Night Over Water - Ken Follett [69]
Nicky took orders from the Oxenfords and then disappeared through the forward doorway.
Harry drummed his fingers restlessly on the arm of the seat. The carpet, the soundproofing, the soft seats and the soothing colors made him feel as if he were in a padded cell, comfortable but trapped. After a moment he unbuckled his safety belt and got up.
He went forward, the way the steward had gone, and stepped through the doorway. On his left was the galley, a tiny kitchen gleaming with stainless steel, where the steward was making the drinks. On his right was a door marked MEN’S RETIRING ROOM, which he assumed was the carsey. I must remember to call it the john, he thought. Next to the john was a staircase spiraling up, presumably to the flight deck. Beyond that was another passenger compartment, decorated in different colors, and occupied by uniformed flight crew. For a moment Harry wondered what they were doing there; then he realized that on a flight lasting almost thirty hours, crew members would have to take rests and be replaced.
He walked back along the plane, passing the galley and going through his compartment and the larger compartment by which they had boarded. Beyond that, toward the rear of the plane, were three more passenger compartments, decorated in alternating color schemes, turquoise carpet with pale green walls or rust carpet with beige walls. There were steps up between the compartments, for the hull of the plane was curved, and the floor rose toward the rear. As he passed through, he gave several friendly nods in the vague direction of the other passengers, as a wealthy and self-confident young American might do.
The fourth compartment had two small couches on one side, and on the other the ladies’ powder room—another fancy name for a carsey, no doubt. Beside the door to the ladies’ room, a ladder on the wall led up to a trapdoor in the ceiling. The aisle, which ran the length of the plane, ended at a door. This must be the famous honeymoon suite that had caused so much press comment. Harry tried the door: it was locked.
Strolling back the length of the plane, he took another look at his fellow passengers.
He guessed that the man in smart French clothes was Baron Gabon. With him was a nervous fellow with no socks on. That was very peculiar. Perhaps he was Professor Hartmann. He wore a really terrible suit and looked half starved.
Harry recognized Lulu Bell but was shocked to find that she looked about forty: he had imagined she was the age she appeared in her films, which was about nineteen. She was wearing a lot of good-quality modern jewelry: rectangular earrings, big bracelets and a rock-crystal brooch, probably by Boucheron.
He saw again the beautiful blonde he had noticed in the coffee lounge of the South-Westem Hotel. She had taken off her straw hat. She had blue eyes and clear skin. She was laughing at something her companion was saying. She was obviously in love with him, even though he was not strikingly good-looking. But women like a man who makes them laugh, Harry thought.
The old duck with the Fabergé pendant in rose diamonds was presumably the Princess Lavinia. She wore a frozen expression of distaste, like a duchess in a pigsty.
The larger compartment through which they had boarded had been empty during takeoff, but now, Harry observed, it was in use as a communal lounge. Four or five people had moved into it, including the tall man who had been seated opposite Harry. Some of the men were playing cards, and it crossed Harry’s mind that a professional gambler might make a lot of money on a trip such as this.
He returned to his seat and the steward brought him his scotch. “The plane seems half empty,” Harry said.
Nicky shook his head. “We’re full up.”
Harry looked around. “But there are four spare seats in this compartment, and all the others are the same.”
“Sure, this compartment seats ten on a daytime flight. But it only