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Chapter 5
Juliet
Lanyon

I grabbed my bag and ran away from the field, sharpish, arriving at Lanyon half an hour later to find a concerned Charles on the drive pacing outside the grand front door.

‘Oh, hello, darling,’ I said, blundering my way into the hallway ahead of him. ‘Sorry I’m late. I had to put down in a field and ended up having a bit of commotion with some cows, but it’s all sorted now.’ I pecked him on the cheek. ‘Where’s Lottie?’ I asked, taking off my flying helmet while glancing in the hall mirror. God! Had I really looked like that in front of Edward? I quickly tidied my hair and tried to rub a smudge of oil away with the back of my hand. ‘Only, I’m desperate to catch up.’

Charles didn’t answer but took my hands.

‘But … darling,’ he paused. ‘Before you see Lottie, I really do think we need to talk about, you know, the arrangement … only, Pa wants to iron a few things out. Details, you know.’

I shook him off with a peck on the lips.

‘Yes, I suppose we do. But not now though.’ I smiled my brightest smile and patted him on the arm. ‘I’m desperate to get in front of the fire and warm up; it was absolutely freezing up there today. Oh, and I’m afraid I rather upset those cows when I landed. Do you think you could send a thank you to your man … Jessops, is it? Perhaps some cider or something? He was ever so helpful, moving the cows to another field. And I’ve left the Moth in a barn.’

Charles laughed.

‘Poor Jessops. Yes, of course I can. I’m visiting him tomorrow. I’ll take something to him then.’

I kissed Charles again, with a little more enthusiasm this time, before striding across the hallway and placing my hand on the sitting-room door handle. ‘Is Lottie in here?’

Charles nodded. Smiling, I slipped off my muddy flying boots and turned the brass knob on the large panelled door.

Lottie was dozing on a large sofa by the bay window. A King Charles spaniel lay by her feet. An embroidered shawl, the most perfect shade of russet red, was wrapped around her shoulders.

‘Juliet!’

Lottie, stirring at the sound of the door, threw her legs off the sofa and crossed the room to hug me. ‘I’ve been waiting for you all afternoon. We saw you fly past ages ago. Charles imagined you dead in a ditch somewhere, although why a ditch always has to be involved whenever anyone goes missing is beyond me.’ She took a step backwards to look me up and down. ‘But looking at the state of you, I think you really have been in a ditch!’ She turned to Charles who had followed me into the room. ‘Do leave us to catch up in peace, Charles! And perhaps arrange for some tea?’

Charles shook his head in mock disapproval, crossed the room to kiss me once more before turning on his heels to leave us alone. Lottie returned to the sofa while I mothered around her, straightening her shawl around her shoulders. It was Lottie’s comfort shawl from school, the thing she always turned to in moments of distress (that and a book of Christina Rossetti poetry). This wasn’t a good sign. If the shawl was out, before you knew it the poetry books would also be out and Lottie would spiral into a depression that could last for weeks. The door clicked shut.

‘Good, he’s gone!’ Lottie said, lounging back into the sofa. ‘So, tell me, what have you really been up to all afternoon?’

I was just about to sit down myself and launch into a watered-down version of the truth when the door clicked open again and Charles’s mother rushed into the sitting room carrying a bed sheet.

‘Ah, Juliet. You made it. Jolly good…’ She glanced at my clothes and then at the bed sheet. ‘It’s because of the oil, dear,’ she said kindly, before laying the sheet across a chair.

‘Sorry, Ma,’ (Lottie insisted I called her this, although Mrs Lanyon and I both seemed to wince every time I said it) ‘But I did take my muddy boots off in the hallway.’

She glanced at my stockinged feet – men’s stockings – and patted me on the head as I sat down – ‘Thank you, Juliet. Most considerate.’ She pulled the bell for tea, sat down and started to chat, leaving Lottie to roll her eyes with annoyance at having had her confidential catch-up delayed.

