by Nesta Tuomey
‘Yes, I expect so.’ How concerned he was, afraid Florrie was returning too, she supposed. ‘Sometime in January. I haven’t thought about it yet.’
She was hardly aware what she said. She imagined she would go back sometime. Most likely when Graham took his next holiday, she thought wryly.
Florrie appeared in the doorway. ‘There’s no change,’ she faltered. ‘Daddy is still in a coma... they are surprised he lasted so long.’
‘When do you want to go home, Florrie?’ Dave asked gently. ‘We can make the nine o’clock train if that’s what you want.’
‘I said I’d go first thing in the morning. There’s no one to meet me tonight and I’d be into Cork too late to get a bus.’
‘I’ll find out about the morning trains,’ Dave offered. He sprang up and went to the hall.
He can’t do enough for her, Kay thought tiredly. She heard him speaking on the telephone and then he was back. ‘There’s a train at eight thirty, Florrie. I’d be glad to call and bring you to the station.’
Florrie protested feebly that she could get a bus but Dave wouldn’t hear of it.
‘No trouble,’ he said firmly, ‘Now, girls, I don’t know about you but I’m starving. What do you say I pop out to the chipper and get something to quell the hunger pangs?’
FORTY ONE
Sile Pender put the Alfa Romeo into overdrive and roared along airport road. So what if the guards stopped her for speeding, she thought miserably. She didn’t care. In fact she would welcome it. After a restless night spent behind her locked bedroom door, Sile was in just the mood to annihilate anyone who challenged her.
The cloudburst threatening ever since she left home, suddenly erupted and rain needled the windscreen. Without checking speed, she fumbled on the wipers. Torrential rain engulfed the car, pounding relentlessly on the roof, streaming over the windscreen, reducing visibility to almost zero. She sped on regardless, her mood as bitter as the weather.
A blue Corsair cautiously followed blasted her on the horn as, without signalling, she swung left off the main road and up the narrow side-road to the airport.
‘Oh feck off,’ she growled, not even glancing in her mirror.
A hectic burn stained her cheekbones when she thought again of her betrayal. What a gullible fool she had been! She bit down hard on her bottom lip to keep from crying. Why, oh why, hadn’t she paid heed to Christy Kane that night in Spain? If ever anyone was spelling it out for her that night it was him.
She remembered how she had kicked up a hell of a fuss at the time but it had been only to keep Graham on his toes. She hadn’t really believed he would deceive her and even when she found the swimsuit in the car she had been willing to listen to his explanation, knowing the way some girls threw themselves at pilots. It had to be something like that, she was convinced - until the betraying letter arrived. Oh what a bastard! Sile swallowed painfully, remembering his weak excuse when she challenged him.
‘Just a youthful crush... You must remember the kind of thing,’ even trying to make a joke of it. ‘Some hostesses seem to go for pilots, the older the better.’
Who did he think he was fooling, she thought. The letter had begun with ‘dearest’ and ended ‘all my love’. Whatever was the true story, he had clearly encouraged the little bitch.
A wave of despair hit her when she thought of the hostesses on their flight back from Frankfurt. How they must have sneered. It was probably common knowledge all over the airport that Graham was having an affair. She clenched her hands on the wheel. It was the damned double standard thing all over again, she told herself bitterly, remembering how unpleasantly her husband reacted whenever she flirted at parties. She wasn’t supposed to look crooked at another man but he could do as he liked.
Sile thought of the man she had met before the summer who kept ringing her for weeks. Tom was a racehorse owned and she had been deeply attracted to him. They had met a few times for drinks in little out of the way pubs before she had called a halt. Now it was doubly galling to discover that while she had denied herself, Graham had been carrying on all the time with some hostess. Well before the day was out, Sile promised herself grimly, that hostess was going to be a very sorry girl.
She parked the car between the prefabs and went into the restroom by mistake, where she caused quite a stir amongst the reserves with her flamboyant Titian colouring and mink jacket. Redirected, she lost no time in finding Judy Mathews’ office and swept in on her unannounced.
