Morrissey was in the bucket seat, his head tilted uncomfortably to one side as he dozed.
He opened his eyes as I sat up.
"How long was I sleeping?" I asked.
"About four hours."
"I better give Roger some relief," I said, getting to my feet.
Forrester looked up as I came into the compartment. "You must have been tired. For a while, you were snoring so loud back there I was beginning to think we had five motors instead of four."
I sank into the copilot's seat.
"I thought I'd give you a little relief. Where are we?"
"About here," he said, his finger pointing to the map on the holder between us.
I looked down. We were about a thousand miles out over the ocean.
"We're slow."
He nodded.
"We ran into heavy head winds."
I reached for the wheel and pulled it back to me until it locked in. "O.K.," I said. "I got her."
He released his wheel, got to his feet and stretched.
"I think I’ll try to get a nap."
"Fine," I said, looking out through the windshield.
It was beginning to rain.
"Sure you can keep your eyes open for a few hours?"
"I'll manage."
He laughed. "Either you're a better man than I am, Gunga Din, or I'm getting old. For a while, back there, I thought you were going to fuck every woman in England."
I looked up at him, grinning. "With the way those bombs were coming down, I thought I better make the most of it."
He laughed again and left the compartment.
I turned back to the controls.
Apparently, I wasn't the only one who felt that way. The girls must have felt it, too.
There'd been something desperate in the way they insisted you accept their favors.
It was beginning to snow now, heavy, swirling flakes against the windshield.
I switched the de-icers on and watched the snowflakes turn to water against the Plexiglas.
The air speed was two hundred and slowing. That meant the head winds were picking up speed.
I decided to see if we could climb up over it. I moved the wheel back and the big plane began to lift slowly.
We came through the clouds at thirteen thousand feet into bright sunlight.
I locked in the gyrocompensator and felt the plane level off. It was a clear and smooth flight all the rest of the way home.
2.
Robair was standing in the open doorway when I came out of the elevator.
Though it was four o'clock in the morning, he looked as fresh and wide-eyed as if he'd just awakened.
His dark face gleamed in a welcoming smile over his white shirt and faultlessly tailored butler's jacket.
"Good morning, Mr. Cord.
Have a good flight?"
"Fine, thank you, Robair."
He closed the door behind him.
"Mr. McAllister's in the living room. Been waiting since eight o'clock last night."
"I'll talk to him," I said, starting through the foyer.
"I’ll fix some steak sandwiches and coffee, Mr. Cord."
I stopped and looked back at the tall Negro.
He never seemed to age. His hair was still black and thick, his frame giant-sized and powerful.
"Hey, Robair, you know something?
I missed you."
He smiled again.
There was nothing subservient or false about his smile. It was the smile of a friend.
"I missed you, too, Mr. Cord."