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Ralph drolly. 'A lethal cocktail. So when's the happy event?'
'Friday, 18 December in the Terminal 6 register office at
Heathrow,' Paul replied. 'And a breakfast reception afterwards
in the VIP lounge. You'll all be there to see off 005 on
her first fare-paying flight, therefore none of you will have
excuses.'
'There'll be a press call at the reception,' Sophia added.
'Good publicity for the company, therefore the company
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t will foot the bill. Swiss prudence.'
* It was the first time that the guests had heard the ever
correct Sophia utter a categoric statement and a joke.
'Not forgetting a honeymoon in Australia,' said Paul.
'There's a flight leaving that morning that will get us there
in under two hours.'
Claudia frowned. 'You'll be flying on 005?'
'Of course,' Paul replied. 'But we will be paying for our
seats.'
Ralph's laughter boomed around the room. 'So much for
your loony socialist views about no VIPs on the first flight.'
He nodded to the television. 'So you'll be bumping a couple
of winners?'
Paul was unperturbed by the jibe. He turned his sorrowing
gaze on Ralph. 'Not at all. I had held two seats back for
emergencies. Now seriously, Ralph, if you were marrying
Sophia, wouldn't you regard getting on honeymoon as fast
as possible as an emergency?'
Even Sophia looked faintly embarrassed at the laughter
that greeted Paul's comment. Ralph was tempted to make a
remark about heart attacks but sensed that that might be
stepping over the trip wire with Paul Santos, and quite
definitely with Sophia.
'Now let's watch the show and see what manner of
travelling companions we'll have,' said Paul.
Italy won the first draw. A glass booth rose out of the
floor in the centre of a packed Rome Colosseum. Inside was
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a girl clothed in a blizzard of tickets like a kid's snowstorm
shake toy. With much eye-rolling, a male presenter reached
through a flap in the booth and, to a chorus of phoney
squealing from the girl, seized ten tickets which he passed to
a female presenter.
'This is terrible,' someone groaned. 'They've turned our
spaceplane into a circus!'
Paul shrugged. 'It's publicity. Anyway, I never thought to
include a "no tack" clause in BA's contract.'
Six of the lucky couples were in the audience. Spotlights
swung and ushers plunged into the mob to herd the jubilant
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winners on to the stage. They all appeared to be overweight.
'Haven't they heard of Leptin in Italy?' Ralph moaned.
'There's at least a thousand kilos in that lot!'
Everyone laughed at his woebegone expression.
Jez was thinking much the same thing as he watched the
show in Richmond. Brussels was next. Four bulky winners.
Another hour dragged by. It was all very boring so he
channel-hopped, managing to follow three movies simultaneously
- something that he could never do with his
mother present because it always drove her to distraction.
Finally it was the turn of London and the three movies
were abandoned. Instead, there was a break in the Wembley
Stadium pop concert and a swirl of bagpiped Highlanders
around a slow-turning glass drum on the centre stage. The
lights dimmed, leaving a single spotlight trained on the
drum. Jez couldn't help sitting on the edge of his seat as the
bagpipes died away. He knew that his feeling of anticipation
was childish. There were over a quarter of a million tickets
in that drum. The odds were such that he was unlikely to
win, but at least he was involved in the show.
A minor Royal put an evening-gloved hand into the drum
and passed the first ticket to the presenter. He read out the
number and 81006 appeared on a giant screen above the
audience.
'A Mr and Mrs Kenton from Hull!' The presenter
announced. 'We'll be trying to get through to them in a
minute! May I have the next ticket please, Your Highness.'
72803.
Jez relaxed. Well, that was it then; the number was too
close to his own, 72739, for him to stand any chance of
winning now.
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A couple from Wales followed.
Next was a Mr Edward Lithgow from Hampton Court.
Jez decided that that definitely knocked him out of the
frame. Hampton Court was only a few miles from
Richmond. There wouldn't be two winners that close
together.
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Another ticket was passed to the presenter.
'72739!' A pause, then: 'A single seat winner who doesn't
wish to be identified!'
Jez's world imploded like a star collapsing into a black
hole in which time's arrow and rational thought became
imprisoned by the colossal gravity. A finger, which could not
possibly be his because he was suddenly gripped by a
terrible paralysis, somehow managed to stab the buffer store
button on the TV's remote control. A bar graph appeared at
the foot of the screen showing that the television's memory
was grabbing frames but Jez's vision had gone into extreme
soft focus. The only information his glazed eyes were [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]