“Miss, what’s your name?”
“Victoria Barr. But all my friends call me Vicki.”
“Thank you, Vicki.” Mr. Tytell relaxed in his seat and closed his eyes.
As Vicki turned to go down the aisle to the galley, she noticed out of the corner of her eye that Mr. Eaton-Smith, from his seat across the way, was looking at her and Mr. Tytell with a curious interest. The next moment, the dignified gentleman turned his attention again to the magazine he had been reading.
Now it was time for lunch, and Vicki and Cathy had their hands full preparing lunches for the more than sixty passengers who were on the flight today.
She glanced out a window. The ship was flying above Virginia now, where scattered white patches of snow were melting in the brown fields. Soon they would be approaching the green fields of the Carolinas. There wasn’t much time to get the passengers fed. Vicki forgot everything in her concentration on her job.
Vicki worked her way up the aisle of the plane serving the luncheons, carrying one tray at a time, making sure that each passenger had a cushion on his lap upon which to rest it, inquiring whether he would care for coffee or tea. When she came to Mr. Eaton-Smith’s seat, she noticed that he had moved across the aisle and was now sitting next to old Mr. Tytell. The old man was dozing, his eyes closed. Mr. Eaton-Smith put a finger to his lips.
“This gentleman seemed to be ill,” he whispered. “I thought I had better move over here and see if there was anything I could do for him.”
“That’s very kind of you, sir,” Vicki said, as she placed Mr. Eaton-Smith’s lunch tray on his lap. Old Mr. Tytell’s eyes fluttered, and their glance caught Vicki’s for a split second. They looked like a begging puppy dog’s eyes, she thought.
In a few minutes she had brought the tray for the old man and helped him steady it on his lap. He picked up a fork and began to toy listlessly with his food, keeping his eyes fixed upon his plate.