‘Drop everything and come over here right away,’ the Chief Executive grated down the telephone.
With a sigh Maura replaced the receiver and silently promised herself that one day she would make the little so-and-so suffer. It was the second time that day Oliver had summoned her to his office. Anyone would think she was some kind of office girl, the way he was making her dash back and forth between buildings. Why couldn’t he just once come to her office, she asked herself.
Since the beginning of June, Maura had not had time to draw breath. With the huge increase in domestic flights, as well as scheduled and unscheduled charters, it was a tough time for everyone and especially those in the hostess section. From the European administration standpoint their work was trebled. She and Elinor were really kept on their toes ensuring the smooth functioning of the section.
One of Maura’s chief concerns was dealing with hostess flight reports into which the girls wrote any problems arising on their trips. No matter how busy she was these were top priority. In an airline, faulty ovens or blocked galley sinks were bad news at any time but chaos ensued in the busy season if not attended to promptly. Hardly a day passed but Maura was on to the Catering Manager or Maintenance Engineer about some problem or other. Likewise passenger complaints had to be swiftly attended to before they blew up into major issues. And there were other irritations apart from Oliver McGrattan.
The Check Hostesses were giving trouble.
Since the busy summer rush had begun they were having to abandon their dignity to pitch in alongside everyone else. Yesterday, they had come in a body to complain that Rostering had given up all pretence at trying to arrange a roster that was decent and fair, and that some of them were on a continual flight path to London or Lourdes, while others seemed perpetually working night charters. There was some truth in it. Some hostesses, Maura knew, always seemed to manage a better roster than others but for all their complaints the checks were not that badly done by. For instance, Parisian, Sylvie Duval, got more Paris overnights than anyone else, Ciara always had Sundays off, Mona had a knack of being rostered her two stand- off days together, an almost unheard of thing in June, and the Hostess Superintendent’s niece seemed to think it her right to beg off work one day in every five. Already Eva had phoned in sick twice this month. The heat had brought on her migraine or the smell of kerosene made her nauseous.
Maura hadn’t bothered to listen. She was fed up with the lot of them, she told herself. A bunch of prima donnas! The ones really deserving sympathy were the junior hostesses. They were the worst hit by the summer.
There was a brisk rap on the door and Beattie entered. Maura forced a smile to her lips. Of all the checks, Beattie was riding her the hardest. Lately, the German girl had a path beaten to her door, continually pointing out all she was doing compared to everyone else. Now she had another grievance.
‘This is my second forty-eight hour week since the start of June,’ she complained, ‘I intend taking it up with the union.’
It was typical of Beattie to involve the union, Maura thought. There was no reason on earth why they couldn’t settle it between themselves.
Controlling her irritation, she said, ‘Leave it with me. I’ll get it straightened out with the Crew Planning Superintendent.’
‘Very well but if they do not give me satisfaction, I will bring it to the attention of the union,’ Beattie threatened again and, to Maura’s relief, went off muttering about bribery and corruption in the roster office.
With Beattie there was always some intrigue going on but, of course, she was within her rights. Regulations clearly stated that hostesses normally work a forty-five hour week with one longer forty-eight hour stretch just once in each month of the busy season. Maura buzzed her secretary to say she would be gone for a while and reluctantly headed over to Oliver’s office.
When she got there it was to find all he wanted to give her was a memo about hostess uniform. Something he could easily have sent over by messenger. Was he trying to provoke her? Maura wondered, holding on to her temper with difficulty as she listened to him lecture on about the airline’s image.
‘No matter how hot it gets hostesses are not, absolutely not permitted to go without stockings. Nor may the take off their uniform jackets so long as the aircraft doors are open. That goes for hats too,’ Oliver instructed fussily, ‘Sloppily dressed crew give the airline a bad name. Passengers begin doubting its pilots and next thing we know, there’s a drop in bookings.’
God! he was a real old woman, Maura thought, familiar with the argument. As if planes were going to fall out of the sky because hostesses went stockingless.
