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. One of them looked like a big metallic centipede. Various other machines were standing about. 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. The other woman, Jane thought in passing, was the ‘real thing’. That had been Maisie, who had a first-class job as a masseuse ‘taking off ’ flesh. 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.’ĭeep scorn in the friend’s voice. With a little effort, Jane thought, she could have remembered her name. 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. The mention of Le Pinet had stimulated her curiosity, for Jane also had been at Le Pinet. 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. Jane stole a glance out of the corner of her eye.Ī little elderly man with large moustaches and an egg-shaped head was politely moving himself and his belongings from the seat corresponding to Jane’s on the opposite side of the gangway. ‘-With the greatest of pleasure, Madame.’ No-Le Pinet-Yes, just the same old crowd-But of course let’s sit together. ‘My dear-it’s extraordinary-no idea-Where, do you say? Juan les Pins? Oh, yes. She knew that particular type of voice so well. On the opposite side of the gangway there was a good deal of chatter-a rather shrill, high-pitched woman’s voice dominating it. Some of the passengers had already passed on through the centre door past the tiny pantry-kitchen and the two toilets to the front car.
Jane Grey was among the last to enter and take her seat, No. The September sun beat down hotly on Le Bourget aerodrome as the passengers crossed the ground and climbed into the air liner Prometheus, due to depart for Croydon in a few minutes’ time.
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