Flying Too High Read Online Free PDF Page A

panicked.
    ‘Of course, Phryne, you never met Ruth Law, did you?’ asked Bunji, as she sat down in the Windsor’s plush dining-room and stared hopelessly at the menu. ‘I say, old girl, I don’t really go for all this stuff, you know. I suppose steak and chips is out of the question?’
    ‘Steak and chips you shall have, Bunji, old bean,’ agreed Phryne, turning to the waiter. ‘ Filet mignon and pommes frites for Madame, and bring me lobster mayonnaise. Champagne,’ she added to the hovering wine waiter. ‘The Widow ’23. No, I didn’t meet Ruth Law, what was she like?’
    ‘A charming woman, and a simply ripping flier. But she was involved in a bad crash and her husband had a crise de nerfs and begged her not to fly again. As far as I know she hasn’t. Terrible waste. I hear you did a Perils of Pauline on a Moth, Phryne.’
    ‘News travels fast out here.’
    ‘Well, everyone knows everyone in the flying fraternity. Mostly it is a fraternity, too, only a few other females in Melbourne. But there’s more coming up, you know. I’ve got six in my class at the moment; good girls, too. Like I always say, all you need for flying is good reflexes and light hands. You don’t need brute force. In fact brute force will crash you nine times out of ten. Trouble is the cost of a ’bus. Look at Bill McNaughton, he’s just spent a small fortune on a new Fokker, and what is he going to do with it? Fly over the South Pole, by all that’s crazy.’
    ‘I met him,’ said Phryne, as the waiter filled her glass.
    ‘Did you?’
    ‘Yes, he was flying the Moth while I did my stunt.’
    ‘You’re a braver woman than me, then.’
    ‘Why, what’s wrong with him?’
    ‘Brute force, like I say. Wrenches his machine around as if there were no such things as metal fatigue and tensile strengths. Saw him rip the wings off a Moth once, and that takes doing. You know how forgiving they are, nicest little things, apart from a tendency to buck—a child could fly them. But Bill has never learned that muscle ain’t the solution to every problem. That’s what’s wrong with him.’
    ‘I told him to keep her to a steady path and compensate for the tilt, and he did.’
    ‘Well, that’s more than I would have thought of him. I wouldn’t try it. He’d be just as likely to loop the loop with you aloft. I’d say you had a lucky escape, old girl. Let me fill up your glass. You look pale.’
    ‘I feel pale,’ agreed Phryne. ‘What do you know about him, then?’
    ‘Bill? His father stumped up manfully for him to start his flying school. It ain’t going well. He’s a lousy teacher. Yells at his pupils and frightens them into fits, then won’t let them try on their own. They either give up flying or come to me. I’ve had three of his ex-pupils. He’d reduced all of them to pulp, especially the men. He doesn’t really think that women can fly, so he’s not so hard on ’em. It don’t do a young man any harm to be pulped occasionally. Stop ’em from getting above ’emselves. However, you can’t expect them to pay for it. He’s a bruising flier—brave but brash, and he breaks his machines. Luckily, he’s a good mechanic so he can repair his own. Word is that he gets on very badly with his dad, which is not surprising, because they are much alike. Both big, loud, self-opinionated bastards. This steak is jolly good,’ added Bunji, and tucked in joyfully. Phryne picked at her lobster mayonnaise and sipped champagne. She was obscurely worried about Bill McNaughton. Having intruded into his life, she now felt responsible for him.
    ‘Why not fly over the South Pole?’ she asked, idly.
    ‘Too big,’ said Bunji with her mouth full. ‘The North Pole is big, but most of it is ice, and so when some of the ice melts there’s a lot less land to cross. The South Pole, I believe is mostly land overlaid with ice and when the ice melts it ain’t going to get any smaller. And ice does funny things to planes. Look at poor old