Night Flight to Frankfurt

By James Stranger

Sunday the thirteenth of February 2005. It is ten minutes to midnight. It is ten minutes to Valentine’s Day. David James occupies the rear starboard window seat of a Lufthansa jumbo jet. The adjoining aisle seat is free. At 00.05 the jumbo is due to embark on a thirteen hour night flight from Hong Kong to Frankfurt. David begins to hope he that he will have the two seats to himself but it is not to be. At the last moment a young woman, diminutive, oriental, attractive, marches resolutely down the aisle and slips down into the free seat. “Hello,” she says with a smile “my English name is Sunny. We sit together, I think.”
This is the lead in to a remarkable conversation, amusing, confessional, intimate and romantic, that continues deep into the small hours and then resumes through the final stages of the flight. At journey’s end, though there is an abrupt parting, forced by connecting flights, there can be little doubt that at some time in the near future there will be a further conversation elsewhere.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jan 16, 2017
• ISBN: 9781326918491

Book preview

Night Flight to Frankfurt

Night Flight to Frankfurt

A Tale of Romance that Blossomed On A Plane

As Told To

James Stranger

Night Flight To Frankfurt

First Published 2017

Copyright © 2017 James Stranger

Standard Copyright license

Published by Lulu

This book is a work of   fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents Are either products   of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is   purely coincidental.

ISBN 978-1-326-91849-1

James Stranger

James Stranger is British but spends a great deal of his time

in the Far East.  He   has two Children.  His wife is a Chinese     National.Night Flight To Frankfurt is   his first work of fiction.

To My Wife

Night Flight To Frankfurt

Naught’s had all’s spent

Shakespeare Macbeth.

Chapter One

Sunday the 13th of February 2005. The Lufthansa jumbo sits on the tarmac of Hong Kong’s new international Chek Lap Kok airport, docked at gate thirty six of the massive terminal building.

David sits almost at the rear of the cattle class saloon. He has a window seat on the starboard side of the plane and the single adjoining aisle seat remains free. The time is 23.50. Ten minutes to midnight. Ten minutes to Valentine’s Day. At 00.05 hrs the jumbo is due to depart on a thirteen hour night flight to Frankfurt. The ordered chaos of boarding is drawing to a close. Already members of the cabin crew are working their way along the aisles counting heads and closing the overhead lockers, pausing, smiling politely, smiling professionally and offering assistance to the odd passenger or so still stowing bags. David begins to hope that he will have the two seats to himself.

Briefly, David turns his head and peers out of the window. The night is fine and, by Hong Kong standards, the air is clear. The pollution haze from mainland China is being held at bay by an on shore breeze. He can see the shadowy bulks of other aircraft, other jumbos, littered among the innumerable bays and endless lengths of taxiway tarmac. Beyond the planes the lights of the main terminal building twinkle, dwindling away into the distance, reaching towards yet more lights rearing skywards, marking out the high rise, high density; government owned flats of Tung Chung. This was a tiny backwater fishing village before the airport was built. But now it is a sprawling, still expanding, new town. Behind the high rise is a backcloth of darkness punctuated only by the twin navigation beacons of neighbouring Lantau and Sunset Peaks.

David turns back from the window. He blinks as his vision adjusts to the brightly lit cabin and then smiles wryly. A young woman, a latecomer, is marching briskly down the aisle and he knows with absolute certainty that she is going to occupy the seat next to his. This does not constitute a great feat of intuition. There are no other seats left.

