by Vaughan Savidge
There was a good 3 minutes before the plane took off - so Diane decided on a leisurely
browse through the W. H. Smith's book shop at Heathrow.
"Let them wait!" she thought to herself in what she imagined to be a regal
way. Warming to the idea of 350 other passengers sitting there wondering what the hold up
was - she added "Let them eat airline food!".
She chose a new book by a favourite author. Cherise Chundar had always moved her
imagination with her lifelike characterisations of bronzed, chisel-jawed Italian counts
risking their fortunes, their reputations and perhaps an occasional nasty little rash so
that they could run away with the woman they loved - a 50-something woman they had met on
the beach at Venice while her husband went for an ice cream. Just like life.
The first class purser was very courteous - but then he was paid to be. The other
passengers were not under any such obligation - and showed it when she eventually turned
up 48 minutes late.
"Most dreadfully sorry" she said diplomatically " terrible traffic
getting here". But the purser knew she must have checked in earlier, or the plane
would not have been held.
She took her seat - and as they served lunch over the English channel she pondered that
great imponderable - where does all the flatulence that airline food promotes vanish to on
an aircraft?
She woke up several hours later and read her book for a while. The person seated next
to her disturbed her when she was only 15 pages in.
"Good, is it?" he asked.
"Not bad," she smiled "although I must confess there's a bit here I
don't understand."
"What's that?"
"Well" she continued " the Italian count has just met this rather tarty
girl - not the heroine you understand - and Cherise - that's the author - says that he
ravages her."
"So?"
"Well I thought the word was ravish."
"You could be right. But then ravage means to lay waste."
Diane thought about it for a moment before deciding to continue her reading. Only
another eight hours before she would be back in her beloved Hong Kong.