after her shower and, while waiting, he had made tea as she suggested. It was while looking for cups and saucers that he had opened the cupboard door.
In front of him were four tightly packed shelves of bottles. All were miniature bottles of liquor — the ounce- and-a-half size which airlines served to passengers in flight. Most of the bottles had small airline labels above their brand names, and all were unopened. Making a quick calculation, Demerest estimated there were close to three hundred.
He had seen airline liquor in stewardesses’ apartments before, but never quite so much at one time.
“We have some more stashed away in the bedroom,” Gwen said brightly from behind him. “We’ve been saving them for a party. I think we’ve enough, don’t you?”
She had come into the kitchen quietly, and he turned. As always since the beginning of their affair, he found the first sight of her enchanting and refreshing. Unusual for one who never lacked confidence with women, he had at such moments a heady sense of wonder that he had ever possessed Gwen at all. She was in a trim uniform skirt and blouse which made her seem even younger than she was. Her eager, high-cheekboned face was tilted upward, her rich black hair lustrous under the kitchen lights. Gwen’s deep dark eyes regarded him with smiling, frank approval. “You can kiss me hard,” she said. “I haven’t put on makeup yet.”
He smiled, her clear melodious English voice delighting him again. As girls from upper-crust British private schools somehow managed to do, Gwen had captured all that was best in English intonation and avoided the worst. At times, Vernon Demerest encouraged Gwen to talk, merely for the joy of hearing her speak.
Not talking now, they held each other tightly, her lips responding eagerly to his.
After a minute or so, Gwen pushed herself away. “No!” she insisted firmly. “No, Vernon dear. Not here.”
“Why not? We’ve time enough.” There was a thickness to Demerest’s voice, a rough impatience.
“Because I told you — I want to talk, and we don’t have time for both.” Gwen rearranged her blouse which had parted company with the skirt.
“Hell!” he grumbled. “You bring me to the boil, and then … Oh, all right; I’ll wait till Naples.” He kissed her more gently. “All the way to Europe you can think of me up there on the flight deck, turned to ‘simmer.’”
“I’ll bring you to the boil again. I promise.” She laughed, and leaning close against him, passed her long slim fingers through his hair and around his face.
He groaned. “My God! — you’re doing it right now.”
“Then that’s enough.” Gwen took his hands, which were around her waist, and pushed them resolutely from her. Turning away, she moved to close the cupboard he had been looking into.
“Hey, wait a minute. What about all those?” Demerest pointed to the miniature liquor bottles with their airline labels.
“Those?” Gwen surveyed the four crowded shelves, her eyebrows arched, then switched to an expression of injured innocence. “They’re just a few little old leftovers that passengers didn’t want. Surely, Captain, sir, you’re not going to report me for possession of leftovers.”
He said skeptically, “That many?”
“Of course.” Gwen picked up a bottle of Beefeater gin, put it down and inspected a Canadian Club whisky. “One nice thing about airlines is, they always buy the best brands. Care for one now?”
He shook his head. “You know better than that.”
“Yes, I do; but you shouldn’t sound so disapproving.”
“I just don’t want you to get caught.”
“Nobody gets caught, and almost everybody does it. Look — every first-class passenger is entitled to two of these little bottles, but some passengers use only one, and there are always others who won’t have any.”
“The rules say you turn back all the unused ones.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake! So we do — a couple for appearances, but the rest the girls divide between them. The same thing goes for wine that’s left over.” Gwen giggled. “We always like a passenger who asks for more wine near the end of a trip. That way, we can officially open a fresh bottle, pour off one glass …”
“I know. And take the rest home?”
“You want to see?” Gwen opened another cupboard door. Inside were a dozen filled wine bottles.
Demerest grinned. “I’ll be damned.”
“This isn’t all mine. My roommate and one of the girls next door have been saving theirs for the party we’re planning.” She took his arm. “You’ll come, won’t you?”
“If I’m invited, I guess.”
Gwen closed both cupboard doors. “You will be.”
They sat down in the kitchen, and she poured the tea he had made. He watched admiringly while she did it. Gwen had a way of making even a casual session like this seem an occasion.
He noticed with amusement that she produced cups from a pile in another cupboard, all bearing Trans America insignia. They were the kind the airline used in flight. He supposed he should not have been stuffy about the airline liquor bottles; after all, stewardess “perks” were nothing new. It was just that the size of the hoard amazed him.
All airline stewardesses, he was aware, discovered early in their careers that a little husbandry in airplane galleys could relieve their cost of living at home. Stewardesses learned to board their flights with personal hand baggage which was partially empty, using the space for surplus food — always of highest quality, since airlines purchased nothing but the best. A Thermos jug, brought aboard empty, was useful for carrying off spare liquids — cream or even decanted champagne. If a stewardess was really enterprising, Demerest was once assured, she could cut her weekly grocery bill in half. Only on international flights where, by law, all food — untouched or otherwise — was incinerated immediately after landing, were the girls more cautious.
All this activity was strictly forbidden by regulations of all airlines — but it still went on.
Another thing stewardesses learned was that no inventory check of removable cabin equipment was ever made at the termination of a flight. One reason was that airlines simply didn’t have time; another, it was cheaper to accept some losses than make a fuss about them. Because of this, many stewardesses managed to acquire home furnishings — blankets, pillows, towels, linen napkins, glasses, silverware — in surprising quantity, and Vernon Demerest had been in stewardess nests where most items used in daily living seemed to have come from airline sources.
Gwen broke in on his thoughts. “What I was going to tell you, Vernon, is that I’m pregnant.”
It was said so casually that at first the words failed to register. He reacted blankly. “You’re what?”
“Pregnant — p-r-e-g-n …”
He snapped irritably, “I know how to spell it.” His mind was still groping. “Are you sure?”
Gwen laughed — her attractive silvery laugh — and sipped her tea. He sensed she was making fun of him. He was also aware that she had never looked more lovely and desirable than at this moment.
“That line you just said, darling,” she assured him, “is an old cliche. In every book I’ve ever read where there’s a scene like this, the man asks, ‘Are you sure?’”
“Well, goddammit, Gwen!” His voice rose.
“Of course. Or I wouldn’t be telling you now.” She motioned to the cup in front of him. “More tea?”
“No!”
“What happened,” Gwen said calmly, “is perfectly simple. On that layover we had in San Francisco … you remember? — we stayed at that gorgeous hotel on Nob Hill; the one with the view. What was it called?”
“The Fairmont. Yes, I remember. Go on.”
“Well, I’m afraid I was careless. I’d quit taking pills because they were making me overweight; then I thought I didn’t need other precautions that day, but it turned out I was wrong. Anyway, because I was careless, now I have a teensy-weensy little Vernon Demerest inside me who’s going to get bigger and bigger.”
There was a silence, then he said awkwardly, “I suppose I shouldn’t ask this …”
She interrupted. “Yes, you should. You’re entitled to ask.” Gwen’s deep dark eyes regarded him with open honesty. “What you want to know is, has there been anyone else, and am I positive it’s you? Right?”
“Look, Gwen …”
She reached out to touch his hand. “You don’t have to be ashamed of asking. I’d ask too, if things were the other way around.”
He gestured unhappily. “Forget it. I’m sorry.”
