May 30th, 1989
Night flight from ATH – LGW
Presently in the back row of the TriStar with my crew rest staples: a cup of Earl Grey and yummy biscuits. We left Athens when we should have been going to bed! Tonight’s flight isn’t as busy as the outbound sector was, which is good, considering the fact I got a limited amount of sleep, thanks to Annabel.
When the phone in my room shrilled and woke me up, I lazily reached for it.
“Hello?” I said, sounding as groggy as I felt.
“Afternoon Miss McGarr. Rise and shine.”
“Oh, hello Annabel,” I yawned. “What time is it?”
“Time to get up! I’m coming to your room,” she barked.
I crawled out of bed, opened the curtains and made my way, slowly, to the door.
“You look ghastly,” Annabel remarked, bounding into my room.
“Gee thanks,” I said, collapsing on the bed. I was sorely tempted to slither back under the covers but thought better of it.
“I’ve already been to see Kimberly and believe it or not, she looks even worse than you do. She simply refuses to leave her room today so we shan’t be seeing her.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “How come you’re so full of beans?”
“I just heard from my new chap. He rang from Paris.”
“Oh good lord, no, Mummy and Daddy would disown me. No, he’s in Paris on business.”
“Do tell,” I said, plumping up the pillow behind me.
“He’s simply divine. His name is Henry and he’s desperately in love with me,” she said, tossing her hair to the side.
“How did you meet him?” I asked.
“He rows with my brother, has done for years. Speaking of, you simply must join us at Henley this year. It’s the sesquicentenary.”
“Miss McGarr,” she said, standing up, placing her hands on her slender hips. “Please go and splash some water on your face.”
“Annabel,” I said, heading for the bathroom, “You are, by far, the bossiest girl ever.”
“It’s the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary,” she called out.
“Of the Henley Regatta?”
“Ya. The Henley Royal Regatta.”
“I’d love to go,” I said, patting my face dry with the super soft hotel towel. Annabel appeared in the doorway.
“Then you shall. Where’s your Filofax, so I can pop some dates in it.”
“On the bedside table.”
“Now do hurry and get dressed. We’re meeting some friends of my cousin Alfie.”
“Uh-huh,” she uttered, scribbling furiously in my Filofax.
“To do what?”
“We’re taking a private tour of the city with two of Athens’ most eligible bachelors.”