Turbulent Covenant

by Jessica Steele

  Throughout the flight her thoughts would turn again and again to him. This flight would take three weeks, she just hoped his off-duty would coincide with hers.

  At their various stop-overs she had spent some time on her own, some time going about with the crowd, and when on the return journey they stopped over in Singapore and Michael Croft, the co-pilot, asked her to join him for dinner, she assumed there would be a few other stewardesses and crew present, and accepted. But when

  she joined him later after changing out of her uniform, she saw Michael was alone.

  `Where is everybody?' she asked.

  `They've gone off somewhere,' he told her, and as she looked at him, only then did it dawn on her that Michael's invitation had not included anyone else.

  She blamed herself for not thinking to ask when he had issued his invitation, but short of telling him she wasn't hungry, when in truth she was starving, there was little she could do about it, and since they both had to eat ...

  `Where to, Michael?' she asked.

  Michael was good company and over their meal they chatted mainly about the Airline—it was common ground since they both worked for the same company. Tiffany enjoyed her meal but was looking forward to returning to her hotel and getting into bed, reflecting that one had to bias fit as a racehorse to keep up with the pressures of the job, when suddenly, out of the blue, Michael asked :

  `What happened to Nick Cowley?' Tiffany looked at him, didn't like at all the accusing note in his voice, but before she could say anything he was saying to her utter astonishmen, suppose he wasn't good enough for you either.'

  `What on earth do you mean?'

  `Come off it, Tiffany,' Michael said aggressively. 'You know damn well what I mean. One minute you were all lovey-dovey with Nick, then as soon as you found out Ben Maxwell was loaded you couldn't drop Nick fast enough.'

  To say 'What do you mean?' again would have been farcical, but she only just bit the words back. She had never known Michael so belligerent; he was certainly wound up over something, and what was he saying about Ben being loaded? It was news to her ...

  `You were my girl,' Michael went on nastily, 'and

  played me for a sucker, didn't you?' Open-mouthed Tiffany stared at him. 'You couldn't wait to latch on to Nick, then before the poor devil knew what had hit him, it was bye-bye, Nick, wasn't it?'

  `Michael, for goodness' sake !' If it hadn't been for the company rule that flight deck members were not to consume alcohol twenty-four hours before a flight, she would have said he had been drinking.

  `It's true, isn't it?' he persisted.

  `I don't know what you're talking about,' Tiffany said sharply, her temper beginning to rise.

  `I'll spell it out for you, then, Tiffany dear,' he said sneeringly. 'First you try me out and when I think everything's coming up roses, you throw me over for Nick Cowley, who just happens to have a bigger bank balance than me, and when Nick thinks he's on cloud nine, what happens, along comes Ben Maxwell who could buy Nick's father out any time he wanted to, and hey presto, it's goodbye Nick time.'

  Tiffany had heard enough; to stay and tell Michael he couldn't be more wrong was not in her mind at all. She got up and left him right there, hurrying outside, grateful to be away from him—he must be mad ! Just what had he been saying? That she was a gold-digger? That Ben had money?

  She was almost at her hotel before her temper had cooled sufficiently for her to begin to see Michael more objectively. Had she thrown him over? Of course she hadn't. He had never been her regular boy-friend, for one thing. Everyone at Coronet, everyone who flew, that was, knew that a flying career meant a disrupted social life. There had been times when she hadn't seen Michael Croft for weeks on end, so how could he have thought they were going steady? She was sure she had never given him to

  understand that she was 'his girl'. And as for throwing Nick over for Ben—if Michael only knew the half of it!

  Fed up suddenly, Tiffany thought of her new home. She would be glad to get back. Life came to her and her eyes shone at the thought of maybe seeing Ben, even if only for a few hours. Her cheeks flushed at the thought, she entered her hotel and went to the desk for her key. So deeply were her thoughts with Ben she didn't notice Sheila Roberts coming to collect her key at the same time.

  `You're back early.' Tiffany turned at the sound of Sheila's voice. 'I thought I saw you going out with Michael Croft.'

