by Nesta Tuomey
The Hostess Administrator had no time McGrattan. ‘The revolution is coming,’ she was fond of quoting. ‘The women of Celtic are on the march. Some day soon you’ll see a woman sitting in the Chief Executive’s chair and she won’t be on Oliver’s knee either.’
Across the way the meeting was dispersing at last. Maura watched them go and wondered what conclusion had been reached. No doubt tomorrow Beattie would come and fill her in. In the meantime there was at least another hour’s work to be got through before she could lock up and go home.
Maura selected another file and bent over it. Tonight, she was concentrating on the new groups of hostesses, all of whom had to be assessed before being offered permanent employment with the airline. She aimed to have completed the files on the first two September training groups and their lists posted by the end of April. By then their six month probation period would be over. It didn’t leave her an awful lot of time. Less than a fortnight. Added to which were all the other concerns, the day-to-day running of the section.
She wrinkled her brow and gazed pensively at the little shaded light on her desk, her attention momentarily deflected from the file before her. Lately ditching drill was becoming a joke. The amount of hostesses offering excuses to get out of going in the water was rising steadily. Soon the number of bench-huggers would far exceed those actually in the pool. And they couldn’t all be having periods, Maura reckoned sceptically.
She decided that something drastic would have to be done, and soon! But short of a body search, what? As Dr. Price so often remarked, flying played havoc with the menstrual system, and obviously some had to be genuine. The only solution would be to keep a list of the obvious malingerers and ensure they were rostered twice a month until seen to participate.
Even Amy Curtis was beginning to remark on it. Since all the hullabaloo about the Atlantic hostess she was insisting on attending the drills herself, and urging greater chaperoning all round of hostesses.
Maura gave a broad grin. What did she expect? For pilots to carry off hostesses under her nose and pleasure them on the dressing-room floor? If anything it was much more likely to happen on overnights, Maura knew, and unless Amy had the power of bi-location, there wasn’t a blessed thing she could do about it.
Her expression grew serious. Joking apart it had been a trying time for all of them and because the erring hostess was on the Atlantic, toughest for Judy Mathews.
‘I suggest you fit chastity belts to your pilots,’ she had snapped icily at McGrattan when he attempted to lay all the blame on the hostess section.
Trust him, Maura thought scornfully. In his book it was always the woman’s fault. She was only thankful it wasn’t her problem. It could so easily have been. How her own sexy lot had so far escaped Maura would never know. She was aware that other airlines had a maternity scheme in operation, but in CA anyone caught in flagrante delicto invariably got the bullet. This time, however, they weren’t going to have it all their own way, Maura thought grimly. Not with the shindy Beattie and her gang were kicking up.
She turned her mind back to the files anxious to get finished and be on her way home. This evening she had planned an intimate supper with Simon when he arrived in from Copenhagen. She had managed to wangle some smoked salmon from the flight kitchens and had a bottle of Chablis already in the fridge chilling.
Forty minutes later, she was in her flat, showered and changed, reading through her mail.
‘Hope the new job is working out,’ her mother wrote from her Kensington flat where she lived with her sister Peggy, widowed like herself. ‘Do take a break soon, darling, and fly over for a weekend.’
Maura sighed and wished she could. She really missed her mother since she had gone to live in England. She read on and learned about the plum job she had landed, designing the interior of a new West End apartment block. It was a challenging assignment and from the tone of the letter, she sounded pleased and exhilarated. First chance she got, Maura promised herself, she would fly over and hear all about it.
She mixed herself a dry Martini and went to lower lights and plump up cushions. After a moment’s speculation, she replaced the flowered polyester cotton sheets on the bed with freshly laundered ones. Simon still had not arrived. Allowing time to deplane, check in his log book and flight recorder, change out of uniform and even add another thirty minutes to cover unforeseen delays, he should have arrived over forty minutes ago. Maybe his flight was delayed.
She stirred restlessly on the cushioned settee, her frowning gaze wandering over the white walls of her lounge on which hung the vivid Spanish prints they had picked up together in Nerja last November.
