Wish Upon a Star. Olivia Goldsmith

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СКАЧАТЬ she left now. She also wouldn’t be able to face any of the women, not even Abigail Samuels.

      Claire opened her purse once again and took out her passport. It was a lovely document and made her feel important. She stared at her own picture and at the pages and pages that were so-far empty. Michael’s passport lay on his desk and, summoning up her nerve one more time, she went over and picked it up.

      His face stared out at her neither smiling nor gloomy. It was a far more sophisticated expression than her goofy grin. But that wasn’t what impressed her. It was the page upon page of stamps from immigration and visas. Bermuda. Italy. Germany. Hong Kong. There were stamps from places Claire had never heard of and the booklet was nearly full. She was surprised to see how the official seals were stamped helter skelter, one from the Netherlands stamped right over another from Thailand. She would have imagined it more like a postage stamp collection where each one would be carefully placed to be savored later. Michael’s passport would expire in two more years. What happened if there was no more room in it before then? she wondered. She hurriedly put it down. She didn’t want him to walk in and catch her snooping.

      At seven thirty-four, when she was sure that they would miss the plane, Michael – she hoped she had practiced calling him by his first name enough – walked in. ‘God, they talk and talk,’ he said. ‘We better get going.’

      Claire stood up and grabbed her coat and the handle of her rolling case. ‘Won’t we miss the flight?’ she asked. ‘We need at least two hours for check-in.’

      He smiled at her. ‘Not with Special Services,’ he said. He shouldered his own bag and took the handle of hers. His hand brushed hers and it was so warm against her cold one she nearly jumped. He didn’t seem to notice. ‘Come along,’ he said.

      The driver took their bags the moment they reached the lobby. Claire was a little surprised to see that the ‘limo’ was only a regular Mercedes sedan, but the seats were comfy and the driver was so skilled that they reached the airport in less than half an hour. Michael apologized when they got into the car because he had to look at a file for the next morning’s meeting. ‘Just let me get this over with and then we can have a drink and relax on the flight,’ he said.

      Claire nodded and spent the time looking out the window self-consciously, watching Queens fly by; the sad two-family houses, the ugly shaft of the Brooklyn Queens Expressway, the endless cemeteries and graffiti all depressing her. But as soon as they pulled up to the British Airways departures terminal at JFK everything changed. Porters greeted them, their bags were whisked away, they were escorted to a private elevator by a smiling aide and, when the keyed door rolled open, Claire was confronted with a vast, quiet, taupe-upholstered room with a view of the runways and the sound of the slight tinkle of ice in crystal glasses and the murmur of upper-class voices in discreet conversations.

      They were settled on a love seat with a waitress beside them to take their drink order. Claire asked for an orange juice. Michael ordered a Scotch she’d never heard of ‘And two glasses of water, otherwise we’ll get really dehydrated.’ Just as the drinks arrived the smiling aide returned with baggage tags, boarding passes and an apology. ‘It’s crowded right now at immigration,’ she said. ‘I’ll be back to take you through Fast Track in about ten minutes. Your gate is the very last one.’

      ‘It always is,’ Michael smiled.

      ‘Do you have any carry-on? I’d be happy to get a cart for it.’

      Michael shook his head, picked up his drink and took a sip. ‘We’re just fine, aren’t we?’ he asked and looked at Claire for the first time.

      She nodded. ‘Perfectly fine,’ she said and leaned back into the incredibly soft suede of the banquette. Michael leaned over and took her hand. ‘Do you need something to read? It’s your last chance to get a Hershey bar. They don’t have the same candy in London.’

      Claire smiled. ‘No,’ she told him. ‘I think I have all I need.’

      ‘Me, too,’ Michael said, smiling back.

      She turned away, embarrassed but flooded with happiness. This was the sort of adventure that Audrey Hepburn had in old movies. She could hardly believe she was here, with him. Outside, in the deep satin darkness, an enormous plane slid into a berth almost beside them. Michael spoke and she turned back to face him.

      ‘Don’t worry about a thing. I’ve ordered you a kosher meal so you should be all right,’ Michael said.

      For a moment Claire looked at him trying not to show her astonishment then she realized he was joking and giggled. ‘Do I really seem Orthodox?’ she asked.

      He gave her a lopsided grin. ‘Au contraire. I think you’re very unorthodox. Lurking under that little librarian act is a world conqueror waiting to be set free. Don’t think I missed that.’

      Claire wasn’t sure what she would have said, but it didn’t matter because the smiling aide returned. ‘Ready to go?’ she asked.

      And Michael took Claire’s elbow and maneuvered her through the dim hushed lounge and out into the harsh fluorescent lights and crowded clattering mass of the terminal itself. At the gate the aide brought their passports to a desk, they were returned, and she ushered them down the jetway and onto the plane.

      To Claire’s surprise there was an attendant waiting. She escorted them, along with the aide, to a curtain on the right and into the very front of the plane. Claire knew it existed but she had never been in First Class. ‘You’re in the second row, Mr Wainwright. But if you’d like the bulkhead seat it’s available. You might be more comfortable,’ the flight attendant told him.

      ‘No, the second row is fine.’

      ‘Should I sit by the window?’ Claire asked.

      ‘Sure,’ he told her. ‘Not that there’s much to see.’

      He sat down beside her, took a blanket and a small box from the seat pocket in front of her, spread the blanket over her legs and took out one for himself. He handed her the box and she unzipped it. ‘Don’t bother. It has all the usual junk,’ he said. ‘Travel toothbrush, moisturizer, cologne, sleep mask, ear plugs.’ Claire looked at the cunning little box. I’ll keep it forever she thought.

      The flight attendant was back, this time holding a silver tray of tall wine glasses. ‘Champagne, water or orange juice?’ she asked.

      ‘One of each for me,’ Michael said. He turned again to Claire. ‘And for you?’

      ‘The same,’ she said, surprised and delighted.

      ‘Here are tonight’s menus. Please select whatever you like, and we do have the express meal. If you’re planning to sleep through the flight, we can bring it to you right after take-off.’

      ‘Thanks,’ Michael said. ‘I’ve got a meeting first thing tomorrow. I need all the sleep I can get.’

      ‘I’m going to use the …’

      ‘It’s right over there, luv,’ she was told.

      She walked past the other passengers, trying not to stare, and opened the door to the lavatory.

      That too was a surprise. There wasn’t a tub or a shower, but it was an actual bathroom, twice the size of the tiny closets in the back of the plane and filled with all sorts of goodies. There was a glass vase, filled with fresh СКАЧАТЬ