Chapter Twenty-Five
Her new airline was fine although the flights were monotonous: mostly the same outfit heading for the oil rigs in the North Sea. She hadn’t made any new friends to go out in the evenings with, either, as there were only two other hosties who she hardly ever bumped into, and both of them were married.
Winter settled in and Christmas came and went with more of a whimper than a bang for Scarlett. She reluctantly joined in with a lacklustre airline Christmas meal at a mediocre restaurant and dragged a Christmas tree into her car and up into her flat in an effort to be festive. She decorated it with chocolate decorations which she slowly worked her way through each lonely evening, as she sipped wine and stared at the Christmas re-runs on television.
On Christmas Day she drove down to London and had dinner with her mother at Louisa’s house, staying overnight. Seeing Elsa in her fairy outfit and full of chatter cheered her up, but she was soon back in Liverpool, spending yet more lonely evenings on her sofa, miserable and forlorn in her little eyrie of a flat.
She finally admitted to herself that she’d made a huge mistake moving to Liverpool and began browsing online to see if there were any better options out there.
It was now the end of February and the icy morning showed no signs of warming up as she dragged herself out of bed for a flight that was proving to be a waste of time. The crew had waited for hours, while her elusive passengers made up their mind about where they wanted to go, or even if they wanted to go anywhere, at all. Itcertainly gave credence to the term hurry up andwait.
She now hovered around the control office, hoping to be stood down. The situation was farcical, but Scarlett had spent years hovering and waiting while handling agents and PAs and right hand men tried and often failed to locate their customer and see where exactly they wanted to travel to. Whatever happened, the customer was always right, so long as the money flowed from their wallets to the coffers of the airline.
‘The booking and the flight plan has just come through, we’re good to go,’ the operations guy said, putting down the phone.
Damn it, Scarlett thought, having mentally prepared to return to her flat, even though she’d do little but stare at the boats until bedtime, once there.
But she cheered herself up with the knowledge that she would soon be leaving Liverpool. She had accepted an offer to move to a small airline, based in Dubai, taking rich tourists to and from London. It was a two week rolling roster and meant that she’d be able to return to her apartment, and have a semblance of her old life back. Once she’d got back in the swing of living in London, it would be as if nothing had changed.
She snapped back to the present, as a wodge of newspapers were slapped down in front of her. ‘Take a few with you. I don’t know who the passengers are, so a varied selection will do.’
‘No problem.’ She picked out a few newspapers along with a Hello! magazine, to cater for all tastes on the aircraft and placed them on top of her flight bag. The passenger probably paid for them somewhere along the way, even if they didn’t know it. They mostly got binned unread at the end of the flight but it was all part of the service.
‘What was the delay?’ she asked.
‘Bigwig passenger, apparently. Too busy to turn up on time. You know what they’re like,’ he said.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Tell me about it. Sometimes, I think a certain kind of passenger keeps people waiting just because they can. Gives their ego a boost.’ Scarlett ran through the printed catering sheet, checking that the ice, milk and other staples loaded on the plane.
‘Not sure if there’s just one or two passengers at the moment, but the flight is going to London, then on to some godforsaken airport in the arse-end of nowhere. That’s where you’ll stopover. Hardly any catering. Couple of bottles of bubbly, and some caviar — a few sarnies thrown in for good measure. Okay?’
Scarlett sighed, losing the will to sparkle for anyone, let alone champagne-swigging good-time passengers. ‘I didn’tknowit wasgoing to be a stopover.’
‘Sorry, but you know the drill — always be prepared, and the passenger is always right. They want to put the aircraft on standby until the morning, in case it’s needed.’ He shrugged. ‘Doesn’t seem worth it to me. Might as well have got a cab down there. But, hey, it’s their money.’
‘True.’ She sighed and re-adjusted her up-do, making sure any loose tendrils were tucked away. ‘Right, I’m outta here. I’ll hook up with Pete on the way. He’s watching repeats ofHomesUnderthe Hammerin the VIProom.’
‘Give him this, will you? Weather’s turning shit later, so you might have to re-file.’ He slid the flight plan and passenger details across his desk and she tucked them under her arm as she picked up her overnight bag.