The late afternoon passed pleasantly. Charles reappeared with the maid, Katie, who brought tea and a few eats, and we all caught up in the civilised manner befitting gentle folk who lived in a house like Lanyon. Final plans for the wedding were made, and it was only when Ma and Charles retired to dress for dinner that Lottie and I finally found a few moments to be alone. We sat in a delicious silence at first. I was perched on the end of her sofa, having dragged the sheet with me to tuck underneath my oil-stained clothes. We stared out into the darkness of the garden, which in daylight had uninterrupted views across the grounds to the ocean beyond, but at night was one long expanse of black, except for the moon, which was almost full and served to backlight a line of cedar trees perfectly, the moon shadows throwing glorious patterns across the lawn and a river of silver through the sea.

‘I don’t know why I’m asking,’ Lottie said, breaking the silence. ‘But have you given any thought to what you might wear to the wedding?’

‘Oh, I’ve brought a warm woollen suit that belonged to Mummy. That will do, I suppose.’

Lottie shook her head in frustration. I pressed on.

‘But it’s winter, Lottie! And it’s very smart, too. Truly it is.’

‘But it’s your wedding day, Juliet. I can’t understand why you’re keeping it so simple.’

I began to play with a tassel on Lottie’s shawl.

‘Charles and I agreed – no fuss. And your Ma was relieved on the “no fuss” front, too. There might be a war. It doesn’t do for the big house to start being extravagant in front of the tenants. And I’ve got no one to invite, no one at all. I’d much rather spend Pa’s money on a new aircraft…’ I sat up. ‘Oh, did I tell you? There’s this fabulous little monoplane coming out soon and it’s…’ Noticing Lottie glance down at her very slightly swollen belly, I stopped. ‘Well anyway, that’s just a bit of a dream. But what about you?’ I tried to buoy her up. ‘What will you wear?’

She shrugged, disconsolate.

‘I know!’ I said, not waiting for an answer. ‘You should wear your cream cashmere two-piece. The one I bought you in Paris.’

Lottie shook her head.

‘I was going to. But Katie can’t do the zip up anymore. And anyway, I want you to wear it.’

‘Me! But … look at my hands, Lottie! I’ll never get them clean enough to wear cream.’

‘I thought of that. I’ve told Katie to scrub them. No buts. It’s been laid out on the end of your bed. I knew you wouldn’t have brought anything suitable.’ She glanced at my clothes. ‘Just look at you, Juliet. I mean to say, have you even brought any decent clothes? You do know there’s a party here tomorrow evening? In your honour, I might add.’

I went back to the tassel.

‘I managed to pack a few bits and bobs. But truly, Lottie, it’s difficult to fit anything in the old Moth, what with the tools I carry and so on…’ My voice petered out.

Lottie wasn’t listening. She stirred herself sufficiently to leave the comfort of the chaise and cross to the fireplace to ring the bell. Katie appeared.

‘Katie, please escort Miss Caron to her room – via my room. Do not allow her to deviate. Wash her hands and help her to pick out a dress for dinner this evening, and for tomorrow evening, too. And when she finally steps out of the dreadful clothes she’s wearing, wash them and when she’s not looking, give them to the poor, although the poor probably won’t want them so you might as well burn them.’

‘Lottie!’

Katie tried to hide a smile. I made tracks towards the door.

‘Oh, and Katie…’ Lottie added, forcing Katie to pause at the door.

‘Yes, Ma’am?’

‘Tomorrow’s dress should be something stunning for Miss Caron. And don’t forget to take that tweed suit I pointed out for yourself, too. I don’t need it anymore and it will be nice for you to wear it over Christmas…’

Katie’s eyes widened.

‘Thank you ever so much, Ma’am.’

Lottie batted us off, but as we left the room, I took a moment to look at Lottie from the doorway. She had turned to face the moon shadows again. There was something in the way her head dropped and in the way her right hand was reaching to her cheek that told me she was crying. I wanted to rush her, to hold her and tell her everything was going to be all right. But if I did, Lottie would want to discuss the inevitable – her inevitable – a topic we had been skirting around all day, the topic Charles wanted to discuss when I arrived. The topic of a baby – and a promise, too. And if we did that, I wasn’t entirely sure that my previous resolve to help my friend would hold true, and the problem was, it had to.