The young woman stops and, clearly short sighted, peers  at the seat numbers. She is wearing a pair of wire framed bottle bottom spectacles which somehow, quite unaccountably, seem to enhance rather than mar her appearance. Her face, which appears to be clear of makeup, is rounded with a broad, flawless brow, giving an appearance that is extremely attractive. Behind the spectacles her dark eyes are deeply expressive and shine with a lively intelligence. Her hair is short and brushed back behind her ears which are adorned with tiny pearls mounted on silver. David guesses her age at twenty. She has a small travel case with her and a large, light brown, almost orange, leather handbag. She deposits both on the seat beside him. She unfastens a side compartment of the case and takes out a toilet bag. She stoops gracefully and slips this beneath the seat. She straightens up, refastens the case and lifting it, rises on tiptoe to stow it in the overhead locker. All of this is done with great efficiency and economy of movement.

She is wearing a good winter coat, knee length and zipped up to the throat. The coat is quilted and made up of some windproof and possibly rainproof material. The coat has large pockets at the hips and is bright mauve, an outrageous colour which yet, on her, does not seem the slightest bit garish. David smiles at the coat. The outside temperature is hovering on fifteen degrees centigrade. But this is quite cool to a native of Hong Kong and the reported temperature in Frankfurt is minus five. She will need the coat on disembarkation. Such a garment does not fit easily into a small case. She is probably very sensible to wear it.

David watches bemused as the coat is unzipped, removed and stowed in the locker with the case. Beneath she is wearing jeans and a high necked turquoise sweater. The sweater has an attractive red rose motif embroidered at an angle across the breasts. The breasts, he cannot help but note, are very small. But they are also extremely desirable. She is shod in the smallest pair of Doc Marten style boots he has ever seen. Her hands are tiny and appear extremely delicate. He notes she does not have a watch and her fingers are free of rings.

She lifts the orange handbag and slips down into the seat. She plonks the bag on her lap. She turns sideways and looks David full in the face. Hello, my English name is Sunny, she announces brightly. We sit together, I think.

Yes, it would appear so, David smiles in some bemusement. He has made the long haul flight from Hong Kong to Europe at least a dozen times. But never before has he had an attractive young woman sit next to him. Neither has a fellow passenger ever introduced themselves so forthrightly. My name is David James. He extends his hand which, though not over large for a man’s, envelopes Sunny’s hand completely.

Oh, are you then perhaps the famous footballer; yes? Sunny looks at David wide eyed and smiling. He wonders whether she is serious and, knowing how literal Chinese can be, he cannot make up his mind whether she is or is not. Her voice, whilst not high pitched, has a slight discordant edge which makes it oddly attractive. He finds himself liking her immensely. But, no, it is more than that, it is perhaps her open forthright manner, but he feels as if he has known her and liked her for years. This is very strange. He is quite reserved, quite shy and he does not make friends easily, particularly with members of the opposite sex.

I’m sorry if I disappoint you, but, no, I’m not that David James. David laughs easily, feeling pleasantly relaxed. I think you would have to look for him in first class.

Ah, yes, I should have thought. Sunny giggles girlishly. I forget that footballers are paid so much money. But like the famous David James you are English; yes? She seems anxious that her assumption should be correct.

Oh, yes, assuredly I am English, David nods. And you are Chinese?

Yes, of course, Sunny says scornfully but then laughs. What else would I be?

Briefly David is tempted to suggest to Sunny that she could be taken for Japanese, or Korean, or Vietnamese, or even Tai. But he doesn’t because it would be pointless. Sunny is right. Unmistakably, Chinese is stamped on her and through her. It is in her stature and on her features, her lips, her nose, her eyes, her rounded face and her brow. It as if the whole four thousand years of the Chinese Nation’s existence is embodied in her person. However, if David had been asked to explain in practical terms why he thought this was so he would not have known where to start.

Yes, of course, David echoes and smiles. But as you are Chinese, I presume you must also have a Chinese name. May I ask what it is? After all, we are still in China.

That is true, Sunny concedes. Yes, of course I have a Chinese name. The name I was given at birth. But we are about to depart for Germany and then I travel on to U.K. I want the local people to feel comfortable with me and so I have taken an English name. I think it is important to do this: though, actually, I am staying in Scotland.

