by Nesta Tuomey
Under the table Sally’s foot pressed Kay’s. ‘Buy Irish, have a Benson & Hedges,’ she whispered wickedly, and rolled a king-size filter across the polished surface.
Above the unsteadily wavering lighter flame her twinkling blue eyes met Kay’s green ones and, with difficulty, the pair of them choked back giggles.
An hour later, as the line of girls streamed out of Griffith House and headed in chattering groups across the grassy sward to the main concourse, the junior typist glowered sulkily through the window of the hostess office.
‘On their way over to the canteen, lucky suckers,’ she reported over her shoulder. ‘Ready for their lunch I expect.’
The other secretary, Miss Dunne, spoke with forced brightness aware that since young Bernie’s application to become an air hostess had been turned down yet again, the atmosphere in the office was positively lethal. Last year it had been just the same, she thought. A full week before the girl had cheered up.
‘Perhaps it was the photographs I sent.’
Bernie looked dubious. She knew she should have spent the extra money and had them done professionally.
‘Could be.’ The older woman glanced pityingly away from the girl’s squat figure and homely face which no photograph, however clever, could hope to improve.
‘There’s always next year,’ she said encouragingly.
Across the way the last of the applicants noisily disappeared from view. Bernie turned away sullenly. Her view blocked, the secretary heard but couldn’t see.
‘What’s the glamour like this time?’ she asked in a sickroom voice. ‘Oh, much as usual.’
With a frown, Bernie returned to her machine and began slowly typing away.
In the canteen, Kay and Sally sat squeezed together in the crowded self-service area, gazing avidly at the groups of air hostesses sitting partially screened off from lesser mortals by a row of potted palms. With them was the English girl with the deep fringe who had led off the first debate. Her name was Cecily and she had come over from London specially for the interview.
‘Wait till we’re like them.’
Sally indicated the uniformed crews with a grin and Kay shivered and touched her fingers superstitiously to the underside of the Formica-topped table. Even in fun, she considered such thoughts unlucky.
Nearby the rest of their group sat in twos and threes having snack lunches like themselves. Kay and Sally were too excited to eat much and settled for buns and coffee but Cecily had come back with a loaded tray and was enthusiastically tackling shepherd’s pie with a dish of lemon meringue pie to follow. The other two averted their eyes, feeling a little unwell at the sight of so much food.
A tall, fit-looking pilot emerged from behind the shrubbery and strode past their table, his uniform cap tucked flatly under his arm.
‘Must be a captain at least,’ Sally said thoughtfully, eyeing all the gold bars on his uniform sleeve.
‘Senior captain actually,’ Cecily remarked, letting her knife and fork drop with a satisfied clatter on to her plate. Turning to her dessert, she added knowledgeably. ‘Three bars for a junior, four for a senior.’
Kay and Sally exchanged surprised glances.
‘My brother is in the RAF,’ Cecily explained with a trace of smugness. ‘Awfully decent chaps. Took me up with them a few times. Quite ripping! I’m going to be a pilot myself some day,’ she added, even more surprisingly, her red-cheeked ecstatic smile somewhat marred by a globule of meringue clinging to her upper lip.
The girls stared now knowing what to make of her. Nearby the other members of their group were getting to their feet. Sally glanced at her watch, then reached for her jacket.
‘Better be getting back ourselves,’ she suggested, stubbing out her cigarette. Kay hurriedly did the same. Leaving Cecily serenely scraping up the last of her meringue, they quickly threaded their way through the crowded tables to tag on behind the others.
FOUR
As the girls were making their way back to Griffith House, the pilot who had passed their table earlier moved on from having a word with an engineer he knew, and pushed his way through the swing doors to follow after them.
The wind blew Captain Graham Pender’s dark curly hair back from his tanned forehead as he strode purposefully along. On his sleeve glinted the four gold bars (earlier remarked on by Sally) denoting his rank of senior captain and his shoulders in the dark pilot’s uniform of Celtic Airways were powerful and well set, his tall well-proportioned figure hard and muscled from regular exercise. Late for his afternoon Boeing training session in Griffith House, Captain Pender was already regretting the impulse that had prompted him to linger over his second cup of coffee.
