Turbulent Covenant

by Jessica Steele

  She was pleased to find she had a room to herself instead of doubling up with other stewardesses as often happened,

  and she kicked off her shoes to ease her throbbing feet and thought to snatch some hours' sleep before dinner. But as usual when by herself thoughts of Ben hammered to be let in. What would he be doing now? His off-duty time would have finished; which route would he be flying? How many more trips would he make before his contract ended? Two? Three? And she wouldn't be flying on any of them. The last words she had heard him speak were 'You just stay put when you get home, or by God you'll be sorry', but he would have cooled down by now. Could she just pack her cases and leave before he got back? That was what she ought to do, but it was one thing to know what course of action one should take, and quite another to set out on that course. Would he be so very angry on finding her room empty, though, her bits and pieces removed from her dressing table, all signs of her occupation gone? For the umpteenth time, Tiffany turned over on her bed. He would most likely be glad, came the painful thought just before her exhausted mind and body gave way to an uneasy sleep ...

  She awoke more refreshed for her sleep, showered and dressed in a calf-length dress that did a lot for her morale. She didn't feel like being on her own and knew if she wandered into the hotel's lounge or bar she was certain to bump into at least one member of the Airline's crew.

  The lounge was empty of any known face, but on reaching the bar she saw most of her colleagues on her flight assembled there. They were out of uniform and for once behaving themselves—there was usually some member of the crew with a ready wit and in no time they were falling about and generally letting their hair down.

  Fiona McKinley, a stewardess Tiffany got on well with, made room for her while Clive Winters went to get her a

  drink. That was odd—Clive had not said one word to her, not even to ask what her preference of a drink was. It was unheard-of for Clive not to make some come-hither remark, and she turned to Fiona to remark on it, when a glance at Fiona's face stopped her. Tiffany glanced at the other Coronet people nearby and saw one of the flight engineers in conversation with one of the stewards. It was obvious - from the stilted way they were talking that they were not at ease, and her flesh tightened and she knew without being told that something was very wrong.

  `What's happened?' Her question was directed at anyone who would answer, but no one did. 'What's wrong?' she asked more loudly. She looked at Clive Winters, who had just pushed a glass of brandy in her hand.

  `Drink that down, Tiffany,' he said, a wealth of compassion in his eyes, then when she sat not moving, 'We haven't got the full details yet—but word has come through that an aircraft has come down some miles from here.'

  `Come down' meant 'crashed'. Tiffany waited for him to add more, but it seemed Clive, having got so far, was loth to tell her more. 'Which airline?' she asked, surprised to hear her voice so calm when she didn't need him to tell her more —she knew, she just knew.

  But the split second pause before Clive confirmed it seemed to go on for ever. 'Coronet,' he said.

  `Ben?'

  `Ben was the Captain, Tiffany.'

  She had heard of people's hair standing on end with fright or shock, and actually felt her scalp move as Clive's words sank in. 'Ben was the Captain', he had said. 'Ben was the Captain'.

  `We don't know the details yet,' Clive was saying with a kindness she had never suspected him of possessing. 'For all we know they may have made a safe landing.'

  Only when she heard those words of Clive's did Tiffany's numbed brain begin to function again. There were so many things she wanted to know. Were they absolutely certain Ben was the pilot? How had they got the news? But a frozen calm had taken possession of her, and ignoring the brandy Clive was trying to get her to drink, a brandy she didn't want, she managed to ask :

  `How long before we know anything?'

  `Woody Carpenter is making enquiries now.'

  She should be doing something other than just sitting here watching the door for Woody to come in, she thought, but she couldn't move, felt rooted to her seat. She should have gone with Woody, but how could she? She had only just learned of the crash. Oh, my God, Ben—she felt her composure slipping and made herself hang on. Hang on, don't imagine the worst, Ben will be all right—heaven help us, all those passengers. Ben couldn't be dead, she wouldn't believe that, she wouldn't! Tiffany fought for calm, Ben wouldn't want her to give way, but it didn't seem right to be sitting here in the bar with an untouched brandy in front of her when anything could have happened to Ben out there, but her legs felt too paralysed to move. She stayed where she was; she could see from here if Woody came through the door.