  `Hello, Sheila—yes, you did.'

  `Up to his old tricks again, was he?'

  `Old tricks?' Tiffany repeated in surprise.

  `Surely you're not going to tell me he didn't make a pass at you?'

  Really, at times Sheila Roberts was just too much! Whatever Tiffany answered to that remark would be embroidered upon and related to the rest of the crowd. 'I wouldn't dream of telling you anything, Sheila,' Tiffany said with more calm than she felt. 'Goodnight.'

  Perhaps she was just weary after nearly three weeks of flying she thought as she waited for sleep to take her that night, but the flat she shared with Ben was very appealing just then. She toyed with the idea of ringing the apartment to see if he was home. What wouldn't she give to hear his voice, matter-of-fact, calm, and speaking from home. Sleep was very far away; she knew it was going to be a long night, and it was.

  Michael Croft kept out of her way on the home flight, for which she was well pleased. She felt she had nothing to say to him, and since he so obviously bore her a grudge, he was best left alone.

  It was with a feeling of light heartedness that she assisted the last passenger off the plane before going to join the other stewardesses with checking the bar and attending to the paper work involved. When at last she was free to go she made for the car park. Would Ben be home? She hoped so. She could have gone to the Crewing Office and found out if he was flying, but she doubted her ability to hide her emotions if she was told he was away.

  Disappointment hit her when she saw his car wasn't outside the flat, and calling herself all sorts of an idiot for feeling this way, she took her key from her bag and let herself into the apartment. In the act of placing her suitcase down on the floor and turning to secure the door behind her, she heard a small sound and froze before turning to spin round.

  How she checked the beaming smile that winged from her heart she didn't know, but it had been a near thing as she saw Ben standing in the kitchen doorway, a lock of hair falling across his forehead. Just how did one greet a platonic husband—even if you were in love with him? What would he do, for instance, if she obeyed her first instinct and flung her arms around him? She couldn't, wouldn't shake hands with him, that would be too much; all these thoughts flashed through her mind before Ben took the indecision from her.

  `You must have smelled the tea-pot,' he said easily. `Have a good trip?'

  `Not bad,' she answered. She had hardly been able to wait to get back and to be greeted by 'You must have smelled the tea-pot' was something of a let down, but then what had she expected?

  She followed him into the kitchen telling him about her trip. She was in two minds about telling him about Michael Croft, then realised that he couldn't possibly be interested.

  She wanted to ask him how long he would be home, even had the words formed to ask, 'When are you on duty again?' When—er—when d-did you get home?' she asked, and because that wasn't what she had meant to ask at all, her cheeks went pink, and not waiting for his answer she collected her case and went to her bedroom.

  Idiot ! Idiot ! Why couldn't she have waited for his answer? At the very least he would think her downright rude in asking a question and not waiting around to hear his reply.

  A movement at the door had her startled eyes going to it to see Ben there, his eyes going to the case she had started to unpack. 'Brought your tea in,' he said going over and placing it on her bedside table and then coming back to look at her. 'Incidentally, I got in a couple of days ago.' Her colour surged anew and she dared a glance at him, expecting sarcasm to follow. But his look, though cool, sur
prised her in that it was not unfriendly. 'Feeling a bit uptight?' he asked. 'Don't fight it, Tiffany—it's natural,' and as she seemed incapable of saying anything at that moment with Ben talking reassuringly to her, he went on, `It's almost a month since we last clapped eyes on each other, and as ours isn't a very usual—arrangement, it's not surprising that you should feel that way.' His half smile came, and with it she thought she saw a hint of devilment there, and it came to her that not only had he discerned how she was feeling, he also knew she wasn't going to carry on unpacking while he stood there to witness her bits-of nonsense underwear being brought out on display.

  `On second thoughts,' he said, 'bring your tea into the sitting room--come and talk to me.'

  Feeling slightly foolish, even though Ben had done all he could to put her at her ease—if you discounted that devilish look towards her suitcase, she thought—Tiffany

  followed him, tea in hand, into the sitting room.

