight with my feet on the ground. On my twelfth birthday I was strapped to the wing of a Gypsy Moth and told to smile and wave at the crowd. I loved it.
My mother was a descendant of French Romany Gypsies, albeit two or three generations removed, but she retained that air of exotic adventure about her and was a tigress of a woman. I didn’t take after her very much, I explained, except for a genetic disposition for slender ankles and copper hair. On my thirteenth birthday, Father argued the case with Mother that it was time for me to join the circus as a pilot – I had been flying duel-seated for years and could handle an aircraft as well as anyone he knew. I’d be wonderful, he said, and an asset to the show.
Mother asked father to leave us alone for a moment. She sat me down in the garden and took a while searching under leaves until she found what she was looking for – a caterpillar. She held the caterpillar in her hand and began to talk of butterflies, explaining how caterpillars are happy enough, to begin with, with their little caterpillar bodies and caterpillar feet, because they don’t know any better, but eventually, there was an awakening within them – a realisation that it was time for a change, to evolve into a completely new being – to blossom, to fly. She said that the caterpillar, quite wisely, chose to spend some time alone before it flew – to cocoon itself in its own thoughts for a while – and then, when it was ready, it shed the trappings of adolescence and transformed itself completely by growing wings and, at just the right time, took to the skies and flew.
She said, ‘Juliet. Your father has kept you a boy for far too long. It is time to shed your boy-like caterpillar frame, let go of those clumsy feet, hunched shoulders and flat-framed body. It is time to chrysalis into the woman your body is aching to become, which is why I have decided to send you to school – yes, there is no point arguing – for two years, with other girls your own age who can teach you how to become a woman. Join the circus now, by all means, but only on the proviso that, at fifteen, you will go to Paris and become a butterfly. Those are my terms.’
I said nothing. There was no point arguing with Ma.
‘But listen to me, Juliet, and listen hard,’ she added. ‘When you do blossom into a woman, remember that there are two types of man in this world – the non-predatory and the predatory. With your gypsy looks and wild-hearted spirit I know that you will attract the latter, but you must promise me, my love, that when you marry, you will marry the former. Oh, toy with predatory men if you must, make love to them, tease them for your own entertainment, but never – never – marry a charming man, and remember …’ she tipped my face upwards from the chin at this point ‘… are you listening to me, Juliet? If you ever fall properly and desperately in love, remember that the first throws of love are nothing more than obsession, they are not love, not really. And never let a man know how deeply you love him, because once he has the upper hand, he will break your heart in a single moment and not even pause as he steps over your broken body to move onto the next.’
Then, when I was fourteen, came the crash. Bereft, and dependent on Pa’s solicitor who was intent on carrying out mother’s wishes, I was sent to school in Paris and that’s where I met Lottie Lanyon, who took me under her wing and helped me through the darkest days of my life, never leaving me alone during the holidays, always taking me home to Cornwall, to Lanyon, and sharing her family with me, which is how I met Lottie’s brother Charles, the most non-predatory young man I had ever met. After a short courtship, I agreed to marry him.
Edward listened while I told an abridged version of my story. At no time during the course of the whole conversation did I admit to my engagement or to my mother’s warning about fast men. Was this a deliberate omission on my behalf – absolutely.
‘On my fourteenth birthday – which is also Christmas Day, by the way – Pa took me into the little club house we had at our landing strip in Oxford and he gave me a good luck charm, to keep with me, always.’
Still sitting on the harbour wall, I took my lucky charm out of my pocket and handed it to Edward. It was a compass, cased in gold.
‘It’s the most special thing I own – will ever own,’ I said, smiling at the thought of Pa.
‘It’s lovely,’ he said. ‘It’s a compass you say?’
‘Yes.’
‘But it looks like a pocket watch.’
He pressed a catch on the side to open the lid, revealing the compass.
‘Yes, it does, rather. But look … if you flick this tiny little lever, like this, and then turn the catch, the back of the compass casing opens rather than the front … see? And then you find that it’s not just a compass at all, but something else entirely.’
Edward looked at it, confused. A needle was centred on the face, but rather than pointing to North or South, the only words written on this side were, Oui and Non.
