Flying east, Graham was able for the first time to think of Kay without any of the turmoil he had experienced in the weeks after their breakup. By writing to her he felt he had made reparation, and was filled with a kind of peace. When she read his letter she would think less badly of him. Somehow that was of great importance to him.
In Moscow where they stopped to refuel, Graham watched the women in the pantaloons and saris dragging the hoses out to the plane. One young Madonna-faced girl, with her lissom figure and modest downcast look, disturbingly invoked Kay and he found he could not take his eyes off her. His heart thudded painfully in his chest and he was so affected that he felt everyone near him must be aware of his agitation.
As they flew on over the Caspian Sea, with the flaming sky glowing in a last vivid burst of colour before nightfall, the memory so disturbing and erotic still haunted him.
Karachi, originally a little fishing village named after a dancer of great beauty, was a hot dry and dusty city squeezed between the desert and the Arabian sea. A month after he arrived, Graham sat in a small seafood restaurant in the harbour watching the frail crafts bobbing on the water and enjoying a delicious meal of kebabs on a bed of fluffy white rice. He often came here to eat when on stand-off, sometimes with two BEA pilots on loan like himself to the eastern airline.
John was from County Down and Ralph a Londoner. They were amiable enough fellows and a cut above the other pilots, whose main idea of relaxation was playing endless games of poker and randily discussing the chances of bedding the senior hostesses but tonight the pair of them were taking the service down to Madagascar and Graham was on his own.
He finished his meal and strolled thought the bazaars, stopping every so often, to watch the wrinkled old women trimming and putting the finishing touches to the carpets that had been woven in the villages. He had already picked up two such rugs for the hallway in his house, as well as a very beautiful Baluchi embroidered tablecloth.
He had one drink in the pilots’ mess before going to his room and was in bed before eleven o’clock. It was a pattern of his nights since coming to Karachi, although he had no need to be so solitary unless he wished it. There were some very attractive British girls hostessing the planes, as well as stunningly beautiful Eurasians. They had made it clear how much they admired him but he deliberately kept his distance. He rarely accompanied the European crew members when they headed off on expeditions to the beautiful beaches some forty kilometres from the city, knowing only too well that after a few hours relaxing in the sun they would head back to tour the city’s nightclubs, and almost certainly end up in each other’s rooms for the night. Graham was determined not to ease his loneliness by casual encounters, not having forgotten his lapse in New York with Elaine Rooney and the bitter self-disgust he had felt afterwards. Never again, he told himself sternly. It just wasn’t on! But it was tough going!
Since coming out to Karachi, Graham’s most faithful correspondent was his youngest son, but apart from Nicky’s letters, the only other contact from home in that time was a six-line letter from Sile asking him to increase her overdraft facility so that she could set up a fashion boutique with her sister. While Graham had done as she asked, he set the limit a good deal lower than stipulated. Sometimes he thought his wife had exaggerated ideas of how much pilots earned. But he was relieved to see that she was taking a positive interest in life again. She had always possessed a good dress sense and should make a go of it.
Graham’s life was in a mess - his love affair ended; his marriage a failure. The one thing keeping him from drinking too much, or going with women was the expectation of Kay’s letter. Although he had not originally written to her with the intention of starting things up between them again, somehow, in spite of himself, he could not help anticipating her reply. As he piloted flights to Bombay and Singapore, and even as far away as Tokyo, his thoughts were never free of her, she was always on his mind. He was convinced that her letter would arrive very soon and was puzzled when the weeks passed without hearing from her.
It never crossed his mind that she might not have got his letter. Steve had always been a reliable messenger. It was unthinkable that he wouldn’t have delivered it.
Then one morning he was having coffee in the mess when a letter was brought to him. Graham’s spirits lifted, then abruptly sank again when he saw it was just another letter from Nicky. He was so acutely disappointed that for once, he was unable to feel any of his usual pleasure at hearing from his youngest son.
As always Nicky’s letter was full of affectionate enquiries. One line caught his eye. ‘Mummy came to see us on Sunday with a fat man called Tom and we all went for a drive.’