  `Thank you for making the place so nice for me to come home to,' he said, as they sat down. I've been in the habit of having a blitz once a flood, but I appreciate your woman's touch about the place.'

  She had forgotten the polishing and cleaning she had done before leaving, but the arrangement of grasses and beech leaves on a table to the right of the window were there to remind her.

  `It was a pleasure,' she said quietly.

  Was it?'

  He was looking at her intently. What was he looking for? she wondered. Was she giving too much away? Whether she was or not, she found it impossible to lie to him.

  `It was,' she confirmed, and had a sudden dreadful thought that perhaps she had taken too much on her behalf, for all he had thanked her for doing it. Y -You don't mind my clearing up a bit?'

  His expression hardened. 'I don't want to have to tell you again, Tiffany,' he said shortly. 'This is your home.'

  Turning her face from him, Tiffany finished her tea. Ben had been trying to make her feel at ease, and she had spoilt it. He had now turned cold towards her, and it was obvious there was nothing more to say. 'I'll go and unpack,' she .said, rising from her chair. She couldn't get to her room fast enough.

  She stayed there for a long time. She would have stayed there longer had it not occurred to her suddenly that with Ben being so touchy about her regarding the apartment as her home, it wouldn't surprise her if he didn't come in any minute and tell her to make herself at home in the sitting room. Without stopping to think further she went to leave her room and opened the door to see him just

  about to open it, and it became clear he was set on doing all he could to make her feel as though she belonged.

  `I was just coming to ask what you're going to cook for my supper.'

  `You're not going out?' His face hardened at her words, and Tiffany stifled a sigh—she'd been trying so hard not to let him see how pleasing his words had sounded in her ears, she had spoken off the top of her head.

  `Are you?' he shot at her.

  `N-no.' Oh, what was the use? As he had said, she was uptight, so uptight she couldn't be natural with him. After so looking forward to being with him, spending as much time as she could in getting to know him, she was ruining everything. 'Ben—Ben, I'm sorry,' she apologised, hoping he wouldn't ask what she was saying sorry for. you said, I'm uptight.'

  With relief she saw his face relax slightly and she went with him into the sitting room. 'What you need is a drink. Sit down, I'll fix one for you.'

  The drink certainly helped to steady her nerves and she was much more as ease as she followed him into the kitchen sometime later. Ben had said he would cook the supper after all until she had told him she wanted to do it, and after a steady look at her, he had given way

  `By the way,' he said, opening one of the bulging cupboards, 'thanks for getting the shopping in. How much do I owe, you?'

  `Ben!' Tiffany was affronted. 'Please don't make me accept payment—I enjoyed doing it.'

  He gave her a level look, and she knew he wasn't pleased. `All right,' he conceded at last. 'I'll let you get away with it this time. But if you're going to keep the larder stocked, I insist on giving you a housekeeping allowance.'

  `I couldn't possibly take it!' Her refusal was quick and

  instinctive, and seeing his set face, she added more slowly, 'Please try to understand, Ben, it's the least I can do.' Oh God, his brow was coming down in a dark frown, any minute now he would be calling her 'Nicholls'. He was so darned proud, she thought, forgetting for the moment that she too had pride in full measure. 'Look at it from my point of view,' she carried on, wondering how she had the nerve in the face of his stiff, grim-faced opposition. 'I'm not paying rent now, I'm earning good money, and ... well, I ...' she took a deep breath as his lips tightened still further, and plunged on, 'Well, I feel I should pull my weight.'

  `Don't be so damned ridiculous,' he said, ice in every word. 'I don't want your money,' and as if that settled the whole argument, he added snappishly, 'You're my wife,' and left her.

  She would have loved to have banged the kitchen door after him as anger she hadn't known she was capable of feeling overwhelmed her, and she stood glaring at the open doorway. Autocratic swine ! She knew he wouldn't be the first to climb down—well, it wouldn't be her this time. Last time it had been she who apologised, and she wasn't going to go through the rest of their marriage saying she was sorry. 'You're my wife', he had said, and just what did that mean? Obviously in his view that while she was married to him his pride would not allow her to contribute to any of the household expenses.

