Chapter Twenty-Six
They landed with a whoosh of air brakes as a sudden crosswind bounced them onto the runway. Scarlett was gratified to see Natasha grip the sides of her seat, her knuckles white, her eyes wide and scared. Just as quickly, she felt guilty for thinking mean thoughts. She seemed a perfectly nice woman, after all, and she doubted Dylan would’ve been with her, otherwise.
She smiled over at Natasha and mouthed, ‘It’s fine.’
Natasha gave her a wonky smile in return, and Scarlett warmed to her, despite the jealousy still raging in her heart.
As the aircraft came to a standstill, Scarlett peered through one of the windows. Rain hammered against the fuselage — the weather had turned, as anticipated, and once again she wasn’t prepared for it.
Forcing the door open, she drew in a deep sigh, fighting against the wind, as needles of rain stung her face and plastered loose strands of her hair to her cheeks. ‘Wow, it’s really horrible out there,’ she said, retreating into the relative safety of the galley. ‘Oh, looks as if your transport has arrived,’ she added, as a white, stretch limousine pulled up to the steps, its windscreen wipers going ten to the dozen. ‘This is for you?’ she asked Dylan, wanting to laugh at the ostentatious car.
‘Yep, looks like it,’ Dylan agreed.
She grinned at him, expecting him to be mortified at travelling in a flashy limo, but he didn’t even crack a smile. He certainly hadchanged.
‘Do you want to hang on a minute? I can’t let you disembark without someone escorting you to your car. Health and safety, and all that.’ She shrank away from the onslaught, as she looked out for the ground staff.
‘Oh. You could do it, couldn’t you?’ he asked.
Scarlett glowered at him. ‘I don’t have a coat.’
‘Again? You really do need to organise yourself.’
‘I was in a rush. I was called out at some unearthly hour this morning for a flight that didn’t leave until nine. Some people apparently only think of themselves.’ She really shouldn’t have been accusing her passenger of being selfish, especially when she had a feeling Dylan was winding her up on purpose, but she couldn’t help it, even if she was playing into his hands.
‘Ah, hazards of the job, I guess.’ He inclined his head as if a good idea had just occurred to him. ‘Do you have an umbrella, maybe?’
She gritted her teeth. ‘Don’t push it, Dylan. Ah, here’s the ground staff.’ She smiled brightly at Natasha, as she collected her bags and hovered around Dylan, his rucksack slung over his shoulder.
He stood aside, allowing Natasha to disembark first, holding her elbow as she braved the weather and the steps. ‘Easy does it, they might be slippery.’
Another hit of pure jealousy almost floored Scarlett at his caring gesture. She tried to paint on a smile, but she knew Dylan had seen the pain in her eyes. He gave her a brief glance, and she slid her gaze away from his.
Just go, Dylan, just leave, she pleaded, silently.
He stood at the top of the steps, running his fingers through his hair. ‘Scarlett . . . ?’ Her name hung in the air between them, the concern in his voice, clear.
She remembered how tenderly he used to say her name and had to turn away, the eyes being a window to the soul and all that. Her tiny galley was only a few steps away and she pretended to tidy up, picking up glasses and unused plates only to put them down again. Finally, she glanced over to the door. The white limousine had gone, taking Dylan away forever.
He didn’t even say goodbye, she thought, watching the exhaust fumes dissipate in the rain. Her eyes widened. ‘Wait, wait, you forgot your guitar. Shit!’ She rushed to the tiny bathroom and pulled his guitar out, knowing already that she was too late. She slumped down onto a seat, cradling the guitar case as the whole, surreal situation overwhelmed her.
Placing the case on a seat, she unzipped it and took out the instrument, running her hand over the mellow wood, taking in the nicks and old stickers. She liked that he still took it everywhere with him, even though he probably had much better ones to hand since his rise to stardom.
She plucked at the top string, trailed her fingernail over the rest of them, once again back in Southwold, imagining his eyes scrunching up as he tried to find the right words, the right chords, for the soul rending song that was now his signature tune. Impulsively, she clutched the guitar to her chest as the ache in her heart winded her with its ferocity.
Footsteps hit the stairs and she snapped her head up, dashing at her eyes awash with unshed tears.
Too late.
‘Hey, thinking of learning to play, are you?’ Dylan once more appeared at the top of the steps, his ready smile vanishing as he took in her distress. ‘Scarlett.’ He was by her side in seconds, kneeling next to her, taking her hand, smoothing her hair away.
‘I thought you’d left?’ She jumped up, thrusting the guitar at his chest, her fake smile back. But hope surged through her body at his touch, his words, the expression in his eyes.
‘Scarlett, come on, tell me. What’s going on?’
The urge to sob into his arms abandoning herself to his kindness was tempting but she swallowed it down. He had a girlfriend, the career he’d always wanted. A life without her.
She pulled herself out of her fluffy world of redemption. ‘It’s fine. Nothing to see here.’ She quickly wiped a finger under her eyes for tell-tale mascara stains and summoned up a smile. ‘So, you’ve come back for your guitar?’
‘No, I’m travelling on to Suffolk on this aeroplane. I just wanted to make sure Natasha found her way to the terminal. Didn’t you know?’
At the mention of Natasha, she straightened her back and stood up. ‘Oh, yes, I’d forgotten.’ She stared dumbly, her mind empty of rational thought unable to recall what the plans were. They stared at each other. Scarlett was unable to drag her gaze away from his face and Dylan seemed to be suffering from the same affliction.
‘Scarlett, about Natasha,’ Dylan broke the standoff but continued to stare.
‘We really don’t need to discuss your relationships.’ Scarlett exhaled with relief that she hadn’t made a fool of herself by confessing her feelings to him. Hopefully, she could manage to play the game for another hour, or so, before he left her forever.
When his gaze didn’t leave her face, she found her cheeks heating up, wondering if she had, after all, given herself away. ‘I haven’t spoken to the flight deck since . . . since I found your guitar.’ She returned his stare, unblinking, thrusting her chin upwards. She was fine. She could do this. ‘I’ll tell them we’re ready to go, shall I?’
He let the guitar drop to one of the seats, hands brushing his jeans. ‘Sure, I guess.’ His Adam’s apple bobbed, as if he was trying to work up to a speech — a speech she doubted she’d want to hear.
Sweeping past him into the flight deck, she pulled the steps up once more, her mouth drying when it dawned on her that they’d be alone — together — and she had nowhere to run.