‘Why Sile,’ the Chief Hostess Atlantic stared in surprise. ‘My dear, after all this time. You haven’t changed a bit.’
Sile smiled back, chagrined to see that Judy was looking as youthful as ever. How did she manage it? If anything her beauty had become more striking with age.
Ten minutes later, she could have happily ripped her nails across that flawless face. ‘So you’ll do nothing,’ she cried outraged. ‘Just stick your head ostrich-like in the sand and pretend this kind of thing doesn’t go on.’ She stared angrily into Judy’s aloof eyes, the mask of girlish camaraderie so carefully adopted at the onset of her visit, beginning to slip.
Outraged wives taking up her precious time was just what she did not need. No, Sile hadn’t changed a bit. She was still the same spoilt, vindictive girl she had known when they were flying DC3s together.
She eyed the other woman’s expensive facade and considered, not for the first time, how Graham Pender must be bankrupt keeping this particular jewel adorned. Those alligator shoes must have cost a bomb, she calculated. And that jacket! My, oh my! Not to mention all those diamonds winking merrily whenever the woman raised a hand, or moved her head.
She glanced down at her own slender, modestly beringed hands and then at the diamond encrusted one stabbing the air with nervous emphasis, while its owner continued to insist that this hostess so newly joined the airline (if her husband were to be believed) had absolutely no rights whatever once she was presumptuous enough to break the commandments. The eleventh of which appeared to be: Thou shalt not associate with married pilots, Judy thought wryly, and particularly not the property of Sile Pender.
When she could get in a word she remarked calmly, ‘A hostess’s life is her own business and no one else’s, Sile. I would have imagined that’s something you would be the first to own.’
Sile coloured. ‘Yes, of course,’ she agreed. ‘All I’m asking is your co-operation, Judy... for old time’s sake.’
Judy raised a shapely, sceptical eyebrow. She was painfully reminded of how things had once stood between herself and Graham Pender in the days before Sile had stolen a march on her. The saying ‘All’s fair in love and war’ could have been applied to the red-head’s single- minded pursuit of the pilot which she had carried out in the nature of a campaign. A rather dirty campaign, Judy reflected wryly, remembering her own dismayed surprise when it ended rather abruptly, after a certain Lisbon overnight, with Sile the victor. Oh well it was all water under the bridge now, she told herself, no trace of what she was thinking on her lovely face.
‘And what does Graham say about all this?’ she enquired. Sile frowned. ‘He swears it’s just a youthful crush.’
‘Well, perhaps he’s right. You know how romantic new hostesses find the whole idea of pilots,’ Judy chuckled tolerantly. ‘She may have set her cap at him. We really shouldn’t be too hard on the pilots for being flattered. The poor things haven’t a chance against such youthful hero-worship.’
‘Honestly, Judy,’ Sile exploded. ‘Can’t you keep the little bitches in better order. I mean for heaven’s sake! In our day we would never have the temerity to look at a senior captain.’
‘My dear, haven’t you forgotten Captain Wilson,’ Judy cooed, an amused glint in her pansy-coloured eyes, ‘He was every bit as mature and attractive as Graham when you swore you’d get a date with him or die in the attempt.’
Sile frowned. ‘For heaven’s sake, Judy,’ she declared, ‘you must have some idea who she is. Unless things have changed radically a
round here, you were always first with the gossip.’
‘Naturally I make it my business to know what goes on in the hostess section,’ Judy coolly admitted. ‘Otherwise I could never run things as efficiently as I do.’
‘So you do know.’
Judy dropped her lids. Certainly she knew. She would need to have been blind these past months not to have noticed Captain Pender’s car forever parked under her window. Idly, she wondered what Sile would say if she knew that she had even made a point of selecting the pretty dark-haired hostess for the Boeings just so that for once, the course of true love might run smooth and, at the same time, effectively settled an old score.
Judy wasn’t petty by nature but her involvement in the affairs of her old sweetheart had given her enormous satisfaction. Now wasn’t the time for such disclosures, she decided, ignoring Sile’s outraged expression.
