Royal Flush Read Online Free Page A

frequently.

    I had never been to Croydon Aerodrome before and I was surprised at the hustle and bustle and brand-new buildings. As our taxi approached along a leafy lane, a large biplane roared over our heads and landed on the runway. I had never even seen a real airliner land before at close quarters and it was an impressive sight as the great bird touched down on the tarmac, bounced a few times and then went rolling along as an earthbound machine. To me it was quite remarkable that anything so large and clumsy-looking could actually fly.
    As we were walking over to the new white terminal building in the art deco style, the airliner came roaring toward us, propellers whirling, making a terrible din. I paused to watch as steps were wheeled up to it and one by one the passengers disembarked.
    “That’s an Imperial Airways Heracles, just in from Paris,” someone behind me remarked.
    It all seemed so glamorous and improbable. I tried to picture stepping into that little capsule and being whisked across the globe, above the clouds. My only trips abroad had been across the Channel to Switzerland, thence by uncomfortable train.
    “The weather doesn’t look too promising, does it?” Belinda said, brushing away the midges that danced in front of our faces. “It feels like thunder again.”
    It did indeed feel extremely muggy and unpleasant. “Where are we to meet Paolo?” I asked.
    “He’ll be over by the hangars.” Belinda started off for the more ramshackle part of the airport, dotted with huts and bigger buildings that actually housed aeroplanes. We located Paolo standing beside a shiny new aeroplane that looked incredibly flimsy, so I was relieved when he greeted us with, “Sorry about the weather. We will not be going up this afternoon, I fear. The Met boys have warned us of another storm.”
    “Oh, that’s too bad, after we’ve come all this way,” Belinda said. “And I was so looking forward to it.”
    “You would not enjoy being shaken like a cocktail, cara mia , and besides, you would see nothing flying through cloud, and you might get struck by lightning.”
    “In that case”—Belinda was still pouting—“you had better take us for a good lunch to make up for our disappointment. We’re starving.”
    “There is a restaurant in the passenger terminal,” Paolo said. “I cannot vouch for the quality of the food, but you can eat and watch the airliners come in from around the world. It’s quite a spectacle.”
    “All right. It will have to do, I suppose.” Belinda slipped her arm through his and then her other arm through mine. “Come on, Georgie. We’ll make this man pay for not arranging for good weather, shall we?”
    “But I have no control over your British weather,” Paolo complained. “If we were in Italy, I could guarantee that the weather would be good. In England it always rains.”
    “Not always. Two days ago you were complaining it was too hot and sunny,” Belinda said.
    We passed through the sparkling new building, our feet tapping on the marble floor. I looked up in fascination at the mural that decorated the wall. It depicted the time zones around the world. It was already night in Australia. I experienced a pang of longing. So much of the world waiting to be explored, and the farthest I had been was Switzerland—all very safe and clean.
    The lunch was surprisingly good with a well-cooked fillet of plaice and strawberries and cream to follow it. As we lingered over our coffee I stared out of the window with rapt attention, while trying not to notice Belinda and Paolo sharing bites of a strawberry in a most erotic fashion. I had seen the storm clouds building in a great bank of darkness, so I wasn’t really surprised by the first clap of thunder immediately over our heads. People who had been standing on the tarmac rushed for shelter as the rains began. Chauffeurs hastily put covers on open motorcars.
    “Well, that’s put an end to any more flying today,” Paolo said. “I