Jose shook his head. “We don’t hire out bikes.”
He tapped on his keyboard and nodded towards the couple.
“We are now down to one vehicle. If you want to secure this vehicle, I would need to hold it for you now with a credit card. Can you afford it?”
“Maybe.” She pulled her wallet out of the inside pocket of her leather jacket and grabbed two fifty-euro notes. She put them on the table. “Please, hold the car for me, I just need to make a phone call and get someone to transfer the money to my bank.”
Jose looked at her sceptically. She couldn’t blame him. The chance that anyone had the money to lend her was extremely slim, but he didn’t know that. And she had to try.
He picked up the notes and put them under his keyboard.
“Ten minutes,” he told her.
“Thank you, thank you.” She scurried away from the desk, sat in one of the waiting chairs, and pulled out her phone. She scrolled through her contact list, wondering who on earth she should call. Even if she did find someone who happened to have that kind of money rubbing a hole in their pocket a few days before Christmas, she had no idea how she’d pay them back.
She started to compose a text message that she could send to as many people as possible. She only had ten minutes. And that was if Jose kept his word.
She looked at the couple with the toddler. People from the airport were obviously starting to figure out that getting to wherever they were heading in time for Christmas was going to be difficult.
Rebecca knew that she needed to get in a car and begin the mammoth journey home soon. Not that she even knew how long it would take. She hadn’t really stopped to consider the journey, the route, the time. She shivered. One problem at a time.
The automatic door opened. Rebecca looked up to see the rude woman with the cast limping into the hire office.
Shit, she thought and started bulk selecting her contacts.
Arabella entered the car hire reception. There were two people serving, one dealing with the couple with the toddler that Arabella had followed on the way over. The other had his back to her as he organised paperwork behind the desk.
Along the side wall some scruffy girl was texting. She presumed she wasn’t in the queue, but even if she was, she wouldn’t be for much longer.
She approached the desk and balanced her crutch against the side of it.
“I need a car, automatic, and I’ll be driving it to England,” Arabella said, drawing the attention of the man who was supposed to be serving.
“I’m afraid we don’t have any automatic vehicles,” he said as he turned to face her.
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. A manual will do.”
He tapped on his keyboard. “That will be two thousand five hundred and fifty-eight euros.”
Arabella chuckled and got her mobile phone out of her pocket. “You certainly know how to take advantage of a systems failure.” She pulled her credit card from the mobile phone case and slid it across the counter.
“Hold on, Jose, you’re holding that car for me!”
Arabella turned towards the scruffy girl and raised her eyebrow. “Apparently, he isn’t.”
“I’m sorry, but this lady has the means to pay immediately,” he said. “You don’t.”
“I gave you a hundred euros!”
He picked up two fifty-euro notes from under his keyboard and held them out towards the girl.
The girl stood up and snatched the money back. “I can’t believe this! You won’t give me ten minutes to transfer some funds, but you’ll give the car to someone with a broken leg.”
He frowned and looked around the corner of the desk. He looked at Arabella’s cast and winced. He pushed the credit card back across the counter.
“Sorry, I cannot let you have this car.”
“What?” Arabella cried. “I can still drive, it’s nothing. Just a minor… fracture.”
“Fracture, broken,” the girl mumbled.
“It would invalidate our insurance; my boss wouldn’t allow me. This is a very expensive car,” he explained.
“I’ll buy more insurance. You can double the fee for hire, whatever you like, I need this car,” Arabella told him firmly.
He shook his head and stood steadfast. “I’m sorry, I’m unable to lease any vehicle to you if you are not fully fit and able to drive it.”
“I want to see your manager immediately,” Arabella demanded.
“He’s not here,” Jose replied.
“This is unbelievable; how do you expect me to get home?”
He gestured towards the girl. “Maybe she could drive you? You are both going to England. She cannot afford a car, you can afford one but cannot hire one due to your leg. And it will be better for the environment to car share.”
Arabella stared at him. The last sentence appeared to be his attempt at humour. An attempt that she didn’t find particularly funny now. She looked at the girl. Being sat next to the girl for a two-hour flight would have been torturous, but driving all the way back to England with her?
“I’ll do it,” the girl said. “I have to get back to England. I’ll drive all day and all night if you want.”
Arabella looked from the girl to the assistant, wondering when they’d start laughing and admit it was all a practical joke. That moment seemed to be less and less likely the longer she watched them.
“Do you really think I’m just going to hop in a car with someone I don’t even know? I don’t even know her name.” Arabella laughed derisively.
“Rebecca Edwards, that’s my name. Look, we both want to get home. He’s right, we can either do this together or both be stuck here.”
Arabella bit her lip and critically looked the girl up and down. She knew her options were limited, but she wasn’t about to agree to jumping in a car with an unknown quantity until she knew it was her only option.
“And you have a full and clean driving licence?”
Rebecca nodded. “Never even had a parking ticket.”
Arabella thought of her cast-iron mail rack at home with unpaid parking tickets overflowing. She was sure the speed camera in Kensington High Street had snagged her the last weekend. If it had, she may well be disqualified from driving.