Maybe he was standing her up again.
She dialled the airport number and listened with a frown to the girl’s smug, ‘Five minutes ahead of schedule actually.’
Another ten minutes passed.
Maura gazed broodingly at the elegantly laid table with the neatly folded lace napkins, the sparkling crystal wine glasses and the deep bowl of tulips in the centre, and felt a slow burn begin. Just who the hell was Simon to treat her like this?
An hour later she gave upon him and went to bed.
The dawn was putting pale fingers of light in the sky as Captain Cooney let himself into Maura’s flat and ran lightly up the stairs. He paused in the lounge to strip off his tie and uniform jacket, the perfumed air making him sniff appreciatively. Chanel number 19. Maura had good taste.
He entered the dimly lit bedroom and crossed to the bed. ‘Maura?’ he questioned softly.
Maura awoke as Simon slid his hands under the covers. She lay quite still, remembering she was angry with him, very angry.
He moved his hands confidently down her body. ‘Sweetheart, you awake? ‘ he asked more loudly.
She remained on her side, eyes shut, senses resisting his touch. It was time he learned he wasn’t the only man around. Why only yesterday Captain Drummond had chatted her up in the canteen and given the tiniest bit of encouragement would have asked her out. Perhaps next time they met...
His tongue went on probing her ear; his hands sensuously caressing her breasts. ‘Ohhh... Simon...’ the words were suddenly torn from Maura. Weak with desire, she allowed him slide her nightie from her shoulders. Oh why could she never refuse him? Why could she never stay angry with him for long? Sighing, she turned to him.
TWENTY THREE
Next day, Kay came in from her London flight in a foul mood. She was still bitterly disappointed over missing her date with Captain Pender. On top of that, she had just served a first-class lunch - the most difficult service of all - to eight demanding first-class passengers, none of whom had missed out on any of the courses. It was Kay’s first time serving first class and she had been really thrown in at the deep end. Luckily, Celine was on board and decently came back to give her a hand. Only for that, they would have still been at the hors d’oeuvre stage as they landed in Dublin. Kay shuddered, imagining the letters of complaint pouring into the hostess section. Not the best recommendation with only a few weeks to the end of her six month probation.
Glumly, she went into the restroom and was hailed by one of the reserves. ‘Kay, the Queen Bee is looking for you.’ Uneasily, Kay checked her conscience. What could Miss Kane want? Surely to God, Pat Macken hadn’t reported her for exceeding her cigarette allowance last week. She had only been forty cigarettes over the limit. Surely he wouldn’t be so mean. Then she was struck by another thought. Oh no! Don’t say her leave had been cancelled. That would be the limit.
The following day, Kay and the girls were heading off to Spain for a week. After much discussion they had decided on Malaga, or more precisely Torremolinos, a little seaside town close by. They had been making plans for ages and she was really looking forward to the holiday, her first real break in the sun.
Or she had been until last night. Now it was all spoiled by the fear that if by some miracle she was given a second chance and Captain Pender came looking for her again, she would be far away in Spain
. Wouldn’t it just be her luck! For a mad moment she contemplated cancelling her holiday, then sanity reasserted itself as she pictured Sally’s incredulous expression. ‘We’re going to have a ball down in Spain,’ her friend kept saying every time they met, heightening the excitement, ‘Seventy in the shade and getting hotter.’
For once Kay was fully organised for the holiday. She had collected her ticket and pesetas the week before, and had already packed her sun-clothes. She had even managed to find time to fit in a visit to Monsieur Albert who had given her a new look, styling her hair fashionably high and short at the back and falling forward in two long gleaming wings at either side. As she knocked on Maura Kane’s door, she knew she looked smart and well-groomed. A real stroke of luck when summoned unexpectedly to the Queen Bee’s presence.
The Chief Hostess inspected her from head to toe, ‘Top marks for appearance, Miss Martin,’ she murmured approvingly, her blue eyes friendly. ‘I just want you to know I’m putting you down for a Friendship Check when you return from holidays.’