Pete, the captain, yawned and stretched as Scarlett unearthed him, several empty coffee cups and discarded biscuit wrappers on the table in front of him. ‘We’re on, then? Shame, I was looking forward to an early pint and a kip.’ He prodded the first officer who was dozing in an armchair. ‘Come on, mate, the transport’s waiting.’ He pressed his uniform cap firmly down on his head and picked up his flight bag, as a white minibus pulled up outside.
They were soon ferried out to the aircraft, where they were told to stand by for the passengers’ arrival.
‘Unbelievable. Keep us waiting for hours, and then it’s all, when are we going?’ Pete always seemed happiest when he was moaning about miscreant passengers, so no one bothered to comment. ‘Better get the old bird fired up. It’s bloody freezing in here. Could you put the kettle on, Scarlett?’ he said mournfully.
‘Will do, but I’ve still got the safety checks to finish.’
She checked that the hot water urn actually had water in it before turning the power on, and quickly made them all a drink, afterwards turning her attention to the fire extinguishers, oxygen bottles and life jackets. She straightened the headrest covers and laid out the complimentary magazines and newspapers, glancing around the neat cabin with satisfaction. She tried to be positive, but it was hard to dredge up her old enthusiasm for work, and had recently taken to unintentionally sighing frequently and wondering why she didn’t just find an easier job than flying.
‘Passengers in five,’ the ground guy shouted up the steps.
‘Okay.’ Scarlett sighed, opening her compact mirror and scrabbling around in her bag for her lipstick. She slicked on a generous covering of Sunset Shine over her pale lips and dotted a touch of foundation under her eyes, which, these days, seemed to be permanently ringed with dark smudges.
She paused as she took stock of her face. What had happened to the bubbly, smiling girl she used to be? She hadn’t been seen for years now. She couldn’t imagine what Dylan had seen in her: lips permanently set, default miserable eyes that used to sparkle with interest now lacklustre.
She tried out a smile, anyway, her lips feeling as if they were made of dried out cement. Still, she could pretend as well as the next depressed air stewardess, and once she’d fixed on the smile, it was there for the duration.
She forced the two bottles of champagne into the ice bucket, twisting and pushing them down, smiling wryly as she spotted the familiar golden-coloured labels of good quality champagne. Back in her old flat, she’d knocked back Cristal with Dylan like it was cheap cava, a time when life had begun to blossom again.
An image of Dylan sprang up in her mind, all long legs and tatty clothes, sprawling across her pristine carpet, pretending to enjoy the caviar she fed him. She shook the memory away and focused on the job in hand, praying the champagne would chill down quickly. Someone in catering should have been on to it much earlier, she thought with annoyance. Instead, it looked as if they’d turned up, dumped the whole catering order in her tiny galley, and scarpered as quickly as they could. It was not the way VIP airlines expected to operate, and she’d be having a word about it when she returned — if she could be arsed. She sighed again.
She picked up the caviar box, loaded as standard, and pulled out the various ingredients. The jar of caviar was tiny, but it would probably be okay so long as there were only the two passengers, although the odds of them wanting it was probably slight. She could barely face looking at the stuff anymore let alone eat it. She placed it in the tiny fridge and checked that the rest of the kit was in there, ticking the items off against her catering list.
A covered tray sat precariously on the draining board and she picked it up, intending to put it in the cold storage. She had no idea what was under the foil, and pulled back an inch to peek beneath, recoiling as the contents gave off a pungent smell. Bugger! Had it gone off?
She whipped off the foil, half expecting a spicy Indian dish, but sitting on the tray were triangular sandwiches, precisely cut with the crusts cut away. A familiar smell hit her as she sniffed and peered closer. Marmite. Seriously? It really was: Marmite and cucumber — andsomething else.
She lifted the edge of another sandwich. It looked like banana and . . . What the hell? Shesniffed again, confirming that it was what she’d thought it to be: peanut butter. She knew only one person who ate peanut butter with banana, and Marmite and cucumber sandwiches.
