honeymoon suite, the ghastly row about Jews in the dining room, the embarrassment of Mervyn’s wife’s anger, and her fear of the storm. She suddenly realized there was also something highly comical about sitting on the floor in her nightclothes with a strange man in a wildly bucking aircraft. She, too, started to giggle.
The next lurch of the plane threw them against one another. She found herself wrapped in Mervyn’s arms, still laughing. They looked at one another.
Suddenly she kissed him.
She surprised herself totally. The thought of kissing him had never even crossed her mind. She was not even sure how much she liked him. It seemed like an impulse that came from nowhere.
He was clearly shocked, but he got over it quickly enough, and kissed her back enthusiastically. There was nothing tentative about his kiss, no slow burn: he was instantly aflame.
After a minute she pulled away from him, gasping. “What happened?” she said foolishly.
“You kissed me,” he said, looking pleased.
“I didn’t mean to.”
“I’m glad you did, though,” he said, and he kissed her again.
She wanted to break away, but his grip was strong and her will was weak. She felt his hand steal inside her robe, and she stiffened: her breasts were so small that she was embarrassed, and afraid he would be disappointed. His large hand closed over her small round breast, and he groaned deep in his throat. His fingertips found her nipple, and she felt embarrassed all over again: she had had enormous nipples since nursing the boys. Small breasts and big nipples—she felt peculiar, almost deformed; but Mervyn showed no distaste, quite the contrary. He caressed her with surprising gentleness, and she gave herself up to the delicious sensation. It was a long time since she had felt this way.
What am I doing? she thought suddenly. I’m a respectable widow, and here I am rolling on the floor of an airplane with a man I met yesterday! What’s come over me? “Stop!” she said decisively. She pulled away and sat upright. Her negligee had ridden up over her knees. Mervyn stroked her bare thigh. “Stop,” she said again, pushing his hand away.
“Whatever you say,” he said with obvious reluctance. “But if you change your mind, I’ll be ready.”
She glanced at his lap and saw the bulge in his nightshirt made by his erection. She looked away quickly. “It was my fault,” she said, still panting from the kiss. “But it was a mistake. I’m acting like a tease, I know. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” he said. “It’s the nicest thing that’s happened to me for years.”
“But you love your wife, don’t you?” she said bluntly.
He winced. “I thought I did. Now I’m a bit confused, to tell you the truth.”
That was exactly how Nancy felt: confused. After ten years of celibacy she now found herself aching to embrace a man she hardly knew.
But I do know him, she thought; I know him quite well. I’ve traveled a long way with him and we’ve shared our troubles. I know he’s abrasive, arrogant and proud, but also passionate and loyal and strong. I like him despite his faults. I respect him. He’s terribly attractive, even in a brown striped nightshirt. And he held my hand when I was frightened. How nice it would be to have someone to hold my hand any time I was frightened.
As if he had read her mind, he took her hand again. This time he turned it up and kissed her palm. It made her skin tingle. After a few moments he drew her to him and kissed her mouth again.
“Don’t do this,” she breathed. “If we start again we won’t be able to stop.”
“I’m just afraid that if we stop now we may never start again,” he murmured, and his voice was thick with desire.
She sensed in him a formidable passion, only just kept under control, and that inflamed her more. She had had too many dates with weak, obliging men who wanted her to give them reassurance and security— men who gave up all too easily when she resisted their demands. Mervyn was going to be insistent, powerfully so. He wanted her, and he wanted her now. She longed to surrender.
She felt his hand on her leg beneath her negligee, his fingertips stroking the soft skin on the inside of her thigh. She closed her eyes and, almost involuntarily, parted her legs a fraction. It was all the invitation he needed. A moment later his hand found her sex, and she groaned. No one had done this to her since her husband, Sean. That thought suddenly overwhelmed her with sadness. Oh, Sean, I miss you, she thought; I never let myself admit how much I miss you. Her grief was sharper than at any time since the funeral. Tears squeezed between her closed lids and ran down her face. Mervyn kissed her and tasted the tears. “What is it?” he murmured.
She opened her eyes. Through a blur of tears she saw his face, handsome and troubled; and beyond that, her negligee pushed up around her waist, and his hand between her thighs. She took his wrist and moved his hand away gently but firmly. “Please don’t be angry,” she said.
“I won’t be angry,” he said softly. “Tell me.”
“No one has touched me there since Sean died, and it made me think of him.”
“Your husband.”
She nodded.
“How long ago?”
“Ten years.”
“It’s a long time.”
“I’m loyal.” She gave a watery smile. “Like you.”
He sighed. “You’re right. I’ve been married twice, and this is the first time I’ve come close to being unfaithful. I was thinking of Diana and that chap.”
“Are we fools?” she said.
“Maybe. We should stop thinking about the past, seize the moment, live for today.”
“Perhaps we should,” she said, and she kissed him again.
The plane bucked as if it had hit something. Their faces banged together and the lights flickered. The aircraft tossed and bumped violently. Nancy forgot all about kissing and clung to Mervyn for stability.
When the turbulence eased a little she saw that his lip was bleeding. “You bit me,” he said with a rueful grin.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m glad. I hope there’s a scar.”
She hugged him hard, feeling a surge of affection.
They lay together on the floor while the storm raged. In the next pause, Mervyn said: “Let’s try and make it to the bunk—we’ll be more comfortable than on this carpet.”
Nancy nodded. Getting up on her hands and knees, she crawled across the floor and scrambled up onto her bunk. Mervyn followed her and lay down beside her. He put his arms around her and she snuggled up to his nightshirt.
Each time the turbulence got worse, she held him hard, like a sailor tied to the mast. When it lessened she relaxed, and he stroked her soothingly.
At some point she fell asleep.
She was awakened by a knock at the door and a voice calling: “Steward!”
She opened her eyes and realized she was lying in Mervyn’s arms. “Oh, Jesus!” she said, panicking. She sat up and looked around frenziedly.
Mervyn put a restraining hand on her shoulder and called out in a loud and authoritative tone: “Wait a moment, steward.”
A rather frightened voice replied: “Okay, sir, take your time.”
Mervyn rolled off the bed, stood up and pulled the bedclothes over Nancy. She smiled gratefully at him, then turned away, pretending to be asleep so that she would not have to look at the steward.
She heard Mervyn open the door and the steward come in. “Good morning!” he said cheerfully. The smell of fresh coffee wafted into Nancy’s nostrils. “It’s nine thirty in the morning British time, four thirty in the middle of the night in New York, and six o’clock in Newfoundland.”
Mervyn said: “Did you say it’s nine thirty in Britain but six o’clock in Newfoundland? They’re three
“Yes, sir. Newfoundland Standard Time is three and a half hours behind Greenwich Mean Time.”