As he drew near, he glanced at the group of pretty girls moving lithely ahead of him. Aspiring young air hostesses by the look of them, he thought, eyeing their shapely legs appreciatively. The hostess interviews and debates had commenced at the beginning of the month and Graham was no less susceptible than any other airport male under eighty to this daily influx of sexy, glamourous creatures.
Quickening his stride, Captain Pender easily overtook the group, glancing, as he did so, at one in particular - a dark vivaciously laughing girl in a red jacket and hip hugging skirt which barely reached her smooth rounded knees. Earlier when seated in the canteen, she had caught and held his attention, subconsciously inspiring the need for that second coffee.
He ruefully acknowledged this as he swung past, his senses blasted afresh by her wild rose complexion and laughing green eyes. Struggling to name the exact verdant shade of those beautiful eyes, Graham thought how satisfying it was to have his first impressions so thoroughly confirmed. There was nothing worse than admiring a profile only to be disillusioned full-face. Well, no cause for disappointment here!
He considered himself something of a connoisseur of feminine beauty and this one passed inspection from the top of her glossy black head to her shapely ankles. Heart-stopping eyes; teeth like porcelain behind tender pouting lips and a firm softly rounded chin with a deep cleft - there was no doubt about it but she was a honey! If her voice only matched the rest of her she would be perfect, Graham decided, straining his ears, preparing himself for disappointment. But either she did not speak, or the wind blew her voice away and he was forced to stride on, or be overtaken in turn.
Arriving into the deserted classroom Captain Pender found there had been a change of plan. A chalked message on the blackboard informed him that instruction this afternoon would not take place in Griffith House after all, but in the hangers aboard the Boeing aircraft. With an oath, he turned and swiftly made his way back to the entrance.
As he shot into the hallway he stopped short in surprise. Ahead of him, one shapely leg resting gracefully on a chair as she adjusted her twisted stockings, was the dark-haired girl he had been admiring earlier.
A smile spread slowly across Graham’s face enhancing his striking good looks, as his eyes travelled appreciatively from the flesh of one milk white thigh to the absorbed face above. As she carefully attached the suspender to the nylon fabric, her skirt inched even further back revealing a glimpse of white silk panties. His throat gone suddenly dry, Graham stared entranced.
In that instant, she became aware of him and froze in an attitude of dismay, her cheeks tingeing with sudden mortified colour, her green eyes regarding him in consternation. Like a startled gazelle, thought Graham, exulting in the image. He let out his breath in a soft expulsion of sound.
Conscious of the pilot’s mocking gaze, Kay was unable to move. Oh God! What a thing to happen.
‘Aphrodite in disarray,’ he murmured huskily, as movement mercifully returned and she quickly eased down her short skirt. ‘Quite, quite charming.’
Then with an amused chuckle, he strode towards the door, brushing past Sally who entered lilting reproachfully, ‘Kay, what on earth’s keeping you?’
‘Oh Sally! The most embarrassing thing...’
Captain Pender heard the confused explosion and grinned. Her v
oice matched the rest of her, he decided in satisfaction. Quite lovely. Low pitched and cultivated with absolutely no accent.
Kay! So that’s your name, he mused, striding towards the hangers.
Inside Griffith House, Kay bit her lip as she met Sally’s startled look.
‘I couldn’t be more embarrassed if he’d caught me with my pants around my ankles,’ she confessed, a shake in her voice.
As long as she lived she knew she would never forget the incident. Imprinted on her mind was the memory of his amused, dark eyes, enjoying her discomfiture.
‘Don’t worry, Kay.’ Sally gave her a quick sympathetic hug. ‘He probably nearly dropped his own pants on the sight of you.’
In spite of herself, Kay giggled weakly. Shyly, she followed Sally to the washroom where the other girls were already gathered, freshening their make-up.