‘Oliver?’ she questioned sweetly, ‘Tell me? Is it all right if they wear see-through panties under their skirts?’
He stared at her, frowned, then said coldly, ‘Is that meant to be funny?’ Humourless crud! ‘I don’t know,’ Maura snapped. ‘You tell me.’
She went back to her office seething with annoyance and rang Elinor Page.
‘Come and have a chat,’ she begged. ‘I think I’m going mad.’
As always talking to Elinor cheered Maura up. They sat together, smoking and speculating about the Chief Executive.
‘How in God’s name he ever got this far without being murdered I’ll never know,’ Maura groaned.
Elinor chuckled. ‘Aren’t you lucky you’re not married to him. Just think of being tied to that wimp and having to ask for money to buy your underwear.’
Maura grinned, remembering her remark about the see-through panties. Elinor roared with laughter when she told her.
‘That’ll give him dirty thoughts,’ she crowed.
‘If he was human it might,’ Maura grinned, her good humour restored.
A few days later, Oliver summoned her again. Maura kept her irritation down and calmly went on dealing with passenger complaints, okaying a replacement voucher for two new pairs of stockings to a woman who snagged her nylons on the back of a seat and a cleaning voucher to a man who had coffee spilt on him during turbulence. When she felt sufficiently calm enough she started the walk across to McGrattan’s office.
‘Please take a seat,’ his receptionist told her. ‘Mr. McGrattan has someone with him. He won’t be long.’
Maura sat in the outer office kicking her heels, her temper rapidly rising. What the hell was he playing at? She was just about to leave when he stuck his head around the door and beckoned her forward.
‘Maura,’ he fixed her with his piercing stare, ‘I have someone here I want you to meet. Someone who could be a great help to you.’
Entering the office, Maura saw with surprise a slim trouser-suited woman with blonde- streaked hair to her shoulders relaxing in a chair before Oliver’s desk.
Sheila Mueller extended her hand and said a laconic, ‘Hi, there.’
Maura returned the limp handshake and sat down in the chair Oliver fussily dusted before pushing forward.
‘Mrs. Mueller is over from the States,’ he explained smoothly. ‘She’s doing research for a book she’s writing and I want you to give her all the co-operation you can.’
‘This is my first visit to your country,’ Sheila told Maura. ‘I’m finding it fascinating. Do you always play jigs and reels on your Atlantic flights - so Irish.’
‘Yes, and we carry a leprechaun in the cockpit,’ Maura replied, straight-faced.
Oliver shot her a furious glance, then laughed heartily. ‘Miss Kane has a strange sense of humour as I’m sure you’ll find out. Well, ladies, I’ll leave you to get on with it. I have a director’s meeting in five minutes.’
Sheila Mueller rose to her feet. ‘Bye, Ollie,’ she drawled. ‘See you at the cocktail hour.’ She turned to Maura and gave a little pouting shrug, ‘I’m ready. Lead on McDuff.’
Maura stared. Did this dyed blonde expect her to show her the hostess section now this minute in the middle of the summer rush?
She did.
‘Isn’t the great man cute,’ the American woman said on their way over. ‘Who?’
‘Ollie - the Big Chief,’
‘Cute as hell,’ Maura agreed, leading the way into the prefabs and registering the shocked surprise in Sheila’s eyes at the shabby wooden buildings.
‘This is where the air hostesses hang out?’ she squeaked incredulously. Maura nodded. Yes indeed, she felt like saying.
For the next week, Mrs. Mueller turned up like clockwork every morning at nine thirty, big tinted glasses shoved high on her forehead, an American airline bag slung on her padded shoulder. She shadowed Maura around the prefabs, commenting on everything in wondering tones and jotting notes in a refill pad. Whether the book was fiction or a documentary wasn’t clear but from all the notes she took, Maura decided dourly, she could have been writing it on the spot. When she took her to lunch in the canteen they sat together behind the shrubbery and Sheila cast an appreciative eye at the pilots, declaring them to be ‘real cute’. Maura ached for the week to be over. It was a relief when Judy Mathews did lunch-duty one day and Elinor Page the next.
