CHAPTER TWO

      THE trolley rattled like a brass band as Lola struggled to push it up the last few yards of the aisle with something approaching dignity.

      Perhaps Geraint Howell-Williams was right, she reflected as she tugged the tiny skirt down over her bottom. The yellow minis, edged with blue piping, left very little to the imagination. Or was it just something to do with her own rather curvy figure, which made the already inadequate skirt seem to ride even higher up her thighs?

      And what the hell are you doing even thinking about Geraint Howell-Williams, anyway? she asked herself crossly. He is just a man you met for about an hour last night. A rude, arrogant, egotistical man who kissed you without asking permission first and let things rapidly get out of control. That’s how much you mean to him. That’s how much he respects you.

      And you hate him! she told herself fiercely.

      The only trouble was that saying the same thing over and over again did not necessarily make you believe it. She had already spent an almost sleepless night alternatively fretting and fuming, punching the pillow with a violence which alarmed her, and then feverishly burying her head in it as if it were Geraint’s face, like a woman possessed.

      Consequently, she had drifted off just before the alarm clock rang, and she had staggered out of bed feeling like death—dreading the thought of having to face a flight to Rome, and then a stopover there.

      By the time Lola pushed the trolley into the gallery, her best friend Mamie was waiting for her, pinching olives from the left-over hors d’oeuvres and shoving them into her mouth like a hamster.

      Lola loved flying, but it was even better when you were working with someone you knew. And she and Mamie had started working at Atalanta Airlines together on the very same day, almost seven years ago.

      ‘You look terrible,’ observed Mamie, offering Lola an olive.

      Lola waved her hand in refusal. ‘Thanks very much,’ she said waspishly.

      ‘Didn’t you sleep?’

      Lola sighed. ‘You could say that.’

      ‘Any particular reason?’

      Lola shook her head. It would not do her already pitiful reputation with men any good if she admitted to losing sleep over someone who was little more than a passing acquaintance!

      ‘Never mind.’ Marnie thoughtfully removed a piece of pimento from her fingernail. ‘I know just the thing to cheer you up. Or rather just the man! Have you noticed him yet?’

      Lola began unloading the trays and wrinkled her nose. How she wished that people would not stub their cigarettes out in the sherry trifle! ‘Who?’ she asked absently. ‘Don’t tell me the captain has emerged from the cockpit and is strolling about smiling graciously and being pleasant to all the passengers?’

      ‘No, no, no!’ said Mamie. ‘Nothing as farfetched as that! No, I mean the guy two rows from the front in First Class.’

      ‘But I’m not working in First Class,’ Lola pointed out patiently. ‘Am I?’

      ‘That hasn’t stopped every other stewardess on the flight making it their business to go and look at him. Or should I say ogle him?’

      ‘I never look at passengers in that way,’ said Lola haughtily. ‘It’s unprofessional!’

      Marnie had now started picking prawns off tiny triangles of brown bread and was curling them into her mouth with a long scarlet talon. ‘No, you don’t look at passengers—but you somehow get one of them to leave you a whacking great mansion worth almost a million pounds! Nice work, Lola!’

      Lola opened her mouth to protest, as she seemed to have been protesting ever since the totally unexpected legacy had come her way, then shut it again. She had all but given up trying to explain away her unexpected stroke of fortune.

      Even if she painted the facts as baldly as possible—that a passenger she had met through her job and her charity work with the airline had taken a shine to her and left her a whacking great housewell, people still put two and two together and came out with a rather grubby five.

      Sex, sex, sex. That was all anybody seemed to think about these days! And even if the giver of the house had been over sixty and the recipient a mere twenty-five all but the very nicest people tended to think that Lola had had a red-hot affair with him.

      When the truth was that she had never had a red-hot affair with anyone!

      ‘How’s your mother?’ asked Mamie. ‘Has she seen the mighty inheritance yet?’

      Lola shook her head, so that the jaunty blue and yellow cap which all the cabin crew absolutely loathed looked in danger of toppling from her high-piled curls. ‘Nope,’ she answered gloomily. ‘Doesn’t want to know anything about it. I’ve tried telling her that everything associated with the wretched house is above board, but I don’t think she believes me.’

      ‘Oh, she’ll come around,’ said Mamie comfortingly. ‘And it isn’t as though she was always visiting you when you lived in the flat, is it?’

      ‘No,’ answered Lola reflectively. ‘She’s a very solitary sort of person, I guess. Doesn’t mix much.’

      ‘Unlike you,’ smiled Mamie.

      Lola shrugged. ‘I don’t seem to have been mixing much recently—the house takes up every bit of my spare time, it’s so big!’

      ‘My heart bleeds for you!’ mocked Marnie.

      ‘Then come and live there too!’ offered Lola impulsively. “There’s plenty of room.’

      Mamie shook her head. She was engaged to be married and she didn’t want to share Rob with anyone, not even Lola. ‘Just because you want a tame member of staff?’ she quizzed jokingly. ‘No way!’

      Lola looked down to find that someone had smeared most of a vegetarian rissole all over the side of their tray. She tutted. Passengers could be absolutely infuriating sometimes.

      ‘Lola?’

      Lola turned around at the gentle tap on her shoulder.

      It was Stuart, the purser, the flight attendant in charge of all the cabin crew. ‘I’d like one of you two girls to come up and help out in First Class, please,’ he said. ‘We’re run off our feet up there:

      Mamie winked meaningfully at Lola. ‘With pleasure,’ she purred. ‘I’ll be right along, Stuart.’

      The purser shook his head. ‘I’ll take Lola, if you don’t mind, Mamie. She’s the only female on board who seems to have any common sense to speak of.’

      ‘Why, thank you, Stuart!’ Lola beamed. ‘Recognition at long last! Does that mean promotion is about to wing its way to me?’

      ‘It means,’ growled Stuart, ‘that you seem to be the only woman on board this flight who hasn’t fluttered up to that man in First Class on some pathetic pretext or other, that was so patently transparent he must have been laughing all over his face. I really don’t know what they all see in him!’

      ‘You just wait!’ mouthed Mamie to Lola.

      ‘He’s bound to have an ego the size of Wembley Stadium!’ commented Lola, pulling a face. ‘I had an awful night, Stuart, with hardly any sleep to speak of—must I really go and pander to some pretty little rich boy with an over-inflated sense of his own importance?’

      Stuart laughed. ‘Go on with you! I want someone up there who won’t come over all silly when she sets eyes on him! Just go and tidy yourself up a bit first, would you, Lola?’

      ‘Cheek!’ Lola retorted, but she checked her hair and slicked on a bit of lipstick and scraped