more clearly now. It must be the height.” I tried to lighten the conversation but Dominique wasn’t in the mood for levity.
“Do you think we can change our fate?” She was looking down at the passing landscape, twisting her hair in her fingers. She shivered slightly and I reached for a blanket and placed it across her shoulders, leaving my hands there. Her hands came up and lightly touched my own.
“Of course. It’s not just the cards you are dealt, it’s how you play them,” I said, moving slightly closer to her so our bodies touched.
“But how?” she asked, leaning towards me.
“Lord, I don’t know. With me I was born a bastard and for a long time that was the part I played. Everything that went wrong for me I blamed on being born on the wrong side of the sheets. My favourite words were ‘if only’. This last year in Paris I have had time to think. I made my own mistakes, taken from life and not given. When, or if, I get back to London I’d like to think that I could begin to change.” It was her turn to squeeze my hand.
“Ben. You… I…” Her voice trailed off and she looked back down. A burnt out chateau with sheep grazing on its lawns glided beneath us.
“Dominique. I know that life has dealt you some poor cards but look what you have done with them. You’ve thrown them back at the dealer and stood up for what you believe in. You’ve risked your life to free your country from a despot when so many of your countrymen let themselves be led blindly into massacres and hate. You are an amazing woman.”
“You see only what you want to see.” She looked back up at me and I saw both tears and anger in her eyes. “All men just see what they want. You don’t know me at all.”
It was my turn to turn away and look back to the now distant smoke of Paris. Garnerin caught my eye and shrugged as if to say ‘Women. What can you do?’ He handed me a bottle of wine and a piece of bread.
“Eat, drink. The wind is good and we’ll be up here for some time yet,” he said.
I looked down again. Going up into the air wasn’t so bad I thought. However, I was soon to learn that coming back down to earth again was the dangerous bit.
CHAPTER EIGHT
When I saw the silver snake of the river Somme twisting its way across the fields of Picardy all my trepidation returned. We would have to land soon. We had been in the air nearly two hours and travelled at least seventy-five miles. Our pursuers should have been left far behind, no word should even have reached Amiens of our escape; the fastest horse would scarcely be thirty miles from Paris. Apart from being suspended a mile up in the firmament we were safe. Or so I thought.
The ground was getting closer all the time and the lower we flew, the faster the trees and hedgerows passed beneath us. Calvet had sent word by coded letter to some Royalist friends of his, asking them to watch for us along the Somme to the west of Amiens. As the river came closer, Garnerin began to look for a suitable field to land in. I’d read enough about ballooning to realise that ascending was the easy part and that descending was far more hazardous. The wind had picked up and I didn’t like the look of the frown that made the aeronaut’s thick bushy eyebrows meet like amorous caterpillars as he scanned the meadows below. Every now and then Garnerin would pull on the rope that controlled the valve at the top of the balloon. Some gas would escape and the ground would come rapidly nearer. Gravity was going to exact its revenge for our transgression.
“The wind is not good. Too fast, much too fast,” Garnerin said.
“Can’t we go back up?” Dominique asked.
“No. No. I have let out too much gas and have no more ballast to throw overboard. We will get down, one way or another.”
It was hardly the most reassuring speech I’d ever heard but there was little I could do, save for bracing Dominique and myself for the inevitable impact. We both clung on to the flimsy
“Do you think we can change our fate?” She was looking down at the passing landscape, twisting her hair in her fingers. She shivered slightly and I reached for a blanket and placed it across her shoulders, leaving my hands there. Her hands came up and lightly touched my own.
“Of course. It’s not just the cards you are dealt, it’s how you play them,” I said, moving slightly closer to her so our bodies touched.
“But how?” she asked, leaning towards me.
“Lord, I don’t know. With me I was born a bastard and for a long time that was the part I played. Everything that went wrong for me I blamed on being born on the wrong side of the sheets. My favourite words were ‘if only’. This last year in Paris I have had time to think. I made my own mistakes, taken from life and not given. When, or if, I get back to London I’d like to think that I could begin to change.” It was her turn to squeeze my hand.
“Ben. You… I…” Her voice trailed off and she looked back down. A burnt out chateau with sheep grazing on its lawns glided beneath us.
“Dominique. I know that life has dealt you some poor cards but look what you have done with them. You’ve thrown them back at the dealer and stood up for what you believe in. You’ve risked your life to free your country from a despot when so many of your countrymen let themselves be led blindly into massacres and hate. You are an amazing woman.”
“You see only what you want to see.” She looked back up at me and I saw both tears and anger in her eyes. “All men just see what they want. You don’t know me at all.”
It was my turn to turn away and look back to the now distant smoke of Paris. Garnerin caught my eye and shrugged as if to say ‘Women. What can you do?’ He handed me a bottle of wine and a piece of bread.
“Eat, drink. The wind is good and we’ll be up here for some time yet,” he said.
I looked down again. Going up into the air wasn’t so bad I thought. However, I was soon to learn that coming back down to earth again was the dangerous bit.
CHAPTER EIGHT
When I saw the silver snake of the river Somme twisting its way across the fields of Picardy all my trepidation returned. We would have to land soon. We had been in the air nearly two hours and travelled at least seventy-five miles. Our pursuers should have been left far behind, no word should even have reached Amiens of our escape; the fastest horse would scarcely be thirty miles from Paris. Apart from being suspended a mile up in the firmament we were safe. Or so I thought.
The ground was getting closer all the time and the lower we flew, the faster the trees and hedgerows passed beneath us. Calvet had sent word by coded letter to some Royalist friends of his, asking them to watch for us along the Somme to the west of Amiens. As the river came closer, Garnerin began to look for a suitable field to land in. I’d read enough about ballooning to realise that ascending was the easy part and that descending was far more hazardous. The wind had picked up and I didn’t like the look of the frown that made the aeronaut’s thick bushy eyebrows meet like amorous caterpillars as he scanned the meadows below. Every now and then Garnerin would pull on the rope that controlled the valve at the top of the balloon. Some gas would escape and the ground would come rapidly nearer. Gravity was going to exact its revenge for our transgression.
“The wind is not good. Too fast, much too fast,” Garnerin said.
“Can’t we go back up?” Dominique asked.
“No. No. I have let out too much gas and have no more ballast to throw overboard. We will get down, one way or another.”
It was hardly the most reassuring speech I’d ever heard but there was little I could do, save for bracing Dominique and myself for the inevitable impact. We both clung on to the flimsy
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