As she took her turn at the washbasins she was thinking about the pilot. Standing before the mirror she tidied her dark hair and renewed her lipstick seeing again his dark wavy hair and his smiling, sensual mouth. He was so impossibly good looking, she thought, and gulped painfully. That’s what had made it much worse.
At the memory of those dark insolent eyes raking her body Kay’s cheeks flamed again. She had felt a new disturbing sensation when he had looked at her in that way. Now that the sensation had passed, she tried hard to recall it and her breathing became quick and shallow.
All afternoon the girls sat on the hard chairs in the corridor awaiting their turn to go into the interview room. Kay’s mouth burned from too many cigarettes. On her own she wouldn’t have smoked anything as much but with Sally offering hers all the time, she had no choice but to accept and offer in turn. Anyway there wasn’t anything else to do but smoke or visit the Ladies and with the tension steadily mounting in the corridor, it was a great relief to light up and puff away.
Fortunately Cecily had joined another group and so Kay and Sally were able to swap life histories uninterrupted. The blonde girl was a beautician working for the past month in Brown Thomas demonstrating Elizabeth Arden cosmetics. She talked amusingly about the customers who came into the shop and Kay thought what fun the other girl had compared to her own awful life in the Smithfield Insurance Corporation with the supervisor constantly hounding her.
‘She sounds a dreadful old battle-axe.’ Sally grinned sympathetically when Kay told her how Miss Carmody had hated her guts ever since the first day she had sat for her typing test and the ribbon kept sticking.
‘A bad workman blames his tools,’ she had opined censoriously when Kay handed up the inky mess expecting leniency.
Sally had got her photographs done professionally and she laughed at Kay’s description of Dave Mason angling the shots as if Kay was a model and he the cameraman.
‘Just act naturally he kept telling me,’ Kay rolled her eyes comically at Sally. ‘Act naturally! As if anyone could the way he was carrying on.’
‘Men!’ Sally laughed.
Kay nodded in agreement, remembering how it had been.
‘Watch the birdie,’ Dave had cried when she became too serious, pretending to unzip his pants. It had the desired effect. She had laughed so hard her mascara ran.
Certainly the whole thing had cured Kay of any ambition she had ever entertained of becoming a model. By the time a dozen shots were taken she was exhausted. When the film was developed there seemed only one possible choice as far as she was concerned but no way would Dave agree to her choice.
‘Wanton,’ he had dismissed her favourite, the one she privately considered made her look like Ava Gardner, pouting in the doorway, a hint of cleavage showing.
‘Would you let your unaccompanied brat go half-way across the world in the care of this woman?’ he asked sceptically. ‘No Katie, this is the one you must send,’ selecting the shot in which she posed with a doubtful kind of grin, as if not sure whether to expect praise or a scolding.
‘Innocent,’ he pronounced firmly, sounding very knowledgeable on the subject. ‘Ready to be moulded. That’s what Celtic Airways want.’
Remembering his obstinacy at the time, Kay smiled ruefully. How glad she was now that she hadn’t insisted on her own choice, wanton or otherwise.
‘He sounds nice,’ Sally said. She had no particular boyfriend of her own at present. ‘Dave’s okay,’ Kay agreed. ‘He’s more of a family friend really than a boyfriend. I’ve known him for years,’ she said airily.
True, she had known him since her teens. Earlier even, she realized, as Sally was called for her interview.
Kay missed Sally Carey when she was gone. She really liked her and was only sorry that the interviews were arranged alphabetically so that her new friend was called long before her. They exchanged telephone numbers before she left, each promising to contact the other the minute they heard from the airline.
Kay sighed and moved up a seat as the door to the interview room opened and shut once more. What would she be expected to do when it was her turn, she wondered. Would she have to hitch up her skirt and walk up and down in front of them all showing off her legs like some airlines expected? Or demonstrate her fluency in French and German?
With a guilty pang, Kay remembered all the lies she had written on her application form and hoped she wouldn’t be found out. A finishing school in Belgium, followed by six months au pairing in Paris! Alas, how very different the reality had been.
