EXCERPT
The moment she put her foot down, she regretted it.
The moving plate of the escalator pushed her backward, and she tumbled over her
suitcase, arms flailing, her shoulder bag swinging around and hitting her in
the face.
God, she hated being short sighted.
Vanity, utter vanity, stopped her from wearing her
glasses in public. At least with them on she would have noticed people coming
toward her. Fellow travellers now staggered around her as she waited for the
ringing in her ears to stop and the sting in her cheek to ease. Some uttered
apologies as they stepped over or around her. A suitcase caught her ankle,
clipping it with a nasty crack before the owner apologised and lifted it clear.
I
will not cry. I will not cry.
She sniffed back tears, before crawling out of the
way. She fumbled in her handbag for her damn spectacles that looked like the
bottom of two wine bottles when she put them on. They enlarged her eyes until
they looked like those of a frog. She’d grown up to the taunts of “googly-eye.”
Today’s experience might cure her vanity because her present position verged on
the ridiculous, baggage and legs strewn about, creating a traffic hazard.
“Sit,” a voice commanded. Surely the man couldn’t
mean her?
She wanted to shout, ‘What do you think I’m doing?’
but at that moment a firm hand rested on her shoulder and a voice, as warm as a
chocolate liqueur sliding down her throat, asked, “Are you all right, miss?
Here, let me help you up.” She gave up looking for her glasses.
With one hand in her bag, and the other reaching out
for the handle of her case, she couldn’t refuse the offer. The man cupped her
elbow, put an arm around her waist, and lifted her slowly to her feet. He held
her until she steadied. Gratitude flooded her, tears welled and she sniffed
again, unable to spare a hand to find her handkerchief. A large soft white
cloth appeared under her nose and she grabbed it, grateful to be able to wipe
her nose and cheeks. It smelled of pine trees after the rain. Without thinking
she put it in her sleeve.
“Thank you so much,” she said. “I’m sorry I’ve
caused a traffic jam, it’s just I don’t see very well.” What an understatement.
She peered at his shape in front of her. Then, realising she was frowning, she
straightened her back and smiled. “I really should wear my glasses.” She
gestured to where she thought her suitcase might be. “If you could pass me my
case I’ll be on my way. Obviously the next escalator is the down one. Silly
me.”
Chocolate Voice moved to the side and disappeared,
coming back a moment later. She could hear the wonky wheel of her suitcase. “Oh
you’ve found it. Great.” She reached to take the handle. It didn’t arrive.
“The down escalator is around the end of the
balustrade. This end has two lots of stairs coming up, one moving, the other
stationary.”
God, she would have done the same thing all over
again, probably falling down the staircase face first if she’d tried the next
lot of steps. “Hell’s teeth,” she murmured, still reaching out, her hand waving
about seeking her suitcase.
The man’s warm grasp stilled her arm. “I think it
might be a good idea if I take your case and go with you down the escalator to
the exit. Would you like a taxi or are you catching a bus?”
Bliss—someone prepared to rescue her, guide her to
the exit, and find a taxi. Could the airport be hiring porters now? While he
grasped her hand, she decided, she might as well introduce herself. His grip
hadn’t lessened one bit. “You’re very kind.” She shook his hand. “I’m Kate,
Kate Bentley. And you are?”
“Thomas Winters.”
The shape moved, perhaps bowed. Surely not?
“Are you a porter? I see you have a uniform of some
sort.” She touched the gold bands just visible on his sleeve ends.
He laughed, a rolling sort of chuckle, like runny
honey dripping down the side of a bowl. “I might as well be, but no, I’m a
Customs Officer, Miss Bentley. It is ‘Miss’ isn’t it? One can never tell these
days. My apologies if I’m wrong, but you’re not wearing a wedding ring.”
“It’s definitely ‘Miss’, Mr. Winters. And I can’t
say how grateful I am. I’m very short sighted. I like to pretend I’m not and
today I’m paying for my pride.” What was it about this man that had her telling
him her most private feelings? He smelled nice too, although he had a slight
doggy odour around him.
By now, with a firm grip of her elbow and a gentle
tug he indicated she should walk beside him. Head high, she complied, putting
behind her the spectacle she must have made of herself a few moments earlier.
At least being short sighted, she never saw the amusement on the faces of
people watching—if they were amused, of course. Most hurried past. Sometimes
she felt as if she had a case of leprosy, rather than near blindness!
Thank heavens for Thomas Winters, a cold name for
such a warm voice.
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