Trophy Read Online Free PDF Page B

winter tan was bounding up the rich carpet of the curving stairs towards them. Behind him came Morven, hands holding her skirt clear as she climbed.
    The confident Reggie arrived, thrust out a hand to Selby. “Reggie Barham-Deane. Your sister’s been telling me all about you. So you’re one of those jolly chaps who tear madly about the sky and crash into mountains and so on.”
    He laughed uproariously, then recoiled as Selby’s eyes hardened. Morven, coming up behind, stared apprehensively at her brother. She knew the pictures flashing through his mind: a laughing Sammy Newton, his friend and hers, a smoking crater in a hillside, a grieving widow, a fatherless baby boy….
    Barham-Deane said quickly, “Just a joke, Selby. You don’t honestly think I meant that, do you?”
    Selby’s voice was dangerously quiet when he finally replied. “Barham-Deane, you’re a prat. Worse, you’re a drunken prat. Those ‘jolly chaps’ you’ve just joked about are dedicated men, with more skill andbloody talent than you could ever dream of. For your information …” He glanced at Kim Mannon. “… and for yours too, out of every six thousand applicants who come to us wanting to be pilots, three hundred at the most make it through preliminary selection. Of that lot, half may become pilots and about fifty of those may actually make it to fast jets. And even that number will be further whittled down before they arrive on an operational squadron. We work bloody hard to do what we do. And for what? So that if we inadvertently frighten a field of cows or disturb a sleeping village, questions can be asked about us in Parliament. And if one of us should cop it, prats like you can joke about it.”
    He turned away, disgusted, and stared blindly out over the empty dance floor. The band had changed now and new, fashionably bizarre musicians were tuning their instruments. Suddenly, he swung back to Barham-Deane.
    “And do you know what I find really sickening? That we stick our necks out every day in order that pampered sods like you can make your killings in the market place, and sleep easy in your beds. Christ… if our friends from the East ever come marching down Whitehall you’ll be first out there in the queue to sell them something.”
    Briefly, he passed a hand over his eyes. He shook his head. Then he pulled himself together.
    “Goodnight, Miss Mannon. Thank your father for inviting us and tell him we’ve had a wonderfulevening. Come on, Morven—let’s get out of this place. I’ve had enough of it.”
    He walked quickly away. Morven followed him, after a sheepish smile at Kim Mannon.
    Barham-Deane, watching them make their way down the stairs, said: “I certainly pressed the wrong button there. Bit gung-ho, wasn’t he? Those types can never take a joke.”
    Kim Mannon said: “God, Reggie. You can be such a dick sometimes.”
    “Language, darling. That’s what comes from fraternising with the troops. What would your father say?”
    “Oh shut up!” she snapped, and strode angrily away in the direction of the upstairs bar.
    He stared after her. “I do believe our Kim is smitten with the sky warrior,” he murmured. “Well, well. What do you know.”
    They’d hailed a taxi and were on their way to Elgin Avenue, to a flat belonging to absent family friends.
    “I’m sorry, Morven,” Mark said. “I shouldn’t have blown up like that. But people like him really do get on my nerves.”
    She touched his arm lightly. “I think you lasted quite well, all things considered.”
    “I’ve spoilt your evening.”
    “No you haven’t. I had a good time. I was dying to get away from Reggie, anyway.” She smiled. “As a matter of fact, I’d already told him you had to getback because you were on duty in Leicestershire tomorrow morning.”
    “Not to mention the hundred miles I’d have to drive to reach Cottesmore.”
    They both laughed.
    “As long as you’re sure you didn’t mind leaving,” he said after a