Who was the fat man, Graham wondered uneasily. Surely not that moneyed windbag Tom Conway! Although he hadn’t let on at the time Graham had been aware of Sile’s infatuation with the racehorse owner. For this information he was indebted to Christy Kane. He was disturbed to think it might be starting up again. He frowned in disgust, knowing Conway’s reputation as an inveterate womaniser. Surely to God Sile had better taste.
Well at least she was visiting the boys, he conceded grudgingly, and for that he was glad. He still felt a bit guilty at going off and leaving them for so long and Nicky’s disappointed cry continued to haunt him. Jeremy had taken it hard too, he remembered but from the frequency of Nicky’s letters, his youngest son was clearly the most affected by his absence.
As he replaced the letter in the envelope, Graham acknowledged how much he missed them both. The last few weeks had been the loneliest of his life and there were times when only by deliberately blanking out his mind (though unfortunately never for long enough) was he able to endure his self-inflicted exile.
Increasingly, Graham was becoming aware that he should have stayed put and attempted to work things out, instead of rushing off the minute things became too unpleasant. With so much time to think, he ruthlessly analysed his feelings and was forced to admit that he could no longer honestly lay all the blame on his wife for the unhappy state of their marriage, or fool himself that his feelings for Kay were of a weak, passing nature.
Anything but! He was shocked at how much she occupied his thoughts these days, how very much he wanted her. She was a breath of youth, vibrant and desirable, and without her he felt only half-alive. The pain was becoming almost physical, he was obsessed by her. Ah Kitty! There was a sweet relief in thinking her name.
‘Letter from the loved ones?’ a voice broke into his reverie.
Graham looked up to find John and Ralph sitting into the seats beside him, ‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘Nicky... my youngest.’
‘You’re honoured,’ Ralph drawled, holding his unlit pipe between clenched teeth while he searched his pockets for matches. John laughingly agreed. He looked tiny beside his huge colleague. In the mess they were affectionately known as Mutt and Jeff.
‘Did I tell you my lot are coming out at Easter.’ he winked at Graham. ‘Nice to get a bit of connubial bliss for a change.’
‘Oh so that’s what they’re calling it these days,’ Ralph chuckled slyly.
‘Whatever you call it, it’s in short supply out here,’ said John ruefully, ‘unless you have a taste for burnt toffee.’
‘Oh now, Johnny boy, I wouldn’t go as far as that,’ Ralph grinned. ‘I prefer coffee slice myself. How about you, Graham? You’re keeping very quiet in all this.’ He glanced across to where the other pilot sat thoughtfully fingering his letter, a faraway expression in his dark eyes. ‘How do you like your pastries?’
Good-looking chap like that, Ralph thought enviously, must have women offering it to him constantly. Though if rumours were to be believed, he hadn’t so much as taken one of the hostesses for a drink since he came. And they weren’t all burnt toffee either. Far from it!
With an effort Graham brought his mind back to the present. ‘I’m like yourselves.’ He shrugged and smiled. ‘Just a simple pilot away from home.’
‘Oh come now,’ Ralph laughed. ‘Don’t play innocent. You Celtic chaps are murder with the girls.’
‘Too right,’ agreed John. ‘We can’t get a ruddy look-in though we do our best.’
Graham returned their grins and made appropriate noises but it was all just talk with them he knew. Neither pilot had looked at a woman since taking up duty in Karachi. They were both family men, forever happily quoting their absent spouse’s every thought and deed.
He signalled the waiter to bring them coffee and with a pang remembered what Nicky had said to his letter. ‘Don’t worry about the cycling trip, Dad. I don’t mind anymore. Honest. We’re going to Auntie May’s for Easter, me and Jeremy.’
Graham stared in front of him with a brooding expression. What was he doing here? What had it all been for? Christ! He swore silently. He was losing his sons anyway. They were learning to accept the substitute he had forced on them and going further and further away from him. And what about Kay? Had she found someone else? All this time and not a word. Not even a line. Why the hell hadn’t she written?