The Young Intruder Read Free Page A

all that has happened; and it will be very good for you to have a change of scene and country. Now I will see how early I can wangle passage for both of us; and we will soon have you in England.”
    “My mother used to tell me how lovely the spring is in England,” she said bravely, to show him that she could now mention her mother without tears. “But I don’t really remember it. Only once, seeing a field of wild daffodils.”
    “You shall see it this year,” he promised her.
    Alison sat in one of the window seats of the plane, with Peter beside her. The day was cold, and the air hostess had brought them rugs. Peter refused his, but had wrapped one round Alison’s knees and feet most considerately—rather as if she were a child, she thought, as she watched his large, capable hands at work with the rug. He had been amazingly thoughtful of her all through the days of his stay in Lisbon, and even to-day, at the airport, he had asked her if she had flown before, and when she told him that she had flown many times but was frequently air-sick, he had produced tablets for her which he assured her were a certain preventive. So far they had been effective, in spite of rather more bumpiness than usual; and Alison was even enjoying the lunch which had just been brought along. There was something quite cosy about meals on a plane, she thought: the tray that fitted comfortably into the size of the seat, one for herself, one for Peter; the height of the seat in front, which cut the two of them off from the other passengers, into a little world of their own; the feeling that all these people were occupying, for a few hours, a little world cut off from the everyday world.
    The air hostess brought her more coffee, and a liqueur for Peter. Later, she came again for the trays, and Alison turned to her magazines, appearing to be reading, but actually allowing her thoughts to wander ahead of her to England and the life that she would find there. She had always enjoyed travel. When school holidays arrived, she would join her parents, but it was quite likely to be in a different place from the last holidays. She would fly to Salzburg, or to Paris, or to one of the lesser known villages of the Riviera; once to Morocco, once to Madrid; but at the end of those flights, she had known she would find her parents waiting for her at the airport. Her life had been punctuated by these joyful reunions. When her father died, she had left school to be with her mother, and then they had travelled very little, lived very frugally. This flight was different from the others. This time, there was nobody waiting for her at the London airport. This time, although she was returning to her native land, she felt that she would be a stranger in a strange land, in a strange house, among strange people.
    Peter would be there, of course. Already she felt that one could rely on Peter. He had been a pillar of strength in the last few days, arranging everything for her. Not that she must allow herself to lean on his strength; she had to acclimatise herself as quickly as possible and get herself a job, not to impose on his kindness too far. But during this transition period, it was a heavenly relief to know that he was there to turn to. She was conscious of him and his strength, as he sat next to her, with only the arms of the seats between them; she was even proud of the fact that the air hostess smiled at him so often and was glad to serve him, feeling that appreciation was his due.
    So Peter would tide over the loneliness at the end of this flight; see her through the customs and the many formalities; help her with the things that her parents had always seen to.
    And Peter, in fact, did. The airport was, after all, no different from other airports, except that it was larger. The customs officials were no different, except that they were calmer and, perhaps, more polite. And when Alison, seeing the bus waiting outside the customs building, went towards it, Peter’s