THREE
Flight BZ265 approaching Rhodes.
Meanwhile

‘Well, it’s no secret,’ Margaret Rhea said knowingly to the overweight woman sitting next to her. ‘The majority of air accidents happen during landing and take off. I remember seeing a documentary about it once on the BBC. So it must be true.’
‘If you say so pet,’ the large woman replied, tightening her already straining seatbelt.
‘I remember also the news coverage of that tragedy in Tenerife, in the seventies I think. Maybe later, can’t remember. Many deaths caused by fog and an impatient Dutch captain. Very sad.’
‘Tragic.’
‘Sad because I have so long admired the Dutch. They have produced some great artists for such a wet country. But they do have rather too progressive an attitude towards certain drugs for my liking. And do you know they actually tolerate homosexuality and allow what they call gay marriages? The thought quite makes one feel queer don’t you think? The very idea of lesbianism leaves a nasty taste in my mouth. The BBC made a documentary about that particular subject once. Aunty has gone down hill since Reginald Bosenquet left.’
‘Look pet…’

For the last four and a half hours the overweight lady had tried vainly to shut out the old woman’s constant chatter, but to no avail. Since take off she had twittered on about some inanity or other and since passing over the first of the Dodecanese islands she had not drawn breath.

‘Look pet, I don’t mean to be rude…’
‘I do so admire Rembrandt, though I have never seen his museum in Amsterdam. In fact this is the first time I have been outside of Great Britain.’

Margaret rubbed her stocking feet on the footrest and pulled her crocheted shawl more tightly around her shoulders nervously. Through the small window she could see a coastline of white hotels and blue water rushing up from far below to meet them. The aeroplane banked the other way and the land disappeared suddenly from view. She noticed that her travelling companion was gripping the mutual armrest and, for all their girth, her fingers had turned pale. Uncooked sausages, Margaret thought. How unattractive.

‘If you don’t mind love,’ the other passenger half turned to her. ‘I’d rather not think about plane crashes and the like right now. Landing’s the only part of my jollies that gives me the willies.’
‘I shouldn’t worry,’ Margaret continued once she had worked out what jollies and willies were. ‘I read in the Telegraph that, statistically speaking, you have more chance of being killed while having an accident in the home than while flying. And, as I have spent the last fifty odd years hardly leaving my home, I think I am quite a safe person to be sitting next to. I have never suffered an accident in the home. Oh, well once I did make custard using salt rather than sugar but that was hardly fatal. Most air disasters however are fatal.’

The other passenger was desperately trying to think of a way to shut the old woman up and was considering physical assault when the captain interrupted.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ the smooth, calming voice of an ex-public school prefect slipped seductively into the cabin through unseen speakers. ‘Once again on behalf of Britainair I would like to apologise for our late arrival. We are on our final approach now, just lining up for what should be a smooth landing. You may be interested to know that the temperature on the ground is a comfortable thirty-seven degrees with a light southerly breeze. There has been a forecast of thundery showers across the Turkish coast, but they are unlikely to both us here on Rhodes. Please ensure your seats are in the upright position and that your seat belts are securely fastened. Thank you again for flying with Britainair and on behalf of myself and my crew may I wish you a pleasant stay here in Rhodes.’ A ping and the fasten seat belts signs lit up. ‘Cabin crew to landing stations. So, Geoff, are you up for golf or will you be too busy poking Sylvia… bugger!’

There followed the sound of a microphone being belatedly switched off and a horrified clatter of coffeepots from Sylvia the galley.

Margaret clutched at her shawl. ‘Well really,’ she muttered and raised her arm to the call button so that an appropriate complaint could be lodged. The aircraft bumped on a stray thermal and she decided to make the complaint at a later date, in writing. For now landing was more important; she had never landed before and did not want to miss a moment of the experience. ‘I do hope Stanley is not too cold down there in the hold,’ she said to herself but out loud.