‘It’s an heirloom from my mother’s side of the family,’ I explained. ‘They were travellers. This side of the compass acts as a kind of fortune teller’s trinket.’
‘How does it work?’
‘Well, let’s say you have a pressing question you desperately need an answer for, you open the compass, ask the question, then press the catch to spin the needle and see where it lands – yes, or no. When Pa gave it to me, he said, “Here is your real inheritance, Juliet. But remember, if you ever need an answer to an important question, know that in your heart, you already know all the answers, and most often, if you are in doubt about something and are looking for an answer, then whatever it is that you are considering doing – don’t. Pause, wait, consider. There is much more time around than anyone supposes.”’
‘Have you ever asked it a question?’
I shook my head. ‘Never.’
Edward closed the compass and handed it back.
‘It’s wonderful,’ he said. ‘He must have loved you very much.’
I felt tears sting my eyes. Dear, darling Pa.
‘He did.’
‘You never thought of giving it up, after the accident – flying, I mean?’
I thought about my answer.
‘Have you ever thought of giving up breathing?’
He shook his head with a smile.
‘There you go then. It’s who I am. When I’m in the sky,’ I looked up with a sigh, ‘up there, I’m in heaven. I don’t blame aeroplanes for my parent’s death and have no intention of stopping flying because of it. It was a moment’s misjudgement on Pa’s behalf, and as devastating as it has been, I know he would want me to keep going, whatever the consequences.’
We sat in silence for a while, our shoulders touching, before turning our thoughts to Germany and the heart-breaking possibility of war. I talked of my grand plan – a plan I had not revealed to anyone, least of all to Charles – that being my determination to fly for the RAF, perhaps even join as a fighter pilot, the first woman ever. I just needed to work out a way to persuade them to have me. Edward did not mock. He accepted my dream as an equal, saying that if I dreamt hard enough, anything could happen. And I liked that. I liked that very much indeed.
‘Anyway, your turn,’ I said, returning the compass to a pocket. ‘You’re obviously not local, so why rent a cottage here? Why has E. Nancarrow come to Angels Cove?’ I took a quick slurp of whiskey. It was Edward’s turn to pause before answering. I filled the gap by answering my own question. ‘No, wait! I bet you’re an artist. It’ll be the light. Are you in with the Newlyn set?’
Edward shook his head.
‘I’m not in with any set. I just thought I’d come and stay for a while, take in the sea air. Enjoy the view.’
‘How very leisurely of you. But what do you do for a living – other than walking your dog on the cliffs and getting in the way of women trying to land their planes – what are you?’
A wry smile drifted across his face.
He rubbed his chin in thought. ‘I told you. I’m a coddiwompler.’
I laughed. ‘That again.’
‘Yes, that again.’ He took a sip of my whiskey. ‘Does that answer your question?’
I kicked my legs against the harbour wall.
‘Bearing in mind I have no idea what a coddiwompler is, I would say that you have in no way answered my question. So …?’
‘So?’
‘So, go on then, what is one?’
Edward sniffed and shook his head.
‘Oh, well, this is quite awkward, because I’m not really allowed to say.’
He looked away, pretending to be interested in a couple of men who were sitting on a boat, supposedly mending their nets but really just chatting at the far end or the harbour wall.
‘Not allowed to say? But you were going to tell me earlier …’
‘We coddiwomplers are members of a top secret club – I was going to tell you before because I thought you must be one, too’ – he turned to me – ‘because it hit me last night that you seem to be exactly the sort of person who would love to live her life as we do … but now, I’m not so sure. You might be a bit …’
‘A bit?’
‘Sensible.’
‘Nonsense. You’ve seen my aircraft – Daredevil is quite literally my middle name. Tell me!’
He shook his head. ‘No. We’ll just have to play I spy, instead. I’ll start.’ He glanced around the harbour. ‘I spy something beginning with B.’
‘Boat?’
His eyes lit up.
‘Yes! Say, you’re real good at this! I’ll give it another shot … I spy something beginning with S …’
‘The sea.’
