by Linda Coles
“It’s a beautiful way to travel, don’t you think?” A male voice to her left caught her attention. She jumped slightly.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You didn’t. Not really. I was just a little mesmerized, that’s all.” Taylor turned to the gentleman and smiled. “And to answer your question, yes, it is a beautiful way to travel.”
“I’m sorry – how rude of me.” The man extended his hand in greeting. “I’m Terrance Dubonnet.” Taylor stood to come up to some of the height of the silver-haired man in front of her, though she was short by about a foot. Not that she was small, far from it, but he must have been a little over six foot, in her estimation. Their hands connected and she returned a firm handshake.
“Nice to meet you. And I’m Taylor Palmer.” Both of them were biting back smiles; they were both looking at sparkling eyes, though different colours.
“Good to meet you, Taylor. May I call you Taylor?”
“Of course, if I can call you Terrance.” His face broke into a ‘touché’ smirk. She had a strong personality; he liked that. He ventured further with conversation, eager to talk to her.
“The new Dreamliner is particularly nice because there are only eight seats in the whole cabin. It’s one of the most modern birds in the sky. It’s a real treat to fly on one, don’t you think?”
Taylor couldn’t help the slight blush that crept over her cheeks. Should she say it was her first time in First? But there was no need. The silver-haired gentleman understood immediately.
“Well, if it’s your first time on board in First Class, then you really must have the window seat. Then you can add the view to the whole experience. Allow me to swap seats with you. That is, if you would like?”
“Oh, I couldn’t ask you to do that! But thank you anyway.”
“Nonsense, my dear. I’d be delighted to swap with you. I’ll just let the stewardess know. It’s my pleasure, as I said.” His silver-grey eyes twinkled at her in encouragement. How could she refuse?
“Well, in that case, I’d love to see the view as well. Thank you.” Taylor couldn’t believe her luck. Could this get any better?
“Splendid. Then you gather your belongings, and I’ll let them know we’ve swapped. Then maybe we can chat again a bit later, during the flight? Perhaps over another glass of champagne?” The man nodded to her flute of bubbles.
“Certainly. It would be my pleasure.” Taylor watched as he turned to talk to an attendant, then moved herself across the aisle to the window seat and settled back in. A moment later, she felt his presence rather than heard him, in the seat she had recently vacated, and snuggled back into her own. Closing her eyes to savour the moment, she wondered, and not for the first time, how she had come to be sitting in First Class. Not upgraded to Business Class, even, but full-on First Class. Some airlines didn’t even have a First Class section any longer, and with only eight seats in the cabin, there wasn’t room for many to travel in such style. Her smile returned. The gentleman’s voice caught her attention again.
“I’m so sorry to bother you again,” he said apologetically, “but I thought I’d show you how to turn your seat into a lie-down bed for later. It’s a long way back to London. I’m sure you’d appreciate a decent sleep?”
“Oh. Yes. Thank you. That would be great. It’s been a long day, actually. I don’t think I’ll have too much trouble dropping off tonight.”
“Well, allow me to make you more comfortable.” Taylor removed herself from her private cubicle and watched as he showed her the mechanism. While it was kind of him to take an interest, she was curious why he was doing so. The flight attendant would have helped her anyway. As she watched his body bend to make the changes, she noticed how easy he was for an older man. She guessed he was in his seventies, perhaps; he was very nimble. Her own grandfather barely shuffled around his flat without groaning about being stiff, but not this gentleman. Perhaps he did yoga.
“There you go. It’s really very easy.” Touching the side of his nose knowingly, he added, “And nobody but us will know you’ve never travelled First Class.” His kind smile filled his face genuinely, his silver eyes and silver hair giving him an air of Santa Claus without the red robe. A man to be trusted. Taylor smiled her appreciation at their secret.
“Now you settle in, and maybe after dinner we can chat more over that drink?”