Having Mueller parked half the day in her office was the worst of all, Maura decided. She sat there smoking endless cigarettes, fogging up the small room, and openly listening to all her telephone conversations. To the Chief Hostess’s jaundiced eye, she appeared to be taking them down verbatim. When Mrs. Mueller finally transferred her attentions to other members of the hostess staff, Maura heaved a sigh of relief.
Judy and Elinor were polite but took no nonsense from her. Amy Curtis allowed the American woman a brief interview but was otherwise engaged.
‘She’s quite a dame your chief,’ Sheila remarked admiringly after her session with the Superintendent. ‘Real ladylike. ‘Kinda reminds me of Mother Mary Benedict who had charge over us in Seattle.’
Maura repressed a grin. When she passed this titbit on to Elinor, the Administrator rolled her eyes and chuckled, ‘A convent girl, by Gad!’
Everyone was glad when the end of June also signalled the end of Sheila Mueller. It had been a tough enough month without the added stress of being overlooked every minute of its final quarter.
Maura smiled insincerely when the woman stuck her head into her office to cry, ‘So long, Maura, and thanks a thou for all your help.’
‘You’re welcome,’ she drawled in reply.
Another busy week passed and Maura was summoned once more to Oliver’s plush office. She took her time obeying and gave thanks that the American woman was gone. She could well do without the added aggravation of the Sheila Muellers of this world.
One thing had been pretty evident by the end of the writer’s visit. She wasn’t finding ‘Ollie’ quite the enchanter she had at first.
‘I guess you women don’t have it all your own way with the Big Chief,’ was her shrewd comment on parting.
You could say that again!
Now Maura looked across at him perched in his leather swivel chair, busily sorting through papers as though she wasn’t there. ‘I’ll be with you in a minute,’ he said, without looking up.
‘That’s okay. Take all the time in the world,’ she said drily, and glared at his bent head. Another five minutes ticked by.
Don’t dream of rushing yourself, she silently fumed. It’s just the busiest time of year and I’ve got a stack of flight reports the length of O’Connell Street awaiting me when I get back.
The Chief Executive laid down his pen and swivelled his chair towards Maura. He crossed one perfectly creased pants leg over the other, swung his highly polished tan shoe
. ‘Well, Maura, I can give you ten minutes of my time and then I have another appointment,’ he said curtly, ‘Of course if you had got here a little earlier...’
Maura stared at him, outraged. ‘You were the one wanting to see me,’ she reminded him coolly.
‘Just so.’ He eyed her thoughtfully then without turning his head, stretched behind and lifted some papers off the desk. ‘I have here Mrs. Mueller’s report on the Hostess Administration branch... some very interesting findings... very interesting indeed.’
Report? Maura was amazed. Had she heard him right?
He flicked his nails against the stapled sheets. ‘Maura, what I have here is a fairly comprehensive list of the day to day running of the hostess section. Mrs. Mueller has presented a clear picture. In most respects, I’m afraid it makes sorry reading.’ He sighed. ‘Much of it points out the unnecessary, wasteful and time-consuming methods being employed.’
‘A report, you say?’ Maura interrupted him.
He looked at her over his heavy black-framed glasses.
‘That’s right. Mrs. Mueller is an operations research consultant here at our express invitation, to help us organise ourselves more profitably.’
Now you tell us! Maura thought.
‘You mean to say all that about writing a book was a lie?’ She was flabbergasted, then furious.
Oliver frowned. ‘I’m not sure I like that.’ ‘Too bad,’ Maura said shortly.
How dare he send a spy into the camp, she raged. The sneaky little bastard! She stood up and looked at her watch pointedly.
‘I’d say those ten minutes are about up, wouldn’t you?’ she said coolly. ‘You’ll have to excuse me, Oliver. I have an appointment in my office with the Crew Planning Superintendent to discuss the Palma night flights starting next week. I’ll be free later on if you wish to continue this discussion but I think it might be advisable if it were attended by some other member of the hostess committee apart from myself.’
