by L C Kincaide
“Is that you?”
“Yeah. I guess it’s time.”
The last of the baggage had made it into the aircraft and the empty luggage cart convoy moved away taking a wide turn around another vehicle that had pulled up to the aircraft. A large rectangular crate with, HANDLE WITH EXTREME CARE stencilled on the side was the only cargo on the cart and the handlers transferred it carefully to the conveyor belt. It too made its way inside.
“And don’t worry about seeing… you know.”
“I’ll try not to.”
“Okay. Then you’d better go. Have a good flight and enjoy yourself.”
“I will. And you take care and tell the little guy to wait for me.”
“You got it.”
“I’ll call you when I get there.”
“I’ll be here.”
Elinor appeared at her side and Emma ended her call.
~*~
A stewardess greeted them at the end of the jet bridge plane’s entrance and directed them to the left. Emma followed her mother down the aisle of the tapered first class cabin awash in soothing blue mood lighting between the open suites outfitted with two throne-like chairs. It wasn’t an interior she had seen before. Elinor scooted to the window seat and Emma promptly sat on her amenity kit. She glanced around, hoping no one noticed the smooth move — the steward was stowing her carry-on in the overhead compartment — and discreetly tugged at a package containing a pair of pyjamas from beneath her. Another impeccably mannered and nice looking steward approached, so the toiletry bag would have to stay where it was for the time being poking uncomfortably into her spine. He introduced himself as Nigel and offered her a smile and champagne.
“Champagne, how lovely!” Elinor beamed beside her.
“Nuts?” He asked Emma.
“Thanks.”
He pulled out a black-lacquered tray table and gave them each a ramekin of honey-roasted nuts and continued up the aisle. She eased out her complimentary toiletries hoping the tube of toothpaste hadn’t exploded in the crush. She felt like a bumpkin on her maiden voyage.
“You see, dear, this is how traveling ought to be every time.” Elinor scrunched on a sweet almond. “I can’t imagine how Theo and the children would have survived the Weekends all those years if they had to sit back there.” She nodded toward the rear of the aircraft where noisy activity was taking place.
Mum had a point; Emma agreed noting the comfortable, black leather-trimmed chairs, the chrome finishings, and plenty of leg room. There was something to be said for traveling in style. She snuggled in her seat and observed an attractive stewardess across the aisle helping passengers settle in for their trans-Atlantic journey. They would spend the next several hours hurtling over the Atlantic in semi-privacy and comfort.
“This won’t be so bad at all.” Elinor shifted into a more comfortable position and glanced out the window. “The woman I was talking to,” she continued turning to her, “they were visiting friends when her husband dropped dead. Just like that, with no warning — heart attack or aneurysm… some such thing. Can you imagine? She had to cut her trip short and bring him home in a coffin. Dreadful. Ah, the champagne!” She beamed at Nigel and took the offered glass of bubbly. “How lovely! Cheers, dear.”
Emma raised her flute, “Cheers,” and leaned back sipping her sparkling wine as behind her the rest of the plane continued to fill.
It seemed odd to being separated from humanity. If not for the murmurs in the background, it’s as if they were the only ones on board. She imagined the module separating and they leaving the remaining fuselage adrift like in a sci-fi movie.
Again, she wished John were with her and she could share her musings with him. But even if his plans hadn’t changed, they would not be traveling together. She couldn’t let mum go on her own, and he would be with his parents likely flying out of Tweed. At least they’d all land at Heathrow. She wondered what he was doing. Nearly nine, it was already tomorrow for him, so he was well into his day.
“Do I have time for a refill?” She asked Nigel.
“Absolutely. We lift off in twenty minutes.”
“Perfect!” She held out her glass while avoiding Elinor’s disapproving glances.
When the steward offered her another, she didn’t say no.
“Please watch your drinking, Emma. Alcohol affects one more at higher altitudes.” She warned.
“I know, mum. This isn’t very strong and we have at least six hours for the booze to wear off.” She replied ignoring Elinor’s fresh drink and a cringe.
“Why didn’t you get your hair done?” She asked after a while. “We are attending a wedding not a musical extravaganza.”
“What? You mean this?” Emma fingered the white streak at her forehead.
“Yes. That.”
“I like it.” And it reminds me of having survived a terrifying ordeal, which saved the family, I might add.
Elinor sniffed. “You are too young for that hair color. And you are still single.”
Oh, here we go about the spinsterhood, she groaned inwardly. “I’m not even thirty yet, mum. You got married in your thirties. Besides, the white streak is better than a green one.”
“Don’t remind me.” Elinor rolled her eyes and turned back to the window.
Emma scouted around for Nigel wondering if she had time for another glass.
After a decadent meal and dessert, the blue-tinged lights turned down to near darkness. In her circle of light, Elinor thumbed through a magazine about the Royals. Emma glanced at her phone — four hours left. No good movies were playing, nor was she in the mood for reading. Sleeping didn’t seem a possibility either, so she let her gaze wander around the cabin. From what she could see, nearly everyone seemed settled in for the long haul as Nigel and his counterpart kept a silent vigil from their posts. From the corner of her eye, she noticed she wasn’t the only one unable to sleep. A restless man wandered down the opposite aisle. If worse came to worst, she could take a walk too and stretch her legs. Having nothing better to do, she watched him traipse to the end and continue past the bend toward her. The older gentleman gave her the impression he’d rather be somewhere else. As fancy as it was, first class still meant being cooped up in a small space in the company of strangers with your ears popping.
