"She's now completely unaware of what she's saying," Michael Kitchener remarked. "It often affects people this way. You've had enough now, Miss Gray," he said briskly and led her out of the chamber.
It was Laura's turn next. She behaved in an almost identical way to Celia, although she was able to retain her self-control a little longer. But the third girl, the quietest and seemingly the most calm of all the trainees, broke down completely and after being without her oxygen mask for a couple of moments, began to thud on the door and scream hysterically to be taken out.
Once outside the chamber she regained control of herself, but it was obvious that her behaviour would be a serious setback to her, for if she panicked and lost her head in an emergency, she was hardly the type to be entrusted with the safety of others.
Laura could not help being sorry for the girl, and as she and Celia jogged home in the bus together she voiced doubts as to her own future. "I don't think I will fail," she admitted. "But if I do I couldn't face going back to a humdrum job."
"Neither could I," Celia admitted, and then said inconsequentially: "Do you know that the marriage rate among stewardesses is higher than in any other profession?"
"Don't let Mr. Kitchener hear you say that!" Laura laughed. "He's always bemoaning the fact that no girl lasts more than fifteen months!"
"Well, marriage is my aim," Celia said candidly, "and there's no point pretending it isn't."
"You shouldn't find it difficult." Laura looked at her friend's pleasant, open face with its wide mouth, tip- tilted nose and small twinkling eyes.
"Thanks for the compliment!" Celia returned. "But I'm no oil painting and I know it. Gosh, I hope we're not put on a flight together. Once any man sees you I wouldn't stand a chance with him."
"Don't be an idiot."
"I'm not. Honestly, Laura, you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, but you don't seem to care a fig about your looks."
"They've been with me all my life," Laura said dryly. "And they haven't brought me any particular happiness up to now."
"What you need is a hectic love affair," Celia said. "I hope we get posted to long flights. We won't have a chance to dazzle any passengers on a Manchester- London hop."
Unbidden there came into Laura's mind the memory of her meeting with Andreas Dimar. Strange that she had never forgotten his name—probably because it was so unusual, and in some strange way vaguely familiar. It would be ironical if she were posted to the London-Athens route. Still, she would soon put him in his place.
'No romances for me,' she thought. 'The only thing I'll promise Celia is to dance at her wedding.'
CHAPTER TWO
AT the end of their sixth week of training everyone in Laura's class was detailed to go and have their uniforms fitted, and realising this was tantamount to being told they had passed the course, Celia and Laura were in high spirits. They spent the weekend looking for a flat and on Sunday evening came to the end of their search. Although small and sparsely furnished, it was in a quiet cul-de-sac off Church Street and had all the amenities they required: private bathroom, two bedrooms, a minute lounge and an even smaller kitchen.
"It's not exactly elaborate," Celia admitted, "but it's on the route for the airport bus, which is ideal."
With a feeling of lightheartedness they returned to their respective lodgings, knowing that in two weeks' time they would be rooming together as fully qualified air stewardesses.
Three days before the end of the course they were asked to wear their uniforms, and putting hers on for the first time, Laura thought that even had it been specially chosen for her, it could not have suited her better. The dark green serge deepened the green of her slanting eyes, while the forage cap, sitting perkily on her head, emphasised the unusual colour of her hair.
Travelling to the training centre, she was embarrassed by the stares of the people around her and when she joined her classmates, discovered they too had had the same experience.
"We'll get used to it in time," Celia said. "Just think of it, girls—three more days and we'll have left school behind."
"That's when you'll begin to find out what it's really like to be an air stewardess," Michael Kitchener commented as he mounted the dais to give his farewell address.
As he spoke, Laura relaxed, thankful that there were only a few more days to go before they received their fortnight's leave. At the end of it they would report for duty as supernumerary stewardesses, doing their first flight under an experienced stewardess. She shifted in her chair and sighed. The past few days had been particularly hectic. They had been thoroughly drilled in crash practice and the putting on and removing of their own as well as the passengers' life jackets. They had been shown how to make up sleeping berths, how to take on catering stores, how to mix different sorts of cocktails and finally been asked to prepare, without any notice whatsoever, suitable dietary meals for babies, diabetics, vegetarians, Hindus, Jews and Mohammedans.
Listening to Mr. Kitchener now, Laura realised for the first time that wearing the Bantock uniform bound her by ties of common interest to the hundreds of men and women wearing similar uniform who were stationed throughout the world. She thought too of those who had died in the course of their duty, and vowed to do everything in her power to carry on the same tradition of service and courage.
The following Saturday Celia and Laura moved into their new flat and spent the weekend unpacking their personal possessions and giving the small rooms a touch of home. Surveying her dressing table with its rows of make-up bottles, Laura grinned at her friend.
"I never realised there was so much stuff one could put on one's face. The best part of the training was going to that beauty salon."
"And how! Make-up's a wonderful thing. If some of the passengers saw how I looked in the morning, they'd die of fright." Celia flung her arms high. "Just think of it. Ten days from now and I'll be weaving my way to Cape Town. Although I must say I wouldn't mind changing places with you."
Laura sighed. "I had a feeling I'd be posted to the London-Athens route."