Her mind slid back to the summer days she’d spent in Southwold with Dylan, happy for the first time since Sky’s death, not knowing that it was all set to come crashing down again . . . Surely her passengers couldn’t include Dylan?
Her heart started beating very fast. No, it couldn’t be. The odds had to be a million to one. ‘Pete?’ she shouted, intending to ask if he’d checked the passenger manifest.
‘Yep. Passengers are here. We need to get a move on, or else we’ll miss our flight slot,’ Pete called through the flight-deck door. ‘Chivvy them along a bit, eh?’ he added.
It was too late to find out. Her heart lurched.
A car pulled up to the bottom of the steps, doors slammed, and she heard the tread of footsteps as her passengers headed up the stairs. Her breath hitched in her chest until she felt dizzy with nerves.
A woman with a sleek bob so sharp she could almost cut herself on it peered around the cabin. ‘Hi. Okay to come on board?’
Scarlett exhaled. ‘Yes, of course.’ She almost added Thank God, as her pounding heart slowed down, but then a man’s voice carried above the din of the right engine firing into life, as a car door slammed.
A guitar, followed by a flash of white teeth and a mop of unruly hair set her pulse racing off the Richter scale.
Dylan stamped his feet and shook the damp from his hair. ‘Ah, Scarlett,’ he said, acting like this was totally normal. ‘Gloomy old day, isn’t it?’ He stuck out his hand, and she held out her own, automatically, ignoring the trillion volts of electricity that shot through her arm, as he enveloped her hand inside his. ‘Ooh, clammy handshake.’ He wiped his palm down the front of his jeans, grinning at her.
She was totally lost for words, not that it would have mattered with the way her tongue seemed to have stuck to the roof of her mouth.
Dylan’s smile faded as he stared at her, as if waiting for her to speak. ‘Yes, well, good to see you, too.’ He ran his fingers through his hair, and she could only gape at the unlikely vision in front of her. He hitched his thumb towards the petite lady. ‘Meet Natasha.’
Natasha’s smile was stiff as she stood by the galley entrance, waiting to be invited inside the main cabin. The damp weather didn’t seem to have dared touch her hair, and she looked immaculate and totally in control, right down to her tiny feet encased in teeteringly high, spiky-heeled Jimmy Choos, if she wasn’t mistaken.
‘Scarlett is an old friend of mine, right?’ Dylan turned his sunny smile towards her once more.
She opened her mouth, but once again, nothing came out.
‘She doesn’t say a lot,’ Dylan assured Natasha. ‘I think she’s a bit socially challenged,’ he whispered in Natasha’s ear, loud enough for someone in Paris to hear. ‘Okay to sit here?’ he asked Scarlett, who could only nod.
Natasha looked slightly confused as Dylan led her to a window seat and helped her to sit down. He chucked his rucksack on the opposite seat and propped his guitar next to it, rubbing his hands together. ‘This is fun, isn’t it? I’ve never flown in such a tiddler.’
Scarlett gawped at him. How could he be making small talk so casually, while she was rendered speechless? She was aware that her eyes were as big as saucers and that she was acting like a love-struck fan, but her usual sangfroid had done a runner in his presence.
She breathed deeply and set her shoulders. She could deal with this. She was a professional. Nevertheless, she couldn’t keep her gaze off Dylan, her eyes thirsty for him. So, his guitar and battered old rucksack were still part of his props, were they? They were so dear to her that she wanted to stroke them, her fingers itching to feel the smooth wood of his guitar inside its case. Instead, she glowered at Dylan, resentfully, wondering why the hell he was on her aeroplane.
‘Of all the planes in all the world,’ she muttered under her breath as she dragged her gaze away from him and tried to focus on the job in hand.
Her stomach lurched when she realised she would have to leave the safety of her galley to secure his guitar for take off. Worse still, she’d have to talk to him and try to avoid his annoyingly perfect girlfriend.
She swallowed hard as panic set in.
‘Scarlett, pull the steps up, will you?’ Pete hollered from the flight deck. ‘What are you waiting for?’