‘So sorry I can’t ask you to share lunch,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘But my afternoon is so booked up you wouldn’t believe it.’
Sile ignored the proffered hand. She must have been mad coming here today, she told herself mortified. She had never liked the affected bitch. Now she positively hated her.
‘How dare you, Judy Mathews,’ she choked. Don’t imagine for one minute I’ll ever forget this day.’
Clutching her mink about her, she rushed furiously from the room. As her heels clattered along the corridor, the walls of the prefab shook, and the windows vibrated in their light frames.
Rain suddenly spattered down again, damping the shoulders of Kay’s suede jacket and finely misting her dark hair, as she crossed the road and stepped on to the grassy verge leading to the hostess section. She was so busy with her thoughts that she did not at once see the white Alfa Romeo parked between the prefabs. When she did, her face lit up. Graham! she thought joyfully, and hurried towards it. He’s here, oh he’s here! He must have come on the chance of meeting her. Oh, darling! she thought, with a sudden rush of excitement.
The car was empty. With some idea of sitting into it and giving him a surprise, Kay tried the door handle but it was locked. Disappointed, she turned away but was afraid to move from the spot in case she missed him. Then she remembered the noticeboard. That’s it, she sighed in relief. He would have left a note. She hurried eagerly into the hut only to collide with a woman rushing out in a frightful temper.
‘For heaven’s sake,’ Sile Pender snapped. ‘Can’t you look where you’re going.’
She shoved aside the girl in her path and crossed with quick decisive steps to the Alfa Romeo. As she got in and set the car in motion, she was aware of the girl staring after her. Stupidly staring, she decided contemptuously. Probably never saw mink before. In her present scorched mood, Sile would have liked to flaunt it and every jewel she possessed in the face of the entire hostess community. Nothing else could have eased her humiliation. She pressed her foot unnecessarily hard on the accelerator and roared past.
As the familiar white sports car vanished down the airport road, Kay stared after it in horror. ‘Oh dear God!’ She stood there trembling and repeated the phrase over and over in a shocked whisper.
FORTY TWO
Graham sat in the kitchen smoking one cigarette after the other and drinking black coffee. God damn it! Where was Sile? He pushed back his chair and for the umpteenth time, went to peer out the front door. Still no sign of her. Worriedly, he contemplated phoning his sister-in-law but almost at once rejected the idea. No use panicking and letting the whole world know she’d gone. More than likely she had driven into town and would return any minute. It was what he had been telling himself for the past hour but after their terrible row last night and Sile’s threat to kill herself, he was beginning to be uneasy.
Cup in hand, Graham restlessly walked the kitchen. He had awakened early that morning with a raging hangover and staggered to the bathroom to swallow two painkillers before returning to bed to sleep again till noon. When he woke again, he found that his wife had left the house and his car was missing from the front drive.
Graham had not been overly worried, - having correctly assumed she had taken it because her own was out of petro - gone to take a hot shower. After it, feeling a little better, he had gone down to the lounge where the empty whisky bottle reminded him of his excesses the previous night. And what a night it had been.
He sighed as he sipped his coffee, remembering the raging row that had gone on for hours. He still didn’t know why he had endured it except that it had satisfied some puritan instinct in him to make one big payment there and then, rather than eke it out in petty instalments. In retaliation, he had begun drinking and by the time he was on his fourth whisky, his wife’s rantings had passed unheeded over his head. When her invective had run dry at last, he was surprised to see from his watch that they had been at it for four hours. It had passed in stormy denouncements and raging silences; bursts of invective and bitter accusation; bouts of crying and suicide threats.
Graham recalled her parting shot, ‘I will never again be so stupid as not to suspect you of deceiving me every minute of every day for the rest of our lives.’ He could well believe it, neither forgiveness nor forgetfulness being part of Sile’s nature. He had been glad of the respite even though he suspected that the whole thing would almost certainly begin all over again in the morning, like so many vendettas in the past when she had kept the quarrel going long past exhaustion point.