"Why? Have you got a crash on one of the pilots doing the run?"
"Don't be silly," Laura retorted and quickly changed the subject. "I hope I don't do something disastrous on my first flight."
"You won't." Celia sighed. "Although I'm sure I'll upset a tray over a passenger who turns out to be the head of Bantock!"
Reporting for duty the following Monday Laura remembered Celia's words, but in listening to the welter of instructions given to her by the Flight Officer, had no time to be apprehensive. He began by explaining the complications of the roster board. Every Bantock stewardess was named on a circular disc and anyone looking at the board could tell where each girl was, on or off duty.
"After you come in from a trip you must look at the board before leaving the airport," Mr. Simpson informed her. "Then you'll know when you're needed next. If we want you earlier of course, we'll phone you, so make sure you leave your number."
Laura nodded. "I know that the day before our flight we have to be here for stand-by duty, but what…" The rest of her words were drowned by the roar of a plane taking off and she glanced out of the window, her heart pounding.
As if sensing what was going through her mind, Mr. Simpson smiled. "That's the nine-thirty Britannia to Athens. You'll be on it tomorrow."
"Do we fly back to England the same day?"
"Only in an emergency. It's an eight-hour flight to Athens and we generally try and give you a night off." He looked up as a tall, thin stewardess came into the room. "Ah, Miss Marshall, let me introduce you to Miss Prentiss. She's doing her first trip with you."
Joan Marshall smiled. "Don't look so nervous. Just follow me and you'll be all right." Not giving Laura time to reply she hurried off in the direction of the store room. "When we're on stand-by duty," she explained, "we have to load and check all the stores for the following day's flight and make sure everything in the galley is in order. I don't want to be slow about doing it either be
cause I've a date in town."
As she spoke she worked with speed and Laura made a mental note of what to do with lists and documents and how to check the food and drinks, and clean linen, the make-up and tissues that went into the ladies' room, and the trays and cutlery that had to be stored on the plane.
"We've done all we can for today," Joan Marshall finally announced. "Make sure you're here early tomorrow and check in at the Flight Office. They'll confirm whether we're taking off on time and tell you if there's any hold-up due to bad weather. They'll also tell you if there's anything special you have to know about the passengers."
"You mean invalids?"
"Yes, or sometimes a child travelling alone. I must dash now. See you tomorrow, Miss Prentiss. And don't look so worried. This time next week you'll be an old hand at the game."
Promptly at nine-thirty the next morning Laura walked across the apron at London Airport to the large airliner that stood, like a giant ship with wings ahead of her. For the past few hours she and Joan Marshall had been busy checking stores and seeing that all was in order in the saloon, the toilets and the galley. Now she took her place at the top of the steps and welcomed the passengers as they came aboard, announcing their names so that Joan could show them to their seats. The Captain and his crew were already up in front and in a matter of moments they would be ready for take-off.
As soon as all the passengers were accounted for, Joan Marshall disappeared up the aisle to give the Captain the all clear, and by the time she came down again, warning notices to fasten seat belts and stop smoking were already on above the cockpit door.
Laura went to her seat at the back of the aircraft and waited with dry mouth for her first professional take-off. The engines ticked over gently as they taxied off the marshalling apron and on to the perimeter track. Slowly the pilot increased speed and turned on to the runway, gradually opening up full throttle. Suddenly there was a gentle lifting sensation and looking out of the window, Laura saw the ground drop away. Higher and higher they flew, one wing tilting slightly as they cleared the airport and began to climb.
Joan Marshall undid her safety belt and Laura followed suit, walking stiffly down the gangway to offer the daily papers and an early cocktail.
'My first flight,' she thought. 'I'm on duty and thirty people are depending on me. I mustn't let them down.'
Then there was no more time to worry. Back in the galley she and Joan began to prepare lunch. The electric ovens were switched on and the containers of frozen food were slipped deftly on to the racks. Laura had just finished laying the trays and putting out the pats of butter and hors d'oeuvres when one of the crew came down and handed her a sheet of paper stating the weather conditions, the altitude of the plane, the local time and the hour they were due to reach their destination.
"Pass this along to the passengers," the co-pilot said.
Laura did as she was told and by the time every passenger had seen the communique, lunch was ready to be served. Smelling the food in the galley and hearing the medley of noise from the saloon, it was difficult to believe they were flying twenty-thousand feet above sea level. Why. it was like being in a hotel! Happily she passed round the trays and when all the passengers had been served, she and Joan settled down for their own lunch.
"Three people are leaving us at Zurich," Joan informed her "and we're taking two more aboard. You'd better check that they don't leave anything behind."
"Do they usually?"
"Sometimes. On my first trip a woman passenger went off and left her jewel case. I didn't find it until we checked back at London Airport. You should have heard the ticking-off the Flight Officer gave me!"
A buzzer sounded in the galley and Joan stood up. "That's the Captain. I'd better go and see what he wants."
By the time she came back the plane was beginning to rock. "Bad weather," she said tersely. "We're flying into an electric storm. The Captain's going to announce it over the loudspeakers."