‘No, that would be T S. Try again …’
The time passed far too quickly and without even noticing it, the sun began to set beyond the islands. I jumped off the harbour wall in a wild panic. Edward had a definite look of satisfaction on his face when I chided him for keeping me talking for so long.
‘Before you go, let me just …’ Edward surprised me by taking a folded handkerchief from his coat pocket. He wrapped a corner of the cloth around his finger and lifted his hand towards my face. ‘You have a smear of oil across your face, that will never do at a house like Lanyon. Far too proper.’ I didn’t move away, but allowed him to wipe my cheek.
‘How long has that been there?’
‘All day. I let you run with it.’ He stepped back to admire his handy-work. ‘There, all gone. Although, I actually preferred you as you were, with the warrior stripe – it really suited you,’ he added, softly.
A cloud passed over our fragmented bits of conversation. We had had our moment, both of us knowing I should have dashed back to Lanyon much earlier, but we had already taken on the selfish attitude of lovers and from the ambivalent view of the naïve observer – the men working on the fishing boats, for example – we would have appeared to have had nothing more than a pleasant afternoon enjoying the polite interaction of two friends. But Edward and I knew differently, and we knew it from the first, ‘Hello’. Because that was the thing with love at first sight, it was like the birth of time – the big bang of the universe itself. It was the ignition of a silent understanding exchanged in body language – in the blink of an eye, the angle of the head and the positioning of the body. It was that first spark of a silent understanding that set in motion an unstoppable series of events. A motion that creates a kind of energy that forever links two people in an impenetrable and invisible connectedness. A connectedness that almost always brings a heady emotional mix of absolute joy and unbearable pain.
Mother would not be happy.
As I waved goodbye and dashed up the hill, I felt like Cinderella running away from her Prince Charming. And just like Cinderella, I knew that the road would not lead us apart for very long, but would curve all the way around our respective destinations in the shape of an interconnected heart, and that we would stand in front of each other again, smiling, not wanting to walk away. And yet, at that very moment, I still didn’t know what he did, where he was from, why he was here – and most importantly, I realised dashing up the road, smiling – I still had absolutely no idea what a coddiwompler was!
No one at Lanyon knew what a coddiwompler was either. Pa Lanyon thought it sounded like ‘old English’ and after a rebuke from Lottie for being gone all day and a strange side-eyed glance from Charles, Pa pointed me in the direction of his library where I would find a miscellany on old-English quirky words. Sure enough, between cockamamie (ridiculous; incredible) and codswallop (something utterly senseless) I found coddiwompler: someone who travels in a purposeful manner towards a vague destination.
How very vague, and elusive, and exciting, and mysterious … and, he was an American, too … just dreadful!
Chapter 7 (#ulink_237c25d6-0b14-5ddc-a711-eb0777263589)
Katherine
A moment’s pause
I lay the manuscript down on the sofa and stoked the fire before selecting the search engine on my phone.
Several sites popped up on the search feed associating themselves with coddiwompling, including a webpage dedicated to the written ramblings of free-spirited bloggers who shared their adventurers on the internet.
One particular blogger – The Last Coddiwompler – caught my eye. He was a man who occasionally travelled with no real agenda other than to seek out one thing and one thing only – fun. He aimed always, he said, to simply ‘stumble’ across adventure, rather than to seek it out, genuinely believing that if he kept his eye out, even in the most mundane on places, adventure was only ever a heartbeat away. It seemed that in the process of hitting the road aimlessly, this blogger regularly found himself spending time in the most amazing places and meeting the most fascinating people – and not necessarily in exotic locations from glossy magazines, he stressed, but absolutely anywhere – Spain, Mexico, Hull … As I read this tale of modern-day adventure and stared in admiration at his photographs, I couldn’t help but be drawn in, and all the while a clearer picture of Juliet’s mystery man began to take shape, because if Edward Nancarrow was anything like the man staring out of the screen in front of me, he would have been a fun, free, sexy, enticing kind of a man. And yet wasn’t this exactly the sort of person Juliet was, too? An adventurer, a dare devil, a coddiwompler? Edward clearly thought so, and he knew it from the moment she landed her Tiger Moth on the field in front of him.
