“But this time you were.”
Mrs. Quonsett pressed her lips in a thin, reproving line. “It was that man sitting beside me. He was very mean. I confided in him, and he betrayed me to the stewardess. That’s what you get for trusting people.”
“Mrs. Quonsett,” Tanya said, “I imagine you heard; we’re going to send you back to Los Angeles.”
There was the slightest gleam behind the elderly, gray eyes. “Yes, my dear. I was afraid that would happen. But I’d like to get a cup of tea. So, if I can go now, and you’ll tell me what time to come back …”
“Oh, no!” Tanya shook her head decisively. “You’re not going anywhere alone. You can have your cup of tea, but an agent will be with you. I’m going to send for one now, and he’ll stay with you until you board the Los Angeles flight. If I let you loose in this terminal I know exactly what would happen. You’d be on an airplane for New York before anybody knew it.”
From the momentary hostile glare which Mrs. Quonsett gave her, Tanya knew she had guessed right.
Ten minutes later, all arrangements were complete. A single seat reservation had been made on Flight 103 for Los Angeles, leaving in an hour and a half. The flight was nonstop; there was to be no chance of Mrs. Quonsett getting off en route and heading back. D.T.M. Los Angeles had been advised by teletype; a memo was going to the crew of Flight 103.
The little old lady from San Diego had been handed over to a male Trans America agent — a recently recruited junior, young enough to be her grandson.
Tanya’s instructions to the agent, Peter Coakley, were precise. “You’re to stay with Mrs. Quonsett until the flight time. She says she wants some tea, so take her to the coffee shop and she can have it; also something to eat if she asks, though there’ll be dinner on the flight. But whatever she has, stay with her. If she needs the ladies’ room, wait outside; otherwise, don’t let her out of your sight. At flight time, take her to the departure gate, go aboard with her and hand her over to the senior stewardess. Make it clear that once aboard, she is not to be allowed off the airplane for any reason. She’s full of little tricks and plausible excuses, so be careful.”
Before leaving, the little old lady grasped the young agent’s arm. “I hope you don’t mind, young man. Nowadays an old lady needs support, and you do so remind me of my dear son-in-law. He was good-looking, too, though of course he’s a lot older than you are now. Your airline does seem to employ nice people.” Mrs. Quonsett glanced reproachfully at Tanya. “At least, most of them are.”
“Remember what I said,” Tanya cautioned Peter Coakley. “She’s got a barrelful of tricks.”
Mrs. Quonsett said severely, “That isn’t very kind. I’m sure this young man will form his own opinion.”
The agent was grinning sheepishly.
At the doorway, Mrs. Quonsett turned. She addressed Tanya. “Despite the way you’ve behaved, my dear, I want you to know that I don’t bear any grudge.”
A few minutes later, from the small lounge which she had used for tonight’s two interviews, Tanya returned to the Trans America executive offices on the main mezzanine. The time, she noticed, was a quarter to nine. At her desk in the big outer office she speculated on whether the airline had heard the last, or not, of Mrs. Ada Quonsett. Tanya rather doubted it. On her capital-less typewriter she began a memo to the District Transportation Manager.
to: dtm
from: tanya liv’stn
sbject: whistler’s mum
She stopped, wondering where Mel Bakersfeld was, and if he would come.
5
He simply couldn’t, Mel Bakersfeld decided, go downtown tonight.
Mel was in his office, in the mezzanine administrative suite. His fingers drummed thoughtfully on the surface of his desk, from where he had been telephoning, obtaining latest reports on the airport’s operating status.
Runway three zero was still out of use, still blocked by the mired Aereo-Mexican jet. As a result, the general runway availability situation was now critical, and traffic delays — both in the air and on the ground — were worsening. The possibility of having to declare the airport closed, some time within the next few hours, was very real.
Meanwhile, aircraft takeoffs were continuing over Meadowood, which was a hornet’s nest all its own. The airport switchboard, as well as air traffic control’s, was being swamped with bitterly complaining calls from Meadowood householders — those who were at home. A good many others, Mel had been informed, were at the protest meeting he had heard about earlier this evening; and now there was a rumor — which the tower chief had passed along a few minutes ago — that some kind of public demonstration was being planned, to take place at the airport tonight.
Mel thought glumly: a bunch of demonstrators underfoot was all he needed.
One good thing was that the category three emergency had just been declared concluded, the air force KC- 135 which caused it, having landed safely. But one emergency ended was no assurance another would not begin. Mel had not forgotten the vague unease, the presentiment of danger he had felt while on the airfield an hour ago. The feeling, impossible to define or justify, still bothered him. Yet even without it, the other circumstances were enough to require his remaining here.
Cindy, of course — still waiting for him at her charity wingding — would raise all hell. But she was angry, anyway, because he was going to be late; he would have to brace himself to absorb the extra wrath as a result of not appearing at all. He supposed he might as well get Cindy’s first salvo over with. The slip of paper with the downtown number where he had reached his wife earlier was still in his pocket. He took it out, and dialed.
As before, it took several minutes for Cindy to come to the telephone, and when she did, surprisingly, there was none of the fire she had shown during their previous conversation, only an icy chill. She listened in silence to Mel’s explanation — why it was essential he should remain at the airport. Because of the lack of argument, which he had not expected, he found himself floundering, with labored excuses not wholly convincing to himself. He stopped abruptly.
There was a pause before Cindy inquired coldly, “Have you finished?”
“Yes.”
She sounded as if she were talking to someone distasteful and remote. “I’m not surprised, because I didn’t expect you to come. When you said you would, I assumed as usual you were lying.”
He said heatedly, “I wasn’t lying, and it isn’t as usual. I told you earlier tonight, how many times I’ve been …”
“I thought you said you’d finished.”
Mel stopped. What was the use? He conceded wearily, “Go on.”
“As I was trying to say when you interrupted — also as usual …”
“Cindy, for God’s sake!”
“… knowing you were lying, gave me the chance to do some thinking.” She paused. “You say you’re staying at the airport.”
“Considering that’s what this conversation is all about …”
“How long?”
“Until midnight; perhaps all night.”
“Then I’ll come out there. You can expect me.”
“Listen, Cindy, it’s no good. This isn’t the time or place.”
“Then we’ll make it the time. And for what I have to say to you, any place is good enough.”
“Cindy, please be reasonable. I agree there are things we have to discuss, but not …”
Mel stopped, realizing he was talking to himself. Cindy had hung up.
He replaced his own phone and sat in the silent office, meditatively. Then, not quite knowing why, he picked up the telephone again and, for the second time tonight, dialed home. Earlier, Roberta had answered. This time it was Mrs. Sebastiani, their regular baby-sitter.
“I was just calling to check,” Mel said. “Is everything all right? Are the girls in bed?”
“Roberta is, Mr. Bakersfeld. Libby’s just going.”
