attend these continual social functions when we were abroad they attended others. You see – wherever they go, they have friends, and they give parties …” She sighed. “I suppose now I'm supposed to appreciate it, too, and to a certain extent I do, but just now and then I wish we had an ordinary life, like you and your father.”
Morgana regarded her sympathetically. “Well, as soon as I get home we'll get something arranged,” she promised, gently. “I can't promise you my father's company though. Since he joined the university he's been kept pretty busy.”
“He must be clever,” said Ruth, with interest. “I mean – Daddy's work is so – so boring.”
Morgana smiled. “Economics are not exactly exciting,” she commented dryly.
Ruth squeezed her arm. “Oh, any minute now they're going to call your flight. Couldn't you ring your father and tell him you've been delayed, or something, and stay another couple of days?”
Morgana shook her head regretfully. “No, I've got to go. But I'll write, just as soon as I get home.”
Ruth nodded. “See you do.” She looked round the bar speculatively. “I wonder if all these people are waiting for your flight?”
Morgana looked about her. “Maybe,” she was saying casually, when her palms suddenly moistened, and the colour drained from her cheeks. A man was standing across from them with his back to them. His height and the set of his shoulders were remarkably like those of the Salvador brothers, but then he turned and Morgana saw that he was a stranger.
Ruth had noticed Morgana's sudden tension, and glanced round quickly. “Who is it? What's wrong, Morgana?” she exclaimed.
Morgana let out a deep breath, unaware until that moment that she had been holding it. “Why – nothing,” she denied, awkwardly.
Ruth frowned and looked round again. “It was that man, wasn't it? That dark man. You thought it was Ricardo Salvador.”
Morgana lifted her shoulders indifferently, the colour returning to her cheeks. Sipping her lager, she said: “So what if I did?”
“Well, he had some effect on you, didn't he? What did he say to you that should cause you such a degree of tension? You never did say much about that affair.”
“There was nothing to say,” replied Morgana, wishing she had not caused this topic to be raised.
“No?” Ruth looked sceptical. “And you turn pale at the suggestion of sight of him? Honestly, Morgana, what do you take me for?”
Morgana bent her head. Ruth had been honest with her about Morgana's father. She deserved honesty in return. “It – it wasn't Ricardo Salvador I was concerned about,” she said, slowly. “It was Luis.”
“Luis!” Ruth stared at her in astonishment. “But you don't know Luis, do you?”
Morgana sighed. “Only slightly. I danced with him, too.”
“I see. So that's why you were so long.” Ruth nodded. “And – and was he – well – fresh with you?”
Morgana could have laughed, but there was no mirth in this situation. “Oh, no,” she said. “No, not at all.”
Ruth was intrigued. “Then I simply don't understand,” she said, frowning.
Morgana looked at her through her long lashes. “Well, nor do I, actually,” she confessed wryly.
As Ruth would have said more, the tannoy system came into operation and Morgana's flight was called. Morgana finished her drink and slid off her stool. But when Ruth would have accompanied her, she shook her head. “No, please,” she said. “Don't come with me. I hate goodbyes. Let's just say cheerio here, and I'll see you in London – soon.”
Ruth compressed her lips. “If that's what you want, Morgana,” she agreed. “Until – until London then!”
“That's right. Goodbye, Ruth.” Morgana squeezed her hand gently, and then turned and walked blindly through the tables to the exit.
The aircraft was barely half full when it took off from Galeao. It was a smaller plane than the one which had brought Morgana from New York after she had left her father to fly on to California and she was lucky enough to have a window seat. Looking down on the sweep of shore line that bordered the thickly populated environs of Rio de Janeiro, she felt a pang of regret at leaving so much beauty behind. There was poverty, too, of course, but the rugged coves that could be found only a few miles’ drive out from the city centre with their white beaches and foaming surf more than compensated for the ugliness of the favellas. And yet the remarkable thing was that despite deplorable housing conditions and lack of amenities the people maintained a wholly vital spirit that no amount of misery could destroy. The massive statue of Christ passed away below them and the plane turned inland to cross the jagged peaks of the sierras. Faint patches of cloud dispersed slowly below them as the shadows lengthened and Morgana could distinguish the arid slopes,’ sun-burned above the lush foliage below. It was a panorama of grey and brown and blue, the valleys shadowed by the high slopes of the ranges that towered one above the other. It seemed impossible that the sun should ever penetrate those tropical forests that bordered swiftly running rivers and she felt a quiver of excitement pass through her.
The sun went down in a blaze of glory, and darkness hid the majesty of the primitive land below their fragile craft. Morgana gave her attention to the magazines she had bought at the airport, and tried to relax. Across the aisle she saw the man from the airport bar, the dark-skinned man who had reminded her so vividly of the Salvadors. He looked her way and she encountered his gaze and looked swiftly away again, not wanting to appear inquisitive, and thereafter she concentrated on her books.
Dinner was served soon after, and she ate sparingly, enjoying the coffee that followed the meal. She was in the process of closing her eyes to try and sleep for a while when several things happened all at once which afterwards became inextricably tangled in her confused mind.
She remembered there was a cry from the rear of the plane. Some old man had had a heart seizure, or at least that was what everybody thought. The two stewardesses hastened back to attend to him and while Morgana, like everyone else, was curiously looking back in an attempt to see what was going on the dark-skinned man from across the aisle got to his feet and his companion went forward and entered the pilot's compartment. Morgana knew at once that something was wrong. For one thing, passengers simply did not enter the pilot's sanctum during the night, and she looked up to find the man beside her was holding a small, but very lethal-looking, revolver. She stifled the cry that rose in her throat as the man began to speak, first in Portuguese, and then in English. As the passengers turned to listen, and saw the weapon in his hands there were horrified gasps and one of the women screamed.
The man waited until there was a constrained silence and then went on: “Please do not panic! There is no need for anyone to get hurt.”
Morgana quelled her own fear and looking up at him said: “What do you intend to do? Have you taken over the plane?”
The man gave her a brief stare. “Indeed, senhorita, my comrade is now in command. I am assured the pilot will do as he is told or my companion will fire his gun, puncturing the body of the plane and possibly sending us all plunging down in a death spiral to the jagged slopes below!”
There were murmurs of protest from the passengers and Morgana thought with dismay how
