Rushing Waters (2 page)

“Don't worry, I think I can manage for ten days,” he said, as they sat down at the round table that had been set for them, looking out at the garden, in the big comfortable kitchen Ellen had redesigned for them the year before. The house was too big for them, with five bedrooms they didn't need yet. She used one as a home office, had done another as a study for him, and they had two guest rooms, and a gym and home cinema downstairs. They had spread out in the large house they'd bought five years before when they had decided to get pregnant, before they knew how arduous a task it would become, and how elusive their dream.

They chatted through dinner about the two important cases he was currently working on, and the clients she would be shopping for in New York and what she hoped to find. She had just been called by a client to do a house in the South of France and was looking forward to it. It would give them an excuse to spend a weekend there from time to time.

After dinner, Ellen went to put more papers and color swatches in her briefcase. George turned the television to CNN before they went to bed, to check on the hurricane again, which was still making its way across the Caribbean toward the East Coast, and he looked worried. But no dire warnings had been issued yet for New York.

“I wish they didn't have those damn things there, or that you went to see your mother at some other time of year.” He looked mildly annoyed, and Ellen ignored him. Until the monster hurricane that had hit the city five years before, no one in New York had given the annual hurricanes a second thought, and even now, most people weren't overly concerned it would happen again. But George didn't like it anyway and wasn't nearly as casual as his wife about it. It seemed foolish to him to go to New York in August or September.

“It's not going to hit New York,” she said, as they climbed into bed and he kissed her. They didn't attempt to make love that night, and they hadn't for a while. She wasn't ovulating, so they didn't have to, and it was nice not having to think about it for once, and to just lie next to each other, with no particular purpose in mind. Not making love had become as enjoyable as making love had been in their days before IVF. George was relieved not to have to perform, and he looked relaxed as he turned off the light, and she cuddled up next to him.

“You can miss me a little while I'm gone,” she whispered in the dark, and he smiled at what she said.

“I'll keep it in mind,” he answered, pulled her closer, and a moment later, they both fell asleep, until the alarm woke them at six in the morning for her flight.

Ellen thought about making love with George as she woke up, but he was out of bed before she was awake enough to do anything about it, and headed for his own bathroom and dressing room, so she threw back the covers and went to hers. It was a sunny day in London, and she was looking forward to the still warm, even hot, Indian summer days in New York. She still missed New York at times. But her life was so different now than it had been when she lived there.

She dressed in her travel clothes, and had breakfast waiting for him when he came downstairs. She had to leave in half an hour, and one of her assistants had arranged for a car and driver to take her to the airport for her ten o'clock flight. She was taking the large A380 Airbus, which she liked for its spaciousness and smooth flight, despite the hassle of competing with five hundred passengers trying to retrieve their luggage at the other end. She was due to arrive in New York at one
P.M.
local time, and after clearing customs and getting into the city, she hoped to be at her mother's apartment by three or three-thirty, before her mother got home from the office. It would give Ellen time to unpack and settle in. And they would have plenty of time to talk over dinner and catch up in her mother's very comfortable apartment. Ellen loved staying there instead of a hotel, and she knew her mother liked it too. Her mother was resigned about her only child living so far away in England for the past decade, and she was busy with her work. Being with her mother always made Ellen regret that she didn't go to New York more often.

When the car came, George walked her down the front steps, carrying her briefcase, and handed it to her with a serious expression. “Stay out of the way of the hurricane.” He kissed her goodbye and looked sad for a moment as their eyes met.

“Have fun this weekend,” Ellen said, and kissed him again.

“Not easily done without you,” he said with a smile, then got into his own car. Her driver put her suitcase in the trunk and waited for her to get in. She waved at George as he drove away, and they headed to Heathrow in the morning traffic.

