Rachel Lindsay - The Taming of Laura
It seemed that Laura had everything a girl could wish for; she enjoyed her job as an air stewardess, and an attractive, very rich young man wanted to marry her.
But the cousin who controlled the family fortunes was sternly against the marriage and even forced Laura to leave her job. Naturally she regarded him as an enemy—yet there was destined to be a strange bond between them.
CHAPTER ONE
AN April breeze stirred the pennants that flew high above the buildings of London Airport, and waiting in the shelter of the hangar, Laura tried not to feel afraid of what lay ahead of her. It was the second week of her training course as an air stewardess and, together with the other nineteen girls in her class, she was due for her first flight.
'I'm almost as nervous now as when I went for my interview,' she thought wryly, and remembered the trepidation with which she had entered the imposing Bantock Airlines building in the Strand nearly six months ago to attend the Preliminary Selection Board. The requirements had been high, for apart from School Certificate and proficiency in at least one foreign language, applicants were also considered on appearance and personality. The three months that elapsed before she heard the results of that interview were the longest Laura could remember, but the terse communication that eventually arrived asking her to go for her second interview had made all the waiting worth while. After that, events had moved quickly and within a matter of weeks she had left her job as a librarian in a provincial town and come to London to start her training.
How different her new life was from the old, yet how infinitely more rewarding. Her life in a small town had been uneventful and since the death of her parents in a car accident three years earlier, she had roomed in a quiet boarding-house with little inclination to participate in the humdrum social life around her.
The drone of an aeroplane broke into her thoughts and she moved out of the hangar to see a small two-seater slowly taxiing towards her along the runway. If only she could take her first flight in an aircraft with four engines! Trying to hide her fear she walked forward as one of her classmates climbed out of the plane.
Celia Gray was a cheerful north country girl to whom Laura had taken an instant liking and they had become firm friends during their training. Now, as she came over to Laura, she was grinning broadly. "It was super! I didn't feel in the least afraid."
"Didn't you?" Laura said. "I'm petrified!"
"There's no need to be. Once you're up, you'll love it." Celia patted her arm. "I'll meet you in the canteen for tea afterwards."
"Fine."
Laura climbed into the plane and smiled nervously at the pilot. She was surprised at the smallness of the cockpit and had to pull her skirt under her knees to get it out of the controls. She was shown how to fasten and unfasten her safety belt and looked with interest at the instrument panel, control column and rudder pedals. She could not help thinking it all looked rather elementary, yet there was nothing elementary in the way they set off down the runway, quickly gathering speed until suddenly, unexpectedly, the ground dropped beneath them and they were airborne.
Slowly they began to climb, clearing the hangars and a clump of trees until they were high above the roofs of suburban London. Laura had been told she would get no sensation of speed, and though she knew they were doing more than a hundred miles an hour, it seemed as if they were standing still. She looked round with interest and as she did, the pilot banked sharply to the left and the earth swung sideways. Nausea gripped her and she clasped her hands tightly together and closed her eyes. The plane levelled out again and after a moment she felt better and was able to sit up and look around. Suddenly they banked sharply once more. Sweat trickled down her face and she prayed she was not going to faint. She could not flunk the course now — she couldn't!
Suddenly she noticed that the engine had grown quieter and they were losing height. In a few minutes they would be on the ground. She must try to control herself, fight the feeling of panic that made her want to tear off her safety belt and never set foot in an aircraft again.
The plane banked steeply as it turned to land, the airport swung and reeled beneath them and Laura fumbled for a handkerchief and pressed it against her mouth, digging her nails into her palms until they drew blood. The wheels touched down, there was a bump and they were racing across the tarmac, gradually slowing down until they finally stopped.
Thankfully Laura stepped out. Her face felt stiff and her legs were so shaky she could hardly stand.
"You did very well, Miss Prentiss." The pilot smiled at her. "Very well indeed."
Relieved that he did not know how nearly she had disgraced herself, Laura walked across to the canteen to meet Celia. Still shaken by her flight, she went into the washroom to tidy herself and combing her thick auburn hair in front of a small mirror, noted the pink flush marking her high cheekbones: a sure sign of excitement. She grimaced at her reflection and leaning closer to the mirror, smoothed the curve of her eyebrows. Luckily her skin did not have the delicate transparency usually associated with redheads, but the smoothness and creamy texture of a magnolia. The dark green Bantock uniform would certainly suit her. If only she were wearing it now! Her eyes, almond shaped and dark green, sparkled at the thought, and longing to see Celia so that they could compare notes about the flight, she hurriedly put away her comb and pushed open the door leading into the canteen itself.
The room was crowded but her friend was nowhere to be seen, and she settled down at a table to wait. Not all the people around her wore uniform, and she guessed that those in mufti were ground staff: typists, clerks, storemen, engineers. In one corner a group of stewardesses were chatting, and she felt a thrill of pride in the knowledge that if she could make the grade during the next six weeks, she would be following in their footsteps.
She looked at her wrist watch and realising she had been waiting half an hour for Celia, decided her friend had gone by mistake to the visitors' restaurant on the other side of the airport.