Ah, then really you should have chosen a Scottish name, David says, like Morag or Flora, or even Fiona, perhaps.

Oh, no, Sunny shakes her head with a frown. I do not think I want to be a Morag or a Flora and even less a Fiona; I do not like such names. Is Sunny all right, do you think?

Oh, Sunny is fine, David says with a smile. But I really would like to know your Chinese name. You see if I know your real name I shall feel that I really know you.

Well, I am me, of course, is the response. Do you think a different name creates a change in the person?

Yes, David nods somberly. I believe it can do.

Mmmh, Sunny appears to ponder a moment. Well, my Chinese name is Sumei, she pronounces this Suemay. Do I seem changed now that you know this?

I’m not sure, David laughs. But Sumei is a lovely name and quite English as well. May is an English name in its own right and so is Sue, though it’s also an abbreviation for Susan.

Really? Sumei seems quite taken aback. Well, they are very nice names; particularly May. But I do like Sunny. It makes me feel bright and warm. It is also not so very different from my own name.

Sunny is great, David assures her. And undoubtedly you are very bright and very warm. But please, until we land at Frankfurt, may I call you Sumei? I like it very much.

Oh, if you like it so much you may call me Sumei all the time. As Sumei speaks her eyes are sparkling with pleasure. But then she falls silent and her face clouds into a frown. Of course I forget, she says after a moment. We shall say goodbye in Frankfurt; unless you are traveling on to Glasgow, of course. That is my destination.

No, I’m sorry, David shakes his head. I’m bound for Manchester.

Ah Manchester, Sumei’s eyes gleam brightly. I have heard of this place. I believe it is an extremely successful city which has two very famous football teams and quite a large China town.

Yes, David nods judiciously, trying hard not to smile. Certainly Manchester has two famous football teams and also I believe you are right about its China town. Are you a football fan? You seem to know a great deal about the game.

No, not really, but the UK Premier League is covered extensively on Chinese T.V. There is much mention of the Manchester teams. Particularly the one called United. Do you live in Manchester?

Chinese T.V covers the Premier League! David’s jaw drops in surprise. I’m astonished. But, no, I do not live in Manchester. He gives a vigorous shake of his head. I live in a Holybrook, a town some fifty kilometres to the east of Manchester. Do you live in Hong Kong?

Oh, no, Sumei’s shake of the head is even more vigorous than David’s and she wrinkles her nose in distaste. I am from Mainland China. Actually I do not like Hong Kong one bit. It is very crowded and noisy and dirty. Also the resident Hong Kong Chinese tend to imagine they’re something very special. This last is due to the British influence, I think.

I believe you might be right. David smiles and nods, thinking of his older son who is a Senior Inspector in the Hong Kong Police; one of the two hundred or so British officers that have remained with the Force since the handover from British to Chinese control. I am afraid we British bear a heavy burden. The all embracing tentacles of our one time mighty empire linger long. But if not Hong Kong where do you live: Shenzhen, Guangzhou, or perhaps somewhere much further north?

Oh, no, not the north, I live quite close to the border with Hong Kong: but not Shenzhen and not Guangzhou. I am from Zhongshan, a city on the Pearl River Delta. The Pearl is the third largest river in China. Zhongshan is beautiful. It is extremely green and very clean and also very famous. This is because it is the birth place of Sun Zhongshan who founded the Republic of China.

Really? David looks at Sumei in surprise. I thought that was Chairman Mao.

Oh, no; Sumei shakes her head and regards David gravely. Chairman Mao founded the current People’s Republic of China. Sun Zhongshan’s Republic of China came first. The concept was flawed, of course, she says airily, and was swept aside by the Imperialist Japanese invasion and then the civil war. Nevertheless, Sun Zhongshan’s principles were along the right lines and so, to this day, he is rightly regarded as a very great man. There is a beautiful memorial park and museum dedicated to him. People flock from all over China to visit this. Our house overlooks the park and beyond the park there are forested hills. These are known as the Turtle Mountains. We have an excellent view.