Instead, I grabbed my boots, flying helmet, coat and gloves from the hallway, followed Katie to Lottie’s room and asked her to lay out a couple of evening dresses – but not to worry too much about what she found; any old thing would do.

Chapter 6
Juliet
The compass and the coddiwompler

18 December 1938

Dear Juliet

We said our goodbyes without arranging a time or date for the flight you offered me. Is today too soon? I can get fuel if necessary. I’ll wait at the barn at 1pm in the hope you can make it.

Yours,

E. Nancarrow

Edward’s letter, handed to me by Katie a little after breakfast, caught me by surprise. I would usually run to Lottie with this kind of thing, but I didn’t tell her about the letter because … well, because I didn’t want anyone to know. I spent the morning walking the grounds with Lottie pretending E. Nancarrow did not exist, but later, with Charles busy paying Christmas good tidings to tenant farmers (including Jessops who would receive extra cider this Christmas for his inconvenience with the cows) and with Lottie resting, I felt restless and bored. Persuading myself that I really should go and make sure the aircraft was safe and sound, I pulled my flying jacket over a shrunken Argyle jumper of my father’s and tucked Oxford bag trousers into my flying boots before striding out and heading down the road. This Edward Nancarrow chap may well have been what might generally be regarded as quite a dish, but still, summoning me to take him flying when he had behaved so dismissively the day before really was taking the biscuit.

No, I would go to the barn and explain that I could not fly today, but as a woman of my word I would take him flying at some point that week – but at my convenience, in a day or so perhaps, weather permitting.

When I arrived at the barn Edward was already there, sitting on a hay bale and engrossed in a literary supplement – The Beano. I stood in the doorway and watched him. He tittered to himself while reading, seemingly a different man from yesterday – a happy-go-lucky, relaxed man. I coughed to attract attention and hoped that the midday winter sun backlighting me in the doorway would highlight the copper (my mother called it red) in my hair in just the right way. He looked up and smiled.

‘Hello, there,’ he said, putting the comic down before making his way around the wing and stepping towards me. His greeting had the casual air of an old friend about it.

Who was this new man with his relaxed airs?

Whoever he was he was dressed in layers of warm clothes.

Ready for flying, no doubt.

The presumption!

‘I thought I’d check the aircraft over for you,’ he said. ‘Make sure she survived the night. She seems perfectly fine, though – not a cow scratch in sight!’

Humour, now? I didn’t smile but sniffed out a kind of thank you. He followed me around the aircraft as I checked her over for myself.

‘You got my note, then?’ he asked.

I paused by the propeller and looked him in the face. ‘Note?’

His expression was perfection – there is nothing more satisfying than witnessing the sudden onset of self-doubt in an overly-confident man.

‘Yes, note,’ he repeated. ‘I delivered it to Lanyon myself, this morning. I asked the maid to take it to you directly.’

I shook my head before unclipping the stowage door. I removed my tool bag and a spare set of overalls and dropped them onto the barn floor.

‘I received no note this morning.’ I glanced up at him again, pulling the overalls on over my flying boots. ‘What did it say?’

‘Say?’ Edward was rubbing his temple now.

‘Yes. The note?’

He considered this.

‘Well, it, er … it…’

I rummaged unnecessarily in the bag before taking out a spanner, stood to my full height – all five foot, five inches – and looked up at him.

‘It said that I’d…’ He glanced around the barn, still considering his next sentence.

‘That you’d…?’

‘Well, that I’d be here – waiting for you – in case you were free to take me flying this afternoon. You did offer. I’m sure you did.’

I walked around to the engine housing and lifted the casing away.

He followed me.

‘Pass me my tool bag, would you?’

He sighed, picked up the bag and joined me by the engine. I took an oil-stained scarf out of the bag and tied my hair back before finding another rag to check the oil.

