‘Claims? Sounds like they don’t believe it.’
‘Well, they weren’t there themselves. But it continues:
‘“This is the first successful flight yet made in Australia in a heavier-than-air machine.” Wonderful. Now I’m set for the next phase of my campaign.’
Harry recognises the look of an adroit conjuror poised to produce something remarkable from his hat.
‘Advertisements!’ Rickards continues. He raises both hands, as if spelling out lettering on a billboard:
‘“Houdini’s Conquest Of The Air! The First Successful Flight in Australia was on a Machine covered with Continental Balloon Sheeting.”’
‘You reckon we can say all that?’
‘Say it loud enough, Double, and everyone will hear you.’
‘But what of Custance? Do we pretend he never did anything?’
‘No need to pretend. He’s mentioned here in The Age, pertaining to difficult weather conditions in the past weeks: “The changeable nature of the winds has proved disastrous to two machines and their aviators in the initial stages of learning to fly, viz, the Wilbur Wright machine belonging to the Melbourne Motor Garage—”’
‘That’s Banks.’
‘“—and the Bleriot machine, belonging to Mr Jones, which was on Thursday wrecked at Adelaide.”’
Rickards shakes his head, admiring the power of the written word.
‘Was it wrecked?’ Harry asks. ‘I thought the damage was not so bad.’
‘Mere hair-splitting! I much prefer “wrecked”. And I’ll ensure it is drawn to the attention of Taylor from the Aviation League. He’s at the Savage Club, having arrived in town, and will be my guest when you fly tomorrow.’
‘So you will be there?’
‘Tomorrow is your main event. So of course I’ll be there, along with the influential George Taylor. Adamson too, I hope. So I can see his face! And I’ve been spreading the word to ensure a good turnout. That Pathé moving-picture man assures me he’ll be present this time. Plus more reporters.’
Rickards’ energy and optimism have shunted Harry’s gloom aside. But then he remembers the alarming sensation of the Voisin’s controls tugging at his hands and the wings being jerked around by unseen strings.
‘What if all those people gather and it’s too windy for me to go up again?’
‘Enough of that! Positive thinking is what we want. Everything will be in order. Get yourself up and I’ll take care of the rest. The trophy is all in order, as we discussed. Tomorrow will be a certified triumph, your biggest ever. And then we can roll on into Sydney.’
He returns his attention to the draft poster as Harry gets ready to go.
‘It seems my season isn’t over after all,’ he says. ‘I have another show. A command performance, you might say. Outdoors!’
‘Indeed you do,’ says Rickards, already wondering what additional information should be included on the poster. Dates; times; ticket prices … and perhaps some kind of assurance: “Houdini Will Positively Fly!” Yes, that could do it. Then he senses that his aviator is awaiting further instructions.
‘If I were you I’d rest up a bit,’ Rickards says. ‘You’ve got a big day ahead. You’re welcome to Mademoiselle De Dio’s show here tonight if you like. Though I don’t know if you care for prismatic dancing.’
‘Perhaps my wife would enjoy it,’ Harry replies. ‘I will ask her.’
50
‘AN excursion outside?’ the composer says, repeating her question. ‘Yes. I would enjoy that. After so long within this room. And having heard all you have told me, I now find myself curious to see this flying machine.’
‘Meaning you will come?’
She is like a little girl, he thinks. A girl wanting an adult’s approval for a project she has conceived. And he wants to make her smile.
‘Tomorrow – why not? I have no other appointments. And my work is close to being completed. So, if our reliable manager can organise some transport – perhaps he would enjoy a day out of town also.’
‘You know I would prefer that you came with us. But—’
The composer raises one hand, silencing her.
‘I understand. It is best some mystery is maintained. Some things are best left unsaid. And in this paddock you have talked about, I will keep some distance. Like a member of the chorus, to one side, almost off the stage altogether, who is never noticed.’
Bess clasps her hands together, pleased.
She has noticed that the papers on the piano lid are less messy. And there are far fewer loose sheets scattered on the floor.
‘Is it true – your work is almost done?’
‘For now, yes. Close to the end.’
She picks up a sheet.
‘What is this? Something from the last Act?’