“I’ll look forward to it.” Taylor sat back and picked up her book, ready for takeoff. In several hours she’d be back in London, and whilst she was looking forward to seeing her friends and family again, it was going to be tough to get settled in another role. She’d left New York, and everything she loved about it, behind her.
Dinner was served an hour into the flight. Gone were the nasty plastic trays filled with plastic cutlery, tasteless food steamed to death under a tinfoil lid, and the little plastic wine cup. An actual menu had been presented moments before, and she’d decided on herb-crusted lamb with all the trimmings as her main course. But right now, with stainless steel cutlery, Taylor was enjoying fresh lobster with a lemon dressing. Another flute of bubbles was at her side. She thought of what the majority of the passengers behind her in economy would be eating; there was no comparison. And in the back of her mind, still couldn’t for the life of her understand how she’d come to be sat there enjoying it all. Perhaps she should buy that lottery ticket when she landed, before her luck ran out.
“More champagne, Madam?” The hostess hovered with a bottle of Laurent-Perrier Grand Siècle in her hand, linen napkin at the ready to catch any drips.
“Thank you – yes, please,” Taylor said, and she watched as her glass was refilled for the third time. She caught the eye of her silver-haired gentleman friend as he watched with interest, a slight smile on his lips. She smiled back, and he nodded in satisfaction and went back to his own meal, safe in the knowledge that his plan was taking shape, both on board the aircraft and down on the ground.
The following morning, and an hour before the flight was due to arrive in London, he had his last task to fulfil. He ordered coffee for the both of them and a pot, cups and cream arrived shortly afterwards. He turned towards his new friend.
“I’ve taken a bit of a liberty, I’m afraid and ordered a pot of coffee. Would you care to share a cup with me?”
“Of course. That would be lovely,” she said, closing her book. She watched as he poured aromatic coffee into a second cup and offered it to her.
“Cream and sugar?”
“Just cream, thanks.”
“Well, I hope you’ve enjoyed your trip in First Class. You’ll never want to go back to economy now, I expect.” He was teasing her; his smile told her so.
“I’ve no choice, so I’d better get over myself and realize this has been a one-off. Fabulous, but the chance of being upgraded again is fairly remote, I’d say.”
“Oh, you never know. Life is full of surprises, my dear. One never knows what will happen to us from one day to the next.”
“Quite. I agree.” Thinking, she added, “It’s been nice meeting you too, and thanks for letting me have the window seat. The whole trip has been a surreal experience for me.” She drained the remains of her coffee.
The silver-haired old man could only smile his delight in reply. The last part of his plan was now in place. The rice grain–sized device was now floating around inside Taylor’s stomach, and would stay in her system for the next 24 hours, transmitting her location at all times. He sat back in his chair and smiled his appreciation to himself in the privacy of his own cubicle.
Within 24 hours, he’d have another prize to add to his collection. And he couldn’t wait to savour it.
Chapter Four
The man picked up the new signal almost immediately. He checked the code on the screen to see who had activated it, whom it had been issued to, and smiled as he saw the name of someone who regularly used his services. He never knew his real name, of course; anonymity was crucial all round for their service
s to work so seamlessly. His records showed the owner of the tracker as ‘Quinine,’ which meant nothing to him nor anyone else. The tracker device icon pulsed gently on his screen, the dot not far out of London itself, and he flipped to another screen to see where his team were located, who he could pull in for immediate surveillance. He texted the tracker device link to his chosen player, who acted immediately. Watching the movement of the now two different-coloured dots on his screen, he could see the player had moved towards the device’s path, closing the gap between the two of them slightly. The easy part was in motion; the harder part would come some time later. In another hour or so by his reckoning, they would have a full visual of the person they were to supply. That was the part that had the potential to be tricky, so it was imperative nothing was overlooked.