You astound me, David says and he is not exaggerating. He also feels extremely curious and wants to know more. Not, if he is honest, about Sun Zhongshan and the city; but about Sumei. He is utterly fascinated by her. He feels he has never before met anyone quite so forthright. I knew nothing of this, he continues. I am afraid my knowledge of Chinese history is not good. Your home sounds delightful. I noticed you said our and we, so, obviously, you are not on your own. Do you still live with your parents? I hope you don’t mind me asking. You can tell me to mind my own business if you wish.

Oh, no, I don’t mind you asking. Sumei shakes her head and smiles. No, I do not live with my parents. I am afraid both my parents are dead. My poor mother when I was just five. There is a momentary frown. I have been in marriage twelve years. My husband runs his own business. He is successful and is planning to expand. We have a daughter of six years.

Really? David looks at Sumei in some astonishment. You don’t look old enough, he says.

No, you think not? There is real delight on Sumei’s face. So, be brave. She looks David full in the eye. Tell me how old you think I am.

Well, David does rapid mental arithmetic, pushing his private estimate of twenty upwards. He cannot possibly allow the suggestion that Sumei might have had a child at fourteen. I thought maybe twenty five at the most.

Oh, goodness, no, Sumei puts a tiny hand to her mouth and giggles. I am thirty three. So, please, she regards David smiling, curiosity written on her face. Be brave again. Tell me how old you are.

Ah, David feels embarrassed and this shows on his face. He is tempted to ask Sumei to guess but he dare not. He is afraid of what she might say. Well, he prevaricates, I have to admit that my second son is almost your age and his brother is four years older.

You have a son of thirty seven? Oh, no, I do not believe this. You cannot be so old.

I’m afraid I’m fifty eight, David admits, err, just; my birthday is at the end of January. He smiles ruefully and imagines that the conversation, which he is enjoying immensely, will rapidly wither away. It is his sad experience that young women, particularly enchanting young women like Sumei, do not generally talk with much enthusiasm to middle aged men.

Ah, so your number one son comes when you are just twenty. I would not have thought it, Sumei apprises David coolly. You do not look fifty eight; rather more like forty eight, I think.

Really? David looks at Sumei in delight. Thanks, it’s really good of you to say that but I’m not so sure it’s true.

Well, I do not know if it’s true or not but it’s certainly what I think which is why I say it. You think I am twenty five. I think you are forty eight. We both make a good mistake, yes?

Oh, yes, a very good mistake, David says and grins like a Cheshire cat. Ridiculously he feels like giving Sumei a kiss.

Could I ask you to fasten your seat belts, please? Briefly the conversation is interrupted by a hostess, the professional smile, the lightest touch of a hand on Sumei’s shoulder to draw attention to her presence.

They comply and are surprised to find that the aircraft is already taxiing towards the runway, its cabin lights dimmed and members of the crew going through the safety drill which is showing simultaneously on the overhead videos, Lufthansa, at this time, not having upgraded to personal in flight entertainment in its economy cabins.

So, please I must beg your forgiveness for asking. Sumei resumes the conversation. But are you married when your son arrives?

Oh yes, David nods and then smiles. However, I was not married when he was conceived. His mother was only eighteen. We were very young and very stupid.

Oh, you don’t take precautions? Yes, that is stupid. Why didn’t you take care? You must know how.

Yes, of course we knew how, David shrugs. The neglect was deliberate. My girlfriend wanted me to make her pregnant so that I would marry her. In those days if you made a girl pregnant you generally married her. Not always but generally you did.

Why did she want that? Eighteen is very young to marry.

"Yes, very young. But she was extremely unhappy with her parents. She wanted to get away from them. Apparently, when she was small her father drank a lot and when he drank he was violent. I have to say I never witnessed this. But I have been told again and again that it