charmers; the girls weren’t supposed to fraternise with the air crew, they were always booked into separate hotels, ‘as if that would make any difference for God’s sake,’ Scarlett said scornfully.
Nor of course were you encouraged to have anything to do with the passengers once off the plane. There was occasional trouble with the men of course, they’d pinch your bottom, or try to stroke your legs, and some of the businessmen travelling alone would ask you to have dinner with them, but a sweet smile and an ‘excuse me’ or ‘sorry, sir’ usually did the trick, although now and again, lured by the promise of dinner at the Hilton, say, in Rome, they would succumb. There was a degree of droit de seigneur about the whole thing; Scarlett’s opinion of her passengers was permanently lowered when an American tipped her out of the taxi one night in the middle of Athens when she refused to go back to his hotel with him. The pilots were more fun and generally nicer.
God, this turbulence was bad. There were bells going all over the place, unpleasant noises coming from various points in the plane, someone trying to get up to go to the loo, they all begged to be allowed, but they weren’t, they had to stay in their seats, however humiliating the consequences. That was another thing you became as a stewardess: a nanny. Scarlett didn’t even mind that.
They were on the way to Rome. She was looking forward to it, she liked Rome and she specially liked Roman men. Normally it was straight back the same day, but she had a couple of days’ leave and she had decided to stay. She was having a little fling with a pilot, who’d adjusted his rota to be with her. Well it was more than a little fling; it was an affair. He was married, but he was getting a divorce, so she didn’t feel too bad.
Sometimes Scarlett wondered what on earth her parents would think of her if they knew what she had become. A tart, they would call her. A slut. Which would be unfair, because she never slept with anyone unless she was very fond of him; she had only one relationship at a time and she never slept with anyone who was happily married or who had children. Of course they all lied, and said their wives didn’t understand them, but she always did her homework and checked their stories out. And she hadn’t actually had that many affairs. Three. Well, four, if you counted the first one.
She often looked back at the Scarlett who had been a strictly-broughtup virgin, who knew that once you’d slept with a boy you lost his respect for ever and you’d never see him again. The other girls had put her straight on all that; the conversations in the hotel rooms late at night were barrack-room lewd. They’d told her what a lot of fun she was missing and where and how to get herself sorted out so she wouldn’t get pregnant; she was still worried about the loss of respect, but Diana said that was an old wives’ tale – or rather an old mothers’.
‘Maybe when you’re really young and you don’t know the chap very well, but in a relationship, goodness, it’s fine.’
Scarlett, thinking herself properly in love for the first time, with an Englishman she had met in Paris, consulted the gynaecologist who was kind and practical, instructed Scarlett in the mysteries of the Dutch cap and sent her back to her boyfriend’s bed with her blessing. He was, as it turned out, as so many of them had turned out to be, married; but Scarlett enjoyed several weeks of happiness with him before making the discovery and, as a by-product, learnt to enjoy sex immensely. She just couldn’t believe anything could be so wonderful, so all-consuming, so triumphantly intense – and so conducive to self-esteem.
Diana’s fiancé was a regular soldier, a First Lieutenant in the Royal Scots Greys, serving out in Hong Kong, and as soon as he got promoted to Captain, they were getting married.
‘Can’t wait, it’s such a wonderful life in the army, and he’s an absolute
Nor of course were you encouraged to have anything to do with the passengers once off the plane. There was occasional trouble with the men of course, they’d pinch your bottom, or try to stroke your legs, and some of the businessmen travelling alone would ask you to have dinner with them, but a sweet smile and an ‘excuse me’ or ‘sorry, sir’ usually did the trick, although now and again, lured by the promise of dinner at the Hilton, say, in Rome, they would succumb. There was a degree of droit de seigneur about the whole thing; Scarlett’s opinion of her passengers was permanently lowered when an American tipped her out of the taxi one night in the middle of Athens when she refused to go back to his hotel with him. The pilots were more fun and generally nicer.
God, this turbulence was bad. There were bells going all over the place, unpleasant noises coming from various points in the plane, someone trying to get up to go to the loo, they all begged to be allowed, but they weren’t, they had to stay in their seats, however humiliating the consequences. That was another thing you became as a stewardess: a nanny. Scarlett didn’t even mind that.
They were on the way to Rome. She was looking forward to it, she liked Rome and she specially liked Roman men. Normally it was straight back the same day, but she had a couple of days’ leave and she had decided to stay. She was having a little fling with a pilot, who’d adjusted his rota to be with her. Well it was more than a little fling; it was an affair. He was married, but he was getting a divorce, so she didn’t feel too bad.
Sometimes Scarlett wondered what on earth her parents would think of her if they knew what she had become. A tart, they would call her. A slut. Which would be unfair, because she never slept with anyone unless she was very fond of him; she had only one relationship at a time and she never slept with anyone who was happily married or who had children. Of course they all lied, and said their wives didn’t understand them, but she always did her homework and checked their stories out. And she hadn’t actually had that many affairs. Three. Well, four, if you counted the first one.
She often looked back at the Scarlett who had been a strictly-broughtup virgin, who knew that once you’d slept with a boy you lost his respect for ever and you’d never see him again. The other girls had put her straight on all that; the conversations in the hotel rooms late at night were barrack-room lewd. They’d told her what a lot of fun she was missing and where and how to get herself sorted out so she wouldn’t get pregnant; she was still worried about the loss of respect, but Diana said that was an old wives’ tale – or rather an old mothers’.
‘Maybe when you’re really young and you don’t know the chap very well, but in a relationship, goodness, it’s fine.’
Scarlett, thinking herself properly in love for the first time, with an Englishman she had met in Paris, consulted the gynaecologist who was kind and practical, instructed Scarlett in the mysteries of the Dutch cap and sent her back to her boyfriend’s bed with her blessing. He was, as it turned out, as so many of them had turned out to be, married; but Scarlett enjoyed several weeks of happiness with him before making the discovery and, as a by-product, learnt to enjoy sex immensely. She just couldn’t believe anything could be so wonderful, so all-consuming, so triumphantly intense – and so conducive to self-esteem.
Diana’s fiancé was a regular soldier, a First Lieutenant in the Royal Scots Greys, serving out in Hong Kong, and as soon as he got promoted to Captain, they were getting married.
‘Can’t wait, it’s such a wonderful life in the army, and he’s an absolute
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