‘So, how about it?’ he said, watching me.

‘How about what?’

‘The flight you offered – my flight. How about it?’

I paused to look at him.

‘Today?’ I asked. ‘Right now?’

‘Yes.’

I shook my head and returned to the engine. ‘That’s not possible. Today is a day for essential maintenance. She was a bit sticky in the rudder on the way down and I want to sort it out.’

‘You do?’ he said, his voice playful. ‘You need to sort it out? You’re doing the maintenance?’

Not this again.

‘Yes, Mr Nancarrow. I’m doing the maintenance.’

‘But, how…?’

‘My father wouldn’t allow me to fly solo until I knew how to fix her. He’d say, “There’s absolutely no point gallivanting off around the countryside if you can’t fix your own kite, you know, Juliet, no point at all!” I know exactly what I’m doing, but if you aren’t happy with that state of affairs then I suggest you find someone else to take you flying – a man, perhaps. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m very busy and I suppose you’ll be wanting to be on your way.’

I turned back to the engine.

He smiled then and his shoulders relaxed. I didn’t see the smile or the relax, but I felt them. And then a hand rested gently on my shoulder.

‘You misunderstand me,’ he said. ‘I think it’s wonderful that you know how to maintain her. Truly. And I’d be honoured to fly with you. Today, tomorrow, the next day. Whenever you’re free.’ His hand fell but I didn’t turn around. ‘Perhaps, like you said yesterday, we can shake hands and start again. I have a feeling that I was a bit of a pompous ass yesterday. It’s just, at the time I thought you were very lucky not to crash, and that would have been a terrible waste. I don’t like waste. I’ve seen a lot of unnecessary waste in my life and I overreacted, I’m sorry.’

I turned to face him, the spanner still in my hand. I eyed him as a mouse would eye a smiling ferret. ‘Start again?’ I asked.

His eyes flashed brightly. ‘Exactly! Let’s pretend this is the first time we ever met, right here, right now…’

I hesitated.

‘I suppose I can do that. You were … quite helpful yesterday, after all. But I still can’t take you up today’—I softened—‘no matter how sweetly you smile…’

He laughed. I laughed. It was nice. Too nice. I remembered Charles.

‘But I really must get on. I have the engine to finish and then I really do need to take a good look at that rudder. Let’s say … same time tomorrow, and if the weather is fine, I’ll take you up.’

He visibly deflated. I turned back towards the engine.

‘Sorry, yes, I’ll leave you to it,’ he said to my back. ‘Till tomorrow, then?’

I nodded without looking around. I didn’t want to be rude or play with him, truly, but there was something in his smile, in the touch of his hand on my shoulder. He interrupted my thoughts by turning at the barn door.

‘I don’t suppose you’re free later this afternoon. Say, in a couple of hours, or so?’

I bent to glance at him under the wing.

‘Today?

‘Today.’

‘This afternoon?’

‘Yes. They’re putting on an afternoon tea and an early Christmas party for the children in the village hall. I’ve been asked to help out – organise games, play the guitar, that kind of thing – and I thought you might like to come, if you’ve finished here, that is.’

I considered the afternoon ahead. There was no sticky rudder. I had made that up. Charles was out with his father and Lottie was sleeping. There really was no reason for me to say no, and yet, there was every reason for me to say no.

‘I don’t understand this change in you,’ I said. ‘You were quite … shouty, yesterday.’

‘Shouty?’

‘Yes, shouty. And now you seek my company, even though I’m an irresponsible and spoiled little rich girl.’

He tilted his head to one side.

‘I didn’t say that.’

I waited for him to think about it.

‘Well, not those exact words.’

‘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 Incredible 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 as 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, taking 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 coddiwompling 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 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 Louis 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 throes 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 on to 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. That’s how I met Lottie’s brother Charles, the most non-predatory young man I had ever encountered. 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 clubhouse 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 to; 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 parents’ deaths 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 of 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…’