“Where do you need to get to?” Arabella sighed as if the whole thing was a massive inconvenience to her personally. Which it felt like it was. So she wasn’t a saint. But that was no reason for whatever higher beings might exist to be testing her so.
“Croydon. You?”
Arabella winced. Croydon was a dive. Of course it would be Croydon.
“Putney,” she replied. It was some twisted kind of fate, their respective destinations were less than an hour away from each other. Geographically speaking. In terms of humanity, they were a million miles apart.
For a moment, Arabella was going to say no. It was her go-to reaction when she found herself trapped in a situation she didn’t relish. Often, she’d even say no at her own cost, just because she could. Technically, she could say no. She could wait to see what the airport situation was, bully her way onto the first flight to London.
But then she ran the risk of being home late. Alastair and her father wouldn’t be happy about her missing the Christmas Eve party. She knew there was already an argument awaiting her when she got home, she didn’t need to add to the situation.
The automatic doors slid open. She turned to see a man walk in, he had the gleam of desperation in his eye.
Decision made.
“We’ll do it,” she said. She held out her credit card for Jose. “Get us that car.”
Chapter Three
“Oh my god, this car is brand new!” Rebecca squealed as they approached the vehicle. “A brand-new Mercedes. No wonder they wanted so much for it. I think we probably own a quarter of it by now. Well, you do.”
Arabella massaged her temples. It was as if the girl had never seen a car before.
“More like a headrest,” she corrected. “Now, our first stop is to ret
urn to the terminal building.”
Rebecca looked over the car roof at her. “Why?”
“To get our luggage, obviously.” Arabella opened the passenger door and regarded the seat. Getting in with her skirt and cast wasn’t going to be pretty.
“I have my luggage,” Rebecca said. She held up a tatty backpack for Arabella to see.
“That’s your luggage? One bag?”
“Yep, hand luggage only. No extra fees and no chance it will get lost. Or accidentally flown to Azerbaijan.”
Rebecca opened the driver’s door. She reached into the car and pulled a lever and the boot slowly opened.
“Well, it doesn’t change anything. We still need to go and get my luggage.”
Rebecca placed her bag in the boot. “Don’t tell me you just left your luggage in the airport? That’s a security risk, you know. Someone’s probably blown it up by now.”
Arabella pinched the bridge of her nose. “I didn’t just leave it lying around. I left it with the first-class lounge.”
“There’s a first-class lounge?” Rebecca closed the boot and walked to the driver’s door.
“There’s always a first-class lounge. Are we going to debate this forever or are we going to get going?” Arabella lowered herself into the car, careful to disguise the wince she felt bubble to the surface. The last thing she wanted to do was to show her new, no doubt troublesome, travel companion any weakness.
For all she knew the girl could be a murderer, preparing to mug her and then leave her on the side of the road somewhere. She’d already made a mental note to mention her kickboxing classes early in the journey.
Rebecca got into the car. “Do you want me to put your crutch in the back?”
“No.” Arabella held onto the crutch. Which she now considered her improvised weapon, if needed.
Rebecca closed her door. “Fine,” she mumbled. She put her seatbelt on and adjusted the mirrors. She started the engine and felt around for the seat controls.
Arabella narrowed her eyes as the girl moved a fraction of an inch back, and then forward. And then up, and then down. After a few minutes, she’d had enough.
“Are you enjoying yourself? Would you like to have a ride on the toy train inside the terminal?”
Rebecca continued adjusting the seat. “If I’m driving us all the way to England, I need to make sure I’m set up correctly.”
“Of course. I’m just a little concerned that by the time you’re perfectly comfortable, Christmas, and indeed New Year, will be a distant memory.”
Rebecca ignored her and took her time adjusting the steering column before diverting her attention to the mirrors.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she turned to Arabella.
“Right, I’m ready.”
Arabella looked at her, wondering what the holdup was now. “Well? Do you want a round of applause? A medal?”
“Belt up.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Seat belt.” Rebecca snapped her own seatbelt into place.
Arabella sighed. She reached around and grabbed her seatbelt and pulled it across her body, clicking it in place. “Happy now?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah, I’m ecstatic,” Rebecca replied sarcastically.
Rebecca put the car into gear and then glided out of the parking space.
Arabella got her mobile phone out of her pocket and opened her navigation app. She wondered just how long she was going to be stuck with the snarky, potential murderer.
She clicked her home address and then requested directions from Faro Airport, Portugal. The app sprang into action, a revolving circle promising that it was thinking about the conundrum.
The map of the local area that she had been using grew smaller as the map zoomed out to take in both locations. Suddenly, most of the Western side of Europe was visible. Portugal, Spain, France, and England filled her screen.
“Umm, do you wanna hop out?” Rebecca asked.
Arabella pulled the ticket receipt out from her inner jacket pocket and held it towards Rebecca without looking up from her phone.
“It would be quicker if you went, what with my leg. I’ll mind the car.”