Even though she knew that a stream of verbal diarrhoea would follow, the woman beside her could not help but ask, ‘who’s Stanley?’
‘My husband dear,’ Margaret smiled fondly and pointed a thin finger to her feet. ‘They wouldn’t let him up here with me on account of his… condition. Even though I have the papers all signed and approved. I expect they know what they are doing, and I am sure he is better off down there in any case. Well, not in any case, in my case, if you see what I mean. I bought a new one especially for the trip. Louis Vuitton sac de voyage. Not a real one of course, not on my pension. But the replicas are just as sturdy I am sure and he is quite comfortable.’
‘So let me get this right,’ the other passenger knew she would regret involving herself further in this discussion but was compelled to ask. ‘Your husband…’
‘Stanley.’
‘Stanley is in a case in the baggage hold?’
‘I prefer to call it the luggage hold. Yes indeed he is,’ Margaret said proudly and then, having checked that they were not being overheard whispered, ‘he is the reason I am here.’
‘Really.’
‘I would never have dreamt of a holiday, let alone on such a remote island as this, if it were not for Stanley.’
‘Rhodes isn’t that remote.’ The large lady heaved a sigh as weighty as herself. She was travelling on to Symi. At least there she would be free of this old nutcase.
‘Not that island,’ Margaret nodded her head towards the window where Rhodes was now even closer. ‘This island.’

She held up a brochure open at ‘Symi’, and beside her a fatty heart sank.

‘Are you with SARGO?’ her companion asked, sausage fingers blanching further.
‘Yes dear, are you?’
‘Uh hu.’
‘Delightful! Then we shall be travelling on together. Oh I am pleased.’ Margaret offered a polite hand to shake. ‘Margaret. I am on a mission.’

The other woman refused to let go of the armrest but nodded a reply. She heard a mechanical thud, the floor beneath her feet shuddered and her buttocks clenched like fists.

‘Just the wheels dropping,’ Margaret reassured her. ‘I believe they call it the landing gear. Sometimes, though rarely, they can become stuck and the aircraft lands on only one set of wheels and a wing. Now that kind of disaster is survivable as long as there is not too much fuel still held in the wing tanks. In ninety-three a 737 landed with only one set of wheels and with half its fuel still on board and a mere fifteen people burned to death. Quite remarkable when you think about it.’
‘What kind of a mission?’ The now blanched passenger could feel her plastic-box lunch about to make a reappearance and desperately tried to change the subject, even if it meant more inane chatter.
‘Oh that. Well it’s a bit secret, but as you’re SARGO I can trust you. I am to find the place where Stanley lost his legs. And to find out more about…what was his name? I have it here.’

Margaret rummaged in her handbag and pulled out a tin of boiled sweets.

‘Ah, no, that’s not it,’ she muttered and rummaged deeper. She pulled out a silver cigarette case and held it in the palm of her hand, running her thin fingers shakily over it.
‘This was given to my husband during the war,’ she said proudly and her eyes became moist as she studied an engraving on the back of the case. ‘By… that’s the name there.’ She suddenly snatched the case away from her travelling companion’s gaze and hid it beneath her shawl. ‘But I can’t tell you what it is, I am not allowed. Anyway I have never been able to open the damn thing but Stanley seemed to think that it was of importance. Such importance that he bequeathed it to my grandson and instructed me, through his will, to ensure that I took it to him personally. I am going to give it to the boy as soon as we land. And I should not have told you any of that either! Oh lord, this whole travel thing is just too unsettling. When I am unsettled I do chatter so. Would you like a boiled sweet for your ears? I saw a programme once about ears, apparently the drum can burst under pressure and a sherbet lemon can save you from deafness. But that was on ITV, so I would treat the information with caution. Better safe than sorry though.’ She popped a travel sweet in her mouth and cheerfully offered the tin.
‘No ta, pet. Me ears are fine.’
‘Excuse me for asking, but are you from the north?’
‘Bolton.’
‘Charming. I am from Surrey. I have lived in the same house since the war. I didn’t introduce myself fully. Margaret Reah, pronounced Rear unfortunately. I am a Rotarian.’
‘The name’s Harriet. I’m a lesbian.’

To Harriet’s relief Margaret was strangely quiet for the rest of the landing.