  The next hour dragged on interminably. Every now and then one of the crew would go and try to find out more, but there was no news coming through. The bar was beginning to fill now and Tiffany was glad of Clive Winters' shielding form protecting her from curious eyes.

  Then the door to the bar opened, and stayed propped open by Woody Carpenter. Tiffany looked at him, then look past him and through the half open door. She saw the back of a man in Coronet uniform making some enquiry

  at the desk. She knew that tall shape, knew that relaxed stance, but was afraid to believe it.

  Slowly she got to her feet, didn't hear what Clive Winters said to her, was oblivious to Woody Carpenter holding the door open for her as she walked _through, and was within six yards of the man at the desk when as though sensing her approach the man turned round.

  He didn't look in the least bit different. Tall, upright, the man she had married. Not saying a word, he just looked at her across the expanse of carpet. Then the ice that had encased Tiffany for over an hour melted. 'Ben,' she said brokenly, and ran the rest of the way into his opening arms.

  Over and over again she murmured his name, all enmity between them forgotten as he held her tight to his heart. `Oh, Ben, I thought I was never going to see you again,' she sobbed against him. She was mindless of where she was as her pride deserted her, and she sobbed for all who cared, to see, 'Oh, Ben !'

  `All right, love. It's all right,' Ben said huskily, and hearing his voice when she had been having doubts that she would ever hear him speak again brought fresh floods of tears to her eyes.

  And then she became aware that he was fighting to keep her by his side, as suddenly the whole foyer seemed to be deluged with reporters and cameramen, everybody asking questions at the same time.

  `When did you first know anything was wrong, Captain Maxwell?'

  `What was your altitude?'

  `What speed were you flying?'

  The crush was getting greater by the second. Then Tiffany heard Ben's voice, firm and authoritative, 'Just a minute, gentlemen. Woody ...' She didn't catch what Ben was saying to Woody, but suddenly she was parted from

  him and Woody was escorting her to her room.

  `How does it feel to have a hero for a husband?' Woody asked, and not waiting for her answer seeing her still trying to pull herself together, went on to tell her Ben had made his emergency landing without loss of life or injury, apart from a few minor cuts and bruises. Tiffany heard what he was saying and breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief, but couldn't assimilate the rest of the technicalities he was telling her. For the moment it was enough to know that Ben and everyone else on board had come through a crash landing virtually unscathed.

  Reaction set in once she was on her own. Woody had offered to stay with her, but she had told him she was all right, but each anxiety-ridden minute in waiting for news of Ben had drained her, and as soon as the door had closed she began to shake uncontrollably, and it was far worse than any of the attacks of nausea she had suffered through her childhood. She tried to recall what, if anything, she had said to Ben, but she could remember nothing save the sanctuary of his arms holding her tight. Her world had been secure then, all tension and built-up fear had vanished the instant she had gone into his arms—thank God he was safe !

  If Ben had entered the room at t
hat moment Tiffany knew nothing would have stopped her from flinging herself into his arms once more. But it was over half an hour later that he came to find her, and by then her shaking had ceased and she had had time to collect herself—to sort out in some measure what his reaction had been to her.

  To be honest, she hadn't given him very much choice but to do anything other than take her in his arms, she recalled, her face growing hot, for she was fairly certain she had launched herself at him. Poor Ben—trying to extricate himself from this marriage, and what had she done but

  staked her claim to him in front of all those people downstairs? No wonder he had called Woody to take her away!

  There was no time then for further thought, because the door to her room opened, and without knocking Ben came in.

  This time Tiffany made no move to go anywhere near him and stayed where she was on the other side of the room, the bed between them. She saw the slight narrowing of his eyes as he took in the way she was so obviously on edge, and noted the change in her manner from that short while ago in the foyer. She saw a slightly perplexed look pass over his face as if he was having trouble trying to sort out what to make of her, then knowing his quick-thinking brain, Tiffany made an effort to stop him reaching the correct conclusion.

