‘Good gracious, Mummy,’ said Jennifer, ‘what age do you think I am? Can I have some money, please? I haven’t got any English money.’

She accepted the ten shilling note her mother handed to her, and went out scornfully.

The telephone rang by the bed. Mrs Sutcliffe went to it and picked up the receiver.

‘Hallo…Yes…Yes, Mrs Sutcliffe speaking…’

There was a knock at the door. Mrs Sutcliffe said, ‘Just one moment’ to the receiver, laid it down and went over to the door. A young man in dark blue overalls was standing there with a small kit of tools.

‘Electrician,’ he said briskly. ‘The lights in this suite aren’t satisfactory. I’ve been sent up to see to them.’

‘Oh—all right…’

She drew back. The electrician entered.

‘Bathroom?’

‘Through there—beyond the other bedroom.’

She went back to the telephone.

‘I’m so sorry…What were you saying?’

‘My name is Derek O’Connor. Perhaps I might come up to your suite, Mrs Sutcliffe. It’s about your brother.’

‘Bob? Is there—news of him?’

‘I’m afraid so—yes.’

‘Oh…Oh, I see…Yes, come up. It’s on the third floor, 310.’

She sat down on the bed. She already knew what the news must be.

Presently there was a knock on the door and she opened it to admit a young man who shook hands in a suitably subdued manner.

‘Are you from the Foreign Office?’

‘My name’s Derek O’Connor. My chief sent me round as there didn’t seem to be anybody else who could break it to you.’

‘Please tell me,’ said Mrs Sutcliffe. ‘He’s been killed. Is that it?’

‘Yes, that’s it, Mrs Sutcliffe. He was flying Prince Ali Yusuf out from Ramat and they crashed in the mountains.’

‘Why haven’t I heard—why didn’t someone wireless it to the boat?’

‘There was no definite news until a few days ago. It was known that the plane was missing, that was all. But under the circumstances there might still have been hope. But now the wreck of the plane has been found…I am sure you will be glad to know that death was instantaneous.’

‘The Prince was killed as well?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m not at all surprised,’ said Mrs Sutcliffe. Her voice shook a little but she was in full command of herself. ‘I knew Bob would die young. He was always reckless, you know—always flying new planes, trying new stunts. I’ve hardly seen anything of him for the last four years. Oh well, one can’t change people, can one?’

‘No,’ said her visitor, ‘I’m afraid not.’

‘Henry always said he’d smash himself up sooner or later,’ said Mrs Sutcliffe. She seemed to derive a kind of melancholy satisfaction from the accuracy of her husband’s prophecy. A tear rolled down her cheek and she looked for her handkerchief. ‘It’s been a shock,’ she said.

‘I know—I’m awfully sorry.’

‘Bob couldn’t run away, of course,’ said Mrs Sutcliffe. ‘I mean, he’d taken on the job of being the Prince’s pilot. I wouldn’t have wanted him to throw in his hand. And he was a good flier too. I’m sure if he ran into a mountain it wasn’t his fault.’