HEDY LAMAAR<br/><br/>Benson returned on cue and I finished my bath and lay on the retractable leather couch that folds down to cover the boxed-in bath in my small boudoir. Everything designed to save weight and space yet still giving the most luxury without breaking the bank.<br/><br/>I have a very good and purely professional relationship with Benson. He has never ever put a word, a look or a hand wrong and the subject of any other relationship other than a pure business association has never come up. He's my butler, waiter, gopher, security man, bouncer and masseur. He does other various jobs as well such as air-taxiing VIPs or important packages and generally listens while I bitch at the world.<br/><br/>Right now he was using his massage skills to their fullest effect and I sighed and groaned and murbled small nothings as his skilled big hands worked out all the twists and knots the foreman's saggy couch had put in. Even though I lay naked on my front with just a small towel covering my behind he never put a finger wrong and it was quite usual for me to roll lover onto my back (my hips still covered) so he could massage my front as well.<br/><br/>I conducted business simply by raising my voice a little and talking through the closed boudoir door as various messages of progress reports came to me via Joe or other crew members from my main office. At two Joe reported a suited man at the base of the tower. I told Benson that was plenty, thank you and he should wash up, change into his security gear and bring our guest up. I wanted him shown quickly to his quarters, it would be rude to leave him standing alone out there and the fewer people who saw him the better.<br/><br/>While Benson did his security guard/doorman/bell boy act I wiped the scented oils off and got dressed. A firm but practical day corset today, fine silk bloomers, skin coloured nylons and high but practical heels. Over it all a soft silk slip in white and a knee length day dress in a cream silk with a bold and cheerful flower print of roses entwined with vines. The dress was tightly tailored to my wasp-waist and flared out spectacularly in a wide generously cut skirt. The neckline was low and accentuated by a string of pearls. I put my hair up in a practical bun, good for moving about the ship. A few squirts of Chanel No5, a dash here and there of eyeliner, shadow, blusher and I was done. My toe- and fingernails had been manicured by Benson this morning as the ship was being raised to the tower – their blood red colour matched my lipstick.<br/><br/>I waited in the entry vestibule behind the nose to welcome our important guest aboard. There was a small lounge area here useful for meeting and greeting before visitors descended by a small electric elevator to the main deck lower down in the hull, a deck above the control gondola where a wider walkway gave access to the small number of private cabins (usually occupied by the senior crew). This deck also gave access astern to the remaining cargo bay (now the pilots barracks) and abaft that, the plane maintenance hanger.<br/><br/>On this deck there was also a small guest dining room plus crew mess hall and a kitchen/serving area plus an observation lounge with panoramic windows where guests could promenade, smoke or read the paper, though these areas often doubled up as extra cargo space when we were not carrying passengers.<br/><br/>My own quarters were on the lowest deck, one deck down from these cabins and crew areas, reached by the elevator at its lowest level. It came to rest in another small vestibule behind the control gondola and whose other door led to the captain's quarters via Benson's cubby hole.<br/><br/>Benson had gone down to meet our guest and the two were travelling up in the big tower elevator.