  Wh-what happened?' she stammered.

  `Downstairs, d'you mean?'

  Tiffany flushed, knowing he was referring to the manner in which she had greeted him. 'I meant the crash.'

  He didn't move, didn't come near her. His eyes were telling her nothing, but she had a dreadful suspicion he was just playing along with her, the reckoning to come later, when he said, 'I'm inclined to think it was turbine failure,' and almost offhand he continued to tell her about the crash. She felt herself relax as he went on, talking to her in such a cool way, that by the time he came to the end she realised he wasn't going to refer to what had happened before the press buttonholed him. 'There'll have to be an enquiry, of course, but with so many fail-safe devices on the aircraft, I can only think that a turbine disc disintegrated and a piece of metal must have flown into the fuselage and damaged the flying controls.'

  Tiffany paled at what might have happened. Dear

  God ... She looked across to find Ben's intent gaze on her and racked her brains for something to say—the whole experience must have left him feeling worn out.

  `How are you feeling?' she asked, the growing silence in the room crowding in on her.

  `More to the point, how are you feeling?'

  `I ... What do you mean?'

  `Stop prevaricating, Tiffany,' Ben said sharply. 'We've finished with the business of the crash, and now I think we have some business of our own to attend to—don't you?'

  She was wary of answering him, and was glad the width of the bed stood between them, for knowing Ben, if she said the wrong thing he would be across that bed before she could move.

  `I don't think so,' she told him slowly, then hurriedly as she saw his eyes harden, 'I ... I admit I over-reacted downstairs, but—but I wasn't sure how—how you would want me to act in front of everyone, s-so I chose to do the—er —loving wife routine.' She looked away from him, rather pleased she had been quick enough to think that up. But she was completely unprepared for the one word he threw at her, and her head came up sharply.

  `Liar,' he said.

  ... I ...'

  `Shut up, Tiffany,' he cut into her. 'If you can't speak the truth, then I'll speak it for you.' Then with great deliberation he fixed his eyes on her and went on. 'There was nothing phoney, false, or play-acted in the way we greeted each other. It was honest and unpretentious,' and here his voice grew stem as he told her, 'I will not allow you to belittle the emotion we both felt.' Tiffany's heart set up a rapid tattoo at that, but she refused to meet his eyes. 'You could no more help yourself from flinging yourself into my

  arms than ...' something in his voice had her looking at him, 'than I could stop myself from holding you to me,' he ended.

  The tattoo within her increased to the speed of a pneumatic drill, and was almost as deafening. She felt poised on the edge of something wonderful, too wonderful to be true, and was afraid to speak, frightened that anything she might utter would ruin what else he had to say. One wrong word and she could spoil the rest of her life. Wordlessly she waited for him to continue—he couldn't leave it there, he couldn't !

  Suddenly, as if relieved she wasn't arguing the point, Ben gave her that half smile she loved so well. 'Don't tell me the fight has gone out of you at long last?' he said, his voice stern no longer, teasing almost. 'Are you ready, then, Tiffany?' he asked. 'Are you ready now to admit something I began to suspect that last time we were in London together?'

  Her face flamed as she recalled without having to think very deeply that then she had been eager to give herself to him.

  Ben appeared to be suffering no such embarrassment himself, as he asked quietly and deadly seriously, 'Are you now ready, Tiffany, to admit that you love me?' Tiffany shook her head, incapable of speech. 'Come here to me,' Ben ordered. Tiffany didn't move.

  `All right,' he said mildly, 'I'll meet you half way—but no more,' and he moved to come and stand at the foot of the bed.

  Even while her brain was saying, `No—it can't be true, you're going to make a fool of yourself', her treacherous legs were taking her to meet him. He didn't touch her as she stood before him, though she was close enough that if she so much as swayed she would be up against him. But

  she didn't sway, and their eyes locked as they tried to divine the truth from each other's eyes.

