own affairs to give the matter much thought. What exactly had Erica meant about not dressing up? Would her old blue silk afternoon frock be all right?
In the end she was ready half an hour too early and hung about the empty house nervously waiting. When Mike’s long scarlet car appeared at the gate she ran down the path, her much-cleaned and rather shrunken beige tennis coat flung over her shoulders. Erica, in a cream pleated sports frock and short coral pink jacket, made her feel instantly that her semi-evening silk dress was all wrong. It was obviously to be a flannel dance. Mike was wearing grey slacks and a navy blazer.
The club house, an octagonal building that had once been the administrative block of a small commercial aerodrome, was already loud with dance music, relayed from an amplifier, when they arrived. The large central hall with its smooth inlaid floor made an excellent ballroom. A few festive flags had been strung overhead, palms, potted plants and deep couches for sitting out lined the walls, and there was a bar serving drinks and cold snacks. Couples in an odd assortment of garments, from flying jackets to backless sun-cottons, revolved to the tune of Stranger In Paradise.
Erica, making no bones about it, melted straight into the waiting Paleski’s arms. Jan found herself dancing with Mike, who looked grim and remote; doing his duty by her, Jan thought. It was mean of Erica not to have given Mike the first dance, having dragged him here in the role of unwilling gooseberry.
The music changed to an old-fashioned, nostalgic waltz. With a little sigh, Jan gave herself up to the gentle rhythm, aware in every nerve of her body of Mike’s nearness, Mike’s arm about her waist. They moved easily, smoothly together.
She looked up and found that he was watching her. There was an expression she couldn’t quite interpret in his deep-set eyes, but they weren’t remote any more. He said, “You dance nicely, Jan. Competently—the way you do most things.”
She made a little grimace. “That sounds pretty dull!”
“I don’t find it dull—not your kind of competence; it gives me a feeling of assurance. When I walk into the office and see you there at your desk, I know everything is going to be all right. Like that day the charts were lost. I knew you’d find them. Sometimes when I’m miles up in the blue throwing one of the kites around I get a sudden vision of you sitting at your typewriter with your calm unruffled air, and you’ve no idea how it steadies me.” He laughed softly. “You’re becoming a sort of mascot of mine, young Jan. I hope you don’t mind? I wish I could take you down to Merecombe with me!”
“I wish I could come, Mike!” she said, ignoring the idiotic leap of joy in her heart. He was just being whimsical. All airmen, like sailors, were superstitious. If he made her into a kind of talisman in his mind, it didn’t mean a thing.
The waltz tune was slowing down, signing itself off in a final crash of harmonies. Mike suddenly drew her very close—holding her against his heart. “You’re a sweet kid, Jan,” he said. “Don’t let anything change you ! ”
An odd remark. She would ponder it later, perhaps, wondering just what it meant. But at the moment there was no time for private maunderings of a fruitless and sentimental nature. Mike, with a firm hand under her elbow, was leading her toward the bar, where he bought her a fruit cup and a ham sandwich. “A poor substitute for that filet steak at Les Trois Soeurs,” he apologized, one mobile eyebrow shooting up ruefully. His gray eyes looked down at her, and there was a sudden brilliant light in their depths. “We’ll keep our dinner date yet, young Jan. I’m not going to be done out of it,” he said fiercely. An acquaintance was hailing him then, a tough-looking man with a long lean face—a flyer’s face. Mike greeted him enthusiastically, introducing him vaguely to Jan as “Lionel”. “Old Lionel,” he said,
In the end she was ready half an hour too early and hung about the empty house nervously waiting. When Mike’s long scarlet car appeared at the gate she ran down the path, her much-cleaned and rather shrunken beige tennis coat flung over her shoulders. Erica, in a cream pleated sports frock and short coral pink jacket, made her feel instantly that her semi-evening silk dress was all wrong. It was obviously to be a flannel dance. Mike was wearing grey slacks and a navy blazer.
The club house, an octagonal building that had once been the administrative block of a small commercial aerodrome, was already loud with dance music, relayed from an amplifier, when they arrived. The large central hall with its smooth inlaid floor made an excellent ballroom. A few festive flags had been strung overhead, palms, potted plants and deep couches for sitting out lined the walls, and there was a bar serving drinks and cold snacks. Couples in an odd assortment of garments, from flying jackets to backless sun-cottons, revolved to the tune of Stranger In Paradise.
Erica, making no bones about it, melted straight into the waiting Paleski’s arms. Jan found herself dancing with Mike, who looked grim and remote; doing his duty by her, Jan thought. It was mean of Erica not to have given Mike the first dance, having dragged him here in the role of unwilling gooseberry.
The music changed to an old-fashioned, nostalgic waltz. With a little sigh, Jan gave herself up to the gentle rhythm, aware in every nerve of her body of Mike’s nearness, Mike’s arm about her waist. They moved easily, smoothly together.
She looked up and found that he was watching her. There was an expression she couldn’t quite interpret in his deep-set eyes, but they weren’t remote any more. He said, “You dance nicely, Jan. Competently—the way you do most things.”
She made a little grimace. “That sounds pretty dull!”
“I don’t find it dull—not your kind of competence; it gives me a feeling of assurance. When I walk into the office and see you there at your desk, I know everything is going to be all right. Like that day the charts were lost. I knew you’d find them. Sometimes when I’m miles up in the blue throwing one of the kites around I get a sudden vision of you sitting at your typewriter with your calm unruffled air, and you’ve no idea how it steadies me.” He laughed softly. “You’re becoming a sort of mascot of mine, young Jan. I hope you don’t mind? I wish I could take you down to Merecombe with me!”
“I wish I could come, Mike!” she said, ignoring the idiotic leap of joy in her heart. He was just being whimsical. All airmen, like sailors, were superstitious. If he made her into a kind of talisman in his mind, it didn’t mean a thing.
The waltz tune was slowing down, signing itself off in a final crash of harmonies. Mike suddenly drew her very close—holding her against his heart. “You’re a sweet kid, Jan,” he said. “Don’t let anything change you ! ”
An odd remark. She would ponder it later, perhaps, wondering just what it meant. But at the moment there was no time for private maunderings of a fruitless and sentimental nature. Mike, with a firm hand under her elbow, was leading her toward the bar, where he bought her a fruit cup and a ham sandwich. “A poor substitute for that filet steak at Les Trois Soeurs,” he apologized, one mobile eyebrow shooting up ruefully. His gray eyes looked down at her, and there was a sudden brilliant light in their depths. “We’ll keep our dinner date yet, young Jan. I’m not going to be done out of it,” he said fiercely. An acquaintance was hailing him then, a tough-looking man with a long lean face—a flyer’s face. Mike greeted him enthusiastically, introducing him vaguely to Jan as “Lionel”. “Old Lionel,” he said,
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