Wings

“Of course Sir Desmond has a certain ring to it. I hadn't thought of that before.” He made her laugh easily, and he helped her order. He made her feel surprisingly comfortable, even though everything she was experiencing was new. But he never made her feel ignorant or foolish. He treated it all as a great opportunity for her, and for him. He always let her know how lucky he felt to be there with her. He was a master at the fine art of putting her at ease, and before their dinner came, he had her laughing and dancing, and completely comfortable with him. So much so that she danced in his arms as though she had been doing it for a dozen years, and when the photographers appeared after dinner, they got a wonderful photograph of her smiling up at him, as though she adored him.

She was uncomfortable about it the next day, when she saw the newspaper on her way to work. The photograph somehow managed to convey the impression that she was involved with him, which she certainly wasn't. But there was something very intimate about the way he looked at her, as she stood next to him, and yet nothing inappropriate, or even faintly romantic, had ever happened. He was her boss, the man who had “discovered” her, and given her a great opportunity. And she was grateful to him for that. But there was absolutely nothing else between them. She wondered if anyone at work would make a comment about it, but no one did, until three days later when she got a call from Nick. He was flying a mail run to San Diego that night, and he could come up to see her the following morning. It would be Saturday and she was free to spend the day with him. She was supposed to go to a charity ball with one of Nancy's young friends that night, but for Nick, she'd gladly cancel.

“So, is Williams giving you the rush, or are you falling for him?” he asked bluntly after he told her he'd meet her at her apartment as soon as he came up from San Diego.

“What's that supposed to mean?” She was annoyed at his assumption.

“I was in Chicago yesterday, Cass. I saw the picture of you two in the paper. Looks pretty cozy.” There was an edge to his voice she'd never heard there before, and she didn't like it.

“I happen to work for him. And he took me out to dinner. That was it. He has about as much interest in me as he has in his engineers, so knock it off.”

“I think you're being naive. And those didn't look like work clothes.” He was angry and jealous, and sorry her father had ever let her come out here. The flying she was doing for Williams was too damn dangerous. But it wasn't just the flying he was upset about. It was the look on Desmond's face as he looked at her in the photograph in the paper.

“It was just a business dinner, Nick. He was just being nice taking me out. He was probably bored to death. And believe it or not, those are my work clothes.” She was referring to the slinky black dress she'd been wearing. “My chaperone buys me everything, and they send me out every night like a trained dog to show off and get my picture taken. They call it public relations.”

“Doesn't sound like work to me. Or flying.” He was consumed with annoyance, and the loneliness of not having seen her in over a month. He had been aching to see her. But she hadn't had time to get home yet. It had shocked him to discover how much he missed her. He felt as though he'd lost a limb, or his best friend. And he didn't like the idea of Williams taking her out to dinner.

“We'll talk about it when you're here,” she said quietly, sounding more grown-up than she had at home. She had already changed, but she didn't know it. And she had already acquired a lot of big-city polish. “How long can you stay?”

“I've got to be out by six o'clock. I've got to get back with some mail.” She was instantly disappointed, and she would have no excuse to cancel her “date” to go to the ball to benefit children with infantile paralysis.

“Well, we'll make the best of it. Try and get here early.”

“As early as I can, kid. I'm not flying the fancy stuff you are.”

“You don't need 'em. The way you fly, you could fly egg crates and get more out of them than anything I see here,” she said warmly.

“Stop flattering an old man,” he said, sounding mellower than he had at the beginning of the call. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

She could hardly wait, and she was up as usual at three-thirty, anxious for him to arrive. It seemed endless, before he rang her bell at seven-fifteen that morning. She flew down the stairs and threw herself into his arms so hard she almost knocked him down. He was stunned by the sheer beauty of her, and the force of her affection. She had missed him too, even more than she'd realized. She missed their confidences, and their long talks, and their flying.