ON THE DAY SHE WAS suspended, two letters awaited Vicki in the airline’s office. One, addressed to the airline by Mr. Purnell, had been routed to Vicki. In the highest terms, he praised the young stewardess’s perception, tactful handling, and sense of responsibility in the rescue of his runaway daughter.
It helped a little to lift Vicki out of her official state of disgrace. The other was a personal letter to Vicki from Joan. Vicki looked at it fondly—the dignified white paper marked “Purnell, Linkhorn Bay”—the large, impulsive, schoolgirlish handwriting.
“Dear Vicki,” Joan wrote, “Forgive me for coming to you again with my troubles. There is no one else I can turn to.
“Dad’s business suddenly got him into the most awful jam. It’s a nightmare, Vicki. I don’t’ know what we are going to d