She hurried out, making her way past the low buildings which housed store rooms, rest rooms and crew rooms. To one side of her lay the marshalling apron, the wide strip of tarmac on which aircraft of different nationalities were based. Red petrol vans were parked on either side of them and every few minutes a plane would taxi away or another one taxi in, the roar of their powerful engines drowning the noise of all other traffic.
At last she came to a low, one-storied building where a neon sign proclaimed Arrivals and Departures. This was the older part of the airport, used by passengers on the Atlantic and Far Eastern routes. She went into the building and looked in the departure hall for Celia. A few passengers were lounging on the leather seats, while through the loud speaker a flight was announced. Laura stood and listened to it, hearing the words as if they were coming from another world, a world of adventure in which she would soon have a part.
"Bantock Airlines announces Flight 24 to Cairo, Basra, Karachi, Delhi and Calcutta. Will passengers please follow the light indications and proceed through customs."
Slowly she walked through to the restaurant but there was still no sign of Celia and, exasperated, she decided to wait another fifteen minutes before going home. Near the window overlooking the spectators' enclosure there was an empty table and she sat down, ordered a pot of tea she did not want, and thought of the exams ahead of her.
"Would you mind very much if I shared your table?"
Laura stared at the slim, dark-haired man in front of her. "Of course not," she said politely and as he took the chair opposite, began to pour her tea, conscious that he was watching every movement.
"Are you meeting someone or h
ave you come to see someone off?"
"Neither." Her reply was curt but the young man did not take the hint and proffered a cigarette from a gold case. Laura hesitated and then shook her head.
"Oh come on," he pleaded. "I'm perfectly harmless!" His dark eyes were full of mischief, and a smile animated his face with its thin mouth and aquiline features.
She guessed him to be about twenty-six and from the bronze hue of his skin and the blackness of his hair knew he was not English. There was, too, a trace of accent in his voice, which though not pronounced was sufficient to proclaim him a foreigner.
"Well," he said, h;s head on one side. "Have you decided I'm sufficiently harmless for you to accept a cigarette?"
Realising it would be churlish to refuse, Laura took one and he lit it with a matching gold lighter. Certainly a foreigner, she thought. With such attention to detail both in his clothes and possessions, he could not be anything else!
"Now then," he leaned back in his chair, "allow me to introduce myself — Andreas Dimar at your service. Travelling to Greece on business but returning to this country in a week's time, when I hope you will let me take you to dinner — even though I do not know your name!"
"I'm Laura Prentiss."
He glanced at her hands. "Unmarried, I see."
"Yes." She hesitated. "Actually, I'm training to be an air stewardess."
"But that's wonderful! You must see you're put on the London-Athens route. Then I'll be able to take you out on both sides of Europe. Then my business will become a pleasure."
"In this country we make a habit of never combining business with pleasure," Laura remarked dryly.
"But how dull! I, on the contrary, always combine the two. And taking you out will be the nicest pleasure of all."
"I'm afraid I'm not free."
"I don't believe it!"
She smiled at his woebegone expression, but told herself firmly that she had no time even for casual friendship. Stubbing out her cigarette, she decided to wait no longer for Celia.
"You're not going already?" he asked.
"I must."
"But when will I see you again?"
"I'll watch out for you at the airport and just in case you don't recognise me in my uniform, I promise to come and say hello!"
"How can any man fail to recognise you?" He stood up and she saw he was the same height as herself, their eyes on a level. "Au revoir, Miss Prentiss." He gave her a half bow. "You won't escape from me so easily."
Laura was still smiling at the conversation when she reached her lodgings, a gloomy bed-sitting room with a gas fire that popped dismally. Once they qualified, she and Celia had decided to look for a flat together and by pooling expenses would certainly be able to find something better than this.
When she reached the training school in the morning Celia greeted her reproachfully. "Where did you get to yesterday? I hung around in the canteen for ages."
"Where did you get to, you mean?" Laura said indignantly. "I searched everywhere for you."
"I was in the canteen beside the store room. Next time we meet at the airport we'll have to be more definite. I never knew it was so big."
"Next time we meet there," Laura said, "we'll probably both be running around after passengers!"
"I hope so." Celia stared gloomily at her desk, piled high with papers. "I don't think I'll ever learn all this. For the amount of stuff we're supposed to know I think we're grossly underpaid!"
Laura laughed. "Considering we get two uniforms and all nylons free of charge, plus extra flying money and a living out bonus when we're abroad, I don't think you've got anything to grumble about."
"All right," Celia conceded. "So we don't get bad pay. But look what we're expected to do for it. Glorified housekeepers, that's all we are, keeping an aeroplane clean instead of a kitchen. And we have to be nannies and maids into the bargain!"
"You can always go back to Manchester," Laura began and Celia burst out laughing.
"Not on your life! If I muff this course I'll—————— "
"But you haven't muffed it yet," said a quiet voice behind them and they swung round to see Michael Kitchener, the supervisor of the training school. "Come on, you two, we're waiting for you in the mock-up."
