A Masterful Man

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Davina Hastings breathed a sigh of relief and unclenched her hands. She didn't feel at home in small planes and the one she was in that had just landed was very small indeed. An eight-seater, it had seemed extraordinarily fragile to her to be flying across three hundred miles of the South Pacific from the Australian mainland to the island of Lord Howe. Fragile and cramped, so that she'd had to battle with claustrophobia as well as her other fears. Then, to compound matters, they'd had to descend through a storm to the airstrip-that was when she'd closed her eyes.

But, as the little plane zipped towards the terminal, she looked eagerly out of her window to gain some impression of Lord Howe, reputedly a gem of an island and a photographer's paradise, only to see a mist-wreathed mountainside and driving rain.

'Sorry about this, folks,' the pilot said cheerfully. 'The weather, I mean, but I can tell you this is an isolated front on its way to New Zealand and it should be fine as soon as it passes through, and it should do that quite quickly. Thank you for flying with our airline and I hope you all have wonderful holidays!'

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