by Lynne King
“Why you little bitch! I forgot how easily you like to inflict pain with that foot of yours.” Instead of releasing her, his arm went around the small of her back and slammed her into his chest. His mouth came down on hers hard and crushing as if to punish.
Chantelle made herself go limp in his arms, refusing to resist or succumb. Her lips remained clamped; her eyes open wide and staring back at him with venom.
He pulled back, releasing her at the same time, injured pride mixed with shame revealed in his face.
Her words came out slow and deliberate. “Let’s not make the same mistake twice.”
“You’re right, darling.” His tone was bitter. “At least this time you didn’t leave it right to the last moment to change your mind. And now we know where we both stand. I’m going down to breakfast. You can do what you like, wait here or join me.” Opening the door, he walked out.
Chantelle felt the dryness in her mouth. She wasn’t going to last the journey back to London without something inside her, even a cup of tea would suffice. Managing to catch up to him as they entered the breakfast room, she was surprised to see half of it taken up already. The waitress directed them over to a table by large French doors, which were secured open, allowing the early morning sun to drift in over the terrace. Beautiful adorned tubs of geraniums sat basking in the sun. Several couples having finished breakfast were now seated outside sipping their coffee and indulging in idle chatter.
Such a beautiful romantic setting; the thought made Chantelle feel even more miserable. She wondered what kind of picture they presented, both dressed in the same clothes from the previous day, their faces gloomy, a strained atmosphere between them. From the curious glances they were receiving, she guessed some were witness to their behavior in the bar last night.
David ordered a full English breakfast: cereal, bacon, egg and sausage followed by several rounds of toast. Chantelle settled for toast and cups of tea. The sight and smell of his breakfast made her stomach queasy. She guessed the effects of her alcohol abuse were still with her, but at least the headache was fading. As for David, he was making sure to get his money’s worth, which made her wonder whether she should insist on paying half the hotel bill. She would often do it when taken out for a meal, so to go Dutch for one night’s sex, which never happened, seemed perfectly reasonable. After all, it could hardly be misconstrued as paying for his services.
He broke the silence with, “Do you often live on a sparrow’s diet?”
“It depends on who’s paying and the company, of course,” she retorted, feeling no better for getting her feelings out in the open.
The look he gave her had bitch written all over it, making her wish she had remained silent. This couldn’t get worse; they were like two adversaries, each trying to score a direct hit either by looks or the occasional flying insult. And less than fifteen hours ago, they had been stripping each other’s clothing off.
The outcome of this morning’s breakfast might have been completely different if she hadn’t had an attack of morals. Why, they could have been holding hands across the table, looking adoringly into each other’s eyes like lovers were supposed to do after a night of passion. At least the way things were, she still had her self-respect, not that it seemed to count for much with the way she was feeling. She couldn’t help a self-derisive smile from forming.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing, you wouldn’t understand.” David actually seemed disturbed by her answer, but it didn’t stop the tease in her from surfacing as she added, “Do you come here often?”
He responded with a cynical smile. “Do you mean, do I often pick up fickle girls at air shows and bring them here to coerce into bed? It’s the first time for me and the last.” Finishing his coffee, he stared as if waiting for her barbed response.
No sarcastic comment came to mind; instead, she felt numb. She began sucking into her lower lip, repressing the tears, fighting the emotion threatening to take control. This was so unlike her; she never cried, at least not over hurt pride, which was all this really was.
He reached out and placed his hand over hers. “Look, I know you’re not the type of girl who can settle for casual relationships and I respect you for that. It was a moment of madness that brought us both here and thankfully, sanity took over. I’m not the kind of guy you need in your life. Believe me, you deserve far better with someone willing to commit.”
Feeling foolish, she bit painfully into her lower lip and withdrew her hand, her words softly spoken. “Don’t flatter yourself, David. I’m not that desperate to settle down yet, but you’re right about one thing. The madness has definitely passed.”
“Mr and Mrs Bishop, your taxi is here,” the waitress said hesitantly, having obviously noted the atmosphere between them.
“I’m getting the taxi to drop me off at the airfield and then it can take you on to London,” David told her.
“You’re flying back to Rochester, aren’t you?”
“Yes. It was one of Tony’s planes I flew down in and I need to return it.”
“I flew down here in the biplane with Danny and left my new car parked at Rochester, so it would make more sense to fly back with you.”
“Okay if you can stand the company.” He held the taxi door open for her and when he climbed in next to her, she found herself moving farther along the seat, her face turned toward the window, staring out blankly.
The ride back to the airfield had an oppressive air to it. She felt like this was the end to something that hadn’t even begun and somewhere in between, it had gone disastrously wrong. It would have been easier if they had simply parted company and she had boarded a train, but maybe she was a masochist at heart because deep down she didn’t want to say goodbye.
“Are you sure about this? I’ll pay for the taxi to take you home and you can send me a check later if it makes you feel better.”
He was being so nice to her now that she had left all feelings of anger and hurt pride back at that hotel. “No, I’m fine. As I said, the car Danny provided me with is parked at the airfield and I can check on my plane at the same time.”
