Death Wears a Beauty Mask and Other Stories (12 page)

“Alexandra,” Larry said, “I am available to you every minute of every day of every year of the rest of my life.”

He began to smile and touched her cheek. “Even when you start having wrinkles.”

C
arol shivered inside her smoke-blue uniform coat and tried to ignore her growing uneasiness. As she glanced around the waiting room of the air terminal she thought that the gaily dressed peasant dolls in the showcases made an incongruous background for the grim-faced policemen who passed in front of them. The handful of boarding passengers, watching the policemen, were standing together, their eyes full of hatred.

As she walked toward them, one of the passengers was saying: “The chase is taking too long. The hunters are not pleased.” He turned to Carol. “How long have you been flying, stewardess?”

“Three years,” Carol answered.

“You look too young for even that length of time. But if you could have seen my country before it was occupied. This room was always full of gaiety. When I returned to America from my last visit, twenty relatives came to see me off. This time no one dared come. It isn't wise to make a public display of one's American connections.”

Carol lowered her voice. “There are so many more policemen today than usual. Do you know why?”

“A member of the underground has escaped,” he whispered. “He
was spotted near here an hour ago. They'll surely catch him, but I hope I don't see it.”

“We'll be boarding in fifteen minutes,” Carol answered reassuringly. “Excuse me, I must see the Captain.”

Tom had just come in from the Operations Office. He nodded when his eyes met hers. Carol wondered how much longer it would be before her heart stopped racing painfully at every glimpse of him, before she stopped being so aware of his splendid tallness in the dark uniform. She reminded herself sternly that it was time she regarded him as just another pilot and not as the man she had loved so dearly.

She spoke to him, her gray eyes veiled, noncommittal. “You wanted me, Captain?”

Tom's tone was as businesslike as her own. “I was wondering if you've checked Paul.”

Carol was ashamed to answer that she'd not yet thought of the purser on the flight since they'd landed in Danubia an hour before. Sick from the effect of the booster shots, Paul had stayed in the crew bunk while the plane was refueled for the return flight to Frankfurt.

“I haven't, Captain. I've been too interested in the hide-and-seek our friends are playing.” She inclined her head in the direction of the police.

Tom nodded. “I'd hate to be that poor guy when they catch him. They're positive he's on the field somewhere.”

For a moment Tom's voice was familiar, confidential, and Carol looked at him eagerly. But then he became the Captain speaking to the stewardess again. “Please go aboard and see if Paul needs anything. I'll have the ground rep bring the passengers out.”

Carol nodded and walked toward the entrance to the runway.

The cold airport seemed desolate in the half darkness of the October evening. Three policemen were entering the plane next to hers. The sight of them made her shiver as she boarded her plane and went forward to find Paul.

He was asleep, so she gently placed another blanket over him and came back to the cabin. Ten minutes more and they'll all be aboard, she thought, checking her watch. She pulled out her hand mirror and ran a comb through the short blonde hair that curled from under her overseas cap.

Just then she realized with a drenching fear that the mirror was reflecting a thin hand grasping the pole of the small open closet behind her seat.
Someone was trying to hide in the recess there!
She glanced frantically out the seat window for help. The police detachment had left the next plane and was heading in her direction.

“Put away the mirror, mademoiselle.” The words were quiet, the English clear, the accent a heavy undertone. She heard the hangers being pushed aside. She whirled and faced a thin boy of about seventeen with heavy blonde hair and intelligent blue eyes.

“Please—do not have fear. I will not harm you.” The boy glanced out the window at the rapidly approaching police. “Is there another way off this plane?”

Carol's fear changed swiftly. It was for him now that the feeling of disaster swept her. His eyes were frightened and he backed away from the window like a trapped animal, beseeching, urgent, his hand stretched toward Carol, his voice imploring. “If they find me, they will kill me. Where can I hide?”

“I can't hide you,” Carol protested. “They'll find you when they search the plane, and I can't involve the airline.” She had a clear picture of Tom's face if the police discovered a stowaway on board, especially if she were concealing him.