A discreet ding sounded behind her, and Nigel instantly appeared from around the corner, his brisk strides quickly closing the space between him and the meandering gentleman.
Expecting the steward to slow down and excuse himself around the passenger or the older man to move aside, it surprised her when neither of these things happened. Could he not see him? Emma wondered. Instead, Nigel continued forward, and the gentleman came to an abrupt stop to stare at her. Emma braced herself for the inevitable collision about to take place. Her hand clamped over her mouth to stifle a scream when Nigel, instead of crashing into his obstacle, breezed straight through him scattering the apparition.
“Are you all right, Miss?” Nigel halted in his tracks.
“Um… yes.” Emma scrambled for a believable response. “I... uh remembered something.”
Her response seemed to reassure Nigel that one of his charges wasn’t about to become hysterical or sick. “If there’s anything you need…” he said giving her his professional non-judgemental smile.
“Yes. Thank you. I mean, no, I’m fine.” Not really — you just walked through a ghost of someone I thought was real! “Maybe a glass of wine the next time you pass by.”
He nodded and continued on his original quest. Elinor, who could not have missed this exchange, pulled her sleep mask over her eyes and settled under her blanket. How ironic, Emma couldn’t help thinking. All the times her mother went on about the Everdon ghosts and she refused to listen to any of it, believing it to be Elinor’s delusions after having spent a lifetime at
the manor. Now, the tables were turned and the only two people who would understand were far away. She took a healthy swig of the wine when Nigel returned with her drink. What would his reaction be if he knew about the extra passenger who seemed to have disappeared for the time being? Whatever his training involved, accommodating ghosts was likely not addressed in the curriculum. Had he felt anything at all? It didn’t seem that way.
As for the recently departed man, he appeared to be lost as if what had happened to him remained out of his grasp. Was he attached to his wife or to his former body? She could ask him if he returned; he had stopped at her seat after all. What was she thinking? To start chatting with Mr. Ghost would have Nigel calling ahead to reserve an ambulance to take her to Bedlam. Wasn’t the old looney bin in London?
She and Rachel had been discussing that just before Elinor showed up.
“And don’t get freaked out by… you know.” Rachel had warned.
“You mean dead people?” She had whispered back not wanting anyone to overhear. “I doubt it. I can’t tell the living from the dead. For all I know, there could be one right here haunting the first class departure lounge, like this guy reading the paper. It’s not like they do it in the movies when the ghosts look the way they died. I mean, it makes sense. I wouldn’t want to present myself looking all messed up either.” She shook her head. “Listen to me talk. I used to think my mother was off-the-wall for talking to Mason Everdon. By now, I’ve surpassed her.”
“It’s a gift.” Rachel had said not laughing anymore.
“Where can I return it?” The other side of this so-called gift that allowed her to know things before anyone else did, she would gladly keep. But the ghost sightings, she could do without. It served no purpose as far as she could tell.
“It just takes getting used to. There must be a reason you have it.”
“Sure, like freaking me out. Oh, who knows? At least they’re not asking me to pass on messages to loved ones and guide them through tunnels.”
“If that starts, you can have your own show. Be famous and help people.”
“Right. I might as well open up the house and be the Crazy Ghost Lady of Everdon Manor.” She had snickered though it wasn’t necessarily a joke.
“Okay, maybe not that, specifically.” Had been her reply.
Emma knew Rachel was just trying to help her cope with this recent phenomenon, to justify it. Still, the question remained — would she ever get used to seeing ghosts? It was bad enough they were visible to her and she couldn’t decide if them seeing her made it worse. The encounter was more personal though the point of it eluded her. Maybe remembering more of what happened in the manor — filling in those lost moments would answer some of these questions. Meanwhile, she hoped her sanity held.
How had mum managed all those years with Mason whispering his demands to her? Surely it had taken a toll, and if she didn’t want to accept the same happening to her daughter, she could understand, it being an unwelcome reminder. After all, the ghostly, creepy, paranormal business was supposed to be over and done with. Everyone had moved on last fall and this trip was proof of it. To acknowledge this foray into the supernatural would be taking a step backward and nobody wanted to do that.
Emma let out a deep, troubled sigh. How had she become her mother? She rang for Nigel who arrived promptly with a box of chocolates.
“I thought you could use these.” He winked exposing a chink in his professional armor.
“Thanks.” She said with gratitude and asked for a glass of orange juice. Arriving hung over and dehydrated wouldn’t make things better.
