“They'll probably never put me out there at my age, and you'll get me back like a bad penny at the end of the war. And then you'll be sorry, my friend,” he warned her. But that was all she wanted.

“And then what?” She tried to pin him down, but he wouldn't let her.

“Then I talk you into marrying Billy, which you should be doing yourself, not an old goat like me.” At thirty-eight, he was hardly an old goat, but no matter what she felt, he was still convinced he was too old for Cassie. She wondered sometimes if he hadn't seen her in diapers if he might have felt different.

“I don't happen to love Billy, if you care,” she explained with a grin, as they walked by the lake.

“That's absolutely immaterial. You'll have to marry him anyway.”

“Thank you.”

“Don't mention it.”

“Should we warn him?” Cassie loved being with him, he always made her laugh, even when he made her cry, which he had done a lot lately.

“Eventually. Might as well let the boy relax for a while. Besides he might bolt if he knew.”

“How flattering!” She gave him a shove and he almost tripped on the ice. He gave her a push then too, and a few minutes later they were rolling in the snow again and kissing.

They were perfect days, and over too soon, almost as soon as they had begun. She flew him to Chicago, and he took the train to New York, and from there he would return to England.

“Will you be able to come back again soon?” she asked as they stood waiting for the train in Union Station.

“I don't know. That was kind of a fluke. I'll have to see what happens once I'm back at Hornchurch.” She nodded. She understood that.

There were no promises again, only tears, and the aching feeling of knowing that he might not come back and this could be the last time she ever saw him. He kissed her one last time before he left, and she ran beside the train for as long as she could, and then he was gone, and she stood alone in the station.

It was a lonely flight back to Good Hope, and the next day she flew back to LA, and her apartment. She was desperately lonely for him this time, and tired of the ache of worry and not knowing if he was all right, if he'd be back, and if they'd ever find a way to be together. She wondered if he'd ever get over the objections to the difference in their ages, it was so hard to know what would happen.

In January, she flew to New York with Desmond and his new plane to demonstrate it for Charles Lindbergh. There were lots of photographs and newsreels too. And after that, it was a long, lonely spring for her, despite the long flights, the constant tests, the checking and rechecking of new equipment. She was racking up quite a reputation, for her skill and passion for flying. And she had begun meeting some of the women she had only read about for years, like Pancho Barnes and Bobbi Trout. They gave her whole life new dimension. She spent time with Nancy and Jane Firestone too. It was fun being with them, although she realized eventually that she never became as close friends with Nancy as she had hoped to. Maybe there was just too much difference in their ages.

She had dinner again with Desmond one night in April, and he surprised her by asking if she was involved with anyone. Given the businesslike relationship they shared, it struck her as an odd question, but she told him that she wasn't, and Nancy was still lining up her “escorts.”

“I'm surprised,” he said pleasantly.

“Just too ugly I guess,” Cassie smiled at him, and he couldn't help laughing as she joked. And in truth, she looked more spectacular than ever. If anything, she had gotten more beautiful, and Desmond had never been as pleased with any of his plans or projects.

“Maybe you work too hard,” he said thoughtfully, looking her straight in the eye. “Or is there someone at home?”

“Not anymore,” she smiled sadly. “He's in England. And he's not mine,” she added quietly. “He's his own. Very much so.”

“I see. That might change.” Desmond was intrigued by her, she was as good as any man at what she did, better perhaps, and far more serious about her work. She didn't seem to care at all about her social life, and even less about becoming famous. It was part of her charm, and part of what the public sensed, and why they loved her. In spite of her astonishing success and visibility in the past nine months, she had somehow managed to stay modest. He didn't know many women like that. He liked a lot of things about her, and he was surprised he did. It was rare for him to take a personal interest in his employees, except for unusual cases, like Nancy's.

“War does funny things to men,” he said. “Sometimes they change… sometimes they realize what's important to them.”

“Yes,” Cassie said with a wistful smile, “their bombers. I think fliers are a different breed of men. At least all the ones I know are. The women too. They're all a little crazy.”

“It's part of the charm.” He smiled at her, suddenly looking more relaxed than she'd ever seen him.

“I'll have to remember that,” she said, sipping her wine, and watching him. She wondered what made him tick, but there was no way of knowing. Even when he was being friendly, he was completely guarded. There was really no way of knowing him. He was careful to keep his distance. Nancy had told her that about him, and Cassie finally understood it.