‘Very well. I take your point.’ Unabashed, Oliver got to his feet but made no move to see her out. ‘I agree it’s a matter for the whole bunch of you.’
Incompetent bunch, his tone seemed to imply.
Eyes glinting, head held high, Maura marched angrily out of his office. Of all the sneaky underhand actions, she raged. Crossing to the hostess section, her thoughts in a whirl, she ran full tilt into Captain Drummond who was coming striding along from the opposite direction.
‘Hey, steady.’ He held her in a firm grip and smiled down at her. ‘Where’s the fire?’ he joked.
Distraught as she was, Maura grinned back.
‘Sorry, I was miles away,’ she apologised. ‘Everything okay?’
Maura noticed what an attractive voice he had and that the blue eyes regarding her were kindly and concerned.
Attempting a laugh she said, ‘Sure. Just one of those trying meetings. You know, the kind that leave you screaming and foaming at the mouth.’
He laughed sympathetically, ‘Don’t I just.’ He put up a hand to his moustache and stroked it thoughtfully, his blue eyes fixed on hers. ‘I’m just finished duty. I suppose it’s a bit too early to suggest convening to the Departure lounge for a sherry.’
‘It is a bit,’ she agreed, returning his gaze.
What a nice face he has, she thought, a bit craggy and lined but full of character.
Captain Drummond stared warmly back. That he found her attractive was more than obvious.
‘Perhaps another time?’ Maura said with a smile.
‘I’ll hold you to that.’ With a murmured goodbye, he courteously tipped his uniform cap and moved on.
Well, why not? Maura asked herself. He was an attractive man and a widower. It might make Simon sit up and take a bit of notice, she told herself grimly as she hurried into her office to make her apologies to the Crew Planning Superintendent.
Kay too was finding the summer tough. With the onset of the hectic season there was nothing but packed flights to London and the Isle of Man, late night trips to Palma and Perpignon and, above all, the Lourdes charters. Kay considered she was getting more than her fair share of those!
‘Not Lourdes again,’ she groaned when she was stuck on yet another pilgrimage only two days after her last scheduled trip there.
At least the outward journeys weren’t too bad, she consoled herself, as she went down to her locker to collect a dress in case they overnighted. At this stage the pilgrims were still enjoying the novelty of flying and hoping against hope to have a bit of a holiday when not down on their knees praying. But coming back! They haggled with their last franc over a packet of duty-free fags and were as vile and crabbed as only pilgrims feeling the effects of an all-in package deal, enforced prayer and late-night vigils can possibly be.
Her green eyes lit with amusement. ‘Hey, miss, what can I get for this?’ they would cry. Sometimes even shamefully, ‘Hey, waitress,’ (how Noeleen Carmody would love that!), holding up a minuscule amount. ‘A trip to the loo,’ Kay was often tempted to answer before dashing away to attend to some other crabbed old crone wanting to buy up the plane.
Now she went over to Cabin Stores to collect the cash-float and was just about to take it from Mick when the door banged open and Orla O’Neill came rushing in. ‘Hurry up! Hurry up!’ she yodelled. ‘I’m in a hell of a rush.’
Kay turned in dismay. By sheer dint of personality Orla always bulldozed her way into being served first.
As she feared, Mick delayed handing over the cash-float.
‘In a hurry, Miss O’Neill?’ he queried in his Fagan voice. ‘And what do we do with little girls in a hurry?’ he asked Eddie, who immediately caught on.
Kay backed away with a startled expression as they laid hands on Orla and dragged her roaring through the window. Branding hostesses was all the rage these days. Willing victims of the Orla-kind were forever rushing into the restroom proudly displaying their marks. Kay would have died if they laid hands on her.
‘C’mon, lads,’ she pleaded nervously. ‘Finish with me first.’ At this rate she would be late on board.
‘A thousand apologies, dear lady,’ Mick turned back to attend to her again.
