Her Last Flight(67)

Irene was trying not to shake from nerves. Of course she couldn’t press Morrow. She couldn’t imply she had some right to know Sam’s personal affairs, that she was intimately involved in them. “I hope it’s nothing serious,” she said.

Morrow replaced his cup in his saucer and spoke carefully. “As you know, Mallory has a family of his own, which requires his attention from time to time. A family’s a great responsibility.”

“Of course it is. I hope—”

“You, on the other hand, don’t have any such distractions. It’s a real advantage, when we consider your career.”

“My career?”

“You’ve got a bright future ahead, Irene. Your name, your face—why, you’re the most recognizable woman on the face of the earth. Better than some actress, even, because you’ve got credibility. You’ve got substance. Everybody admires you. I’ve got so many offers for you, I can’t even read them all. Books, syndicated columns, your own show on the radio. Chewing gum. Hair shampoo. Cigarettes.”

Irene caught the last word. “But I don’t even smoke!”

“Who cares? They’ll offer you a pile of money. Enough so you can buy your own airplane. You can fly solo, you can amaze the world, as you were born to do. And I’ll stand right by you, never fear. I won’t do a thing without your say-so.”

“I fly with Sam. We’re a team.”

Morrow set his coffee aside. “Irene, would you mind if I speak to you candidly?”

Irene clutched the sides of her saucer. Morrow was leaning forward now, hands gathered in the gap between his knees, a pose that reminded her of Sam. “What are you getting at, Mr. Morrow?”

“It’s just this. I like Sam Mallory. He’s a first-rate pilot, maybe the best pilot in America. Maybe the best pilot in the world. But he’s—well, I want to say this the right way. Impulsive. He’s a little impulsive, which is not a bad trait in itself, mind you, but as a business manager, you become anxious. You don’t know what he’s going to do next. You can’t count on him, to put it bluntly.”

“I disagree. I’d say Sam Mallory’s the most trustworthy person I’ve ever met.”

“And I’m sure you believe that, and I’m not saying he’s not. But you’ve led a sheltered life, Irene. I know you think you haven’t, but you have. I’ve got twenty years on you, twenty years spent in the business world, and Sam’s been to war and everything that means. He’s got a wife and a kid. He’s been around the block more than once.” Morrow paused and peered at her, expecting some response.

“Just say what you mean, Mr. Morrow.”

“Look, I’m only saying that you might want to reconsider this idea of partnership. On your own, flying solo, you could conquer the world. You don’t need a man flying the ship for you. You can be in charge. Look around you. Your time has come. You’re the future, Irene. You should show all those girls growing up out there what they’re capable of. You should give them something to look up to.”

“I thought I was doing that. Anyway, I don’t see why I can’t do that with Sam. He’s an expert pilot with years and years of experience, and I’m still a novice. I’ve got a lot to learn from him.”

“Irene. Irene.” Morrow stood up and walked across the room. He stood by the window and crossed his arms, looking out across the eternal landscape, and then he returned to sit next to her on the old-fashioned settee, with its lion feet and its Victorian humpback.

Irene knew something was coming. Even if she didn’t feel the warp of her own instinct, she certainly noticed the signs of George Morrow’s own agitation. His thumbs circled each other. She noticed the whiteness of his cuffs against the tan of his wrists and hands. He was a fit man; he played tennis and swam and did all the fashionable new callisthenic exercises in a gymnasium he’d recently built at his own estate in Greenwich, Connecticut. Always Morrow gave off a racket of immense energy contained inside those well-tailored clothes, and maybe it was this energy that was so attractive, and maybe it was his attractiveness that made her hold him at a distance, made her fumble his first name whenever she tested it in her mouth.

Anyway, she knew something was coming, all right. She thought she was ready. She screwed her thumbs together in her lap and lifted an eyebrow to Morrow, as if to say, Out with it, then.

He made a movement of his hand, starting toward hers and then thinking better of it. “Now, what I’m about to tell you, I maybe should have said something earlier. I wanted to protect you. I thought the whole thing would blow over. But it hasn’t. And it’s time you know about some photographs out there.”

“Photographs? What kind of photographs?”

“By any chance,” he said, staring up at the ceiling, “by any chance did you and Mr. Mallory spend some time on the beach, while you were staying over in Honolulu?”

“Honolulu?”

“Early in the morning, I think. Just the two of you.”

Irene couldn’t speak. Morrow turned his attention from the ceiling to her face, and she saw that he was not kidding around, he was dead serious.

“You should know that someone took a couple of photographs and sold them to a newspaper,” George Morrow said.

She whispered, “It wasn’t how it looked. I was surfing, and Sam was on the beach, and he saw a shark out there. He thought it was going to get me. He was just relieved that I came in all right.”