“And then there are the rest of us.” He smiled at her again. “Those who live on the ground. So simple, and so lowly.”

“I don't think I'd say that,” she said quietly, as he watched her. “More sensible perhaps. More reasonable about what life is all about, more directed toward their goals. There's a lot of merit to that, I think.”

“And you? Where do you fall in all that, Cass? Up in the sky, or on the ground? You seem to live very successfully in both worlds, from what I've noticed.” But the sky was her preference, she lived to fly, and he knew that. All she did on the ground was pass time until she could get back in the air, and fly with the birds again.

And then he decided to spring his idea on her. It was still too soon, but not for the seed to be sown, like a precious baby. “What would you think of a world tour?” he asked cautiously, and she looked up, startled. Nick had warned her of that, and its dangers. He had said that that was what Williams had in mind all along. But how could he have known? She looked puzzled as she struggled for an answer.

“Now? Wouldn't it be awfully difficult?” The Germans had already invaded Norway and Denmark, and they were advancing toward Belgium and the Netherlands at that moment. “A lot of Europe would be inaccessible to us, and the Pacific is awfully sensitive,” It had affected Earhart's route, and that had been three years before. Things were so much worse now.

“We could probably get around it. It wouldn't be easy, but we could do it, if we had to. But I've always thought that was the ultimate. The round the world trip. If you did it right. It has to be carefully planned and brilliantly handled. And it's not for now of course. It would take at least a year of planning.”

“I've always thought it would be fantastic, but right now or even a year from now, I can't imagine how well do it.” She was intrigued by the idea, but nervous about it too, and mindful of Nick's warnings. But Desmond seemed so sure of what he wanted.

“Let me worry about that, Cass,” he said, touching her hand, looking excited for the first time since she'd known him. It was his dream. And he had shared it with her. “All you'd have to do is fly the very best plane in the sky. The rest is mine to worry about. If you'd ever want to do it.”

“I'd have to give it some thought.” It would certainly change her life. Her name would be a household word forever, just like Cochran or Lindbergh, Elinor Smith, or Helen Richey.

“Let's talk about it again this summer.” They both knew her contract would be up for renewal then. And there was no reason why she wouldn't want to renew with them. She made no secret of the fact that she loved what she was doing. But the world tour was something else. It was her dream too, but Nick had been so adamant about her not doing it for Williams.“… He's using you…” she could still hear his words… “Cassie… don't do it… it scares me…” But why not? What was wrong with it? And why shouldn't she? Nick was doing what he wanted, wasn't he? And most of the time, he didn't even bother to write her. She had only had two letters from him since Christmas. And they only told her what he was doing, and not what he felt for her. He was doing nothing to maintain his relationship with her. He thought it wasn't right for her, and he refused to encourage her, or ask her to wait for him. His letters were like bulletins from flight school.

Desmond had taken her dancing that night, and all he talked about as they whirled around the floor at Mocambo was his world tour. Now that he had shared it with her, he couldn't stop talking about it, and he felt sure that she would be as excited about it as he was.

He mentioned it to her again the following week, not to press her about it, but just in passing, as though it were a secret they shared, a goal they both longed for. It was obvious that this was something that meant a great deal to him, and now that he had shared it with her, he felt closer to her.

And given how busy he was, Cassie was startled when he asked if he could take her out for her twenty-first birthday. She was surprised he knew, but he had armies of people to remind him of minor details. Details were important to him, the smallest element of anything fascinated him, and he thought it was the key between the ordinary and perfection.

Not having anyone special to celebrate with, Cassie was pleased he remembered. He took her to the Victor Hugo Restaurant, and then dancing at Ciro's afterward for an evening which touched her deeply. He had a birthday cake for her at the restaurant and served champagne both there and at Ciro's. He had obviously checked with Nancy Firestone about all of Cassie's favorite things, and the entire meal was planned around them. Her favorite dinner, her favorite cake, her favorite songs. She felt like a little girl having a magical birthday. And afterward he gave her a diamond pin in the form of a plane, with the number twenty-one on its wings, and the word Cassie on its side. He had had it made months before by Cartier. He told her that after she opened it, and she couldn't believe the trouble he'd gone to.