great, grey, rather sleepy eyes in which Patsy seemed to drown to insignificance.
‘What,’ she asked in a dreamy voice, ‘is the Capital of Romania?
Patsy said, ‘Isn’t it Bucharest?’
Miss Mayhew gave not the slightest indication of having heard her. She said, ‘You have long hours on this job—twenty-four hours at a stretch sometimes, and most of it on your feet. It’s hard work, with more time spent over the galley sink than in entertaining the passengers with polite conversation.’ All the sleepiness had gone out of her eyes as she added, ‘Think you can manage it?’
‘ Yes ... I think so,’ Patsy said.
Miss Mayhew’s eyelids appeared to collapse, perhaps from the effort of the past few minutes. ‘How many litres in a gallon?’
‘Four and a half,’ Patsy said promptly. ‘And a bit.’
But Miss Mayhew neither confirmed nor denied it. Instead, she turned to give the man on her left a dazzling red-lipped smile. ‘And now you,, Captain Prentice.’
Patsy swallowed hard and drew a deep breath, rather like a swimmer before the next difficult plunge. So far, she told herself, she wasn’t doing too badly. With the kind of sixth sense that had always helped her to make friends, she could get the feel of a group of people. And so far, and most surprisingly, she knew they were for her.
Then the fourth set of seemingly unimportant questions started. They came from the quiet blue-uniformed figure at the extreme right of the table. Patsy screwed up her eyes against the light from the window that fell straight on her face. She glimpsed the lean impassive face, the quiet mouth, the straight dark brows. His arms, folded on the table, seemed to carry too much gold braid for so young a man, and as though he was conscious of it, his voice was slow and measured as though every word was worth ten pounds an ounce.
For some reason, all the discomfort she had felt on entering the room returned in double measure. For the first time, she was panicky.
‘You enjoy flying, Miss Aylmer?’ the deep voice said slowly, but quite pleasantly.
Now that she really heard it, the question was simple enough. Positively harmless. She was allowing her always quite active imagination to run away with her.
‘Oh, yes ,’ she said with relief. ‘ Very much.’ Even to herself, Patsy felt that she had over-exaggerated the enthusiasm in her voice. And the sunlight was not too strong for her to see that his very dark eyebrows were momentarily raised.
‘Then,’ Captain Prentice said, with what seemed cruelly deceptive kindliness, ‘you’ve done quite a bit to enjoy it so much?’
‘Oh yes,’ Patsy started. The man had a way of making you unconsciously agree with him. ‘I mean I’ve...’
One trip to Paris and another to Spain did not sound very much.
‘Yes?’ the voice was still pleasant, as detached and noncommittal as a judge’s.
Patsy suddenly regretted the clear unpowdered clarity of her cheeks. She could feel her colour rising for all the world, or at least, for all the Selection Board, to see. She screwed up her handkerchief in her clammy hands, and said with a kind of quiet desperate dignity, ‘I have flown. Two trips. One to Paris and one to Spain. I did enjoy them.’
‘Splendid!’ A ghost of a smile, more hateful than the faintly lifted eyebrows, moved his lips. Just the faintest breath of a chuckle escaped from the rest of the Selection Board, until now forgotten.
‘And you weren’t sick?’
Patsy said she wasn’t.
‘Nor nervous?’
‘No. Not at all.’
‘D’you feel that you could cope with an emergency?’ the young man asked. Quite obviously, from the tone of his voice he was certain that she couldn’t.
‘I would try,’ Patsy said humbly.
‘And that wouldn’t be enough,’ the conversational voice reminded her. ‘The air is no place for people that would try. There aren’t any second chances. You must do !’
Patsy could feel her chances of success draining out of her like an
‘What,’ she asked in a dreamy voice, ‘is the Capital of Romania?
Patsy said, ‘Isn’t it Bucharest?’
Miss Mayhew gave not the slightest indication of having heard her. She said, ‘You have long hours on this job—twenty-four hours at a stretch sometimes, and most of it on your feet. It’s hard work, with more time spent over the galley sink than in entertaining the passengers with polite conversation.’ All the sleepiness had gone out of her eyes as she added, ‘Think you can manage it?’
‘ Yes ... I think so,’ Patsy said.
Miss Mayhew’s eyelids appeared to collapse, perhaps from the effort of the past few minutes. ‘How many litres in a gallon?’
‘Four and a half,’ Patsy said promptly. ‘And a bit.’
But Miss Mayhew neither confirmed nor denied it. Instead, she turned to give the man on her left a dazzling red-lipped smile. ‘And now you,, Captain Prentice.’
Patsy swallowed hard and drew a deep breath, rather like a swimmer before the next difficult plunge. So far, she told herself, she wasn’t doing too badly. With the kind of sixth sense that had always helped her to make friends, she could get the feel of a group of people. And so far, and most surprisingly, she knew they were for her.
Then the fourth set of seemingly unimportant questions started. They came from the quiet blue-uniformed figure at the extreme right of the table. Patsy screwed up her eyes against the light from the window that fell straight on her face. She glimpsed the lean impassive face, the quiet mouth, the straight dark brows. His arms, folded on the table, seemed to carry too much gold braid for so young a man, and as though he was conscious of it, his voice was slow and measured as though every word was worth ten pounds an ounce.
For some reason, all the discomfort she had felt on entering the room returned in double measure. For the first time, she was panicky.
‘You enjoy flying, Miss Aylmer?’ the deep voice said slowly, but quite pleasantly.
Now that she really heard it, the question was simple enough. Positively harmless. She was allowing her always quite active imagination to run away with her.
‘Oh, yes ,’ she said with relief. ‘ Very much.’ Even to herself, Patsy felt that she had over-exaggerated the enthusiasm in her voice. And the sunlight was not too strong for her to see that his very dark eyebrows were momentarily raised.
‘Then,’ Captain Prentice said, with what seemed cruelly deceptive kindliness, ‘you’ve done quite a bit to enjoy it so much?’
‘Oh yes,’ Patsy started. The man had a way of making you unconsciously agree with him. ‘I mean I’ve...’
One trip to Paris and another to Spain did not sound very much.
‘Yes?’ the voice was still pleasant, as detached and noncommittal as a judge’s.
Patsy suddenly regretted the clear unpowdered clarity of her cheeks. She could feel her colour rising for all the world, or at least, for all the Selection Board, to see. She screwed up her handkerchief in her clammy hands, and said with a kind of quiet desperate dignity, ‘I have flown. Two trips. One to Paris and one to Spain. I did enjoy them.’
‘Splendid!’ A ghost of a smile, more hateful than the faintly lifted eyebrows, moved his lips. Just the faintest breath of a chuckle escaped from the rest of the Selection Board, until now forgotten.
‘And you weren’t sick?’
Patsy said she wasn’t.
‘Nor nervous?’
‘No. Not at all.’
‘D’you feel that you could cope with an emergency?’ the young man asked. Quite obviously, from the tone of his voice he was certain that she couldn’t.
‘I would try,’ Patsy said humbly.
‘And that wouldn’t be enough,’ the conversational voice reminded her. ‘The air is no place for people that would try. There aren’t any second chances. You must do !’
Patsy could feel her chances of success draining out of her like an
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