Hastily Laura and Celia followed him from the lecture room to the hut Where the mock-up was housed. It was an exact replica of the cockpit, galley and passenger saloon of one of the Bantock Stratocruisers. Here two trainees at a time were expected to prepare and serve lunch while the other trainees acted as passengers. This time Laura and Celia were the stewardesses and putting on their white overalls they climbed the short flight of steps to the mock-up itself. It was dark inside and Celia pressed the switch. Immediately the passenger cabin was lit up, every detail perfect down to the dark green woollen rugs over the back of each seat and the carefully folded safety belts.
Laura could not help feeling nervous. Although she knew she would not fail on the scholastic side, it was this sort of work—the preparing of lunches and serving of food—that caused her the greatest qualms.
The galley of the Stratocruiser was small and she and Celia had to work methodically in order not to get in each other's way. There were two electric ovens on one side, a refrigerator on another and on the third side the sink and china and glass cupboard, which let down to form a working table where cutlery and trays could be set. Luckily no food had to be prepared on the plane for it was all precooked, frozen and served in boxes, and merely required to be reheated.
"Fancy being a stewardess a few years ago and having to cook steaks and peel potatoes for forty people," Laura marvelled.
"Awful!" agreed Celia. "If only we could serve vitamin pills there'd be no work at all!"
Laura, busy sorting cutlery into cellophane bags ready to be placed on the trays, was unable to laugh at the joke.
"I'd probably even get those muddled. If only—————- " she stopped speaking as Michael Kitchener came into the galley.
"Are you ready now?"
They nodded and he looked quickly round before stepping back. "I won't ask you to brief the passengers about the flight today, but from next week I shall ask somebody to do it without any warning. So make sure you learn your specimen briefings by heart and practise them carefully."
"Yes, Mr. Kitchener."
Laura slipped off her white overall and followed him down the gangway.
"Here's a passenger list," he said. "Announce the names clearly while Miss Gray shows the passengers to their seats."
One by one the other trainees boarded the aircraft while Laura read out from the passenger list. Several of the girls had been given titles in order to make the training as realistic as possible, but there was no self- consciousness during the daily rehearsal, for it was treated exactly as a real flight. When everyone had been announced and seated, Laura hurried back to the galley and collected the menu cards, which she presented to each passenger in turn. The rest of the lunch went smoothly but it was not until the coffee stage was reached that Laura and Celia were able to eat their own meal, perching uncomfortably in the galley.
"How are we doing for time?" Celia asked, her mouth full of fish.
"Not too badly." Laura picked up a cloth and began to wash the cutlery. "We've got half an hour before Mr. Kitchener starts his lecture."
"What is it this time?"
"Aircraft Catering Documentation. We've about a thousand things to remember to take on the aircraft for each flight."
"What a bore," Celia grumbled. "I never did like memorising things, even as a kid."
Slowly the training course progressed and each week Laura became more confident. There were a few medical lectures and although only four of the girls had had full nursing training, they were all expected to be able to look after invalids or passengers who were suddenly taken ill.
"If anyone requires special attention en route, such as injections at an airport, a wheel chair and so on, you'll be briefed about it beforehand," the doctor told
them. "But very often a healthy passenger will develop illness and in these cases oxygen can't do any harm. The main thing is never to panic. Fear is contagious and one hysterical person can do more to undermine the confidence of all other passengers than the worst flight."
"I must say we're learning the debit side of this job first," Celia murmured. "The thought of giving oxygen to anyone petrifies me."
But looking after sick passengers in the nebulous future did not worry Laura. At the moment all she could think of was the following morning's ordeal when she would have to go into the Decompression Chamber and test her reaction to high flying altitudes.
Throughout the night she slept fitfully, twice waking to find herself gasping for breath, and when she appeared at the training school in the morning Michael Kitchener took one look at her face and drew her aside.
"There's nothing to be afraid of," he said quietly. "You'll go into the chamber with two other girls and I'll get them to remove their oxygen masks first so that you can see how they react."
"I'm sorry to be so stupid about it," Laura apologised.
"Never mind." He patted her shoulder. "Now come on, Miss Prentiss, you're my most encouraging pupil. If you fail this test, I'll never forgive you!"
She laughed and feeling somewhat better, went into the chamber with Celia, another girl and Michael Kitchener himself. They were all wearing their oxygen masks and in a muffled voice he explained the procedure.
"All our airlines are pressurised at eight thousand feet. However, we want to know how reduced oxygen will affect you, so the pressure in this chamber has been made equal to a non-pressurised plane flying at twenty- thousand feet. I'm going to ask each of you to remove your mask while the other two will watch your reaction." He looked at Celia. "Would you take off your mask first please, Miss Gray?"
Celia slipped off the straps and, following the instructions, sat down and began to write her name on a pad, pausing every few seconds to put in time, which she took from a stop watch beside her. After a moment
Laura saw that her writing had become less even and her pencil movements shaky. Another moment elapsed and she started to talk disjointedly, convinced they were going to crash and she would fly through the air like a bird.
Rachel Lindsay - The Taming of Laura Page 1
