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me some peace for an hour.'

The plane was already fuelled, checked and set to go. Kirstie was given priority as she

was late, and within ten minutes she taxied down the runway, experiencing as she

always did an uplift of spirits as the plane rose in the air.

An undeniable streak of mischief made her radio in to control, 'I estimate arrival in

Memphis at 0200 hours '

The radio squawked in consternation, and Paul overrode their air traffic controller to

snap, 'Negative, that's an inaccurate flight plan, Kirstie. your destination in Cincinnati,

repeat, Cincinnati, not Memphis '

She smiled and put her pilot's sunglasses on. 'Just making sure you're on your toes. I'll be

back around seven this evening. Who's staying to see me in?'

There was a pause. 'I am,' said her brother, then, with disgust, 'so don't be late.'

Because the weather was in her favour, Kirstie made up for lost time and landed in

Cincinnati on schedule. She had a late lunch of coffee and sandwiches while the plane

was being unloaded, then headed back to New Jersey with the setting sun behind her,

humming tunelessly and switching radio frequencies to amuse herself.

Normally the four full-time pilots, of whom Christian was one, drew straws as to who

worked late on Friday, but she didn't mind making the Cincinnati run this week since she

hadn't much planned for the evening. She hoped that Louise would be going out so that

she could relax in peace, perhaps mess about in the kitchen fixing supper and watch

some television.

Kirstie's social circle was wide enough that she had no shortage of dates when she

wanted it, but it lacked the hectic quality of Louise's lifestyle. Kirstie was just as happy

soaking in a bath and enjoying her own company, whereas Louise was out almost every

night of the week and resented having to stay in the odd evening to mark papers.

Coming in the last leg of her journey, she contacted control, received clearance which by

this time was just a formality as everyone else should be grounded, and she lined up for

her descent.

'Look out the window and wave, Paul,' she called in, and dipped her wings back and

forth when the control tower came into sight.

Paul's long-suffering attitude was apparent, even over the radio. 'Why me, Kirstie? I

know your professional reputation. You're on time, you're efficient, polite, no hassle. It's

never anyone else but me.'

Kirstie tilted the plane to one side again. 'You're just so cute when you're teased. I

wouldn't do it if I didn't love you.'

'Try landing the plane right side up like a good girl, and behave yourself,' he said, drily

resigned, against a background of laughter. 'You're on the loudspeaker and we've got

company.'

She was too startled to do anything else but comply, and she executed a perfect landing

with the careless flourish of a professional, afterwards taxiing the plane to the

appropriate hangar. She wondered who was at the tower after business hours. Carol

sometimes came to pick up her husband, but Paul wouldn't have called family

'company'.

Outside the plane, the waiting ground crew ran to put wheel blocks into place while

Kirstie unstrapped herself and began to shut down the engine. Paul came over the air

again. 'How long before you can come to the tower, Kirstie?'

She drew her brows together and replied, 'I wasn't planning on doing the paperwork

tonight. The inventory was checked, and the Cincinnati firm's happy.'

'That's all right, leave it till Monday. You've got somebody waiting here to see you.'

She had 'company', and her puzzled frown deepened. 'Roger, be there in five minutes.'

Who could it be? She wasn't expecting anyone, had no date for tonight, and it was

apparently nobody Paul knew. She wondered as she strolled towards the tower and main

offices, pushing her sunglasses up her nose. It was still hot, and she was parched with

thirst. She hoped the Coke machine had been fixed that afternoon; she'd threatened Paul

with a strike if it hadn't, and she dug for some change as she walked down the hall

towards it.

The contrary machine took her money and did nothing. She slammed her frustrated fist

into it, and it spat out three cans with a pathetic whine. Then it spat out all its money.

She watched with amusement as the quarters spilled on to the floor.

'Hey, Paul!' she shouted. 'The drinks machine is really broken this time, but never mind.

I just hit jackpot.'

She bent the tab of her drink back and raised her laughing gaze as someone strolled

around the end of the hall. But it wasn't her brother Paul coming to investigate; it was

Francis Grayson, nonchalant and bigger than life, his hands tucked in the trouser pockets

of his suit.

Shock froze her where she stood, and in the few seconds it took him to reach her she

noticed a host of irrelevant things: how the burnished newness of his tan had faded, how

vivid his lazy emerald eyes were, how the fitting of his suit to that athletically formed

body was superb. She also had time to think of how she was attired, and curse her

inevitable luck at the small battered Nikes, the serviceable flying suit, how her short hair

was thrust off her heat-flushed face.

She was glad she had her dark pilot's glasses to hide behind as he stopped in front of her

and smiled slowly. 'Hello.'

'Hello yourself.' For lack of anything better to do, she tilted her head back and drank, all

too aware of his gaze on her long, exposed throat. She then told him, 'You wouldn't

exactly have been my first guess as to who was waiting for me.'

'No?' His green eyes blinked secretively. 'Who would have been your first guess?'

She ignored that and bent to scoop up the extra Coke and the quarters. 'What can I do for

you?' How have you been? Have you forgiven, and forgotten?

'You can go out with me tonight.' She dropped one of the cans, and his long-fingered

hand beat hers to picking it up. 'I need to talk to you.'

Ah. Comprehension dawned at his second sentence, and she was glad she had kept what

was visible of her face under tight rein. She said, 'Louise.'

He didn't respond to that; he merely asked, 'Will you come?'

She turned away in silence and strode for the lit control-room, with her hands full of

money, and two cans of Coke tucked in her arm. Francis matched her shorter stride, and

just before the doorway he put one hand on her arm so that she had to stop.

