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Authors: Elizabeth Hunter
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'How much do you want to take?'
'Well, she said, 'a couple of suitcases. Only the books weigh rather heavily and one can't take much on a plane, can one?'
'I don't think you need worry about that,' he reassured her.
'But I do.'
'So I get the impression. Can't you leave it to me, Liebling, to see you safely home?'
To her surprise, she found she could. It was a comfortable feeling to know that she had someone behind her. She had been alone for so long. But how odd that that someone should be anyone remotely like Benedict Carmichael!
Sitting beside Benedict in the car on the way out to the airport, Hero tried not to think about the approaching flight. She amused herself instead by wondering about her husband and what it was going to be like to have him about the house, in the rooms that still bore the stamp of her parents' presence. He would have her parents' bedroom, she decided, because it was much bigger and airier than any of the others, and it had its own bathroom which he would probably appreciate when it came to shaving and so on. There wouldn't be much bathing at the moment, the water shortage was far too grave for that.
They left the industrial suburbs behind and crossed over the Kampala-Mombasa road, turning into the road that led to the airport. Hero stiffened as she caught sight of the planes on the runway. They were so small, so impractical in all those miles of space they were expected to traverse, and the one that Benedict was expecting her to travel in was smaller by far than any of these.
'You can still go by train.' His voice broke across her thoughts.
'No,' she said. 'I'd rather go with you.'
'Are you beginning to get some confidence in your husband?' His tone was again deadpan.
When the car came to a stop, she stepped out on to the tarmac as cool as a cucumber. She even managed a smile in the direction of the tiny plane that Benedict pointed out to her as being his. It had some mysterious letters down either side which meant nothing to her, and a badge which meant even less.
It was bigger inside than she had expected, fitted with six comfortable seats, three down each side; a minute galley; and two more seats up in the cockpit, which was separated from the cabin by a heavy curtain.
'You'd better sit up front with me,' Benedict advised her.
Hero presented him with a white face. 'Are you going to drive?' she demanded.
'It's usually called flying.' His tone was easy. 'Sit down and I'll strap you in. You'll see better from up here and I'll be able to keep an eye on you.'
'Is that necessary?'
'I think so,' he said. He clicked the heavy buckle in place, shortening the straps to fit her slender form. 'There's not much of you, is there?'
'Enough.' She didn't dare look up at him. Besides, she was too busy watching his scarred hands as they worked around her, adjusting the various straps. They fascinated her. She felt a little shiver of pleasure when they touched her. She was glad when he took a step away from her, satisfied that her belt now fitted, and took his place in what she still thought of as the driving seat, fastening himself in with neat, efficient movements.
A few minutes later he had obtained clearance to take off and the engine sprang into life. Hero didn't have time to be afraid. All she could do was stare at his hands while they moved about the controls, taxiing the plane across the apron and down the runway ready to turn round and take the final run up to the moment of flight. They were up before she was aware, climbing steadily upwards into the clear blue sky.
'It's beautiful!' Hero remarked.
'It'll get better as we go round Mount Kenya,' he said.
'Why don't you make us some coffee?'
'Perhaps I'll feel more like it in a little while, if - if you don't mind waiting?'
He turned towards her and looked into her eyes deliberately. 'I can wait,' he said, and Hero was very conscious that he intended a double meaning.
CHAPTER FIVE
The sunburned, almost blackened, tough grass of the
'Well, she said, 'a couple of suitcases. Only the books weigh rather heavily and one can't take much on a plane, can one?'
'I don't think you need worry about that,' he reassured her.
'But I do.'
'So I get the impression. Can't you leave it to me, Liebling, to see you safely home?'
To her surprise, she found she could. It was a comfortable feeling to know that she had someone behind her. She had been alone for so long. But how odd that that someone should be anyone remotely like Benedict Carmichael!
Sitting beside Benedict in the car on the way out to the airport, Hero tried not to think about the approaching flight. She amused herself instead by wondering about her husband and what it was going to be like to have him about the house, in the rooms that still bore the stamp of her parents' presence. He would have her parents' bedroom, she decided, because it was much bigger and airier than any of the others, and it had its own bathroom which he would probably appreciate when it came to shaving and so on. There wouldn't be much bathing at the moment, the water shortage was far too grave for that.
They left the industrial suburbs behind and crossed over the Kampala-Mombasa road, turning into the road that led to the airport. Hero stiffened as she caught sight of the planes on the runway. They were so small, so impractical in all those miles of space they were expected to traverse, and the one that Benedict was expecting her to travel in was smaller by far than any of these.
'You can still go by train.' His voice broke across her thoughts.
'No,' she said. 'I'd rather go with you.'
'Are you beginning to get some confidence in your husband?' His tone was again deadpan.
When the car came to a stop, she stepped out on to the tarmac as cool as a cucumber. She even managed a smile in the direction of the tiny plane that Benedict pointed out to her as being his. It had some mysterious letters down either side which meant nothing to her, and a badge which meant even less.
It was bigger inside than she had expected, fitted with six comfortable seats, three down each side; a minute galley; and two more seats up in the cockpit, which was separated from the cabin by a heavy curtain.
'You'd better sit up front with me,' Benedict advised her.
Hero presented him with a white face. 'Are you going to drive?' she demanded.
'It's usually called flying.' His tone was easy. 'Sit down and I'll strap you in. You'll see better from up here and I'll be able to keep an eye on you.'
'Is that necessary?'
'I think so,' he said. He clicked the heavy buckle in place, shortening the straps to fit her slender form. 'There's not much of you, is there?'
'Enough.' She didn't dare look up at him. Besides, she was too busy watching his scarred hands as they worked around her, adjusting the various straps. They fascinated her. She felt a little shiver of pleasure when they touched her. She was glad when he took a step away from her, satisfied that her belt now fitted, and took his place in what she still thought of as the driving seat, fastening himself in with neat, efficient movements.
A few minutes later he had obtained clearance to take off and the engine sprang into life. Hero didn't have time to be afraid. All she could do was stare at his hands while they moved about the controls, taxiing the plane across the apron and down the runway ready to turn round and take the final run up to the moment of flight. They were up before she was aware, climbing steadily upwards into the clear blue sky.
'It's beautiful!' Hero remarked.
'It'll get better as we go round Mount Kenya,' he said.
'Why don't you make us some coffee?'
'Perhaps I'll feel more like it in a little while, if - if you don't mind waiting?'
He turned towards her and looked into her eyes deliberately. 'I can wait,' he said, and Hero was very conscious that he intended a double meaning.
CHAPTER FIVE
The sunburned, almost blackened, tough grass of the
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