"Robertson-WendyDarling" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robertson R Garcia Y)

"Where did you learn to kiss like that?"

"Righto. Dual controls." They walked back hand-in-hand.

Next evening a big angular two-seater waited alongside the SE5. Ryan met her at
the edge of the aerodrome with a flight helmet and leather jacket. "Here, take
these. I'll help you aboard. Curl up in the front cockpit, so the mechanic won't
see you when he spins the prop."

"What sort of plane is it?"

"BE2c. Prewar bus. Grandmother could fly it, and probably did. Built to give
Jerry something to shoot down." Both the BE2 and the SE5 were Royal Aircraft
factory designs. Side by side Wendy saw the family resemblance -a stately old
Lady and her ripping young grandson. Ryan gave her a dash of quick instruction,
with cheerful references to ground loops, dead stalls, and spinning out. Then he
helped her into the front cockpit, through a tangle of bracing wires. "Keep your
head down, while I fetch the mechanic."

Wendy waited, head between her knees, bursting with anticipation, listening to
Ryan whistle a jaunty air and joke with the mechanic. To be safe, she did not
look up until they were aloft. When she did look, she gasped. She was flying
again. Not flying free like with Peter -- but suspended in a fabric box, with
nothing to hold it up, just a madly racing engine and wires everywhere. Air
pressure bellied the wing fabric. Thirty-seven feet of wingspan might seem ample
on the ground; up here it was nothing as much a marvel as pixie dust and lovely
thoughts. After years of living with memories, it was like touch or sight
returning. Flat landscape slid beneath the lower wing, green woods, dark brown
fields, gray cloud shadows. Dim blue lines of smoke rose from towns and country
houses. Far off, beyond Dover was the sea, a sharp blue arc on the horizon. She
felt free for the first time since leaving the infant's class.

Ryan cut the engine. Dead silence. She expected to fall, but they kept on
flying. He tapped her on the shoulder, shouting, "You're in a glide. Try the
controls. But don't pull back the stick. You'll stall us out."

Gingerly she pushed the stick forward. The nose dipped. The glide became a dive.
Seeing the ground rush up, she eased back. "Not too far," Ryan shouted. "Try a
left bank."

She banked left. God, it worked. She had done it. Land rushed by between the
wing tips, getting closer. "Keep going, into a turn. Righto. Rudder. Ailerons."
She leaned into the turn. The machine leaned with her. Over we go. Think
wonderful thoughts.

"Good girl. Try the other way. Aim for that field to starboard." She turned
again. Ground hurtled at her. At the last instant Ryan restarted the engine. She
hopped hedges and trees, setting down in the fallow of a Kentish field.