Death in the clouds – Agatha Christie
corresponding to Jane’s on the opposite side of the gangway.
Jane turned her head slightly and got a view of the two women whose unexpected meeting had occasioned this polite action on the stranger’s part. The mention of Le Pinet had stimulated her curiosity, for Jane, also, had been at Le Pinet.
She remembered one of the women perfectly – remembered how she had seen her last, at the baccarat table, her little hands clenching and unclenching themselves; her delicately made-up, Dresden-china face flushing and paling alternately. With a little effort, Jane thought, she could have remembered her name. A friend had mentioned it; had said, “She’s a peeress, she is. But not one of the proper ones; she was only some chorus girl or other.”
Deep scorn in the friend’s voice. That had been Maisie, who had a first- class job as a masseuse, taking off flesh.
The other woman, Jane thought in passing, was the real thing. “The horsey county type,” thought Jane, and forthwith forgot the two women and interested herself in the view obtainable through the window of Le Bourget aerodrome. Various other machines were standing about. One of them looked like a big metallic centipede.
The one place she was obstinately determined not to look was straight in front of her, where, on the seat opposite, sat a young man.
He was wearing a rather bright periwinkle-blue pullover. Above the pullover, Jane was determined not to look. If she did, she might catch his eye. And that would never do!
Mechanics shouted in French; the engine roared, relaxed, roared again; obstructions were pulled away; the plane started.
Jane caught her breath. It was only her second flight. She was still capable of being thrilled. It looked – it looked as though they must run into that fence thing – no, they were off the ground, rising, rising, sweeping round; there was Le Bourget beneath them.
The midday service to Croydon had started. It contained twenty-one passengers – ten in the forward carriage, eleven in the rear one. It had two pilots and two stewards. The noise of the engines was very skillfully deadened. There was no need to put cotton wool in the ears. Nevertheless, there was enough noise to discourage conversation and encourage thought.
As the plane roared above France on its way to the Channel, the passengers in the rear compartment thought their various thoughts.
Jane Grey thought: “I won’t look at him – I won’t. It’s much better not. I’ll go on looking out of the window and thinking. I’ll choose a definite thing to think about; that’s always the best way. That will keep my mind steady. I’ll begin at the beginning and go all over it.”
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