breath, almost prostrate at my feet, and hiding the fact I was bloody relieved to see him.
His passport picture didn’t do him justice, not that I could see much but the back of his head. His dull fuzzy passport picture suggested stoned serial killer, not this man whirling in, leather jacket flying and zinging with energy.
‘I’ve just … made it … from … the tube in ninety … seven seconds,’ he puffed as the man on the desk tried to peer sideways to look at his face.
I had an impression of thick hair, well cut and an unusual shade … oh shit … of dark auburn hair.
I had a moment of flight or fight panic as he slowly straightened. At least I had the tiniest advantage of realising before he did as I schooled my face into polite indifference, while inside my heart banged with all the merry inappropriate joy of a big bass drum.
‘Cinders!’ he said, ‘What are you doing here?’ He hauled his case onto the conveyor belt as the man snapped on a label and handed back his passport. ‘Benedict Johnson. Ben.’
My eyes met his and for a second we stared at each other until his sharpened with sudden quizzical intelligence.
‘Oh shit, you’re her. PR woman.’ His groaned words were all I needed to calm the silliness inside.
‘Oh shit, yes I am.’ Suddenly it was much easier to remember Mad Fox and not the brief connection at the awards do. Clearly, I had drunk far too much champagne that night. ‘And you’re late. We need to go now.’ I turned, hauling my laptop bag onto my shoulder.
His face tightened. ‘Bossy much? You should be grateful I’m here at all because quite frankly there are other places I’d rather be right now.’
‘You’re doing that barking mad fox thing again.’ Now I’d seen the colour of his hair, I was delighted with the original quip.
‘I reserve it especially for bossy manipulative PRs.’
I pushed my tongue against my cheek and sighed. ‘The flight’s in fifty minutes. We need to get through security and meet up with the other five people who got here on time.’
This was his moment for effusive apology and excuses. Instead he shrugged and picked up his canvas satchel and slung it over his shoulder. ‘Come on then.’ We marched along keeping a good couple of metres between us like an invisible wall of enmity, although I had a hard time keeping up with his long-legged lope which I was fairly sure was deliberate on his part. Inside I was absolutely gutted. My fairytale moment with the most delicious Prince Charming had been well and truly stomped on. How could he and Benedict Johnson possibly be the same person?
By the time we fought our way through passport control and made our way to Café Nero, our flight had been called and it was time to go straight to the gate. At our arrival everyone started gathering their bags. I quickly introduced Benedict. I couldn’t bring myself to call him Ben.
‘Hi everyone, sorry I’m late. Slight domestic emergency.’
Funny he could manage an apology to them.
‘Where’s Avril?’ I asked, noticing a lone coffee cup on the table and realising I was missing one. God it was like trying to herd cats. Was it going to be like this all week? No sooner had I got one journalist I lost another.
Sophie frowned and looked at her watch. ‘She must be still in duty free. Do you want me to go and look for her? Oh, here’s your receipt, by the way.’
‘Thanks.’ I took it from her with a distracted smile. I’d have to go and look for Avril myself. I was supposedly in charge; I couldn’t keep asking Sophie to help. ‘Why don’t you all go down to the gate and I’ll go and find Avril.’ I wanted to add, and please for the love of God can you stay together?
Thankfully Avril was in the queue at duty free. I looked at my watch. We had ten minutes before they officially started boarding, although she had more in her basket than my entire make-up stock. I hoped the check-out girl was on it today.
‘Just letting you know the others have gone down to the gate.’
‘Oh, really.’ Her mouth turned down. ‘I don’t suppose anyone got me a coffee.’
‘I don’t think so, no.’
‘I’ll have to grab one on the way to the gate.’
‘I’m not sure there’s going to be time.’ I did wonder whether I ought to offer. I wasn’t quite sure how far the duties of a host extended.
Her lips pursed in a tight smile of self-satisfaction. ‘Of course there is. Our bags are on board, they can’t go without us.’
I stared at her unable to find anything to say in response to her outrageous self-absorption.
I finally steered her to the gate having given in and bought her coffee while she was paying for nearly two hundred pounds worth of face creams and perfume. As we arrived a voice over the tannoy announced that seat numbers one to thirty could board.
‘That’s us,’ I said brightly to the other … What! There were only four journalists waiting.
Having to go and find Fiona in the loos made the two of us the last to board.
‘Let me take care of that for you, madam. You need to take your seat. Now.’
The stewardess’s voice had a veiled hiss to it, as she added, ‘We need to leave. We’re already late.’ The unsaid, thanks to you hung in the air.
‘Can I just …’ I quickly pulled out my purse and a guide book, scattering tissues and receipts on the floor.
Like a chastened schoolgirl, I finally slid into my seat which of course was next to Benedict. He and Conrad must have swapped seats, as I’d put him in the window seat, away from me.
‘I’m so glad I didn’t rush,’ he observed, not even looking up from his newspaper. I glared at the top of his head as I settled into my seat sorting out the seat-belt. In the seat behind I could hear Avril complaining about the amount of legroom and wondering rather loudly why we weren’t flying business class. Thankfully across the aisle I could see Sophie smiling and talking to Fiona in a reassuring way.
Last-minute checks were done and then the air crew disappeared to their seats as the plane taxied down to the runway. All the usual excitement of going somewhere on a plane had been replaced by an overwhelming sense of responsibility. Suddenly I felt very small and inadequate, so I closed my eyes and pretended to go to sleep. How on earth was I going to manage the six journalists? Just getting them all on the plane had proved a Herculean task and I felt stressed out already. What was it going to be like when I had a whole city to lose them in? It didn’t bear thinking about.
That stress must have taken more out of me than I’d realised because I fell into a doze and woke with a start, which made Benedict turn and give me an unfriendly stare. I hoped I hadn’t been drooling or anything. My scarf was draped across his knees and surreptitiously I pulled it back conscious of him ignoring me.
All