“I’ve just got to log in at the control tower. You can wait inside the building if you like; it might be warmer.”
The day promised to be a glorious one, but it was late summer and it hadn’t warmed up yet. In fact, she had been feeling the cold since leaving the hotel in only her shorts and T-shirt, but she wasn’t about to let David know.
“No, I’m fine,” Chantelle replied, ignoring the goose bumps rising up her bare legs.
Shrugging his shoulders, he walked toward the building. Five minutes later, he reappeared and pointed at his plane, taking her by surprise when he handed her the keys and suggested she take the controls. “That’s if you’re comfortable with it.”
“Why shouldn’t I be?” Chantelle retorted and then realizing she was snapping his head off for what was a generous offer, she gave an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. You shocked me, that’s all. Men and their cars, airplanes, you know, that sort of macho thing. They don’t like women messing with their costly possessions; makes them kind of nervous.” She realized he was laughing as she continued talking nonsense about how she was a pretty good pilot and he had nothing to fear.
“No worries, it’s not my plane and Tony, the guy who owns it, thinks women make better pilots anyway.” Unlocking the passenger side door first, he reached into the back and retrieved a leather flying jacket. “Here, put this on; it might be a bit chilly up there.”
Without argument, she placed the heavy garment on and immediately felt the warmth seeping through her. Any tension between them seemed suddenly replaced by a relaxed openness. She was on home territory now. Settled behind the controls of a plane, it was like a lover welcoming her into his arms.
Having carried out all the essential checks -- plenty of fuel, the dials set correctly -- she started the engine up and radioed the control tower for permission to taxi to the holding point. It was given a
nd the plane rolled smoothly onto the runway, the wind blowing directly into the aircraft’s nose. Remaining in touch with the tower, she opened the throttle smoothly, giving full power, her feet on the rudder keeping it level, her eyes looking straight ahead at the far end of the field. The plane gathered speed as her hands gently brought the column back, her eyes flitting over the instruments to make sure everything was in order.
The plane was a Cessna like her own so she was completely familiar with all the controls, but the sensation never dulled. Every sense came alive as the plane climbed, the noise pounding in her ears as the nose took on the impression of an arrowhead, almost suspending them in the sky. Gradually the plane leveled off, the noise became a gentle humming and then they were cruising above the countryside, a multitude of shapes filled with every shade of green and yellow, rivers a stunning azure. Built up cities became toy towns and she was an observer, no longer a participant in the hustle and bustle that went on below. It was the greatest freedom she had ever felt.
“Something else, isn’t it?” Chantelle asked. “Makes you want to stay up here and never go down. An elusive feeling, untouched by all the pressures and influences of modern-day living.”
“You read my mind.”
She looked across at him. The blue gaze meeting hers was sensual, just like in the hotel room when he had first taken her in his arms. It was confusing to find the eyes that could be so dark and intimidating one minute could turn to sky blue “come to bed” eyes the next, the cynical smile taking on a boyish charm.
She averted her gaze. She wasn’t about to fall under that spell again. “Since I’ve provided you with an insight into my thoughts, how about you tell me some of yours?”
“I’ve just told you. Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth. And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings.”
Chantelle continued the quote. “Sunward I’ve climbed and joined the tumbling mirth of sun-split clouds – and done a hundred things. High Flight. John Gillespie Magee.
So we both know a little poetry. Tell me, David, what other deep sensitive aspects are there to your character? I know for one that you listen to classical music on the radio. And I assume from Danny’s comment at the air show that you were once in the air force. And I caught the look those RAF pilots gave you; it wasn’t exactly friendly. So did you get discharged or something?”
She turned to look at him and caught the small frown and the tightening of his lips. That was her problem; she always spoke without thinking. Obviously, she had said too much, because he avoided her gaze.
“Oh there’s a lot about me you don’t want to know, Chantelle, believe me. I’m sure, given time, Danny will enlighten you. By the way, was that part of the act, that final crazy knife-edge stunt?” His serious tone revealed he didn’t agree with it.
“No, Danny surprised us all with that.” She tried to make light of it. “I don’t think he’ll try it again, not after the roasting Don gave him. Don is the one who set up the Swift Flying Circus and so what he says usually goes.”
David glanced at her, concern in his voice. “A word of warning: lay down the ground rules. It’s your neck he’s risking up there. I wouldn’t like to see anything happen to it.”
She smiled. “No chance of that, I happen to value my neck. And since you mentioned Danny, what is it with you two? He’s been acting pretty weird since you showed up. He hasn’t been acting like the Danny I know, always fooling around. No one can stay angry with him long, even Don. With you, though, he’s deadly serious, almost --” She hesitated. Hateful was the word that came to mind, which, despite her usual honesty, wasn’t a term best aired.
Luckily, David spoke. “You don’t give up, do you? Let’s just say not all families grow up liking each other. Danny and I might be brothers, but we differ in how we feel about our upbringing and of course, there’s the ten-year age gap. I was closer to our father and when he died, any family bond died with him.”
“That’s so sad. What about your mother?”
