Once the airplane was off the ground and droning up to cruising altitude, and the No Smoking—Fasten Seat Belts sign had blinked out, Vicki and Cathy made their way up and down the aisle, chatting with their passengers, offering them chewing gum and magazines, and doing everything they could to make them comfortable and put them at their ease.
Mr. Eaton-Smith interested Vicki particularly. Maybe, she thought, it was his curious double name with the hyphen in the middle. Now, with his hat off, she could see that his large Roman-looking head was a little bald on top. And Vicki was again impressed by his air of dignity. When she came to his aisle seat, she said politely:
“Anything I can get for you, Mr. Eaton-Smith? A cup of coffee? A magazine perhaps?”
Mr. Eaton-Smith smiled. It was a curiously mechanical smile—polite but certainly not warm or cordial.
“No, thank you.” Then he added: “I think we’ll have a pleasant flight today.”
“Yes,” Vicki said. “Clear skies all the way. I can see that you’re a veteran air traveler, sir.”
Mr. Eaton-Smith seem flattered. “Yes, I think I might call myself that—since I’ve flown just about all over this globe of ours.”
“Oh?” Vicki said. “Are you a foreign correspondent? A writer?”
Mr. Eaton-Smith beamed. “No, but you’re close. I’m a travel lecturer, and I operate a small travel agency in Tampa. Just to have a sort of headquarters, as you might say.”
“Just ring if there’s anything I can do for you,” Vicki said.