  Knowing she couldn't stand glaring at the space where his arrogant back had disappeared through until it was time to go to bed, she found some steak in the fridge and began to prepare their meal, and had a lovely time giving vent to her feelings by banging the juices with a wooden meat mallet. She felt much better afterwards, though she couldn't help looking a little shamefaced when she looked

  up and saw Ben watching her from the doorway for all the world as if he knew she had imagined she was knocking some reason into his stubborn head.

  He came to where she stood, taking the meat hammer from her and placing it on the worktop. Then putting his hands on her shoulders he turned her round to face him.

  `I stand by what I said, Tiffany,' he told her seriously, `but since I'm back on duty tomorrow morning, do you think we can call a truce for this evening?' Tiffany looked at him, mutiny in every line, and then her heart began to thud as he pulled her closer to him. She felt his warm lips briefly on hers and closed her eyes as the ice in her melted, and came back to earth, opening her eyes quickly as he put her away from him saying, 'You're not the only one who can make up nicely, you know.' And as her voice refused to make any answer, being stuck somewhere in her throat, he added, `Anyway, you were looking a mite dangerous with that meat basher in your hands.' And suddenly they were both laughing.

  Later that evening Tiffany rang her aunt and as soon as Mrs Bradburn heard Ben was working the next day, she invited Tiffany down to Middledeane. 'You'll be feeling lonely when Ben has gone,' she urged.

  Tiffany knew her aunt was right, but if she stayed in the flat she felt he would seem nearer somehow, and she searched in her mind for a reason to give her for not going without Ben being aware of the real reason, for he was in the same room and although he was buried behind a newspaper, there was no guarantee he wasn't hearing what she was saying.

  `I have a few things I really must attend to, Aunty. Do you mind if I leave it until next time?'

  `All right, dear. Perhaps you both could come if Ben is

  free at the same time? I'd love to have you both to stay with me.'

  Ben put down his paper when Tiffany's call had ended, enquiring, 'Is your aunt well?'

  Unsure now what she had replied to her aunt's invitation that they both visit her in Middledeane, but thinking he would think it odd if she didn't mention it and he had guessed from what had been said anyway, she told him, and stared at him in amazement when he said :

&nb
sp; `I should like that—we'll try and fix something up.'

  Masking her surprise, Tiffany felt happiness flood through her. To think she had always thought him to be standoffish and arrogant! True, there were still times when that arrogance showed through, but she was getting to know a different Ben, a warmer man than she had thought him to be, and not only did she love him, but she was beginning to like him as well.

  After that the evening passed without strain, and when Ben got up and went into his bedroom for something, Tiffany got up to make some coffee, reflecting that after such a terrible beginning when she had let herself into the flat, the evening was exceeding her expectations, for not one cross word had escaped either of them since Ben had kissed her and made up.

  He was back in the sitting room when she returned with the tray of coffee and he came to take it from her and set it down on a small table nearby. Then straightening up he stood in front of her, effectively blocking her way if she didn't want to squeeze by him or take the long route round the back of the settee, which would not only seem silly, but look ridiculous. So she stood where she was and looked at him with a question in her eyes.

  `I forgot to give you your engagement ring,' he said

  .

  casually, and putting his hand into his trouser pocket, pulled out a small square box and handed it to her.

  `My wh-what?' her astonishment was apparent as she gazed at him.

  `Don't you think you'd better look and see if you like it?' Wordlessly Tiffany tore her eyes away from him, her brain numb as she gazed at the box he had given her. 'I thought you would prefer something plain, but I can change it if you'd prefer something fussy.'

  She was overcome as she opened the box to see he had bought her a beautiful solitaire diamond. 'It's lovely!' escaped her, and then as the thought raced in that he had gone to the trouble to select it for her, even though common sense followed and said it was probably only because his father and her aunt would expect to see an engagement ring complementing the wedding band she wore, her voice became decidedly wobbly, and she was too stunned to say more than, 'Oh, Ben ...'