Come Fly With Me
Stewardess Yvonne and pilot Clint had to hide their relationship, but could they fly the same routes forever?
in front of a corpulent first-class passenger.
“I wouldn’t mind your phone number!” The red-faced businessman elbowed his equally plump associate in the next seat and they both guffawed.
Yvonne tittered politely, as if she didn’t hear the same line ten times a week.
“More wine, sir?” She topped up his glass and pushed her trolley to the galley.
Judy was preparing sherry trifles in the narrow space.
“Not much more of this for me,” the glossy brunette said as she worked. “I’ve decided to accept Tom’s proposal. I’ll hand in my notice as soon as we get back to London.”
“Congratulations!” Yvonne squeezed her colleague’s arm. “I’m sure you’ll be very happy together. You’re really going to hand in your notice, though?”
“You know the rules. Hostesses must be single.”
“Some girls keep their marriages secret,” Yvonne whispered, with a glance towards the open cockpit door.
“I know, but it would be hard, wouldn’t it? You couldn’t tell anyone. Besides, Tom won’t want me jetting all over the world when we’re married. He’s always afraid I’ll meet someone else.”
Yvonne nodded sympathetically. She’d been out with civilians and her globetrotting had made it difficult. Not that her jet-set lifestyle made relationships with fellow airline workers any easier.
“Be sure to invite me to the wedding.” “I will.”
They hadn’t flown together for long, but bonds formed quickly above the clouds.
Yvonne poured a couple of strong black coffees and carried them through to the cockpit. She thrilled as always at the sight of the open sky and the vast expanse of the distant horizon.
“You read my mind, honey.” Clint’s perfect white teeth gleamed as he turned from the bewildering array of instruments to take the cup.
“Beef sandwich, gentlemen?” Yvonne offered. The crew needed regular snacks to keep them fresh.
“You’ll make someone a wonderful wife some day,” Clint teased with a big grin.
“Wouldn’t you agree, Cap?”
“I’d swap her for mine,” Rogers smirked as he puffed on his pipe.
Back in London, the terminal echoed with lively conversation as the crews from half a dozen airlines came and went, renewing fleeting acquaintances and swapping tales from their travels.
With 1,000 planes flying in and out each day, at a rate of one every two minutes at peak times, the staff passed like ships in the night, nevertheless everyone in an airline uniform felt like part of the same big family to Yvonne, regardless of whether she really knew them or not.
“Ah, Miss Smith.” Her breathless manager blocked her way, clipboard in hand. “I’m sorry this is short notice, but we’re an attendant short for Flight 801 to Cape Town. You’ll have to stand in. Please report to Captain Hargreaves in Briefing Room 2, immediately.”
“Cape Town?” Yvonne gulped.
“I know you’re due some time off, but you’ll have to spend it in the sun. It’ll be a nice long layover.”
“Sounds great,” she grinned, weakly. Clint was waiting a discreet distance away, a concerned frown on his tanned
At Heathrow, Yvonne took her last chance to cradle the little sky baby, wrapped in one of the airline’s monogrammed towels.
“Born at 30,000 feet,” Arleen cooed over the little mite.
“And he’ll have free flights for the rest of his life,” Jake told Mrs Samson. “It’s company policy for all skyborns.”
Yvonne looked up as Clint came striding across the terminal, looking more handsome than ever in his pilot’s cap and blazer.
He did a double take at the sight of the child in her arms.
“I know we haven’t seen each other for a while,” he frowned, “but did you forget to tell me something?” He laughed. “Just kidding! The whole airline has heard about your heroics.”
“Oh, I didn’t do anything,” Yvonne said modestly as she reluctantly handed the baby back to his mother.
“That pose did suit you, though.” Clint mimed holding a baby.
“Really?” Yvonne suddenly felt broody. “In the meantime, I have news,” the American announced. “We’re about to hand in our notice.”
“We’re what?” Yvonne gasped.
“I finally got a job as captain, on an American airline,” Clint grinned. “I get to pick my chief hostess, which means we can fly together forever. And here’s the best bit,” he went on, “They don’t have that stuffy old rule about the stewardesses having to be single!”
“You mean I won’t have to keep this in my pocket anymore?” Yvonne pulled out a gold ring and slipped it back onto her third finger.
“Nor me!” Clint produced a matching band and put it on his.
“Wait a minute,” Arleen cut in, agog. “Are you saying you two are married?”
“Every girl has her secrets,” Yvonne winked. “And sometimes rules are meant to be broken.”
Looking back over the past four months, she had to admit that keeping her marriage from her bosses had sometimes been fun. But as she slipped her arms around her husband and pulled his lips to hers, she was so glad that they wouldn’t have to keep their secret any longer.
Arleen delved into her luggage and pulled out a bottle. “It’s a good job we have some champagne left, because this calls for a celebration!”
BY JULIA DOUGLAS
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