The operator hit a series of keys on his keyboard that activated people in the vicinity as well as in an office block not far from where he was. With the aid of intelligence and surveillance techniques, a full profile of the person would be available very shortly so they could find their ‘entry point,’ the part that would lure the target into their trap. His clients paid handsomely for what they provided, and he took his work very seriously. A small army of people from all walks of life were available at any given time. If they needed a pretty waitress to hover, they had one. If they needed a scruffy tramp to observe, they had one. If they needed an investment banker to talk bullshit, they had one. Every angle was covered for every eventuality.
And that was because each of his clients required something rather particular.
Chapter Five
Terrance Dubonnet watched as the woman in his sights made her way through passport control and onwards with the rest of her journey home. She’d acted perfectly, been perfect in every way, actually, and while he lusted after that special something she possessed, he could be patient a while longer. He cut a dashing figure as he moved forward in a casual, relaxed manner, his statuesque body drawing glances from intrigued women of all ages. At seventy, he was in good shape physically, and he wore his expensive clothes like an iconic movie star working the red carpet on Oscar night. He oozed confidence and style. His black patent shoes peeked out from pressed fine wool trousers as his long legs extended gracefully forward. Up ahead, the cognac shade of her glorious hair was only just visible in the distance, and he placated himself with the knowledge that it wouldn’t be too long before he saw her again. His phone interrupted his thoughts and buzzed with a message.
Activated. You have 23 of your 24 hours left. Be available. Further details to follow.
His smile stayed on his tanned face for a couple of minutes longer as he walked, cherishing the time to come later. Terrance clicked delete, though there really was no need; the message would have disappeared after he’d read it anyway. But he liked to be doubly sure. The organization he used checked every last detail for his protection, as well as their own. If anyone found his phone, there would be no evidence of their agreement existing, nothing to trace back – to anywhere. Clearing passport control, he headed off to collect his luggage and out to his waiting car and driver. He too loved New York, but it was always good to be home.
“Good morning, sir. Pleasant flight?”
“Good morning, Patrick. And yes – great, thanks. How’s the traffic this morning? Same as usual?” His right eyebrow rose in anticipation of good news.
“Yes, sir. More like a car park. Is it ever anything else?” Patrick smiled as Terrance slid inside and made himself comfortable on the back seat. He picked up the morning paper that had been left for him; there was a fresh silver flask of hot coffee in the holder. Patrick had been his driver for more than 10 years and they had an easy, relaxed relationship. Everything about Terrance could be considered relaxed. Stylish, extravagant even, but relaxed overall. Like his car, which was a Bentley. But not the old-man type of Bentley. Terrance had a Flying Spur V8 – silver-grey, of course. And with a top speed of nearly 183 mph, it certainly wasn’t an old man’s car. Not that he’d ever needed the “zero-to-sixty MPH in 4.9 seconds.” It was the luxury, style and comfort of the car that he loved. And he loved beautiful things.
The journey back to his home wouldn’t take long. Englefield Green was only a handful of miles from the airport, but congestion often made the trip much longer than it needed to be. If the M25 was crawling, it didn’t matter how big your engine was: you crawled along with everyone else.
As Terrance settled in, he looked at his wristwatch and noted the time. He’d started things in motion and had only 22.5 hours remaining, but he knew things were being taken care of on his behalf. He’d be messaged again soon with the next set of details, but until that time, he’d rest. He closed his eyes, laid his head back in his reclining seat, and let the smooth vibration of the car rock him for forty winks.
The sound of the driver’s door closing woke him. Shuffling himself upright, he ran his bronzed fingers through his short hair as he readjusted to where he was.
“Sorry, sir. I wasn’t sure whether to wake you or not, but I seem to have anyway. We’re home.”
“Lovely. Thank you, Patrick. I may need you again later today. I’m waiting on a call so I’ll buzz you when I’m ready.”
“Very good, sir.” Patrick helped Terrance out of the car and began to unload the boot. “I believe Mrs. John has baked you a cake – your favourite, coffee and walnut. I expect she’ll be glad to have someone to fuss over again now you’re home.”