Almost immediately a man's voice could be heard, staccato and crackling slightly. "Would you please fasten your seat belts and stop smoking. We're flying into an electric storm but we will do our best to keep up our speed and get through the turbulent area as quickly as possible."
"There are a couple of women on board who look nervous types," Joan said quickly. "I'll cope with them if you'll make sure everyone else is comfortable."
"I hope I'm not airsick," Laura said.
"You'll be too busy to be sick," Joan retorted and walked as steadily as she could down the aisle of the rocking plane.
The next half hour was a difficult one but as they left the centre of the storm area the plane steadied and exactly two hours after leaving England they arrived at Zurich, where their engines were rechecked and additional fuel taken aboard. Then once more they were airborne and this time there was no stop until, with the sky tinged by the rose red glow of sunset, the silver airliner touched down on the runway of the Athens airport.
'I can't wait to have a nice quiet dinner, and a rest," Joan confessed as she collected the passengers' coats. "Care to join me?"
Laura hesitated and the other girl smiled. "Sorry — I should have known better than to ask you. This is your first trip and I guess you'll want to go sightseeing."
"Well I did rather think of it," Laura admitted. "Although it isn't the best policy to go sightseeing at night on my own."
"You won't be alone, my dear. The whole crew have their eyes on you!"
"Well, I haven't got my eyes on them," Laura said dryly. "I came here to do a job, not flirt."
"My, you are prickly!" the other girl said. "If I were you I shouldn't repeat what you've just said. By and large, all the crew behave like members of the same family. Occasionally romances do crop up, but generally the main feeling between us is camaraderie."
Feeling she was being subtly reprimanded, Laura said nothing, glad when the plane stopped and she could busy herself with shepherding the passengers across to customs.
But Laura's hopes of seeing Athens were doomed to disappointment, for when they reported to the Bantock reception desk, they were told that owing to engine trouble the plane due to leave for London that night had been grounded at Beirut. Consequently they themselves were requested to stand by for immediate return to England.
"I'm sorry this should have happened on your first flight," Joan sympathised as they walked into the Crew Rest Room. "We've just got time for coffee and a cigarette before we check our stores for the return trip."
"I only hope I don't fall asleep," Laura said nervously. "I never thought we'd be on duty so long."
"If you were on the New York run you'd be expected to stay awake for twelve to sixteen hours," Joan said. "But don't worry. I'll see you get some rest during the night."
"Please don't," Laura said quickly. "I want to do everything I'm expected to do."
Joan grinned. "You new girls are all the same. You have to prove you're capable even if you drop down in a faint!"
Watching the lights of the airport recede into the distance some three-quarters of an hour later, Laura knew a swift pang of regret. She had finally achieved her ambition to set foot on foreign soil, but for what a few tantalising moments it had been. Still, maybe she'd be luckier on her next trip. She braced her shoulders and walked down the aisle, feeling a sense of unity with the crew in the cockpit ahead of her who were guiding this giant airliner through the star-studded sky.
'At last I'm doing the job I wanted to do!' she thought.
May gave way to June and the excitement of Laura's maiden flight to Athens faded into the routine of a regular job, as monotonous as an excursion to Brighton or Blackpool. After the first month she no longer went sightseeing and spent her slip-over times sunning herself on the terrace of the hotel where Bantock personnel stayed. More often than not she flew with the same crew and there quickly grew up between them the camaraderie that Joan Marshall had prophesied, although with monotonous regularity the male passengers tried to date her. But Laura rebu
ffed all overtures with a casual indifference that at first irritated and then baffled her would-be escorts.
"What's the matter with you?" Tim O'Brien, the navigator, asked one morning as they walked across the tarmac at London Airport to board the plane. "It's not fair for a girl like you to have a hands off sign all the time."
"I'm not interested in men." In spite of herself, there was an edge to Laura's voice. "My career means everything to me, Tim, and as far as I'm concerned, that's enough."
"How about a nice platonic friendship?" Seeing the expression on her face he shrugged. "O.K., forget it. But if you do decide to change your mind, you can always get my phone number from reception!"
"I'll remember that!" she said lightly and walked ahead of him up the steps to the aircraft.
Surprisingly, for the time of the year, the plane was a quarter empty but they expected to pick up a full complement of passengers at Zurich, and she wondered idly whether these would include any of her regulars.
It was just after two o'clock when they touched down at Zurich Airport, and while she was busy tidying the galley the steward reported to reception, and returned with a fresh list of names.
Laura took it from him and pencil in handy waited to check off the arrivals as they came aboard.
H. Schmidt.
D. Gastmann.
L. Karo.
A. Dimar.
Her pencil poised above the last name and she frowned. Dimar… Could that be the young man she had met during her training?
Slowly a straggle of passengers walked across the tarmac and she watched with interest as they mounted the flight of steps. Yes, A. Dimar was the same person who had asked her to have dinner with him. As he came abreast she smiled a greeting.
"Good afternoon, sir. You have aisle seat No. 11."
Without any sign of recognition he gave her a casual nod of thanks and settling down, fastened his seat belt and drew out a sheaf of papers from his brief case.
Rachel Lindsay - The Taming of Laura Page 2