Chapter 13: Exeats

Nicola was still somewhat shaken by the events of her mother’s visit the previous weekend and when Sharifa suggested that they get away from Oxford for a few days she readily agreed. Then she remembered that her friend’s home was not in England, and that she would be ashamed to take this rich girl to her own home, a council house in an insalubrious part of Cardiff.

“Where can we go?” she asked apprehensively.

“Oh, I’ll sort it out. Let me see; today is Thursday and we have no lectures tomorrow, so we could leave in the morning and come back Sunday evening,” said Sharifa, “You go and have your bath.”

A few minutes on the telephone to the Kobekistani Embassy sufficed to fix a flight home the following day and back on Sunday.

Bright and early Friday morning Nicola asked, “Where are we going?”

“Wait and see,” was all the reply she got.

Just then the door bell rang and a huge man in uniform took their bags, leading the way to a waiting Rolls-Royce.

“Where are we going?” Nicola asked again, “I can’t afford much.”

“To the airport. It won’t cost anything.”

“Airport?” asked Nicola, “Where are we going?”

“Just sit back and enjoy,” her friend reassured her, “It’s all arranged, and it won’t cost you a penny.”

At Heathrow the car went to Terminal Five and pulled up beside a small but ornate entrance, well away from the crowds of arriving and departing passengers at the front. Sharifa led the way in and they were whisked by the doorman into a lift and up several floors. There they were met by a Ground Hostess in a smart baby-blue uniform with a little matching cap and matched court shoes. Nicola noticed with some amusement that even her fingernails were painted with the same shade of nail varnish.

~Salaam aleikhum. Welcome Princess. Will you take refreshment?~ she asked in Kobekistani Arabic.

~No refreshments, ~ Sharifa replied sharply in the same language, ~Cut out the Princess, Highness will do. Speak only in English as my friend does not know Arabic.~

“As your Highness wishes,” the hostess continued, “This way please; I have reserved a table for you.”

Sharifa ignored the woman and sat down at the nearest unoccupied table.

“We’ll sit here,” she said, handing the British Airways reserved sign to the Ground Hostess, “But is the aircraft not ready?”

“It is held up by Air Traffic Control, Highness,” was the reply.

Nicola sat down, resigned to a wait before they could go any further. Then a problem occurred to her.

“What about our luggage?” she asked Sharifa.

“All taken care of, Highness,” the Ground Hostess cut in before Sharifa could answer.

Giving the Hostess a sour look, Sharifa flipped her ‘phone open and selected a quick dial on it.

~Controller, ~ she snapped.

~Why are we still held on the ground at London?~ she asked moments later.

After listening for a few seconds she snarled, ~Well fix it. Now!~ and closed her ‘phone.

“What was that?” asked Nicola, “and what is this room?”

She waved at their very luxurious surroundings, where the uniformed staff outnumbered the passengers.

“This is a departure lounge, and I was trying to hurry them up,” her friend said.

“What about customs and passports and tickets?” Nicola asked, panicking as she realised she had left her passport at home in Cardiff.

“Not needed,” was the enigmatic reply from Sharifa.

It was less than five minutes later that the Air Traffic Controller in Swanwick was asked by her boss, “Why are you holding a Purple flight on the ground at Heathrow? Didn’t you know that Royalty have priority?”

“It’s OK, boss,” she replied cheerfully, “It’s only an equipment positioning move, there is nobody flying on it.”

“In that case, why is a Royal Princess having a hissy fit in the super-VIP lounge?”

“Oh, shit!”

The Ground Hostess rushed up to Sharifa and Nicola smiling broadly, “The flight has been cleared, Princess. Please follow me.”

To Nicola’s amazement Sharifa stayed where she was, and said, “I think I’ll have a cup of coffee.”

As the Ground Hostess walked away she could just be heard muttering, “Awkward bitch.”

Sharifa’s face became even more red with anger.

The Ground Hostess returned with the coffee, but Sharifa ignored it and ordered, “Take us to the aeroplane, now!”

Disapproval showed in every movement the woman made as she led the way to the flight gate. There she turned to leave them, but the Princess insisted that she should take them all the way to the actual aircraft. Shrugging, she did so with bad grace, and as they were greeted by the flight attendants she turned to go.

~I did not give you permission to leave us, ~ said Sharifa, icily, ~You will come with us on the journey.~

~I’m sorry, Princess. I can’t possibly do that, ~ the woman replied, a note of fear entering her voice.

~You are a Kobekistani citizen are you not?~

The Ground Hostess nodded.

~Then you do as you are told, or my father will deal with you, and that would be far worse than my wrath, ~ threatened the Princess.

The hapless woman went aboard the aircraft and the two girls followed her. They turned left, through a door while a flight attendant ushered the ground hostess elsewhere.

In the doorway, Nicola stopped, amazed. Instead of the rows of seats she had expected to see, there were four comfortable looking sofas, and some armchairs spread haphazardly round the large cabin. Somewhat incongruously there was also what looked like a vaulting horse to one side.