Conrad joined him at the window.
Flying out to sea was a small, single-winged aircraft, lit up by red neon lights. It looked like some strange bird of paradise as it swept around in a tight circle and came back towards the hotel.
“Some advertising stunt,” Conrad said, watching the plane without interest. His mind was busy thinking about Frances. The idea of taking her to Venice made his heart beat faster. The trip would give him a chance to try and straighten out her mind.
“Looks pretty good,” Forest said, leaning out of the window to see more of the plane as it came around the hotel and swept downwards towards the sea. “What’s he advertising, I wonder? Hey! Look at that, Paul.”
A little irritated by Forest’s childish interest, Conrad moved closer to the open window.
The plane was now flying just below the cliffs and practically level with the hotel gardens. A figure, lit up by red and blue fairy lights, was standing on one of the wings. It waved as the plane roared past the hotel.
“The reckless fool,” Conrad grunted. The things people will do for money.”
“When I was a kid,” Forest said, “I wanted to be a wing-walker. That guy’s certainly got a nerve. Look at him!”
The plane was returning now, still flying low. The wing-walker was standing on his hands, balanced precariously on the edge of the wing.
Faintly above the roar of the engine. Conrad could hear the excited cries of the people in the garden as they waved to the plane.