Thankfully, Kay signed the chit and turned to go. Behind her a chortling Eddie brought the date stamp down on Orla’s plump thigh. ‘And now for the other one,’ he was gloating as Kay made good her escape. Oh well, everyone to their own taste, she grinned to herself as she hurried on board.
Before June was half over Kay had been to Lourdes eight times. She supposed it could have been worse. Sally spent her life flying in and out of the Isle of Man while Bunny had nothing but late-night charters. Bringing home a drunken team after a match with Glasgow Celtic, Bunny had had her uniform taken and was forced to sit in her slip in the toilet while one of the footballers went about distributing the drinks. ‘I was mortified,’ she confessed afterwards to the girls. Kay couldn’t help feeling sorry for her.
To Kay’s regret she had seen very little of Sally since the start of the summer. It would be great, she thought, if they could share a flight but so far they hadn’t even been on reserve duty together, their only contact was on the telephone or the odd hurried meeting in the canteen. Then Bunny threw a shower party in her new flat for one of the hostesses who was getting married in July, and they shared a whole evening together.
Rona was the first of their group to get engaged. The day she arrived into the restroom with the ring the excitement had been intense, everyone begging to try it on and shouting, ‘Rona, you dark horse, why didn’t you tell?’ and ‘Fancy being able to keep a thing like that secret,’ so that the poor girl didn’t know what hit her.
‘If it were me I’d be broadcasting it from the control tower,’ confessed Orla, who was partnering her that day.
‘I really didn’t think anyone would be all that interested,’ Rona confessed shyly, admitting that she honestly thought it was all her travelling about since joining Celtic Airways that had prompted her fiancé to pop the question. ‘He was afraid I’d throw him over for some dashing pilot,’ she laughed modestly.
After that there was a crop of engagements and nothing but talk about rings and weddings in the restroom. Some of the hostesses thought it a bit quick to get engaged after only six months of flying - Lucy in particular was openly scornful of all the ‘ring-mad girls rushing off to prop the kitchen sink’ - but the majority of the group thought it very romantic. In training it had been the consensus of opinion that to get her man was the prime objective of any self- respecting air hostess and in the fastest possible time if she wished to become one of Celtic’s enviable statistics.
Nearly all the group attended Rona’s shower party. It was very much an all-girls- together night, Kay reflected, as she sat on the arm of Sally’s chair admiring the layout of the room. Bunny had put on a great spread and there was lots to eat and drink.
Poor old Cecily would have been in her element, she thought, but unfortunately no one knew where to contact her, though rumour had it she was shortly expecting to be interviewed for one of the British airlines. Sandy had been asked but declined to come.
Orla, arriving in late, produced a naughty engagement card (complete with moving parts) and brazenly passed it about to the accompaniment of much coarse laughter. Rona who was really quite shy, blushed when it came to her turn to receive it but valiantly struggled to play the part expected of her, of blissful engaged girl.
The naughty card effectively loosened everyone’s inhibitions and under the influence of copious gins and tonics, giggling speculation was made as to who would be next for the marital couch. From the kind of talk circulating it was obvious they were all doing ‘business’ of one kind or another. Sally (as Kay already knew) was getting on famously with Maurice, her Dutchman who had stepped up his courtship since her return from holidays, besides which she surprisingly revealed she was getting letters from Eulogio Sanchez Blanco, her Spanish admirer.
‘Two a week,’ Sally grinned.
Orla was crazy for someone called Hugo.
‘Pots of dough,’ she titillated them all, drawing a faint protest from Rona.
‘Ah now, when you meet the right man you won’t care whether he’s rich or not.’ ‘Wanna bet?’ Orla grinned cynically, ‘You can take it from me I ain’t getting hitched to any guy that ain’t loaded.’
At this there was a ripple of approving laughter.
‘Eva’s engagement is on again,’ offered Lucy, obviously discomfited at the prospect of her friend with the love-bug. ‘But she’s not wearing any ring for the moment.’
‘Funny kind of engagement,’ Orla laughed scornfully, making it clear she wouldn’t consider it binding without a ring and an expensive flashy one at that.