Kay sighed again thinking of the six months she had spent at Miss Kenny’s Business School For Young Ladies where with thirty-five other reluctant young females she had typed up a storm to the pulsating rhythm of American Patrol. She had graduated with unexceptionable speeds in typing and shorthand and gone to throw in her lot with the Smithfield Insurance Corporation. Without a doubt the dreariest episode of her life.
There, in the typists pool she had toiled for the next two years, six months and five days in an atmosphere of mutual mistrust and dislike under the spiteful rule of Noeleen Carmody. On her application form there had been little Kay could do to glorify these abysmal years except promote herself to the rank of Grade Two Clerk, which she lost no time in doing. Being fairly senior it afforded her the coveted experience in dealing with the public which Celtic Airways so clearly considered an advantage. Well, here’s hoping the airline never found out.
Outside the window dusk was falling on the airport. How dull it was since Sally went, Kay mused. The afternoon was simply crawling by. The only interesting thing to happen was when a man entered dramatically carrying a pretty girl in his arms. His daughter had been injured in a car accident, he told the Hostess Administrator, and so hadn’t been able to attend her interview at the proper time. Now he was demanding that she be given her chance.
The girl lay in his arms as contentedly as a pretty cat, serenely gazing about her out of big cornflower blue eyes. When she placed her gently on the seat beside Kay, the two girls began chatting and Kay heard all about the accident.
‘I was coming home late one night from a dance in the Arcadia, speeding up a one-way street,’ Cork-born Florrie Belton admitted with a limpid smile, a bandage showing through the feathery tips of her shorn hair.
‘By the time I was let out of hospital I had missed my interview. God almighty! I thought I’d lose my life. I’ve always wanted to be an air hostess, you know. But Daddy swore to me as soon as I was well enough he’d bring me here no matter how long it took.’
Kay nodded sympathetically knowing if it was herself she’d never have had the guts to keep going like that. She liked Florrie and when the girl was called for her interview before them all, she didn’t mind though some of the other girls muttered nastily about queue jumping.
Mean lot, thought Kay, and made a point of wishing Florrie good luck when saying goodbye.
‘Thanks, Kay... and you too,’ Florrie whispered sincerely, before being borne away in her father’s arms.
Now there were just two left in front of Kay. She lit another cigarette but half way through, stubbed it out. She was s
ick of smoking. Allowing fifteen minutes per interview, she calculated, there was another half-hour to wait. By this it was too late to strike up friendship with any of the other girls and after their behaviour over Florrie she had no wish to.
As her own turn approached, Kay began to feel decidedly nervous. What if she said the wrong thing and ruined her chances? Then she was being beckoned forward and entering the room with as much confidence as she could muster.
Fifteen minutes later, Kay was out again with her head in a whirl. An unprecedented occurrence had taken place. She had been asked to wait while they found out if a medical could be arranged for her that very afternoon.
Taking a seat a little away from the others she tried hard not to exult too soon but felt it just had to be a good omen. None of the others had got that far, not even Sally. What had prompted it? With fast beating heart, Kay tried to piece together the conversation of the previous quarter hour.
The interview had been conducted on much the same lines as her previous interview, three weeks earlier, only this time there was an extra person present - the woman in the grey pinstripe suit from the morning debates. She had not spoken even once to Kay but stared at her the whole time with a solemn brooding look, as though doubting the veracity of what she said. Kay had tried hard not to be intimidated by her attitude and, in consequence, spoke out more forcefully than she might have otherwise done. Most of the time she was addressed by the white-haired man with the heavy eyebrows, and now and then the fair-haired Chief Hostess interjected a question or two.
On reflection, Kay decided the turning point had come when the man asked her what her aunt’s reaction to her joining the airline might be. Would she be worried at all about her flying?
Not wanting to prejudice her chances with the wrong answer, Kay hesitated for a moment. Certainly her aunt would worry but then, Molly was a worrier. She was always predicting some disaster or other. Tell the bus conductor if a man puts his hand on your leg. Scream if anyone looks crooked at you. To please her Kay had carried a hat-pin in her school bag for years but never had any occasion to use it.
