Martin sighed. He eased his hat down over his eyes and slumped back in his seat. ‘Wake me up when the bar’s open,’ he murmured.
Claudio continued to speak, but his voice soon became a formless drone that mingled with the low steady hum of the aircraft. Martin settled down for his first spell of real rest since finding the diamond. In a matter of moments, he was fast asleep.
‘Everything OK back there?’ asked Mike as Helen entered the cabin. He was obliged to shout over the roar of the engines but still somehow contrived to sound indifferent. She wondered why she was so helplessly and miserably attached to Mike Stone and wanted, suddenly, to hurt him.
‘I think I’ve picked up an admirer,’ she said.
‘Oh yeah? You always find one token jerk, every flight.’ Mike’s voice was devoid of any emotion, but she knew how jealous he was about such things.
Helen shifted her attention to the co-pilot. ‘Hey, how’s it going, Ricardo?’
‘Just fine, Trojan, just fine. The weather people have been on, it’s gonna be a nice smooth flight all the way. I arranged it specially.’ He flashed a grin at her. ‘Now listen, any of those guys back there give you a hard time, you just come and tell me, OK? Then I’ll give you a hard time!’
‘Cut the cackle, Ricardo,’ Mike snapped.
Ricardo looked mortified. ‘I’m sorry, chief! What is it, you get out of the wrong side of bed this morning?’
‘Yeah, somethin’ like that.’
‘Well, I tell you what I’m gonna do. When we get to Belém, I know a nice little nightclub there. I’m gonna treat the both of you to the best cocktails in all Brazil, now wha’dya say, huh?’
‘Ricardo, when Helen and me hit Belém, we’re just going to hole up in a quiet hotel room with a bottle of aguardente.’
‘Who says so, big shot!’ Helen’s mood had abruptly boiled over into outright anger. She was furious that, despite everything she had said that morning, Mike had simply assumed that the set-up would continue in the usual way. He turned a little now to stare at her, a smug, half-smile on his face. She hated that look, the way his eyes seemed to say ‘in the end, you’ll do it my way’. But worse was the knowledge that this was most probably true. She had always given in to him, allowed herself to be humiliated. But not this time, she had promised herself that much. She turned back to Ricardo. ‘I’d love to come to a nightclub with you,’ she said brightly. ‘If Mike is feeling too tired, I expect we can manage just as well without him.’
Mike’s expression turned to a dangerous glare. ‘Helen, you’re not making a lot of sense,’ he growled. For a moment, the two exchanged vitriolic glances.
Ricardo began to grow uncomfortable. ‘Hey, well look,’ he murmured. ‘I don’t want to cause any …’
‘… trouble, Ricardo?’ finished Helen mockingly. ‘But why should there be any trouble? After all, I’m a free agent. It’s not as though I’m married to anyone. I’m not even engaged, so what could be the harm in –?’
‘Helen, I think it’s time you chased through some coffee to us,’ snapped Mike forcefully. In the ensuing silence, the thunder of the engines sounded deafening.
‘Yes … captain,’ replied Helen at last, her voice loaded with ridicule. ‘That’s something you can make me do … after all, it’s part of my job.’ She threw him a last defiant sneer and then stalked out of the cabin, slamming the door. She stood for a moment, regaining her composure and ordering her face into the professional smile, aware that eyes were watching her from the rows of seats, then began to move slowly forward along the aisle, inquiring if everybody was comfortable, was there anything that they required? She hoped that her true feelings did not show in her eyes. In the last few minutes, she had made her mind up for sure. When she reached Belém, she would hand her notice in to Mike Stone. She would not let herself be influenced by his glib tongue or helpless expression, as she had so many times in the past; and furthermore, she would not go to work for the other airline either. She would simply get as far away from this business as she could, pursue some other line of work. She was adaptable; she would surely survive.
She reached the seat where the arrogant American had been sitting and found him asleep, his hat tilted over his eyes. In repose, his undeniably handsome face looked serene, almost childlike. The man’s Portuguese companion smiled across at Helen.
‘I was just about to tell him that he could have his drink now,’ she said quietly.
‘He told me to wake him,’ confided Claudio. ‘But I think it’s better that he sleeps. There will be plenty of time to drink later.’
Helen nodded. ‘Can I get you anything?’
‘No thank you. I believe I might take a nap myself.’
Helen moved on, noting as she did so that the bearded gentleman sitting to her left seemed to be enjoying a perturbingly familiar embrace with the girl who was entered on the flight records as his daughter. He had his arm around her shoulders in a gesture that spoke of something worlds apart from normal paternal protectiveness. The man glanced up and beamed an oily smile at Helen as though aware of her thoughts.
‘Just a moment, miss!’ He beckoned to her authoritatively and she turned back to stand beside his seat. ‘I believe I’d like a drink,’ he said in stilted, though fairly accomplished English. ‘A Scotch, I think. I don’t suppose you have any ice on board?’
Helen shook her head. ‘I’m afraid ice is a rare commodity in Brazil,’ she replied. ‘But Scotch, we do have. And something for your … daughter?’
The man inclined his head to the side. ‘Miranda, my dear, is there anything you would like?’
She gazed up at him a moment as though she did not comprehend, her large blue eyes wide, her head tilted slightly to one side. For a moment, a sense of shock ran through Helen, for she could see quite clearly that there was madness in those young eyes, a stark, tormented insanity that seemed to stand out as plain as day. Then the girl leaned forward to whisper something into her father’s ear and the man nodded. He glanced up at Helen.
‘My daughter says that she thinks you are very pretty,’ he said.
‘Well … thank you.’ Helen leaned forward a little to catch the girl’s attention; but the blue eyes just seemed to gaze through her. ‘I said, thank you, you’re very pretty too.’ Nothing. The child’s gaze seemed to burn through Helen as if to view some distant mystery.
‘You must forgive my daughter,’ said the bearded man abruptly. ‘She rarely speaks to anyone but me. Some … mental problem. I have taken her to see all the best doctors but alas there is nothing anyone can do. Thank the lord I am here to protect her, otherwise who knows what might become of her?’ He leaned forward suddenly and placed his lips against his daughter’s ear. Helen saw quite clearly that his tongue came out, to lap suggestively inside it. The girl gave an abrupt meaningless giggle, her eyes still staring sightlessly ahead.
Helen felt a wave of revulsion. ‘I’ll get your drink,’ she announced coldly and moved quickly away.
She went back along the aisle, taking orders for drinks from various people. Huddled in a seat in the back, she found a young man sitting alone. He was a caboclo, a thin boy with a shock of thick black hair and handsome brown eyes. He was dressed rather poorly and Helen had thought when he boarded the plane