'Please,' he said.

She had asked herself many questions during that short silence, and one of them was

whether she really would or not, so she already knew what she was going to say. 'All

right. I owe you that.'

Inside the control-room was her curious elder brother, but she wasn't about to indulge

any of his obvious hints. She just deposited the quarters and extra can on the table beside

Paul, while Francis handed him the third can and said goodnight. She could feel Paul's

eyes boring into her back as they walked out of the room. At the doorway she glanced

back in time to see him bend the tab back of the Coke he was holding, and he yelled as

the disturbed brown liquid sprayed all over his face and desk.

Laughing again, she followed Francis out to the street exit, looking at Philips Aviation

through the eyes of a stranger. In comparison to any international airport, this set-up was

like a toy, but it was an impressive-looking toy. Half the buildings were new, the other

half pristine. The general air was one of precision and competence. That would appeal to

Francis, she knew.

She dragged to a halt by the car park, the sight of the BMW evoking an odd, bittersweet

regret inside her. Francis was one stride behind, noticing her stop, and he pivoted on one

heel back to her, an easy, thoughtless movement that seemed to her half completed. In

her mind she finished it for him, took one step forward and threw her arms around his

neck in an uncomplicated gladness.

Disturbed, she looked at her own battered car. 'What did you have in mind?' she asked,

when he seemed content just to stare at her, immersed in his private thoughts. 'I—I'm

afraid I can't invite you back to my place, since Louise lives with me, and I don't know

whether she's going out tonight or not. Shall I meet you some place? I'll go home and

change into something more presentable.'

'Don't bother. You look fine.' Then, as she emitted an incredulous laugh, he swept his

leisurely glance down her as if assessing her anew. He reached out and ran a light finger

down the neckline of the collar, straightening it so delicately that she could not feel his

touch, yet she shivered as if a strong wind had blown through her. 'No, I mean it. You

look comfortable. I like it. In fact, if I could use the Gents here I'll do the changing, into

a pair of jeans I keep in my boot. Do you mind waiting?'

'Of course not,' she said, still staring at him.

'Be right back.' He sprinted to his car and retrieved the jeans and a pair of tennis shoes

every bit as battered as her own. He waved them to her and disappeared into the

building, while she was left flooded with the images of his apartment and alien wealth,

yet with the memory of their companionability.

And the memory of their too brief spontaneous combustion. They had both moved as

one towards the drinking from each other's lips. She remembered, remembered

everything. Her fingers rose to press against her lips, dragging hard against the sensitive

swell of flesh. She must be quite mad. Was she here to help him get Louise back? Why

did he need to speak to her alone? What was there to say that hadn't been said already?

Another indelible image burnt like a brand. Francis, cupping her cold, clenched hand

and stroking it with warm tenderness. So much hadn't been said.

'Are you all right?'

She whirled, fully caught in the intimacy of her musing, her head rearing back with as

much shock as if he had caught her naked. Francis's eyes were too knowing, too

sympathetic, as if he read her thoughts and shared them, but that was she being fanciful.

Tm fine,' she replied, the sound harsh from frozen throat muscles. 'Where are we going?'

'Get in my car, I'll drive.'

But she shook her head, and the attention he gave even that slight movement of hers

made her wonder if she did so with undue violence. 'I can't leave mine, it'll be locked in

for the weekend.'

'Then I'll follow you home,' he replied, and his eyes lit with inexplicable amusement.

'You can park in your street without getting caught, can't you?'

She tilted her head shortly, an unwilling acknowledgement at how reasonable that

sounded. 'All right, why not?'

'Fine, lead the way.'

They were heading towards New York and Friday evening traffic was travelling against

them, so they made good time. Kirstie tried not to think of how incongruous her humble

little Datsun seemed with the gleaming, immaculate BMW purring close behind.

As with the airstrip, she saw the town where she lived through the eyes of a stranger as

they drove through. Upper Montclair, New Jersey, was rolling with gentle hills and

wide, paved avenues. It was a lovely shady place in the daytime. Now, the darkened

treetops rustled as the wind swooshed through them, seeking open spaces. The large

colonial-style houses they passed as she slowed preparatory to turning into her street

were set well back, with long driveways ribboning through spacious front gardens.

With the property boom in recent years, the prices of houses now were such that Kirstie

couldn't afford to move here, but her parents' house had been paid for on their deaths by

their insurance policy.

She could imagine how Francis would find the interior, long since redecorated with a

feminine touch. She slowed her car to a crawl, wound down her window and motioned

for Francis to pull to one side. After waiting to see that he did, she speeded up until,

about a hundred yards down the street and with a keen sense of the ridiculous, she

switched off her engine and let her car coast silently into her driveway.

When it had rolled to a stop, she moved fast, locking her doors and grabbing her bag as

she eased the door on to its latch, with a quick glance towards the lit front window.

Since they always left that light on, she couldn't tell if Louise was home or not, but she

wasn't taking any chances and raced swiftly back to the street, her blonde head thrown

back to watch for Francis.

Car headlights came on from fifty yards away, the twin beams blinding her. She raised a

hand to her face, and the ghostly BMW purred to an elegant stop in front of her. The

passenger door was pushed open from within.

Francis said smoothly, 'Climb in, and the world's our oyster.'

Kirstie tumbled in, laughing, and as she slammed her door shut the car shot away.

Francis rolled the sunroof back and the windows down, letting in the wild evening wind.

The BMW ate up the neighbourhood streets until they reached the interstate highway

and accumulated speed with an effortlessness that made their earlier pace seem as

though they'd been sitting still.