‘You shouldn’t try to bury things, though,’ said Sam. ‘I know you British like to keep a stiff upper lip, but it’s not always a good idea.’
‘I don’t know. It’s served me well so far,’ said Fitz. She stopped. She could have bitten off her own tongue for saying that out loud. She could see by the way Sam was looking at her, he was going to ask some awkward questions. And before she had a chance to say another word to divert the conversation, he spoke.
‘What is it you’re frightened of?’ he asked.
Fitz took a sip of her drink to stall for time before she answered. ‘Frightened of? I don’t know. I don’t believe in fear.’
‘That makes you either brave or foolish.’
‘Maybe I’m both.’
‘When you’re up in the sky, what is it you’re looking for?’
Fitz swallowed. She’d never been asked this question. She knew the answer ran deep, maybe deeper than she fully understood herself. She wasn’t one for talking about it to anyone, least of all an American pilot she barely knew and yet something made her want to open up to him.
‘It’s just me and the aircraft. It’s exhilarating. It’s freedom. Free of responsibility. When I’m flying I don’t have to rely on anyone else or worry about anyone else.’ She paused. ‘It all sounds rather selfish and self-indulgent when I say it out loud. I’m not sure any of it makes sense. All I do know is my mother was taken away far too soon.’ She could hear the bitterness in her voice and it shocked her. She usually kept these feelings locked away.
‘You’re angry that she died. That she took that risk and left you without a mother.’
‘Is that right?’
‘I think so,’ said Sam in that confident yet casual way of his. ‘You fly without fear because you’re seeking power and control over a situation, that as a child, you had zero control or power over. You’re attempting to gain a sense of closure and your childhood self might have been attempting to rewrite the outcome.’
Fitz scoffed at the last suggestion. ‘It sounds rather fanciful, don’t you think?’
Sam shrugged. ‘True, it might be a less common reaction to childhood trauma, but it’s not unheard of.’
‘Golly. That’s all rather deep,’ said Fitz not feeling comfortable at all with the psychological analysis Sam had just offered. ‘Well, I hate to disappoint you or suggest that your degree at Cambridge is wasted, but none of that applies to me. I simply love flying. I do love the adrenaline, that’s true but it’s a love my mother had and passed on to me. It’s in my blood. Anyway … enough about me. What about you?’ she asked, switching the subject away from herself. ‘What makes you take to the sky? Are you after that rush of adrenaline, too?’
‘You won’t be surprised to learn that I’ve thought about this before,’ said Sam. ‘And, yes, I am seeking the rush of adrenaline, but that’s because growing up my life was very rigid and very safe. Don’t get me wrong, I had a good home life and childhood. My father is an international banker. He likes order. Planning ahead. Sticking to a well thought-out plan.’
‘And that’s not you.’ Fitz might not know a great deal about the Anglo American sitting next to her, but she’d worked that one out pretty early on.
‘Most definitely not me. I guess I kicked out against it. I wanted to test myself.’
‘Finding your limits can be dangerous,’ said Fitz.
‘True, but I’ve not found them yet, so I’ll keep pushing,’ replied Sam. ‘I’d always thought I’d like to fly and when I met some of the pilots at White’s and was invited out with them one day, I was hooked. But I like speed of all kinds. Not only in the air. I got myself a motorbike. A Brough Superior. She’s a beauty.’
‘Really? I love motorbikes,’ said Fitz. ‘I used to take a Triumph out for a spin around the airfield sometimes. It belonged to Johnny Fisher. He was an absolute sweetheart. He taught me to fly, you know.’
‘Sounds like I have competition,’ said Sam. He fixed his gaze on Fitz.
She didn’t look away. Wouldn’t have been able to even if she had wanted to. His eyes looked particularly blue today. More Mediterranean than West Sussex blue. ‘Competition?’ she said, her voice low. ‘I’m not sure that’s possible.’
For all her extrovert ways, Fitz’s heart was hammering in her chest. Her pulse was pumping far faster than it should. She was fully aware this visceral reaction to Sam was for him and him alone.
Sam leaned in closer to her, his face merely centimetres away. ‘I’d hate to have competition,’ he said in almost a whisper.
Fitz offered a small smile as the loss of Johnny struck her again. ‘He died in service not that long ago.’
‘Ah. I’m sorry,’ said Sam.
‘As I say, Johnny was a sweetheart,’ said Fitz, and then adding to lighten the mood. ‘So you have big boots to fill and might have to up your game.’ She raised her eyebrows. Flirty. She could do flirty with Sam. Anything else was dangerous. But then, she loved a bit of danger. She needed to get back in control of this conversation. ‘Maybe you need to thrill me on your Brough Superior.’
‘That will do for starters,’ said Sam. ‘Thrills are my speciality.’
He was dangerously close to her now. She could feel his breath on her skin. ‘You’ll have to prove that you’re not all talk,’ she managed to say.