Somewhat surprised, Kay said politely. ‘But I’ve already been checked-out on the Friendship, Miss Kane.’
Maura shrugged. ‘Quite so but it seems Miss Hendricks neglected to put in her report. I’m afraid it will be necessary to carry out another check.’ She consulted a list in front of her. ‘I see it’s a while since you’ve been to dinghy drill. We’ll get that fixe dup at the same time, shall we?’
‘Great.’ Kay smiled falsely, and turned to go wishing she had Eva’s plump neck between her fingers. Wasn’t it just typical, she fumed, marching down to her locker. There she had been given a heaven-sent opportunity, an emergency in which she had come through with shining colours - well, she hadn’t disgraced herself anyway - and now it was all gone for nothing because that silly bitch Eva forgot to put in her report. When Kay thought of all the hours she had been force to listen to the Check boring on about herself and her fiancé, she could have cried.
Slipping out of uniform into black tailored slacks, she told herself that this latest on top of everything else was the last straw. Then calming down she was forced to acknowledge the real reason for her ill-humour. Not her work, or even Eva but the fact that she had missed her date with Graham Pender the night before.
Face it, Kay told herself glumly. You could have taken ten first-class lunches in your stride and the same amount of Friendship Checks and they wouldn’t have cost you a thought. She folded her uniform into a plastic carrier-bag with the intention of leaving it to the cleaners before going away, and slammed her locker door, the explosive tinny sound helping in a small way to relieve her feelings. What a fool she had been to jeopardise her happiness for an old union meeting. Tomorrow she was off to Spain and it meant nothing, not a thing. It could have been to Ballybunion for all the excitement she felt.
‘Enjoy your holiday,’ the reserves called as she passed through the restroom. ‘Thanks.’ Kay glanced towards the notice-board, nurturing a tiny spark of hope that even at this late hour a miracle might have occurred, but it was as hatefully devoid of anything with her name on it as before. She went out the door and down the step. There was a white sports car parked between the prefabs. At the same moment that she saw it, the driver rolled down the window and smiled that familiar devastating smile. Kay’s heart leapt frantically in her chest.
‘Aren’t you going to get in?’ Captain Pender asked,
She did so. He took her bags and tossed them in the back, then smoothly put the car in gear and drove off.
‘What happened you last night?’ he inquired casually. ‘Didn’t you get my note? I sent it by a most reliable messenger.’
‘I had to go to a union meeting,’ Kay replied, aware of the ‘I had to wash my hair’ excusing ring to it. She stole little bemused glances at his profile as he turned off the main road down to The Hollow. Who was the reliable messenger, she wondered jealously.
In polite amazement he asked, ‘Are you very strongly committed to trade unionism?’
Vehemently, Kay shook her head, colour staining her cheeks as she recalled the real reason she had gone. ‘I was sure I’d get away in time,’ she explained, ‘but it went on longer than expected. I didn’t think you would have waited.’
‘Do you know how long I waited?’ He slowed to a stop in front of The Hollow and drawing off his leather driving gloves, tossed them beneath the dashboard.
‘No,’ Kay mumbled, made suddenly shy by his intense gaze. ‘Until after eleven.’
She gulped, awed at this revelation. Had he really waited two hours? She felt confused, elated.
‘I kept hoping every minute you would come...’
Remembering her own acute disappointment, Kay put out her hand in a little blind gesture of comfort. He took it at once and carried it to his lips.
‘My dear,’ he murmured. ‘Did you miss me?’
It was an unfair question. ‘Terribly,’ she admitted, acutely conscious of the watchful tenderness in his dark eyes.
‘Aah,’ he gave a satisfied sigh. Then he turned up her face and kissed her. When he drew back, she saw that his mouth was faintly smudged with her lipstick.
‘How lovely you taste.’ He caught the tentative finger she shyly reached up and kissed it fleetingly at each joint.
