Chapter 21: Holiday

The ‘phone rang a couple of weeks later and Nicola answered it. When she put it down her mother asked who had called.

“It was Sharifa, you remember her, my friend from Oxford. It’s her father’s birthday and she’s invited us both to the party.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Gwenllian, “what would I wear?”

‘Next to nothing, while we are in the harem,’ thought Nicola, but aloud she said, “Oh anything cool. It can get hot there.”

“Where?”

“Kobekistan, where she comes from.”

Gwenllian sighed resignedly, “And how do we get there? Flying costs money and we could hardly walk there, now could we?”

Nicola decided that part of the truth would be better than all of it.

“Mam, I told you. Her da is rich, and he calls her Princess. If she wants her friends there he’ll pay for the air tickets. Anyway I said yes, and we have to be at Cardiff Airport by half past ten tomorrow morning. We’ll be gone for a few days.”

Actually Sharifa had said, “Stay as long as you like,” but that also was not what her mother would want to hear.

Gwenllian had a horror of transport problems, so they caught a bus into the centre of Cardiff just before seven and then a train from Central Station at twenty to eight. As the bus from Rhoose station pulled up at the terminal Nicola saw an aeroplane of Air Kobekistan landing. Just before half past eight Nicola grabbed a luggage trolley and they went into the departures area.

“Sharifa said the tickets would be at the desk for us,” commented Nicola, but on none of the boards was there any sign of a flight to Kobekistan.

After they had been searching up and down the line of check-in desks for ten minutes with no success, a security guard approached them.

“Can I help you, ladies?” he asked.

“We are supposed to be flying to Kobekistan this morning,” said Nicola, “but I can’t find the check-in desk.”

“Could I see your tickets please?”

“We haven’t got them yet. They are supposed to be at the desk for us,” said Nicola, getting worried.

“Oh,” said the guard, “I don’t think there is a flight, but I’ll check.”

He spoke into his radio for a few moments, listened to the reply and then said, “If you ladies would come with me, please, I’ve found out what the problem is.”

He then pushed their trolley to one end of the departure hall and led the two women towards a door marked STRICTLY PRIVATE.

Before they reached it, it opened and a well-dressed man came forward to greet them.

“Mrs. and Miss Price? I am the manager of the airport. We are so pleased to have you with us today. If you would come this way, please.”

Gwenllian stopped exactly where she was, as distrustful of authority as ever, especially when it seemed at its most kindly. “What’s going on?” she demanded “How did you know our names?”

“We were not expecting you so early, or I would have been there to greet you,” said the manager, smiling, “If you would care to come this way, your departure lounge is through here.”

The security guard took their baggage trolley away, but before Gwenllian could say anything else, Nicola said, “Hush mam. It’s OK, really.”

Still wary, Gwenllian allowed herself to be led into an opulent lounge area which was completely devoid of other passengers. The contrast with the bustle of a busy airport in the summer was startling.

“This isn’t the lounge we used last time, when we went to Spain,” Gwenllian hissed to her daughter.

“Mam, trust me. It’s OK,” whispered Nicola, remembering the scene at Heathrow, and the whipping of the ground hostess during her previous flight to Kobekistan.

A trim olive-skinned hostess came forward and said, ~Your wishes are my command, Highnesses, ~ then, seeing the blank looks, switched to slightly stilted English, “Good morning, Highnesses. Would you wish take some refreshment, or to go aboard the aircraft immediately?”

“I’d love a cup of tea, if there’s time,” said Gwenllian.

“Of course, Highness,” and the hostess sped away, only to return almost immediately with a trolley on which sat a two silver teapots, a silver coffee pot, some beautiful bone china cups and saucers, milk, cream, sugar, and lemon slices. On a cake stand, each on an individual small plate, were some of the beautiful honey soaked cakes which Nicola recognised from her last visit to Kobekistan as very tempting, but very fattening.

“India or China, Highness?”

Nicola rescued her mother, who didn’t really understand the question, “Mam will have India, and I’ll have coffee, please.”

She reached over and took a cake.

“Try one of these mam; you’ll love them.”

Whispering, her mother asked, “How much are they? This all looks expensive to me.”

Nicola took the easy way out, “All included in the tickets, mam.”

After Gwenllian had demolished three of the cakes, and two cups of tea, the hostess led them to a walkway, and on to the ‘plane. Passing from the walkway, it was difficult to believe that this was an aircraft; inside the door was what looked like a fairly normal hallway, except for a second door at the far end. Half way along there were doors to left and right, and the whole passage was panelled in pale wood, or a very good imitation. Turning left, they were led into a small lounge, with two sofas, two armchairs, a television set, and small oval windows through which the airport buildings could be seen.