Authors: Leeann Whitaker
“Its fine,” I sigh.
He doesn’t need to feel bad over it. I’m sure I’ll come down soon. Perhaps another shower. A cold one.
“Okay then.” He sweeps up his jacket. “Six on Saturday.” He kisses the top of my head of all places, and makes his way to the door.
“Thought you said seven?”
“No six… gives us time to get there.” He pulls on his jacket lapels in that hot supermodel like way. “Pack a bag, enough for three nights.”
Oh my god. Three nights. I can’t just drop everything.
But Liz, you’re forgetting, the only place you’re invited to this Christmas, is Mums
. Though, I have got my dissertation to do. Hmm, decisions.
“So Saturday to?”
“We’ll be back Monday evening, Tuesday morning latest.” He opens the door. “See you then.” He winks and leaves me sat in a daze.
***
I bolt upright in bed with my heart hopping in fear. I listen, while hovering my hand over the lamp switch. I hear giggling, shuffling, and the sound of drunken bumping into furniture. Oh, it’s Cate. She better be quiet tonight. I pull my earplugs out of my underwear drawer, pop them into my ears, and turn off the lamp.
Light floods through my room. I squint up to see Cate’s silhouette hovering back and forth in the doorway, with the Santa hat over her eyes. She’s wrecked, and I haven’t got the patience for this.
“Ex…cuse me missy,” she slurs. “I’m so, so, so upset at… you.”
“Piss-off Cate,” I snap.
“Oh honey, come hither, let me… me see what that dick ass did.” She stumbles in, and sits on my bed like a baby elephant.
I sit up, unimpressed, and flick on my lamp. She narrows her panda eyes at me, rocking, and begins to sob more mascara down her cheeks.
“Nath’s been banged up.” She wipes her face.
“What for?” I ask, watching as she starts to retch. “Don’t you dare Cate… hold it in!”
She takes a breath and tries to focus using the one eye trick. “The guy that fucks with you… well, he don’t know who ya friends are.”
Oh great. I am not bailing him out. I won’t do it. But wow, I feel so guilty.
I know what Nathan’s like. He has too many and flips, thinks he’s a cage fighter or something. I’ve been through many alcohol fuelled skirmishes with him. Seen bloody noses, torn shirts, and scuffed knuckles. He’s a manager now. Wears a frigging suit for work. He needs to grow up.
“Don’t worry ya sel.” She stands and weaves to the door. “His chums dealing wi him.” She goes to close the door then opens it again. “Oh, where’s… mister prick.”
“Go away Cate.” I slam my head down on my pillow.
Cate is still hung-over, and remembering the state of her it’s most definitely going to be a three day recoup. She called in sick on Friday, and today. I bet half the staff in every business has pulled sickies this weekend. She’s on the sofa now, in her PJs that she’s wore for two days straight. Feeling sorry for herself, while watching old reruns of Only Fools Christmas specials.
I on the other hand, sit by the door with my small black suitcase, eagerly waiting for Adrien. I’m excited and agitated all rolled into one. Can’t explain what is happening inside my body right now. From my head to my toes, all sorts is making me quite scatty. Pulsating heart rhythm with spurts of bubbles in my gut. Restless legs, and crazy thoughts. God. I’m so tightly coiled, I may blow from the seams when I do see him.
My phone rings. It’s five-fifty-five. He’s punctual. I sigh and tap the green tab.
“Adrien.”
Okay, calm down Liz. That was a tad high-pitched.
“Elizabeth, the car is waiting for you outside.” He hangs up before I have the chance to say another word.
I anxiously pull my green mac from the chair. I’ve made more of an effort with my appearance. I mean, I’m going to be spending three days with a multimillionaire. Got myself some new jeans, two new blouses, and a nice new pair of brown leather boots. All from my idea of a designer shop, River Island. I’ve even purchased several sets of matching underwear. Nothing too slutty. No G-string cheese wire that will irritate the hell out of me. Just some tasteful lace hipster panties, and of course, lightly padded bras to match. I dipped into my savings. But it will be worth it, I’m sure. I’m investing in my gratification.
“Cate, see you Tuesday the latest.” I pull the handle up on my case.
She slumps her body over the back of the couch. “Eh… excuse me, plant one there.” She points to her cheek.
I huff, trudge over, and quickly peck her cheek.
“Have you got your baby prevention pills?” Her brow dances.
“Oh my god Cate…yes.”
“Well, have a fabulous dirty weekend, and you make him work for it,” she orders. “You want to be wined and dined, spoilt, and most of all…”
“Cate,” I shrill. “I will. And you behave, you’ll get sacked if you throw another sickie.” I roll my case to the door.
“They won’t fire me, I’m too good. Chow for now my lovely.”
***
I open the glass foyer door, thankful my boots have a good grip on the slippery paving. I pull my case behind me. It’s icy, still, a very dreary evening.