Lucy flushed and fell silent.
‘What about you, Bunny?’ Kay deflected attention, feeling sorry for her.
‘Oh Teddy is himself,’ Bunny cried acceptingly, like a mother with a lovable but wayward son.
By this everyone knew about the dashing lieutenant who belonged to another but courted Bunny in secret. Since returning from Spain her resolve had weakened and she was allowing him call on her again.
‘It’s completely platonic, girls,’ Bunny protested at their knowing looks. ‘Cwoss my heart. All we ever do is talk.’
Knowing Bunny, Kay could well believe it. Since their shared holiday she was more than ever convinced that the girl had a very low sex-drive. She listened sceptically as Bunny described two other admirers and brother officers of Teddy’s who took her to military balls and the races and kept her ‘warm’ for him when he was otherwise occupied with his fiancée. The steel helmet on the mantelpiece had been given to her by Jack and had to be gigglingly tried on by everyone before she rescued it and returned it to the place of honour.
‘Bunny will be next,’ pronounced Celine positively. ‘Though who it’ll be is beyond me.’ She had a nice steady chap of her own who motored up at weekends from the west of
Ireland to see her but she wasn’t sure how she felt about him.
‘He’s a bit too careful of himself if you know what I mean.’ She pulled a face.
Kay giggled with the rest. Thinking from all Celine said he sounded as if a nurse was what he wanted first and a wife second. The gin having effectively loosened Celine’s tongue, as it sometimes loosened her will in the back seat of his Morris Minor, she frankly admitted she would like to be ‘shwept’ off her feet a bit more.
Like Ginny Haplin wanting some man to be rough with her, Kay thought amused.
Of her own romance she said little. Since May she was meeting Graham at least twice a week and they had got in the habit of driving to Greystones to walk a few miles on the beach before returning to the adjoining Sanditops Hotel for a nightcap. Afterwards they would find a secluded spot to park the car and make love.
Well kiss and fondle. To Kay’s amazement it never went any further than that. In a weak moment she had confided this to Sally who said with a husky laugh, ‘Honestly, Kay! Don’t you see? He’s getting it already. That’s why.’
‘Oh!’ Kay was crestfallen. Sometimes, she bitterly regretted that the absence of a sister or someone close to her, betrayed her into telling Sally more than was wise. Not that her friend wasn’t fairly reciprocative in their discussions about the men in their lives, she thought, but she came nowhere near to confiding as much to Kay as she did to her. Somehow by her amused cynicism Sally seemed to be suggesting that Captain Pender wasn’t serious about her. Kay considered that by the unwritten code between girlfriends this just wasn’t playing fair.
After all, it was not as if she hadn’t already faced the agonizing possibility that Graham was married. In her more clear-sighted, less emotional moods she knew he just had to be. But she was hoping that he would tell her of his own accord and, until then, quite honestly preferred to coast along, daydreaming of a future happy time when she would have attained a legitimate place in his life, as well as his affections.
So amidst all the tipsy girlish outpourings at Rona’s shower party, Kay merely admitted to one or two boyfriends. ‘Nothing serious... all quite casual in fact,’ and having made the unblinking lie, was glad that no one, not even Sally, had any idea of the full extent of her passion for Captain Pender, or her shivering excitement in anticipation of their next meeting.
As the weather grew warmer she and Graham had begun to meet more frequently. She knew he was finding his first summer on the Atlantic exhausting and understood his need to get away from cities whenever he could. Sometimes he was quite tense and strung up and it took an hour or so in the open strolling over the sands to restore him to a more relaxed state of mind.
With the heavy summer schedule, Kay often thought it was a miracle they managed to meet as often as they did but there were disappointments too when delays or changes in either roster forced them to change their plans. Since the start of their affair, she had accumulated quite a bundle of notes from him as well as perfume and chocolates. His latest gift was a lovely fluffy white bear which she prized more than all the others put together.
‘He’s gorgeous!’ she exclaimed, holding him close to her cheek. Furry toys were all the vogue amongst hostesses just then and Graham had instinctively made the right choice.