  `I let emotion get in the way the last time I knew we should have got down to talking,' he said quietly, 'so supposing you start by telling me what made you flip when you got your call to take the stand-by flight?'

  Tiffany made to move away, her heart sinking fast; she'd read too much in his statement that he had felt the same kind of emotion as she had when she'd clung to him downstairs. But his arms came up fast, gripping on to her upper arms, refusing to let her back out of the confrontation, and she knew she was going nowhere until he had stripped her soul bare.

  `Sheila Roberts said that under no circumstances would you fly with me,' she told him with quiet pride.

  `And what else did she tell you?'

  Tiffany tried to think, but it was difficult with Ben holding her arms so tightly, his eyes boring into her. 'I don't think she said anything else.'

  `Then I'll tell you myself,' he said steadily. 'I refused to fly with you, Tiffany, because you were too great a distraction.' Her eyes flew to his, her heart a pneumatic drill again. 'When I'm flying I need to keep my mind on my job,' he told her. 'That was underlined today if I wasn't aware of it before—I needed one hundred per cent concentration to get that plane down safely today. Had you been on board, that just wouldn't have been possible.'

  `I don't quite—understand,' she said helplessly, and felt a strong arm come round her, felt her chin being lifted with one hand so he could see into her face.

  `Tiffany Maxwell,' he said clearly and distinctly, 'I love you so very much that sometimes when you're around all the discipline of my training, my upbringing, go by the board and I don't even know what day of the week it is.

  Now, will you kindly answer that, because if I don't soon kiss you I'm sure I shall burst a blood vessel.'

  `Oh, Ben !' He loved her! It was so much what she wanted to hear, what she had wanted for so long, for some seconds all she could do was look at him, only her eyes telling him what he wanted to know, then a joy so wonderful, so shattering took hold of her, she collapsed against him,

  `Oh, Ben,' she said again, 'I love you so !'

  Barely had the words left her than she heard Ben's exultant, 'Thank God for that !' to be followed instantly by his mouth coming down on hers, hard, passionate, demanding. She had no recollection of moving to the bed, she could have walked, Ben could have carried her, but she was lying beside him on top of the covers, feeling his yearning body trying to get even closer as
she pressed herself to him, giving him kiss for kiss, her lips parting in sweet invitation as they swam on the tide of their heightened senses.

  When Ben eased himself an inch or two away from her, Tiffany looked at him with a question in her eyes. 'I don't think lying on this bed is a particularly good idea at the moment,' he said softly, and suiting his words to action he lifted her with him and carried her to the easy chair and sat with her on his knee. 'This isn't much better for my sanity,' he grinned, 'but it's a slight improvement ' Then he became serious. 'I love you very much, my dear one,' he said, 'but we must talk. I want to get all our misunderstandings cleared up before I make you completely mine.'

  `I still can't believe you love me, Ben,' Tiffany said huskily, marvelling since he had shown her only a minute ago how much he wanted her, that he still had the strength and determination to hold back his need of her and by so doing make their coming together so completely free of doubts.

  `You'd better believe it, my darling,' he told her tenderly,

  `because you're not going to escape me now—after all the torment you've put me through.'

  `Torment? You?' And wanting to know everything at once, 'When did you start to love me?'

  `Let the see,' he said as if considering her question, but when Tiffany gave him a little nudge, he stopped teasing and told her, 'Actually it doesn't require thinking about. As you probably know, you used to get under my skin whenever we flew together, and looking back I think it must have been pure self-preservation that made me hard on you. I know I was as mad as hell when your aunt came and introduced herself as my future aunt-in-law—but I thought I'd find out first just what you'd been up to before I laid into you. Then you came racing up to us in the car park looking as though you couldn't believe your eyes.' He gave her a self-satisfied reminiscing smile. 'I don't know which expression I enjoyed more—your look of absolute horror when you saw me with Mrs Bradburn, or your look of terror when you thought I was going to kiss you.'