Jessica Hart - Appointment at the Altar

‘But it’s so expensive!’ said Lucy, hanging back.

‘Lucy, I’m a rich man,’ he said patiently. ‘It won’t even be a blip in my bank account.’

And somehow Lucy found herself handing over her passport as Guy checked them both in. The bookings had been made electronically, and in no time at all she was on the plane, with none of the shuffling queues she was used to, and ensconced in a luxurious seat by the window. There was no denying that the whole process of boarding was a lot less stressful in first class.

‘Wow,’ she said, pushing her seat back and playing with all the buttons, forgetting for a moment that she was cross with Guy. ‘I’ve never been in the pointy end of a plane before. This is great!’

Guy watched her indulgently. ‘I’ve never seen anyone get so much pleasure out of an airline seat,’ he said, and Lucy flushed and stopped fiddling immediately. She was obviously being very un-cool.

‘I don’t suppose you’ve ever been at the back of the plane.’ she grumbled.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Never. I had a very privileged upbringing.’

That accounted for his assurance, anyway. Guy only had to lift an eyebrow for someone to rush to do his bidding. Lucy would love to have accused him of arrogance but she couldn’t. He was charming to everyone, and all the flight attendants, male and female, were soon fawning over him.

Lucy watched them darkly. There was no need for them to lean quite that close to him or smile quite so invitingly, surely? She might as well not have been there! They had obviously taken one look at her jeans and shirt and recognised that she wasn’t a first class traveller.

As if to disprove her, a beautifully groomed flight attendant, who made Lucy feel even scruffier than ever, leant past Guy.

‘Would you like some champagne, Miss West?’

Miss West! Champagne! Who would ever have thought that she, Lucy West, would be sitting in first class, drinking champagne?

Lucy was ashamed of the little thrill that went through her as she accepted a glass. No flight attendant had ever bothered to learn her name before. She had always just been part of the mass and, while she was perfectly happy being one of a crowd, it was undeniably nice to have all this attention.

She glanced at Guy, who obviously took all this luxury for granted. He raised his glass to her with one of those smiles that always left her feeling slightly ruffled. ‘Here’s to dreams,’ he said.

Lucy thought of Kevin, back at Wirrindago. Even she couldn’t pretend that his farewell had been emotional. ‘See you then,’ he had said as she had left. But outback men weren’t used to expressing their emotions, Lucy reminded herself. It didn’t mean her dream wouldn’t come true.

‘To dreams,’ she said with a touch of defiance and touched her glass to Guy’s. ‘May they all come true.’

‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Guy and, as their eyes met for the toast, Lucy found her gaze snared in the gleaming blue depths of his, just as it had done at the rodeo. Just as before, she felt the air shorten between them. There was the same strange fluttery sensation in her stomach, and it made her nervous in exactly the same way.

Lucy yanked her eyes away, feeling oddly breathless, and took a gulp of champagne as she thought longingly of Kevin. Kevin, so quiet, so steady. He never made her feel jangly and jittery like this. You always knew where you were with Kevin. It might not be exactly where you wanted to be, but there was something restful about being able to adore him without expecting much in return.

There was nothing restful about being with Guy. Lucy did her best to ignore him, but it was impossible. If you were used to economy class, the space between the seats was enormous, but still he seemed very close, and she wished that she was sitting behind him or in front of him or anywhere else, in fact, where she might not be quite so aware of him.

He was absorbed in the Financial Times , which meant that she could study him covertly as she drank her champagne, and it felt to Lucy as if she had never looked at him properly before. His palely striped shirt was open at the collar and his sleeves were casually rolled up above his wrists. He lounged back in his seat, long legs stretched out before him and crossed at the ankle, utterly relaxed and evidently completely unperturbed by her presence.

He was like a big cat, thought Lucy in a flash of revelation, like a golden lion lolling in the shade of an acacia. He had the same air of carelessly leashed power, of a lazy indulgence that could turn in a flash into danger. No wonder he made her nervous. And no wonder he was so little bothered by her.

Guy turned a page of the paper, shaking it straight, and Lucy’s eyes snared on his forearm, and for some reason the breath dried in her throat. It was ridiculous. It was just an arm, adorned with what was no doubt an obscenely expensive watch, with broad wrists and square hands, but she was suddenly consumed with the inexplicable need to run her hand along his forearm, to feel the strength of his muscles, the fine golden hairs beneath her palm, the warmth of his skin…

Heat washed through her at the very thought of it and she emptied her glass with a kind of desperation. Her fingers were actually twitching, she realised wildly. Terrified that they might somehow acquire a will of their own and reach out for him, Lucy made herself turn to look out of the window, but there was nothing to see but air and light and the occasional wisp of cloud far below, and the more she stared, the more she saw instead Guy’s blue eyes, gleaming with that smile that made her prickle all over.

‘More champagne?’

Glad of the distraction, Lucy held out her glass to be refilled. ‘It feels all wrong to be drinking champagne in all this luxury when I’m only here because Richard is so ill,’ she said to Guy, who lowered his paper with just a hint of reluctance.

Lucy didn’t care. He could catch up on what was happening with the Dow-Jones Index some other time. Right now, she wanted him to be annoying. She was counting on it, in fact. She needed him to remind her of everything that she disliked about him so that she would get over this weird and rather embarrassing longing to touch him.

‘Will he get better any quicker if you drink water?’ asked Guy.

Good, thought Lucy, seizing on what she was sure was a touch of condescension in his voice. ‘No…but…you know what I mean,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t be enjoying myself.’

‘This guy you’re going back to see…Richard?…presumably everyone wants you to be there because they know he cares about you?’

‘Yes,’ she acknowledged with some reluctance. She wasn’t at all comfortable with the idea that Richard was still in love with her, although Meredith insisted it was true.

‘Then I’m prepared to bet that what he likes most about you is your ability to enjoy yourself wherever you happen to be,’ said Guy. ‘That’s what makes you special, Cinders, not your blonde hair and blue eyes, lovely though they are.’

No, that wasn’t what she needed him to say at all. Why couldn’t he mock her? Why wasn’t he teasing her and making her feel stupid, instead of telling her that she was special? Used to the idea that Guy thought she was really rather silly, Lucy was now completely thrown.

‘I wish you wouldn’t call me Cinders,’ she muttered, not knowing what else to say. ‘It’s stupid.’

‘This Richard isn’t going to want you to change just because he’s ill,’ said Guy, ignoring her interjection. ‘If anything, he would want you to be even more yourself than usual. It’s enough that you’re going home when you don’t really want to. You don’t need to feel guilty as well.’