‘I’m going to call him Pendy,’ she declared impulsively.
‘Pendy?’ Graham was amused. ‘Am I to deduce you’re naming him after me!’
But he was touched by her evident pleasure in the gift and promised to bring her back something better next time.
The bear occupied pride of place on Kay’s pillow where Sam hugged him to death on his visits from Kilshaughlin and Florrie admired him whenever she came in for a late-night chat.
‘Lucky you,’ she said enviously, doing her own share of hugging. ‘All Jimmy ever gives me are boring old classical records.’ Kay grinned sympathetically, knowing Florrie’s taste ran to musicals, but she honestly never cared herself what Graham brought her. It was the thought that counted.
Shortly afterwards, Kay found herself stuck on yet another flight to Lourdes. She arrived on board to find her co-hostess already there before her. Penny had been stuck on the flight too and together they shared the cabin pre-take-off checks, then went to stand by the door as the stretcher cases were boarded first.
Watching them, Kay thought pityingly how awful it was to be paralysed, unable to move. She returned the smile of a pale, sweet-faced woman lying half-propped on pillows and when Mary asked her for a drink of water, gladly went to get it. Delays were hardest on the invalids and Kay only wished she could do more to help them.
This trip was the worst yet. Already they were two and a half hours behind time. When the doors were closed, she handed the pilgrimage chaplain the PA handset and went down checking seat-belts while he warmly addressed the pilgrims. Ten minutes later they were airborne.
In Orly airport where they put down en route, their flight was delayed a further ninety minutes and by the time they eventually landed in Lourdes, the crew were found to be out of hours, and by I.A.T.A regulations obliged to overnight.
Two days later they were still there.
Wandering the narrow streets in 80 degrees of heat, Kay wished she had been clairvoyant enough to have stocked her locker with some extra clothing and wasn’t now totally reliant on the same slightly damp bri-nylon dress (a quick dip in the hand basin at night and hung dripping on St. Bernadette’s picture to dry) which was all she had in her locker when stuck on reserve. Penny was in much the same predicament though she, at least, had a change of underwear.
Attractively gamine in appearance, with short razor cut hair and dark impudent eyes, Penny was constantly being ogled by swarthy French men (sex, not miracles, apparently holding sway even in this sanctified spot) who kept stepping in her path to beg for ‘deux minutes, mamselle.’ What they imagined they would accomplish in so short a time mystified the girls. Penny thought even for a ‘quickie’, it was a record.
‘Oh go say a rosary,’ she exploded, wrinkling her nose disgustedly at a pest who insisted on following them back past the loaded stalls, clicking his tongue suggestively against his teeth.
With a Gallic little shrug, he philosophically accepted defeat at the entrance to the hotel and regretfully departed murmuring, ‘Au revoir, mamselle. A bientot.’
‘Pray for a miracle,’ Penny retorted irreverently, and fanned her hot face.
The girls spent the next day in much the same way and that night met up again with their crew. John Brennan was their captain and Christy Kane, cousin to the Chief Hostess, his crotchety co-pilot. Penny revealed that she had had a brief fling with Christy at one time and from the pilot’s irritable manner it was evident he still lusted after her. It was also evident that he had a grievance, not only against Penny, but hostesses in general.
‘All you hostesses are just a lot of gold-diggers,’ he harangued them as they ate. ‘Get a man to spent his hard-earned cash on you and when it’s all gone, it’s ‘Goodbye jerk, it was nice knowing you.’
‘Oh get stuffed, Christy,’ Penny stuck her tongue out at him. ‘You’re just sore you can’t play round or Jeannette will get to know about it... Sour grapes!’
The pilot smiled unpleasantly. ‘Say what you like, acushla, but don’t forget that my wife was one of you girls once. She knows the score.’
‘Well, bully for her!’ Penny exclaimed. ‘So do lots of pilots’ wives... Graham’s for one and much good it does Sile.’
Kay was agog. Could they possibly be talking about Captain Pender? She ached to know.
