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history. Particularly those of England. You can imagine, Mrs. Logan, how much enjoyment your distinguished books give me.” Mr. Hazard seemed rather distinguished himself, Cherry thought, as the other two conversed. Mr. Hazard also seemed to possess an impressive knowledge of art, judging from Martha’s interest in what he said. Yes, he had often been abroad; yes, sometimes collecting a few works of art, he admitted, “but chiefl y for study and the refreshment of travel and to see my friends.
    “Tell me, Mrs. Logan,” he asked, “what do you think of the historical portraits in the Queen’s Gallery at Buckingham Palace?”
    Martha Logan said she admired the Rembrandt and Holbein portraits very much, then asked his opinion about other paintings in the collection. Cherry noticed that Mr. Hazard quickly, deftly changed the subject.

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    Martha did not seem to mind, but Cherry wondered.
    Was he pretending to know more than he actually did?
    They were deep in conversation, agreeing, disagreeing, comparing notes. In the seat ahead the young man’s head was cocked out in the aisle as if he were listening—until a stewardess came by carrying lunch trays. The stewardess wanted to serve the injured passenger fi rst. Mr. Hazard seemed to be annoyed at the interruption, thanked Martha Logan, and excused himself.
    “He’s an interesting man,” Martha said, as Cherry cut up her meat for her. “It’s fun fi nding an art enthusiast on the plane!”
    “Well, cheers,” Cherry said, “and now please try to eat something.” Her patient, still remarking on the conversation, had to be coaxed, all but fed. After lunch Cherry opened the small canvas fl ight bag she had packed with a few comforts for her patient, took out soft knitted slippers, and helped Martha put them on.
    “How you spoil me,” her patient said. “I feel like an overgrown infant. Don’t be surprised if I give forth with baby talk.”
    “You’ll be self-reliant soon,” Cherry said. “Try to sleep now,” she advised, offering her dark glasses. The light up here above the clouds was brilliant, though less bright than before. In fact, although Cherry’s wristwatch—on New York time, Eastern Daylight Sav-ing Time—read one o’clock, actually noon, outside it looked like midafternoon.

    38 CHERRY
    AMES,
    COMPANION
    NURSE
    Her patient napped for only about twenty minutes.
    Then Cherry slipped Martha’s shoes on for her, and they started for a shaky walk again. This time, the young man in the seat ahead gave Martha a hand as the plane swayed. In his quick movement, he dropped his book, and Martha noticed it was a mystery story.
    “I love these,” she said to the young man. Cherry looked surprised. “Oh, yes, I put two mysteries into my big suitcase when you weren’t looking. You know, tracking down historical facts that are half lost is a kind of detective work.”
    “I’ve read your historical novels, Mrs. Logan,” the young man said. “In fact, I assign them to my classes for background reading. I’m Peter Holt. I teach English literature at—” He named a state university in the Northwest.
    “What—not American literature?” Cherry asked teasingly.
    “That’s a point,” Martha Logan said, laughing. “This is Cherry Ames, Mr. Holt. She bullies me into walking.
    Come and talk to us after our parade.” They moved off. Most of the passengers were dozing after lunch. Cherry noticed that Mr. Hazard was asleep. A stewardess came and asked if Mrs. Logan or her nurse needed anything, but Cherry answered, “No, thanks.” On their return to their seats, Martha seemed ready to rest. Cherry settled her comfortably, and in a few minutes she closed her eyes.
    Someone whispered, “Can you come out and talk to me?” It was Peter Holt. Cherry decided her patient

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    might sleep for a while, so she crawled past her and followed the young man. They went to stand in an open area at the end of the cabin. She could