She checked in at the curb, put her boarding pass in her handbag, and walked into the terminal looking very tall and young and pretty in beige slacks, a crisp blue shirt, sandals, and a blazer in case she got chilly on the plane. She was planning to watch a movie and do some work. She loved catching up on movies when she traveled, and she headed to the business class lounge to have a cup of tea and read a newspaper before they boarded. Her cell phone rang almost the moment she sat down and put her cup of tea on the table next to her.

“I already miss you,” George's voice said, and she smiled.

“Good.” She looked happy. They had come through the past four difficult years with a minimum of marital damage, despite the stress of the treatments and hormone shots, exams and sonograms, disappointments and IVF. It had been much harder than they'd expected, but their marriage was still intact.

“I love you,” she said into the phone, and then they hung up, and she sat back, smiling to herself as she sipped her tea. She was going to miss him, even if she'd only be gone a little over a week.

Charles Williams arrived at Heathrow a half hour later than he was meant to, to check in. He was afraid he might have already lost his seat, but he hadn't, much to his relief. His only luggage was a small carry-on bag on wheels, so he had no bags to check. He got his boarding pass from a machine, and then hurried to the lounge for something to eat. He had overslept and looked tousled and harassed as he sat down in a bank of seats across from Ellen and nearly spilled his coffee. She noticed him immediately. He was a good-looking man, in jeans, an open-necked shirt, and a tweed jacket, which she knew would be too hot for New York at this time of year. He looked very British and probably in his late thirties or very early forties at most. And there was something nervous and stressed about him. He exuded anxiety as he juggled a newspaper and his coffee. He paid no attention to Ellen and seemed lost in thought after he read the paper. And as they left the lounge to board the plane, she heard him ask one of the ground personnel at the desk if there were any further reports about the hurricane, and if it was likely to cause a problem on the flight. Ellen pegged him instantly as a nervous flyer, and the girl at the desk must have too. She smiled reassuringly at him, as he shoved a lock of straight dark hair out of his eyes, with a worried expression.

“Not at all, sir. We wouldn't be taking off if it was likely to cause a problem. We'd be grounded. So everything is fine. Enjoy your flight.” He nodded but didn't seem convinced as he walked away, pulling his carry-on bag and holding his battered briefcase. Ellen noticed that he was wearing dark brown suede shoes, which made him look even more English. She followed him onto the plane and was surprised to find that she was seated beside him. She had the window seat, and he had the one on the aisle. He nodded as she stepped past him, but he said nothing, settled into his seat, and gratefully accepted a glass of champagne as the flight attendant offered it. Ellen asked for only a small bottle of water. She hated drinking alcohol on flights first thing in the morning, and didn't need it. Apparently, he did, and his nervousness seemed to increase as they were told to turn off their cell phones, the doors closed, and they were ferried out to the runway, surprisingly on time, since so many flights were late. He glanced at Ellen then, and nodded.

“I hate to fly, especially on these enormous planes, but everything else was booked,” he explained. She smiled pleasantly at him before she answered, sorry for him at his obvious distress.

“I think the big ones are especially smooth. They say you don't feel the turbulence on them,” she said to reassure him. He appeared unconvinced and glanced past her out the window as they took off, while trying valiantly not to look as panicked as he felt. After they were in the air, he took another glass of champagne when the flight attendant made her rounds again, and then he opened his computer and focused on it, as Ellen pulled up the screen at her seat and checked the movies. She put on her headphones and selected something to watch she hadn't seen, and spent the next two hours engrossed in the film, then ordered lunch. She noticed that her seatmate had calmed down by then, and he chatted with her for a few minutes as they ate their meal.

“Do you live in New York?” he asked, and she smiled at him and shook her head.

“No, in London.” He seemed surprised and had noticed she was American, from her accent, and she looked it.

“I'm going over on business,” he volunteered, “and I have two daughters who live there.” She nodded and realized that he must be divorced, but she didn't comment. They talked for a few minutes, and then Ellen decided to take a nap after their food trays were cleared away, and she slept for two hours until an announcement from the cockpit woke her, and she felt that they were going through some turbulence. Her seatmate was wide awake and looking scared.