“She doesn’t exist as far as I’m concerned.”
David’s cold, dismissive tone shocked Chantelle. Whatever his mother had done had left lasting scars. Maybe she could relate to some of the anger; her own upbringing hadn’t been easy and repressed resentment had surfaced when her father died. The papers had called him a hero who’d saved hundreds from dying. There was never any mention of her father’s mistress of twenty-six years. To remain a secret was what her mother had wanted. They didn’t even attend the funeral. She had argued badly with her mother over it and then had felt bitterness toward her father for dying without ever giving her his name.
“I know how it feels to lose a parent. My father died and left me his plane and that was about it. Not that he actually lived with us, so the loss was more about the time we spent together and not having it anymore. He used to visit and take me up in his plane. He taught me how to fly and we were there at every damn air show, mother and me, but he was never a father in the true sense of the word.”
It was strange how she could talk about it now, the teasing and spiteful innuendoes from her years of growing up in a one parent household forgotten or at least pushed aside. Divorce was fashionable, illegitimacy wasn’t.
“Anyway, it was always just mother and me. Then last year she announced after twenty-five years of living in England, she was finally going back home to France and the family who had disinherited her for falling in love. So we all have our family crosses to bear one way or another.”
She met David’s puzzled and somewhat surprised look with a smile. “I sometimes talk too much, usually when I’m in my own territory up in the clouds and have a captive audience.” She gave a small laugh and started to bank the plane in the direction of their destination. “Don’t worry; your savior is on hand. There’s land ahead.”
“How did you get into wing-walking and hook up with Danny?”
“Two questions and again about me.”
“I’m curious, that’s all. Something must have gotten you into it. Or someone.”
Chantelle had a feeling he was still unconvinced nothing had happened between Danny and her. “Look, I’ve known your brother for a couple of years, the same amount of time I’ve known Don and quite a few others. We all got to talking. Don had an aerobatic team, wanted to introduce a second biplane which Danny owned and needed a wing-walker. So that’s how it came about.”
“What were you doing before?”
“I was a teacher and yes, it took some persuading from Don to give up my career. I mean, who in their right mind wants to be strapped to a metal frame with the wind whistling around your ears and everything living rushing toward you as the plane gathers speed down the runway? Still it beats teaching eight-year-olds.”
Picking up the radio receiver, she radioed through to the control tower and started the plane’s descent, focusing all her attention on bringing the plane down on the earthen runway. There was a slight lurch forward as they touched the runway, the unevenness of the ground causing the plane to bump and jerk before finally coming to a standstill.
“Not a bad landing if I say so myself. Still, the owner could try modernizing this runway by having tarmac laid.”
“I’ll pass your criticism on to Tony, but it would mean his rates would go up.”
“Oh, well then forget I said anything.”
Climbing down from the cockpit, Chantelle removed the flying jacket and handed it back to David. She felt a slight chill as the fresh air hit her bare arms, but refused David’s offer to put it back on.
“That’s my new car, by the way. It’s quite unique.” They were walking toward the car park and Chantelle pointed toward an old Renault, which had rust around the wheel arches, and a pale blue driver’s door in sharp contrast to the rest of it, which was dark blue. “Your generous brother donated it to me to use until the insurance payout on the car he so kindly wrote off.”
“That’s Danny for you; he never did have much taste when it comes to transport. Does
he still drive around on that motorbike of his?”
“Yes and he’s a crazy maniac on it. Going by the car you drive, you obviously enjoy style and comfort rather than recklessness, which brings me to the question of what exactly do you do?”
They now stood between her heap of a car and David’s Jaguar. Chantelle knew that as soon as she opened the door and climbed in, that would be it. He wasn’t about to ask to see her again and if they accidentally met, polite formalities would be all that passed between them. She didn’t want it to end like this. She didn’t know what she wanted, but it wasn’t this.
“There you go again, asking questions.” He gave a small sigh, but his smile revealed he wasn’t bothered by it.
“Let me guess. You work for an avionics company and lecture abroad or maybe telecommunications. Or you work for the government, recruited from the air force, although you don’t strike me as a paper pusher.”
He raised his arms up in submission. “I work for whoever pays the most, a modern day mercenary. So now you know.”
Chantelle’s eyebrows drew together in a puzzled frown. “That doesn’t tell me anything.” She fell silent, knowing the time had come for them to part company, but not knowing how to do it.
The sound of car tires screeching to halt just yards from them caused them both to turn and look. A woman in her early thirties with fair hair cut fashionably short was seated behind the wheel of the red sports convertible.
Chantelle heard David curse under his breath and noted the discomfort in his face. Her curiosity deepened. She stood there and waited, arms folded across her chest.
“Catherine, what are you doing here?”
His disgruntled tone obviously had no effect on the woman, who smiled as she approached him. She looked stylish in designer sunglasses, red lips, high heels, and an above the knee skirt and matching pale blue linen jacket.
Chantelle wasn’t surprised by what came next, the chic way of kissing David twice on each cheek. She stood back and seemed to notice Chantelle for the first time, then quickly dismissed her.