For a second, she contemplated making a run for it, straight down the steps and across the tarmac, not stopping until she reached her car. But sanity won the day, and she pulled up the steps until they fitted snugly into the fuselage. She checked the safety catch, casting a last, wistful eye over her escape route as she did so. There was no way around it. She’d just have to do her job.
‘Excuse me.’ She swallowed the word sir down. She just couldn’t go that far in the call of duty. ‘I’ll have to secure your baggage.’ She picked up the rucksack and placed it in the overhead compartment, turning to pick up his guitar case, but Dylan beat her to it, jumping to his feet.
‘Leave it to me. Where do you want it?’ His hand closed over hers as he lunged for his case. Their eyes locked, and the moment froze in time as their fingers touched. Dylan removed his hand, so, so slowly, one finger at a time as they stared at each other.
‘Scarlett . . .’
‘Seats for take off, please.’ Pete’s voice coming over the PA system forced her to act and she quickly shoved the guitar into the toilet cubicle, slamming the door as the engines revved.
Dylan’s smile drooped. ‘Nice.’
She gave him a weak smile before falling into her seat and strapping in with trembling fingers, as the aircraft soared into the sky.
While waiting for the aircraft to level out, she peered at him through her lashes, reacquainting herself with his face, noting the shadow on his jaw and the tired lines around his eyes. His skin looked a bit sallow, too, probably from too many late nights and harsh lights rather than walks along the beach in the fresh air and sunshine. She sighed at the turn of her memories again, but maybe life wasn’t being as kind to him as she thought it would be.
Her heart twisted when his smile came alive for Natasha, and a white-hot shaft of jealousy flooded her body when he patted her hand. She wanted Dylan’s smile all to herself, and those finely-boned fingers she remembered so well touching her skin,not theflawless Natasha’s — and her stupid cupid-bow lips, she thought, noticing how perfect they were.
Natasha laughed a pretty, neat laugh, as Dylan whispered into her ear, bringing Scarlett straight back down to earth. He had someone new. Of course he did. He’d be a man in great demand, although in all honesty she would never have put Dylan with this tiny dark-haired woman, picture-perfect and looking as if she was made of porcelain. Her heart went out to Cara for a brief moment. Now that they were sisters in arms she could view her with compassion. She wondered briefly if he’d broken Cara’s heart and momentarily felt sad for her. She tried not to watch Dylan’s exchange with Natasha from her solitary position but where else could she look? She felt excluded and voyeuristic, and was relieved when the double chimes from the flight deck signalled that it was safe to start the service. She unbuckled her safety harness automatically, going through the motions of pulling out food and scooping fresh ice into the ice bucket. Her fingers fluttered over the disgusting sandwiches, and she looked longingly at a bottle of Cristal, wondering if a good slug from it might help. She shook her head. Apart from the fact that it would get her the sack, she’d need a magnum of it to get through the next hour.
She pondered the possibility of asking Pete to tell her passengers that the weather was too choppy to serve food. The ops guy had said the weather was going to be bad later on so it could feasibly be true. But she peeked out of the window and there was not a cloud in the sky. Where were the stratus clouds when you bloody needed them?
Across from her, Dylan parodied pouring a drink with his hand, goofy grin in place, and she moistened her sawdust-dry lips with her desert-dry tongue. My God, he was actually enjoying seeing her discomfort. Was the whole flight some kind of set up? Was that why he’d ordered Marmite and peanut butter sandwiches, to let her know that it was him? How did he know she even worked for this airline? Was he simply playing with her, showing off his status and wealth?
She wouldn’t have thought he would be so cruel, but it seemed that he was. Was he trying to let her know what she was missing? Fine, she thought. If that was the case, then she could be just as petty and show him what he was missing, too.
She undid the top button of her blouse and picked up the sandwiches, shimmying over to him. ‘Would you like some refreshment?’ Her voice was deliberately smooth and low as she leaned over, thrusting out her breasts, so he could get a good look at her cleavage.
‘Ooh, what are they?’ His fingers hovered over the tray, and he grinned up at her. Rather than being seduced by her, he seemed to be really enjoying her embarrassment, and she wanted to smack him in his stupid, grinning face for it.