Feet were ascending the ramp now, heavy shoes clanging on the metal. A loud series of bangs crashed against the closed door.

Carol stared in fascination at the boy's eyes, at the black hopefulness in them. Frantically, she glanced around the cabin. Paul's uniform jacket was hanging in the clothes closet. She pulled it out and snatched his hat off the shelf. “Put these on, quick.”

Hope brightened the boy's face. His fingers raced at the buttons and he stuffed his hair under the cap. The banging at the door was repeated.

Carol's hands were wet, her fingers numb. She shoved the boy into the rear seat, fumbled at the catch of the ship's portfolio, and scattered baggage declarations in his lap. “Don't open your mouth. If they ask me your name, I'll say Joe Reynolds and pray they don't check passports.”

Her legs seemed too weak to carry her to the cabin door. As she pulled at the handle, the realization of what she was doing swept over her and she thought how pitifully transparent the boy's disguise was. She wondered if she could possibly keep the police from searching the plane. The handle turned and the door swung open. She blocked the entrance and forced an annoyed tone as she faced the policemen. “The steward and I are checking our papers. What's the reason for this?”

“Surely you are aware that a search is being made for an escaped traitor. You have no right to hinder the police in their work.”

“
My
work is being hindered. I'll report this to the Captain. You have no right to enter an American plane.”

“We are searching every plane in the field,” the leader snapped. “Will you step aside? It would be unpleasant to have to force our way in.”

Realizing it was no use to argue, Carol quickly sat on the seat next to the boy, her body shifted toward him, her back shielding him from the direct view of the police. His head was bowed over the papers. In the dim light, his uniform was passable, and the absence of a tie was not noticeable in his hunched position.

Carol pulled some declarations off his lap and said: “All right, Joe, let's get this finished. ‘Kralik, Walter, six bottles cognac, value thirty dollars. One clock, value—' ”

“Who else is aboard?” the leader asked.

“The purser, who's asleep in the crew bunk,” Carol said nervously. “He's been very ill.”

The inquisitor's gaze passed over “Joe” without interest. “No one else? This is the only American plane here. It is the logical one for the traitor to head for.”

The second policeman had checked the lounges, the clothes closet, and the floor under the seats. The third member of the party came back from the flight deck. “There is only one man there, asleep. He is too old to be our prisoner.”

“He was spotted near here fifteen minutes ago,” the leader snapped. “He must be somewhere.”

Carol glanced at her watch. One minute of eight. The passengers must be starting across the field. She had to get rid of the police, hide the boy—in one minute.

She stood up, careful to keep her body directly in front of Joe. By glancing out the opposite window, she could see the waiting room door opening. She said to the leader, “You've searched the plane. My passengers are about to board. Will you please leave?”

“You seem strangely anxious to be rid of us, stewardess.”

“My paperwork isn't finished. It's difficult to do it while I'm attending to the passengers.”

Steps were hurrying up the ramp. A messenger came in and said to the leader, “Sir, the Commissioner wants an immediate report on the search.”

To Carol's relief, all three policemen scurried out.

The ground representative and passengers were at the foot of the ramp as the policemen descended. The crew was entering the plane through the forward entrance.

“Joe!” Carol called. The boy was out of the seat, crouching in the aisle. Carol pulled him into the tail and pointed to the men's lounge. “In there. Take off the uniform and don't open the door for anyone except me.”

She stood at the cabin door and forced a smile at the ground rep and passengers. The ground rep handed her the manifest and waited while she greeted the passengers and showed them their seats.

There were six names on the manifest. Five were typed, and the first one, “Vladimir Karlov,” had been written in. Next to it were four letters, “exco.”

“Extreme courtesy—who's the VIP?” Carol asked the ground rep swiftly.

“A real big shot, the Commissioner of Police in Danubia. He's one of their worst butchers, so handle him with kid gloves. He stopped to talk to the searching party about the escaped prisoner.”