Later, he had gone up to bed and found the bedroom door locked against him. What was more shocking was that his new silk shirts bought in the Tenerife clothes markets had been cut into strips and scattered over the grey Aubusson carpet. He had bent in puzzled scrutiny for a few moments, before recognising them for what they were. Then he felt the first stirrings of fear for his wife’s sanity.
As Graham lit another cigarette and went to stare broodingly out at the wintry sky, he gave thanks that his sons were not present to witness this latest collapse of their parents’ marriage. Soon they would be coming home for the Christmas holidays. His lips tightened at the thought of the charade he would have to keep up to preserve their illusions, the sacrifices he would have to make for their sakes. He wondered how they were. He had fully intended ringing the college the night before to find out, especially about Nicky, but had ended up too drunk to trust himself on the phone. He would have gone down to the college today if Sile had not taken his car.
Another hour went by, Graham began to get seriously alarmed. Could Sile really have meant what she said about doing away with herself? He was reminded of her depression a few years back. He would never have thought she was the type to take her own life but then what was the type? It was a proven fact that anyone could succumb while the balance of the mind was disturbed. All at once he was besieged by visions of her throwing herself off Dun
Laoghaire pier, or jumping under a train. There was only one thing for it. He headed for the telephone and dialled his mother-in-law’s number.
‘What? Has she gone off on you already, the rip,’ Nonie drawled, making him chuckle in spite of himself. Graham had always liked his mother-in-law’s droll acknowledgement of her daughter’s failings. He was impressed too by her uncomplaining acceptance of her own poor health. He put down the phone and with less pleasure rang his sister-in-law. But it was clear from May that she too had been unaware that the Penders were back.
‘Did you have a lovely time?’ she babbled, putting hurried questions without waiting for answers. ‘Five weeks, wasn’t it. Goodness, you must be like natives.’
Graham answered shortly before frustratedly replacing the receiver. He went back to the kitchen unable to settle to anything. If Sile didn’t come soon, he decided, he would have to seriously consider ringing the police. In the vengeful mood she was in there was no knowing what she might do.
Ten minutes later he heard the car coming up the drive. He hurried in relief to the front door and was in time to see his wife swerve to a stop in a flurry of gravel. Getting out, she slammed the car door a
nd ran past him into the house.
‘Where the hell have you been?’
She flung an answer as she hurried down the hall. ‘You did what!’
Graham stared at the expression of defiant shame on his wife’s swollen features and realised with a cold slide of horror that she had done as she said and gone to the airport. He sank into a chair and covered his eyes in despair. She had made him a laughing stock. He would never live it down as long as he lived.
As Kay hurried up the path she could hear the telephone ringing. She fumbled for her latchkey and inserted it in the lock. Let it be Graham, she prayed, as she rushed to answer it.
For three days she had waited in vain for Graham to get in touch and had come to the conclusion that he must be ill. That would explain why he had not made contact and why his wife was driving his car at the airport. Kay still shook when she thought of her narrow escape. It had been one of the worst moments of her life.
‘Graham,’ she breathed hopefully into the mouthpiece.
But it was not Captain Pender. Instead a tearful Florrie told her that her father had died at half past eight that morning, without regaining consciousness, and that she would be returning on the train immediately after the funeral.
FORTY THREE
‘Hi there,’ Desperate Dan turned from the controls to give her a triumphant look, ‘Coffee, honey chile,’ he ordered, eyeing her hips lecherously as she turned to obey.
It was a week before Christmas and Kay’s last European trip before being transferred to the Boeings. She fumed silently as she went back to the galley to prepare snack trays for Dan and his co-pilot. Wasn’t it just her luck! She had been really looking forward to this London overnight, mainly because Florrie was a member of the crew, as well as Celine from her group. Now it was all spoiled because Dan Tully was on board and sure to be an awful pest.
She splashed coffee dangerously fast into the plastic cups and thought if she had known in time she would have done a swap. She had really begun to loathe Dan lately and was only sorry she had ever agree to go out with him. It was all Graham Pender’s fault, she told herself miserably. If he had not thrown her over she would never have looked at the other pilot.