Determined to hold the upper hand, she put as much huskiness in her voice as she could get away with, without laughing. ‘I believe the selection is Marmite with cucumber, and peanut butter with banana.’
Dylan’s gaze dropped to her breasts then back up to her face. ‘Great, my favourite. I’ll take two. I’ve missed them — the Marmite sandwiches, I mean.’
She almost dropped her tray. The man was shameless.
He took two sandwiches, adopting an innocent expression.
She chose to ignore his comment. ‘We also have caviar, which I believe was ordered with the Cristal, although I won’t serve it if it is not to Sir’s liking.’ Scarlett moved her hips sensually inside her tight skirt as she smoothly walked off to get the champagne. It was all of half a dozen steps away, but she sashayed for all she was worth.
Dylan turned towards Natasha. ‘Champagne again, Natasha?’
Natasha nodded, but didn’t lift her gaze away from her sheaf of paperwork, or so much as glance at Scarlett or Dylan.
Rude cow, Scarlett thought with glee.
Dylan held both flutes and watched closely as Scarlett poured the sparkling wine into the glasses, his gaze flicking briefly up to her chest again. He placed a glass carefully on the table next to Natasha, who smiled tightly.
And Dylan had accused herof not saying much, Scarlett thought. This woman had evidently got him on the run if she didn’t even feel the need to make polite conversation.
‘I have champagne wherever I go now, you know,’ Dylan said conversationally. ‘Cristal, Krug. I could practically brush my teeth with Moet, I’ve got so much of it. It’s a bit of a treat for some people, I believe.’ His eyes twinkled, and she saw the beginning of a grin twitching at the side of his mouth.
She didn’t know why he was smiling. There was nothing funny about being stuck with each other in a metal tube up at thirty-thousand feet. ‘That’s great. Bully for you, and your shrinking liver.’
Dylan smiled benignly and glanced across at Natasha’s papers, which she was covering in red ink. ‘While Natasha is busy, why don’t you pull up a chair — metaphorically speaking of course, these babies don’t move.’ He patted the seat opposite. ‘We can have a chat about old times. For example, I’m wondering why you moved to Liverpool. These aircraft are really small. Didn’t you say your old airline was a twelve-seater and some were configured with bedrooms?’ He waved his glass around, indicating the small aircraft.
Scarlett eyed the seat opposite warily. No, she didn’t want to sit down opposite Dylan and confess that she’d moved to a lesser airline, basically because she didn’t want to be blackmailed into sleeping with the odious Todd.
She struck a pose, her tray in one hand and a bottle in the other. ‘I have things to do, sorry.’ She placed the bottle on the table. ‘Help yourself. If, that is, you still do things for yourself?’
His eyes flashed. ‘I was looking forward to you doing it all for me. I seem to recall you were good at taking the lead.’
Her eyes widened. She couldn’t believe he was playing such a game — in front of his girlfriend, too. Wondering how far she needed to consider that the customer was always right, she said, ‘Stop being a wanker, Dylan.’ The hissed words were out before she had a chance to stop them.
Natasha’s head shot up. She raised two perfect eyebrows at Dylan. ‘Unfinished business?’
‘No, we’re done, thanks.’
Scarlett grabbed his plate, including the uneaten sandwiches, and flounced off to her galley, horrified that she’d sworn at a passenger, even if it was Dylan, who totally deserved it.
She stuck her head inside the flight deck. ‘Pete, would you mind putting the seat belt sign on a bit early? I’m not feeling too good.’
‘No problem, Scarlett.’ He flicked a switch, and the seat-belt sign illuminated.
Scarlett secured her galley and sat down, fighting the urge to glance over at Dylan. He had no need for her anymore, and she’d just shown how pathetic she was, trying to tempt him with her body. One look at Natasha should have told her that Dylan had moved way out of her league. She could probably have taken all her clothes off and hung upside down off the aircraft wing, and he still wouldn’t have noticed.
Chewing the inside of her cheek until it hurt, she had to stick her tongue against the roof of her mouth to stop herself from crying and wait for the flight to end.