It is so small. Centaine hesitated on the wing. So are you, but I think you are also afraid, no? Afraid, ha! She flashed a look of utter scorn at him, and began to climb in on top of him.

This was a complicated business. which involved lifting her skirts above her knees and then balancing precariously over the open cockpit, like a beautiful bird settling on its clutch of eggs. Michael could not resist the temptation, and as she came down on top of him, he ran his hand up under the skirts, almost to the junction of luscious silk-clad thighs. Centain squealed with outrage. You are forward, monsieur! and she plopped down on to his lap.

Michael fastened the safety-belt over both of them and then nuzzled her neck below the edge of the helmet. You are in my power now. You cannot escape. I am not sure that I wish to, she giggled.

It took some further minutes for them to arrange all Centaine's skirts and furs and petticoats, and to make sure that Michael could manipulate the controls with her strapped on to his lap.

All set, he told her, and taxied to the end of the field, giving himself every inch of runway that he could, for the earth was soft and the strip short. He had ordered Mac to remove the ammunition from both guns and drain the coolant from the Vickers, which saved almost sixty pounds in weight, but still they were overloaded for the length of runway available to them.

Hold on, he said in her ear, and opened the throttle and the big scoutplane bounded forward.

Thank God for the south wind, he murmured as he felt her unstick from the mud and strive mightily to lift them into the air.

As they scraped over the far wall, Michael banked slightly to lift his port wing over one of the oaks, and then they were climbing away. He felt how rigid Centaine was in his lap, and he thought she was really afraid. He was disappointed.

We are safe now, he shouted over the engine beat, and she turned her head, and he saw in her eyes not fear but ecstasy.

It's beautiful, she said, and kissed him. To know that she shared his passion for flight delighted him.

We will go over the chateau, he told her, and banked away steeply, dropping down again.

For Centaine it was the second most marvelous experience of her whole life better than riding or music, almost as good as Michael's loving. She was a bird, an eagle, she wanted to shout her joy aloud, she wanted to hold the moment for ever. She wanted to always be on high with the wild wind howling around her and the strong arm of the man she loved holding her protectively.

Below her lay a new world, familiar places that she had known since her earliest childhood, now viewed from a different and enchanting dimension. This is the way the angels must, see the world! she cried, and he smiled at the fancy. The chateau loomed ahead of them, and she had not realized how big it was, or how pink and pretty was the roof of baked tiles. And there was Nuage in the field behind the stables, galloping ahead of them, racing the roaring yellow aircraft, and she laughed and shouted in the wind, Run, my darling! and then they passed over him, and she saw. Anna in the gardens, straightening up from her plants as she heard the engine, shading her eyes, peering up at them. She was so close that Centaine could see the frown on her red face, and she leaned far out from the cockpit. Her yellow scarf flowed behind her in the slipstream as she waved, and she saw the look of crumpled disbelief on Anna's face as they flashed by.

Centaine laughed in the wind and called to Michael, Go higher. Go up higher. He obeyed and she was never still for a moment, twisting and hopping about in his lap, leaning out of the cockpit first on one side, then on the other.

Look! Look! there is the convent, if only the nuns could see me now. There, that is the canal, and there is the cathedral at Arras, oh, and there- Her excitement and enthusiasm were infectious, and Michael laughed with her, and when she turned her head back to him, he kissed her, but she broke away.

oh, I don't want to miss a second! Michael picked out the main airforce base at Bertangles; the runways formed a cross of mown green turf through the dark forest, with the cluster of hangars and buildings nestling in the arms of the cross.

Listen to me, he shouted in her ear. You must keep your head down while we land. She nodded. When I give you the word, jump down and run into the trees. You will find a stone wall on your right. Follow it for three hundred metres until you reach the road. Wait there. Michael joined the Bertangles circuit in textbook fashion, taking advantage of his sedate down-wind leg to scrutinize the base for any activity which might indicate the presence of high-ranking officers or other potential troublemakers. There were half a dozen aircraft parked in front of the hangars, and he saw one or two figures working on them or wandering about amongst the buildings.

Looks as though it's clear, he muttered, and turned crosswind and then on to final approach, with Centaine scrunched down on his lap, out of sight from the ground.

ichael came in high, like a novice; he was still at fifty feet when he passed the hangars, and he touched down deep at the far end of the runway and let his rollout carry them almost to the edge of the forest before he swung broadside and braked hard.

Get out and run! he told Centaine, and boosted her out of the cockpit, Hidden from the hangars and buildings by the fuselage of the SE5a, she hoisted up her skirts, tucked her leather bag under her arm, and scampered into the trees.

Michael taxied back to the hangars and left the SE5a on the apron.

Better sign the book, sir, a sergeant mechanic told him as he jumped down.

Book? New procedure, sir, all flights have to log in and out. Damned red tape, Michael groused. Can't do a thing without a piece of paper these days. But he went off to find the duty officer.

Oh yes, Courtney, there is a driver for you. The driver was waiting behind the wheel of a black Rolls-Royce parked at the back of No. 1 hangar, but as soon as he saw Michael he sprang out and stood to attention.

Nkosana! he grinned with huge delight, his teeth gleaming in his dark moon-shaped face, and he threw Michael a sweeping salute that quivered at the peak of his cap. He was a tall young Zulu, taller even than Michael, and he wore the khaki uniform and puttees of the African Service Corps.

Sangane! Michael returned the salute, grinning as widely, then impulsively hugged him.

To see your face is like coming home again. Michael spoke easy fluent Zulu.

The two of them had grown up together, roaming the grassy yellow hills of Zululand with their dogs and hunting-sticks.

Naked they had swum together in the cool green pa ols of the Tugela river, and fished them for eels as long and thick as their arms. They had cooked their game on the same smoky fire, and lain beside it in the night, studying the stars and seriously discussing the occasions of small boys, deciding on the lives they would live and the world they would build when they were grown men.

What news from home, Sangane? Michael demanded as the Zulu opened the door of the Rolls. How is your father? Mbejane, Sangane's father, was the old servant companion and friend of Sean Courtney, a prince of the royal house of Zulu, who had followed his master to other wars, but was now too old and infirm, and was forced to send his son in his place.

They chatted animatedly, as Sangane drove the Rolls out of the base and turned on to the main road. On the back seat Michael stripped his flying gear to reveal his dress uniform, complete with wings and decorations, that he wore beneath.

Stop over there, Sangane, at the edge of the trees. Michael jumped out and called anxiously, Centaine! She stepped out from behind one of the tree trunks and Michael gaped at her. She had used the time since he had left her to good effect, and he realized now why she brought the leather bag. Michael had never seen her wearing make-up before, but she had applied it so artfully that he could not at first fathom the transformation. It was simply that all her good points seemed enhanced, her eyes more luminous, her skin more glowing and pearly.