Terrance smiled despite himself as he walked towards the front door. The door opened before he had got there himself and a small squeal of delight greeted him. In the doorway stood an older woman, about his own age, he’d often estimated, although he’d never confirmed this. Mrs. John, much like Patrick, had been part of his employ for a good number of years.
“Mrs. John!” he said to her, beaming. “Lovely to be home. I believe you’ve baked a cake?”
She caught his delighted smile and encouraged him inside before closing the door behind her. “Oh, it was meant to be a surprise! Wait until I see Patrick,” she grumbled teasingly. “I have tea ready if you’d like?”
“Thank you, yes, though I’ll take it in my room. Even flying First Class makes you feel like you need a proper shower when you get home, and that’s precisely what I need to do. Give me ten minutes and I’ll be ready.”
“Good idea. In that case, you go on ahead and I’ll bring it up shortly.”
Terrance made his way up the sweeping staircase from the main entrance lobby towards his room. The house was far too big for him now, but it had been in his family for such a long time it didn’t seem right to sell it and move on. But what would he use seven bedrooms for, really? The staff had their own cottages on the property, so at night, when everyone had gone home, there was only him. The smooth feel of the wooden banister reminded him of sliding down it as a child, though Nanny had threatened to tell if he did it too often. His parents had been absent during great chunks of his life growing up, so he’d been grateful for a nanny who’d allowed him to have fun while still being in charge. His younger sister Petra had then come along, and most of the focus had shifted onto her as he grew into a young teenager, though Nanny’s influence had carried on. Reaching the top of the landing, he passed a door that had once led to Nanny’s room when she’d lived in the house. He paused outside it. The room was empty now, and there was that unlived-in feeling about it, like most of the rooms in the house, though Nanny’s old bed and some sparse pieces of furniture were still there.
And some of his memories.
His hand rested on the doorknob for a moment as he debated whether to enter or not. No, he’d save it for later.
Chapter Six
A knock at the door caught his attention. From his en suite, he heard the faint clatter of china being laid out on the table in his bedroom and the humming that always accompanied his housekeeper as she busied herself. She never whistled – that would have been too distracting – but she did hum. He found it quite relaxi
ng, almost therapeutic, and he welcomed her presence in the house when he was in residence. The place was too damn quiet otherwise. He slipped into his paisley robe and headed back into his room smelling of fresh deodorant and shampoo.
“Thank you for bringing it up here. I just needed to shower before I did anything else.”
“You’re welcome. Was it a successful trip?” He watched as she poured tea into his cup and placed a sugar lump into it and then set the little silver tongs back in the bowl. Why did he still have sugar lumps, he wondered? Wasn’t it a tad old-fashioned? And did it even matter? Still, he wondered.
“Yes, it was. Though I do think I’m getting a little long in the tooth for so much travelling. I get tired quicker these days, I’ve noticed. And even First Class can’t help with jet lag and time differences.” Terrance sat in his favourite old leather chair, picked up his cup and saucer, and took a sip.
“Ah, that tastes good. You always have made a decent pot of tea,” he said, satisfied. “The Americans just don’t quite know how to get tea just right. Better sticking to coffee.” He took another mouthful and sat back. Mrs. John offered him a slice of coffee and walnut on a little plate.
“Freshly baked this morning, if you’d like a piece?”
“Indeed, thank you,” he said, and took the plate. Powdered icing sugar stuck to his upper lip as he took a bite, and coffee-coloured crumbs dropped to his plate. Mrs. John hovered as he ate, not sure if he wanted conversation or for her to leave.
“I may not be in for dinner tonight, so don’t make anything special. Perhaps leave something in the fridge that I can heat up in case my plans fall through.”
“Of course. Going somewhere nice?”
“Not too sure of my plans as yet. I may be going into London; we’ll see.”