LONDON
~*~
The bellhop opened the door to a spacious suite on the third floor, and she followed Elinor across the plush carpeting to a comfortable sitting room in neutral shades and antique furniture. The uniformed fellow, after depositing Elinor’s luggage in her suite stepped out and entered Emma’s suite from the hall and stowed her bags in her antiqued rose-pink room. Emma stepped into their shared marble-clad ensuite sparkling with glass and brass fittings. It was modern and inviting, and she counted the seconds for him to leave desperate for a shower and a nap. It had been a long day/night and sleep had remained out of reach. At least the ghostly passenger hadn’t returned, possibly the encounter having freaked him out as well.
“We have time to rest before meeting with Theo for tea. I suppose that would be lunchtime for us. Good heavens!” Elinor shook her head again. “How did they ever deal with the time difference over only three days?”
Emma shrugged, eager for her hot shower.
“I’ve left a wake-up call for noon — that’s three hours from now. We are meeting at two o’clock so that should be enough time to prepare.”
Two hours? She could be ready in fifteen minutes!
“Can you give me an extra hour? I didn’t sleep at all on the plane.”
“Of course, if you can manage to get yourself ready on time. Best to hang up your clothes first to let the creases out.”
“I will. See you later.” She closed the connecting door and peeled off her T-shirt and jeans.
Flushed pink and sweet-smelling from the rose-scented soap, she wrapped herself in the fluffy robe and grabbed her phone. Sprawled on the bed, she texted her morning greeting to John. A few seconds later, he responded.
- How was the flight?
- Great service, awesome food. What’s up today?
- Tour of the cherry blossoms, meetings, more sushi, tour of the site, meetings
- Busy day
- You?
- Tea with Sir Theo then pre-wedding dinner with everyone
- Enjoy!
- I’d rather be with you
-Me too
Emma’s heart warmed and she smiled.
- Skype tonite?
- You bet!
She disconnected and held the phone close. She then changed the robe for her new pilfered pyjamas — why not? — and curled under the covers. Damn! She remembered the clothes were still in the suitcase! Too late now.
Within seconds, she was asleep.
“Are you wearing that?” Elinor frowned with displeasure.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing, if you don’t mind everyone seeing your underwear.”
“They’d only see it if I were to bend over to pick up a lucky penny.” Did mum just shudder? Emma grinned. “Besides, London is one of the most progressive cities, fashion-wise. I’ll probably look frumpy next to Grace.”
Elinor pursed her lips. “It is too late now. We shouldn’t keep them waiting.”
Emma didn’t see the rush; they were only going as far as the Palm Court Restaurant downstairs.
A turn at the end of the corridor brought them to the entrance of the Palm Court, and they mounted the wide steps to the restaurant’s level. A pair of marble columns and potted palms in Chinese-inspired glazed pots guarded the entrance where they waited to be shown to their table. Emma let her eyes wander over the many details of the spacious room made sumptuous with gilded embellishments rendered in intricate patterns.
Mirrored niches aglow with lit sconces reflected crisp white linen-covered tables, and additional sprays of green fronds added colour throughout the space.
Overhead, light from massive crystal chandeliers revealed a delicate filigree border at the high ceiling while below, tuxedoed waiters wove smoothly among the diners amid the strains from a harp and piano duo tucked in an alcove.
The guests too were fashionably attired with no denim in sight which was not permitted according to the brochure. The restaurant reminded Emma of their ballroom, at least what it could have been had the circumstances been different. The last time she had found herself in such an environment had been on their final Weekend, and glancing around, it wouldn’t have surprise
d her to see diners dressed in Victorian garb, for they would have been quite at home in this setting. And more to the point, if anyone wore a corset or a high-stand collar, they were likely ghosts.
Sir Theo emerged from behind a massive floral arrangement and strode toward them.
“Elinor! Emma! Welcome! I’m so glad you are here!” He beamed.
“Theo! How wonderful to see you! Goodness, you’re looking well!” Elinor enthused and they kissed cheeks.
Emma snapped out of her musings to greet her uncle. He was a dashing figure in a suit, the image of a dignified older gentleman though his face looked oddly bare without the muttonchop whiskers. A moment later, the Ruskins appeared. She had never seen them in modern clothes, and from what she could tell at first glance, Frances still favored her red hair in a voluminous arrangement, but Godfrey Ruskin was nearly the same. They greeted Elinor warmly and were smiling at her too, shaking hands and exchanging their pleasure at seeing each other again. Was it her imagination or did Frances’ green eyes scrape over her with condemnation? She realized the woman blamed her for her son’s close brush with death and tried to ignore it. At least, Godfrey seemed more accepting of her.
The waiter showed them to their table. They would not be meeting with Grace and Robert until the dinner a few hours later.
Craving sausage and scrambled eggs, Emma picked at tea cakes and scones heaped with strawberry preserves and clotted cream. The cucumber sandwiches were too familiar from the Weekends and she passed on those.
While the older generation caught up on events, she felt rather like a fifth wheel, figuratively, and she was actually the odd one and could have missed this altogether if it wouldn’t have appeared rude.
She glanced around the table at the men and women who had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember. Sir Theo’s face was flushed, and he spoke with enthusiasm about the upcoming two days. He looked well; for the first time comfortable in his own familiar environment. Had she ever seen him look this happy and at peace before? She could not tell, but probably not. Their Weekend visits always held an underlying tension and he must have been jet-lagged.