I look down the three steps and see the black Land Rover. I lug my case, and as I get closer, I see Sara is in the driver’s seat. Is he in the back? I wonder. I glance, but can’t see clearly through the tinted windows.
With a smile ready for him, I open the back door to see he’s not in there. Disappointment washes over me as I peer at Sara. She doesn’t turn. She’s more interested in messing with her red manicured fingernails over the steering-wheel.
“Boot’s open,” she utters.
Where the hell is he? He told me he would be picking me up. Well I think he did. God. I hope I don’t have to spend a considerable amount of time with the chattiest woman I’ve ever met. It won’t exactly put me in the mood for romance.
I leave the door open over the curb, and tow my case to the boot. I push down the handle and place it inside. My heart sinks, noticing no other luggage is in there. Aiming not to be heavy-handed, I pull down the lid and push till it clicks shut. I climb into the back, sitting behind the passenger seat, then Sara indicates to pulls out.
Should I ask? I keep peeping at her, but she’s not giving anything away. I clear my throat, quietly.
“Err, where’s Adrien?”
“Waiting for you,” she responds in a monotone.
Wow. She’s gone into great detail there. I asked where, not what he’s doing. She’s starting to grate on me. I know why she dislikes me. She thinks I’m dim-witted and bland. Well, screw you Sara. I would like a clear answer.
“Where?” I say with more determination, looking out of the window.
I see we’re moving by the river Brentford on the M4. I’ve just seen the GSK building. I look back to Sara for more clarity, but she’s preoccupied, growing frustrated with the build-up of traffic.
“Shit,” she snaps, disregarding my question, looking at her wristwatch.
I may as well be invisible. “Sara?”
She scowls at me through the mirror. “I have fifteen minutes to get you there, and I’m really in no mood to listen to how excited you are, or how gorgeous you think Mr Knight is… So just shut the fuck up!”
Okay, that told me. Thank you for being so agreeable Sara. You have made me feel a lot less apprehensive about this trip. My eyes remain glued to the window, with sealed lips. I’d like to keep my head on my shoulders.
We continue on the M4 and Sara indicates left. I can see Heathrow airport directly in front of us. I become twitchy. I can’t think of anywhere near this airport he’d be taking me to. Unless he’s booked us a room at the Holiday Inn for three nights.
Sara glances in the rear-view mirror as I pale. I haven’t even got my passport, and if I tell her this, I might just have to say sayonara to my head after all.
“You don’t need one,” she says, driving over the legal limit between speed cameras. “You’ve got photo Id haven’t you.”
I nod a dumbstruck yes. I always carry my driving license and uni Id on me. But jeez, where the hell is he taking me?
“Well, you hand them over to me when we stop,” she says. “And I’ll sort out your luggage at security.”
“Err… thanks, I think.”
Sara parks the car in a special designated area. An airport assistant eagerly awaits with a worried look on her over tanned, weathered face. She opens the door for me as Sara rushes to the boot to take out my case.
“Miss Lovell, welcome to the VIP terminal. Please follow me.” The assistant dashes to some automatic doors, and opens them with a key card.
Oh my god. I’m in the VIP terminal. Holy shit. The only VIP’s I’ve ever been in, was a dingy nightclub in my hometown when I was seventeen, which was actually called the VIP’s.
The women takes me to a metal detector and hurries me through. Of course it goes off, I didn’t think I would be boarding a flight today.
Sara scurries behind me as I empty my pockets in a panic. I toss my driving licence and my troll key ring into a plastic tub. Sara takes my licence, and dashes to another airport assistant, stood by some more automatic doors.
I don’t think I have ever had to flash around like this before. My head is dazed, and I’m beginning to wilt in the fluster.
“Right Miss Lovell, here are your things.” She hands me my keys. “Follow me please.”
This is crazy. Good crazy, I’m not sure of yet. I just want to see Adrien, instead of feeling like I’m on the final spin in a washing machine.
I can see Sara in my peripheral vision, holding up my new white bra. Why Sara do you feel the need to do this to me? There is nothing in those B cups that is a national threat. I blush with embarrassment as she puts it back, nodding her head in disapproval. Probably because it’s not post-box red or transparent. She re-zips my case and rushes toward me.
“Security cleared,” a colossal male guard announces.
“Okay, we hope you enjoy your trip, Miss Lovell.” The wrinkled assistant swipes her card, so the thick glass doors part to let in the winter air.
Before I get the opportunity to see where the hell I’m going, or take a step outside, Sara grabs my arm. She pouts and tilts her head.
“What is it?” I’m concerned about her expression. It’s the kind of look you get from the bearer of bad news.
The assistants wait on the other side of the glass, impatiently waving for me be quick.
“Elizabeth…you seem harmless enough,” she says.