‘Their case is quite different,’ Christy replied shortly.
Kay strained her ears wondering why, and was relieved when Penny asked the question for her.
Captain Kane laughed scornfully, ‘Oh come off it, Penny. Turn off the big beguiling headlamps. You’re not dealing with gorgeous Graham now. You know darn well why, you of all people.’
Penny frowned. ‘Really Christy, you’re quite poisonous you know.’ She tossed her head, ‘Don’t go blaming me if Graham’s ‘billysitch’’ of a wife went and forgot the cardinal rule... apart altogether from her other little problem...
‘Catty,’ intoned Captain Kane admiringly. ‘And what may I ask is the cardinal rule according to Air Hostess Norton?’
‘How to keep you man coming back for more,’ Penny answered smartly.
‘Ah now, that’s a subject you could give tutorials on.’ He scowled at her, irritation and regretful lechery imprinted on his coarse features. ‘I’ll vouch for that!’
‘Thank you, kind sir,’ Penny bowed her cropped head, obviously complimented. ‘But I’m afraid I’m otherwise engaged these days.’
‘I’ll bet! Draining that poor jerk with the Merc of all his dough.’
Christy was back again to being gratuitously offensive. It was as though he hated Penny, Kay thought.
‘Not that he can’t afford it, he’s loaded from what the papers say. Well, well, so you’re going for money instead of looks these days,’ he sneered. ‘Good for you.’
‘I don’t remember ever being that choosy about looks,’ Penny put him down.
A deep blush mounted to the pilot’s forehead. ‘Bitch!’ he said morosely. His wine glass rocked as he set it back on the table.
‘What, still belabouring poor Miss Norton,’ Captain Brennan rejoined them, cigar in hand. ‘If I were you, my dear, I’d salt his coffee on the return journey.’
‘I might just do that,’ Penny said grimly, ‘If we ever leave this hallowed spot.’
She met Kay’s sympathetic glance and they shared a look of commiseration at the thought of another sticky day wandering the pavements.
Captain Brennan’s blue eyes twinkled. ‘Well now, that’s where I’ve good news for you, my dear. We’re off first thing in the morning. There! I knew you’d be glad to hear it.’ He winked at the girls and turned to a sullen Christy. ‘Now Christopher, my boy, what would you say to a game of bridge before we go to our bunks. And just so there’ll be no further friction I’ll partner Miss Norton and perhaps Miss Martin would be good enough to put up with you.’
Christy grumpily agreed and for the next hour conversation was restricted to the cared game. Kay’s mind was still dwelling on what had gone before but she was forced to wait until they were on their way to bed before she could finally put the question to Penny that had been bothering her all evening.
‘Was that Sile Pender you were talking about earlier?’ she enquired cautiously on their way upstairs.
‘Yes...do you know her?’ Penny glanced her surprise.
‘Not really... I just wondered,’ Kay said lamely, and reddened under the other’s scrutiny. ‘Oh, I get the picture,’ Penny’s brow cleared. ‘You know Graham.’
Kay nodded miserably.
‘He’s a real sweetie, isn’t he. I used to have a thing going with him at one time,’ Penny cheerfully confessed. ‘I’m still awfully fond of him.’
When they reached their landing she gave Kay a penetrating glance. ‘Keen on him?’ Kay was about to deny it, then decided against.
‘You poor baby,’ Penny said with relish. ‘It’s written all over you.’ She grinned. ‘A word of advice - look out for Madame Pender. She puts the Snow Queen in the shade. Believe me, Sile will have your heart and liver too if she ever finds out.’
Penny’s chuckle floated back along the corridor, ‘Don’t say you haven’t been warned.’
Kay’s own heart felt like it contained an ice ship as she lay on her bed listening to the night sounds filtering through the open window. Ave! Ave! The plaintive repetitious petitioning of the pilgrims carrying faintly on the night air added poignancy to the moment. The revelation that Captain Pender was habitually unfaithful was sickening to her soul.
Miserably, she turned her face to the wall and let the tears trickle warmly down her face.