“We're going through a bit of chop,” the captain explained over the PA system. “Sorry about that. The winds off the East Coast are causing some turbulence. We should be out of it in about half an hour.” She noticed that the man next to her was looking extremely nervous. Ellen closed her eyes to sleep some more. The turbulence rocked her to sleep and then jolted her awake half an hour later when it got worse. By then, her seatmate was nearly wild-eyed, and she glanced at him sympathetically.

“Are you okay?” she finally couldn't help asking him as she sat up. She had slept long enough, and they were about an hour out of New York. She guessed they were probably over Boston.

He hesitated for a minute before he answered, then nodded. “Yes. I hate flying, especially when it's like this. It must be because of the hurricane. I don't know why they said it wouldn't affect us.”

“Turbulence isn't usually dangerous, it's just unpleasant.” The plane was shaking and pitching, and there was obviously a powerful wind outside, and it was raining. And a moment later the pilot made another announcement.

“Things seem to be getting a little stormy in New York. They've got some high wind conditions at the airport. We've just been given clearance to land in Boston.”

“Shit,” the man next to Ellen said as beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. And Ellen wasn't too pleased about it either—she had no desire to spend a night in Boston, instead of landing in New York. The captain informed them then that everything was fine, they just didn't want to give them a rough ride into JFK, but they were in no danger. “Every time I get on an airplane, I think I'm going to die,” her seatmate explained to her. “It's been a lot worse since I got divorced a year ago,” he admitted. “Would you like to see a photograph of my daughters?” Ellen nodded, hoping it would distract him. It was a little unnerving sitting next to someone that frightened, as he blotted his forehead with his napkin, and then took out his cell phone and showed her a vast number of images of two adorable little girls, one of whom looked just like him, with the same dark hair and dark eyes, and the other one was a blonde with big blue eyes, who must have looked like his ex-wife. “I'm Charles Williams, by the way. Sorry I'm such a total twit on a plane. I'm actually quite normal on terra firma,” he said with a wry smile, and she laughed.

“I'm Ellen Wharton,” she said as they shook hands, and the plane started making a slow bumpy descent toward Boston, and five minutes later they seemed to change direction, and the pilot came on the PA system again.

“Sorry to change plans on you again, folks. They're sending us on to JFK after all, so you'll get to your planned destination tonight. We'll have some chop going in, but we'll be fine.”

“It must be the hurricane,” Charles Williams muttered to Ellen. “I hope they don't have another monster one like five years ago.” He looked panicked.

“Actually, this is pretty common at this time of year, and except for Sandy, it's usually nothing. This is probably just a late summer storm.”

“Well, I don't like it,” he said firmly.

“We'll be there in about forty minutes,” Ellen said in a comforting voice, and Charles Williams kept up a steady stream of conversation thereafter, as though to keep his mind off his own conviction that they would crash on landing, if not before.

“My wife left me for someone else,” he said out of the blue a few minutes later. “She was trying to be an actress, and did some modeling. He's a photographer. They live in New York now, with my daughters. I suppose eventually they'll get married.” He was clearly worried about that too.

“That must be hard for you, being so far from your children.” He nodded, then asked Ellen, “Do you have children?”

“No, I don't,” she said quietly, trying to resist the feeling of failure that always washed over her when people asked her. She noticed the turbulence getting considerably worse then, and so did he.

“What do you do?” He seemed desperate for conversation on any subject.

“I'm an interior designer. My husband is a barrister.”

“I'm an investment banker,” he said, as they heard the landing gear come down, and a moment later, the pilot instructed the cabin crew to take their seats in the turbulence, which by then was pretty nasty. “I've got business in New York, and I'm hoping to see my children this weekend, if they're not too busy.” He looked sad as he said it, but at least it kept his mind off crashing. “Are you frightened?” he whispered to her.