The Commissioner—on her flight! Carol felt sick, but as he climbed the ramp she extended her hand, smiling. He was a tall man of about fifty with thin nostrils, tight lips.

“I have been assigned to seat forty.”

Carol knew she couldn't let him sit in the rear of the plane. He'd be sure to see “Joe” when she brought him out of the lounge. “It's a beautiful flight to Frankfurt,” she said, her smile easy. “It would be foolish not to sit in front of the wing—”

“I prefer a rear seat,” he said. “It gives a considerably smoother flight.”

“This hop is one of our smoothest runs. The front seats won't be bumpy and will give you a better view.”

The Commissioner shrugged and followed her down the aisle. She glanced at the manifest and debated whether to seat him with another passenger. If she did, they might start a conversation and he'd be less likely to be looking around when she brought Joe out of the lounge. But then, remembering the passengers' bitter comments about the search, she decided against it, led him to seat three, placed his bag on the overhead rack, and told him to fasten his seatbelt.

The passenger in seat seven got up and started to walk to the rear.
Carol caught up to him at the door of the men's lounge. “Sir, please take your seat. The plane is starting to move.”

The man's face was white. “Please, stewardess, I may be ill. I get a little frightened at takeoff.”

Carol took his hand and forced him to let go of the doorknob before he realized it was locked. “I have some pills that will help. Everyone must be in their seat until we're aloft.”

After she'd seen him seated, she snapped on the mike. “Good evening, I am your stewardess, Carol Dowling. Please fasten your seatbelts and don't smoke until the sign over the forward door goes off. Our destination is Frankfurt, our anticipated flight time two hours and five minutes. A light supper will be served shortly. Please don't hesitate to ask for anything you want. A pleasant trip, everyone.”

When she went to the flight deck, the plane had stopped taxiing and the engines were thundering. She bent over Tom. “Cabin secure, Captain.”

Tom turned so quickly that his hand brushed against her hair. She felt a warm glow from the touch and unconsciously raised her hand to her hair.

“Okay, Carol.”

The engines were racing—it was hard to catch his words. A year ago he would have looked up at her and his lips would have formed “Love you, Carol,” but that was over now. She had an instant of fierce regret that they hadn't somehow made up their quarrel. On sleepless nights, she'd admitted to herself that Tom had tried: he'd made overtures, but she hadn't given an inch. So his attempts at making up had only ended in worse quarrels, and then he'd been stationed in London for six months so they hadn't seen each other. But now they were on a flight together, two polite co-workers giving no hint that things had ever been different.

She started to turn back to the cabin, but Tom motioned her to
him. He nodded to the first officer and the engines became subdued. She felt an immense loneliness when he turned away from her. There had been a few moments on this flight when he'd seemed friendly, warm—moments when it looked as though they might be able to talk things through. But this will finish it, she thought. Even if I can get Joe to Frankfurt, Tom will never forgive me.

“Carol, did you speak to the Commissioner yet?”

“Just when I showed him his seat. He's not very chatty.”

“Take good care of him. He's important. They're talking about barring Danubia to American planes. If he likes the service, it might help a little. I'll send Dick back to give you a hand with dinner once we're aloft.”

“Don't! I mean, it's just a cold supper. With only six passengers, I can manage.”

•  •  •

Back in the cabin, she smiled reassuringly at the man afraid of takeoffs as she passed him. The plane had reached the runway and the crescendo of engines was deafening. All the passengers, including the Commissioner, were staring out the windows. She went back, tapped on the door of the men's lounge, and softly called to Joe.

Noiselessly, he slipped out. In the dim light, his thin body seemed more like a shadow than a human creature. She put her lips to his ear. “The last seat on the right. Get on the floor. I'll throw a blanket over you.”

He moved warily and disappeared into the seat recess. He walks like a cat, Carol thought. Or like a kitten, she amended, remembering the boyish fuzz that had brushed her face.