A few seconds passed before Rebecca left the car, slamming the door behind her harder than was necessary for a new vehicle. She was clearly used to older cars. Arabella made a mental note to explain the features of modern cars to the girl once she’d retrieved the luggage.
But, for the moment, she was distracted. Looking at the map and wondering if she had put in the details incorrectly. It seemed ridiculous that the journey would take twenty-four solid hours. An entire day. She looked at the time and shook her head. She’d barely have enough time to have a shower and get to her hair appointment and massage before the party started.
She looked out of the window at the terminal building.
“Where is she?”
She looked at her watch and then sighed. This journey was going to be hell.
“Hi, I’m here to pick up luggage?” Rebecca asked as she approached the snooty-looking woman who manned the desk to the first-class lounge. The first-class lounge which had been impossible to find. Presumably hidden away from any old someone who might accidentally stumble into the luxurious surroundings and offend the proper clientele.
“Luggage for?”
Rebecca held up the luggage tag and looked at it. “Arabella Henley,” she read. She then handed the tag to the sour-faced woman.
The woman looked at the luggage tag and then at Rebecca with uncertainty.
“She has a broken leg, she asked me to come to save her the journey.” It was sort of true. She hadn’t exactly asked. Arabella didn’t seem to be the kind of person who asked favours. But Rebecca needed her, and so she’d put up with the rude behaviour. For now, at least.
“Oh, I remember.” The woman nodded and picked up the telephone.
“Yeah, she leaves an impression,” Rebecca muttered.
A quick conversation in Portuguese took place and then the phone was hung up. “It will be brought out in a moment. Wait here.”
Rebecca tried to smile politely but knew she had probably only managed a constipated wince. The inference was clear. Wait here. Do not tarnish our first-class lounge with your presence.
She looked at her mobile phone for the first time since sending her message pleading for money. She scrolled through the replies. As she suspected, everyone was broke. They all wished they could help but ultimately couldn’t. A few offered suggestions, none that were that useful.
Now she was stuck with some snobbish woman who was going to treat her like mud on her shoe until they got back to England. She still hadn’t had a chance to discover just how long that journey would be, or even to plan a route. Part of her was in denial. She hoped that the whole situation was some terrible dream and that she was actually asleep on the Heathrow flight, whizzing her way back home.
“Miss Henley?” a male voice asked.
She looked up. “Close enough.”
He gestured to a trolley beside him.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
Chapter Four
“At last. Where have you been?” Arabella asked.
“Picking up Kim Kardashian’s shoes,” Rebecca gestured to the trolley laden down with five pieces of luggage in various sizes.
It seemed that first-class passengers still had to contend with wobbly trolley wheels. She’d struggled through the terminal, dropping a couple of pieces of luggage along the way and angrily shoving them back onto the stack.
“Who?”
She stopped by the car and stared at Arabella’s confused face, where it was poking out of the open passenger window.
“Are you kidding me? You don’t know who Kim Kardashian is?”
“Is it relevant to getting my luggage in the car and beginning this journey?”
Rebecca shook her head in dismay. This woman was going to be the death of her. She opened the boot of the car and moved her solitary ruc
ksack out of the way. She started moving the bags from the trolley to the boot. She paused and moved some of the bags around. It was like an expensive Tetris puzzle.
“Do make sure—”
“If you tell me to be careful with your luggage, I swear I will throw it under the next bus,” Rebecca shouted back.
She continued moving the heavy bags and cases around, eventually finding a way for most of them to fit. Her own bag would have to go on the back seat. Which would probably suit Arabella, who probably wouldn’t want her luggage to be sitting handle to zip with Rebecca’s aged rucksack.
She shouldered her rucksack and pushed the trolley back towards the terminal. She jogged back, slamming the boot and depositing her bag on the back seat. Then she hopped in the driver’s seat. Finally, she could get out of this airport and get on with the journey home.
“We need to head for Seville, then north towards Bilbao, then into France, past Bordeaux, up to Calais, and across the Channel,” Arabella informed her.
Rebecca reached for the engine start button with one hand, the other reaching for her seatbelt. “How long is that going to take?” she asked.
Arabella waved her hand. “Oh, you know these things, always overestimating. I’m sure if we get going we can knock around twenty percent off.”
“How long does it say?” Rebecca asked again.
“I forget, twenty hours I think.”
“Twenty hours?” Rebecca turned to stare at her.
“More like twenty-four with the time you wasted adjusting your damn chair.”
“Shit, I didn’t think it would be that long…” Rebecca began to worry. She was meant to be hurrying home. She’d expected to be home by the afternoon, now that was impossible.
“It will just be longer the more we sit here,” Arabella pointed out unhelpfully. “Seriously, I could just drive the car myself. I don’t even know why I agreed to this farce.”
Rebecca barked out a laugh. “Yeah, right, I see you wince every time you move your leg. You might be able to drive a little, but twenty-four solid hours of driving? You’d never make it.”
The Road Ahead Page 2