Not knowing where to look, Kay dropped her eyes to his pilot’s tie with its row of tiny golden wings, and felt both sorry and relieved when a man came clattering around the side of the building with a crate of empties.
They went into the bar. As she entered the velvet curtained booth, the proprietor’s curious stare made Kay feel as decadent as if she were entering, unlicensed, the honeymoon suite.
‘Brandy all right for you?’ Graham put the full-blown glass in front of her.
She nodded and took a quick sip, aware of his muscled leg pressing against hers as they sat close on the deep soft couch. When she reached forward for her drink, he moved with her - given the soft yielding substance of the upholstery it was impossible not to - and on relaxing back again, she found herself almost in his lap. Oh, dear! It was like being thrown together in a big soft bed.
He chuckled. ‘Cosy, isn’t it?’
Kay laughed to cover her embarrassment. But after a few more sips of brandy it began to seem the most natural thing in the world to be practically lying in his arms.
‘Well my Kitty, what are we going to do?’ he asked suddenly taking her hand and placing it on his thigh in the intimate gesture she remembered so well from London. She experienced again that delightful little frisson, and heard him say, ‘Are we going ahead with this, or not?’
‘With what?’ Relaxed by the brandy, she was at a loss to understand him.
He smiled ruefully. ‘You know, my dear, perhaps I shouldn’t say this but I had quite decided not to see you again.’
Wounded, Kay jerked her hand away and struggled upright.
‘Why did you then?’ she asked stiffly. Oh why was he saying such upsetting things? Insistently he tugged her hand back down again.
‘I couldn’t bear not to.’
The simple answer vouchsafed in a small way to assuage the pain beginning to spread around her heart.
He hesitated. ‘I considered it might be... fairer to forget all about London. But by the time I was back a fortnight, I felt I just had to see you again... if only once.’
Back a fortnight! And talking about never seeing her again. A desolate ache began in Kay’s throat. To her mortification, tears hung heavily on her lashes. She tried fiercely to hold them back, wanting only to escape before they spilled over, conscious of his voice as a blurry far-off sound. But in the struggle to free herself, a tell-tale drop detached itself and (to her everlasting shame) plopped on the back of his hand.
‘Darling!’ His tone was ruefully amazed. ‘Don’t... please, don’t cry.’
Even in her acute distress, Kay registered the fact that he had never used the endearment before, yet his words had exactly the opposite effect and she was hard put not to sob
like a child.
‘I... I’m sorry.’ Desperately she tried to regain control, her mind echoing in horror. Oh God! But I never cry. I don’t know the last time I cried.
‘No, I’m the one who should be sorry,’ Graham said contritely. He felt pity and a sense of responsibility, ‘I should be shot for upsetting you.’ With admirable tact, he got to his feet and left her to regain her calm.
Little was said as they drove the short distance from The Hollow. Somehow it was assumed he would take her straight home. Kay was miserably aware of the difference in him, so aloof and withdrawn, and attributed it to the fact he no longer cared for her.
‘We must have time to think,’ he said seriously as he overshot her house and pulled up before Ginny Halpin’s gate.
She swallowed miserably. Time to think could only mean one thing. Time to distance himself from her. She reached behind for her kitbag and it was a small sop to her pride to be able to tell him she was off on holiday to Spain the next day.
‘For long?’ ‘Just the week.’
‘Well, have a good time.’ He didn’t attempt to kiss her, just stared at her with a rather troubled, brooding look. It was goodbye.
Forlornly, she turned away her head so that he wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes and pretending a gaiety she didn’t feel, retorted brightly. ‘I most certainly will, I can’t wait to get down there,’ anxious to convey to him the impression that when she did, it would be one long orgy after another, lolling on hot beaches, surrounded by equally licentious natives.
‘Be good,’ Captain Pender smiled, and raised his hand in farewell. Kay slammed the car door and stepped back.
‘Be good,’ she mimicked savagely, as his tail light disappeared down the road. ‘What do you care, Graham Pender, whether I’m good or not!’