Chapter 37

She did the math in her head.

“Two hundred thirty three million, three hundred thirty three thousand, three hundred thirty three dollars and thirty three cents ... a year?”

“Pounds ... not dollars.”

Mrs. Morris had money ... was money ... old money, of course she knew the day’s exchange. 1.78au a pound. Or ... the other conversion... 58 cents.

“A year?”

She flushed ... I recognised the symptoms ... took her arm ... and directed her halting steps to a chair. A sturdy chair. We made it.

“Alice?”

Alice had been watching. She was on the spot with a cold, damp towel and a glass of tepid water.

“Hi ... I’m Alice,” Alice said. “I’m Abbie’s sister.” She noticed ‘that’ look. “I grew up with Abby ... she’s the only sister I’ve got.

“Take it slow with the water ... little sips. Abby? Brandy?”

I fetched. Daddy keeps a bottle of Richard Hennessy for occasions. I figured this was one. A splash in a snifter. Mrs Morris had an educated nose.

“Oh my god...” A sip. “That’s possibly the best brandy I ever tasted.” She ruminated... “Hennessy...” she looked at the bottle. “Richard ... that’s eight thousand a bottle.”

I almost dropped it. When I finally stopped coughing, I said, rather lamely, “Daddy likes it. Buys it by the shipper.”

A case is 6 bottles ... a shipper is six cases.

“The shipper?” Mrs Morris said, “David buys brandy by the shipper ... three hundred thousand at one go?”

I said, “That much? I need to spend some money. Alice?”

“Yes?”

“We need new clothes...”

“Ooo ... goody ... shopping!”

I unlimbered my phone. “Siri. Sydney Airport.”

“Calling.”

“SYD”

“Please hold.” Siri can sound extremely officious ... extremely.

“Hello.”

“SYD”

“By any possibility, do you have a spot I can park my aircraft close to Victoria’s Secret?”

“Very funny. Annabelle ... you’re not suppose to call me at work.”

“Not Annabelle ... contact the local aviation authority for information about Chilean Navy SNJs.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because he bought two of my aircraft.”

END

“Come on Alice.”

“Sydney?”

“Yup.” I said, “Where is your ‘chute?”

“Ooo ... flying.”

“Yes.”

“Lesson on the way?”

“Sure.”

“Bye, Mrs Morris. Lock up will you.”

Arm in arm we headed out ... singing.

“Off we go into the wild blue yonder, Climbing high into the sun; Here they come zooming to meet our thunder, At ‘em boys, Give ‘er the gun!”

When Alice and I go flying ... we always sing it.