But one where he was a very minor cherub. At first he had assumed he would have an advantage both because no other student could have studied aeronautical magazines as avidly as he, and because he was young and thus a quick learner. Instead, he had learnt quickly that everybody had read more than he, and that thirty was very old for a cherub. The one advantage his age gave him – if he survived to exploit it – was that he expected things to go wrong. He loved machinery, but knew it was mortal and that he could only prolong that life by gentleness and mistrust. Mid-air was no place for thinking “I can always buy another one”.
And he had two other advantages: that he had nothing else to do – no tailors or girlfriends in London needing his attention – and Andrew Sherring. When nothing was happening at the flying school, O’Gilroy haunted Andrew’s shed or the Blue Bird, asking and listening. He saved his own opinions to impress Ranklin.
15
On Monday, Ranklin handed Dagner a brief report on Saturday’s events and, ten minutes later, was called in to discuss it. For the first time, Dagner wore plain clothes, a dark grey lounge suit that was brand new. So probably he had worn uniform last week simply because, after years in India, he was waiting for his tailor to run him up some London clothes. Ranklin should have thought of that, and felt ashamed of his glib hints that Dagner abandon uniform.
“D’you think Mr Sherring’s aeroplane fits Senator Falcone’s needs?”
“He appeared to be talking seriously about it.”
“Then let’s hope . . . Now, about the Senator being followed. You obviously did the right thing in moving him to a hotel in the country-”
“I’m afraid he may now suspect who I really represent. He did comment.”
Dagner smiled sympathetically. “Can’t be helped. But the man trying to follow him from the Ritz: positively didn’t speak English?”
“Quite sure.”
“And dressed unsuitably . . . I know nothing about these organisations, but does that sound like, say, the Austrian KS to you?”
Ranklin noticed he knew enough to call the Austrian secret service by its initials, though. “No, they should be better than that. But if they wanted to keep their hands clean, they might have hired some assassin.”
“Yes, there’s always that. And if Falcone doesn’t want a bodyguard, we can’t insist. But I want to keep tabs on him . . . If he approaches Mr Sherring again, will we know through O’Gilroy?”
“Not necessarily. But I should hear from Mrs Finn.”
“Ah yes.” Dagner smiled, perhaps relieved that the lady’s name had finally come into the open. “I must say I’d very much like to meet her myself . . .”
To see if she were suitable? But he still welcomed the idea. Once Corinna had met Dagner, Ranklin could at least mention him in conversation.
“I’m sure she’d be delighted. Should we say tea at one of the big hotels?”
“Excellent. I look forward to it.”
* * *
It rained the next morning so perhaps, with October only a week away, autumn had finally arrived. Ranklin got out his winter overcoat and looked at it critically. It was made of tan broadcloth and only ten years old and so still perfectly wearable, but the cut was a bit full for today’s fashion. He liked that shape – damn it, he was that shape – but suppose he had one day to look fashionable? . . . Well, he’d see. Meanwhile, perhaps he needed one of the new Burberry weatherproofs for a day like this. The trouble was, the advertisements always showed them on men as tall and thin as lances. On him, it would look like a tent. And Burberry never put prices in their advertisements . . . It could wait.
So, feeling better for having at least identified a problem, he put the overcoat away and walked upstairs to the office. Dagner didn’t get in for half an hour, wearing a brand-new topcoat that fitted his slim figure perfectly. Ten minutes later he called Ranklin in to make a “morning report”, a carry-over of Army procedure that hadn’t happened when the Commander was in charge. For one thing, it would have implied that somebody apart from himself knew what was going on.
Ranklin summarised how the training was going, then added: “And I had a word with Mrs Finn yesterday evening. She suggests we meet for tea at the Carlton tomorrow, if that suits you.”
“Certainly.”
“And she’s heard from her brother Andrew. Senator Falcone has made a firm offer to buy the aeroplane outright, provided he gets the right to make it in Italy and Andrew gets it out there and flies a demonstration. Andrew wants to agree, the price seems right, but there’s a snag: he apparently offered it to the Royal Aircraft Factory at Farnborough to test for our Army, and since they agreed, it’s become, as it were, sub judice. He can’t take it out of the country until it’s been tested. He’s pretty sure they’ll turn it down, there’s a virtual ban on monoplanes for military use, but nevertheless . . . And Falcone seems in a bit of a hurry.”
But Danger was just nodding contentedly. “That seems to be just the sort of problem the Senator anticipated, and that we agreed to sort out for him as our part of the deal. Do you know who should speak to at the War House to get the tests cancelled or postponed?”
“No, but I can pop across there and find out.”
“Splendid. You’d better get on with it. It’s nearly half-past ten now and you’ll need to catch them between getting in and going out for lunch.” Dagner, it seemed, was not impressed by the hours worked at the War Office.
Ranklin himself saw the War Office as a cobweb. Most of it was immobile and just clinging on, but if you kept trudging and didn’t get stuck, you ultimately found a spider who was ready to take a decision. By the time he got back with the name of the man to talk to, Dagner himself was out to lunch and there was a message to telephone Corinna at the Sherring City office.
“Good Lord, you don’t care much if a girl doesn’t get any lunch, do you?” her voice crackled. “I’ve been trying to reach you all morning. Listen: you asked me about Birmingham Small Arms, right? It turns out they’re trying to raise cash so I asked them to come and talk and a Mr Viner will be here at three. He wanted to bring their new product to show me and for your sake alone I said Yes, so you’d better be here. Three o’clock, okay? As James Spencer, I think, devoted employee.”
He had been in the Sherring office in Paris, a stately affair on the Boulevard des Capucines, but never the London one. Perhaps Sherring believed in local colour, because this was positively Dickensian, all rambling passageways and cock-eyed right angles. Corinna was waiting in a low-ceilinged room overfilled with leather chairs, bookshelves of ledgers, mahogany and green glass-shaded lamps that must shine all day. It looked a bit deliberate and made her, dressed in emerald green and gold, seem like a butterfly in a funeral parlour, but she sprawled unselfconsciously in one of the big chairs with papers strewn across the thick carpet.
The only decorations in the room were an old chart of the world, a portrait, and a ship model in a glass case. It was an ocean-going paddle-wheel steamer of maybe sixty years ago, still carrying two fully rigged masts, and beautifully crafted. Knowing he was behaving as any visitor would, Ranklin headed straight for it and stared in admiration. “Is this the ship that founded the family fortunes?”
“That’s the story,” she agreed. “Actually Pop says you English don’t trust a bank that doesn’t have a ship model in its partners’ room, so he bought it when the shipping line went broke.” She nodded at the portrait, of a large, ugly man with fully rigged white whiskers. “But that really is my grandfather, unless Grandma was way ahead of her time.”
Ranklin smiled. “Before we get down to more sordid business, I’ve news about your brother’s aeroplane: there may now not be any problem about Farnborough stopping it leaving the country. So if you’re happy about Falcone’s offer in other respects, it can probably go ahead.”