Is that supposed to be a compliment? Because it’s a pretty crap one. I frown at her.
“Look,” she lowers her voice. “Don’t go in the room.”
“What room?
“Miss Lovell, we need to go now,” the assistant calls.
Before I go anywhere, I need to know what this is about. Is she referring to a hotel room? It could be just her way of making me suspicious about this trip. We don’t exactly see eye-to-eye.
“Just don’t.” She turns and walks away.
Great. Now my head is full of doubt. This is supposed to be some romantic trip with a sexual god, and thanks to Sara I’m questioning it.
Liz. Think about this. He’s waiting for you. He’s done all of this for you. Stop being cynical and enjoy it.
“Miss Lovell!” The cross assistant nearly breaks her voice yelling at me.
With haste I jog into the cold breeze, out onto the tarmac. I see a cream jet plane, with the scrolled words,
Fly In Ease
, on its tail. I’m in utter shock. I’m walking toward this dignitary form of transportation, and its impossible contain my anticipation. Crap. I’m struggling not to chirp elatedly like a bird.
I have one assistant to the right side of me, and the other to my left, carrying my case. The door of the jet is open, and there’s a warm luminosity coming from inside.
Adrien appears at the top of the metal stairs, holding a glass of whisky with those come get me eyes. I smile, but it turns into an annoying little girl giggle, and I have to hold my breath to rid it.
He looks amazing. But then he always does. He’s wearing a casual creased white shirt, grey jeans, and brown loafers on his feet. I suck in my cheek as I climb closer, noticing he has a little designer stubble going on, which makes him even more alluring.
“Miss Lovell.” Oh my. He’s doing that chivalrous kissing of the hand thing again. “You.” He’s still kissing my hand; his coarse touch is making my whole arm tingle. “Look.” He gazes up with sex eyes. “Wonderful.”
“Is this for real, are we just going to stay on the tarmac, or are we going to fly, where we flying to, I can’t believe this, is this your plane, it must have cost you a f….”
“Elizabeth,” he snaps and sniggers at my lapse of sanity. “You’re babbling. Go inside and calm down.”
“Sorry,” I sigh, brushing deliciously close by him.
The interior, well what can I say, it’s very Voguish. There’s a padded cream sofa: the style, seventies retro with button tufts. There are two large armchairs of the same design. A large contemporary glossy black drinks cabinet, with an opaque glass door, containing an ice box, and many different cut crystal glasses. And the television, well that’s more of a cinema screen size. This is amazing, and a bit excessive.
I turn to Adrien as he closes the airlock on the door. My jaw is ajar and I can feel my lips drying out. I crank it shut, but it falls open again.
Is this all for my benefit, or is this like a regular thing for him? My heart is telling me to enjoy it, but my head is saying I need to tell him this is way too much.
“Elizabeth, you’re thinking too hard,” he frowns. “It would be wise for you to take a seat for take-off.”
I turn to my side and look down at the chair. It will do. I fall into it and it spins me out of control. I squeak out loud in a fluster. Now I’m facing the porthole window, and have made an inept fool of myself.
“Elizabeth… easy does it. You’ve not touched a drop yet.”
He hands me half a glass of white wine as I flap around, trying to alter the swivel chair. He blows out and bends, rotating me into the correct position. I think I’m annoying him with my inelegance. He secures the legs to the floor so it doesn’t revolve as I close my eyelids, feeling completely undignified.
He takes the buckle from the base of the seat, and seductively pulls it across my lap. His eyes are unusually dark today, and his pupils have lassoed mine. I swallow, panting silently. He straightens, and takes his whisky from the cabinet, before sitting an arms-length away. He fastens himself into the chair adjacent to mine.
“Is this your plane?” I ask.
He laughs. “Kind of. I share it with colleagues. I usually fly myself, but thought it would be rude to leave you back here all alone.”
Of course he flies too. Oh my god, I would have loved to have watched him doing his thing in the cockpit. I sip my wine, fantasising about him in uniform. It’s really nice wine. I take another sip and sigh. It’s making my insides feel all warm, and lessening my lusty thoughts of him.
“It a Cuvee Frederic Emile 2006, even I like that wine.” He notices my pleased expression.
“Did I need to pack a bikini or costume,” I ask, as the plane moves down the runway. “I’m afraid I’ve just packed a few simple things.”
“We’re not going far. A short car journey after we land in Edinburgh, and we’ll be at my second home,” he says, looking out of the window. “Killiecrankie, are you familiar with it?”
If he’s expecting me to know, he’s barking up the wrong tree. Towns, roads, directions, and I in general, are not a good mix. I once reported Beryl stolen to the police. I could have sworn I left her outside Holt Bakery. Fact is, I parked her outside Clarks shoe store two streets away. So yes, I have heard of Edinburgh, it’s a big city up north. But Kill whatever, I have no knowledge of.