Free A Mighty Endeavor by Stuart Slade Page A

Station, Shannon, Ireland
    “Welcome to the Irish Republic, Madam.” The white-coated steward was as deferential as his position dictated. Each of the forty odd passengers on the Pan-American Clipper had paid 375 dollars for a single ticket on the twelve hour flight over the Atlantic. They’d been served a six-course evening meal before the long night flight. Eleanor Gwynne had been woken by the jolt of the flying boat landing in the Shannon Estuary. She’d spent the night in her curtained bunk-bed, soothed into sleep by the drone of the engines and the tranquil rust and beige color scheme around her. Now she smelled the heady aroma of fresh coffee.
    “Breakfast will be served shortly. In the mean time, please accept a glass of Irish coffee, with the compliments of Pan-American Airlines.”
    Eleanor looked at the glass in front of her. A brandy glass, filled with black coffee, topped with a thick layer of fresh cream. The steward had already moved to the next passenger and was repeating the morning ritual. She sipped the coffee; her senses were kick-started into action by the strong dose of Irish whiskey. She finished it off with relish. Eleanor still had time to visit the lady’s dressing room before sitting down to the first course of breakfast.
    “A fruit and cream cheese salad, Madam? Or perhaps you would prefer our green bean salad? We also offer a fine Caesar salad mixed to your order from the serving trolley. And your choice of fresh fruit juice?”
    “I’ll have the fruit please, with orange juice.” To Eleanor’s amazement, the juice really was fresh-squeezed and the salad was made with fresh-sliced fruit. She looked over to Achillea who had just settled into her seat across the table. “We don’t eat this well at home.”
    “Did you try that Irish coffee?” Achillea had settled for the green bean salad and pineapple juice. “We’ll have to try that out on Phillip when we get back. I’d like to know how they get the cream to stay on top of the coffee though.”
    “Pour it over the back of a silver spoon, madam.” The steward was back. “I would caution madam that it takes some practice to get just right though. May we offer you a Creole omelette, eggs Florentine or a south-western scramble with your choice of meats and hashed potatoes?”
    By the time Eleanor had worked her way through her eggs Benedict, croissants and another Irish coffee, she was feeling slightly comatose. It was with a certain degree of relief that she heard the engines start up and felt the big flying boat taxying out to take off. That was when Gusoyn entered the cabin and joined them. He also looked well-fed. “I hope you unmarried ladies have been fed as well as us unmarried gents.”
    Eleanor snorted slightly, one thankfully masked by a judicious roar as the four engines increased power. The passenger deck of the flying boat was divided into cabins; the cabin for unmarried women was well separated from that for bachelors. The niceties had to be observed. “Superbly. Thank you, ducks. How long until we get to Southampton?”
    “I asked our steward. It is a two and a half hour flight so we should be landing in Southampton at ten. Our train for Nottingham leaves two hours later. We have a Pullman coupe reserved for us. We should be at your family home by six. Loki has told them which train we are on. By the way, I hope you did eat well. It may be our last chance for quite a while. Food is still rationed in Britain, you know.”
    “You mean they’ve kept rationing in place, even though the war is over? Why?”
    “Last year, Britain imported 20 million tons of foodstuffs per year, including more than half of its meat and three quarters of its cheese, sugar, fruits, cereals and fats.” Gusoyn reeled the figures off with gloomy relish. “Bacon, meat, tea, jam, butter, sugar, biscuits, breakfast cereals, cheese, eggs, milk and canned fruit have all been rationed. Bread and potatoes have not; not yet, at any rate. If it is