Kissed by the Rain

by Claudia Winter

  I definitely didn’t feel fine. Upon boarding, I had made a beeline for seat 14E and immediately fastened the narrow belt around me, clinging to its modicum of security. I’d barely noticed the other passengers, too preoccupied with digging my fingernails into the armrests and surviving take-off.

  Only now did I dare glance around. What I saw pushed my pulse rate right back up.

  I was trapped, jammed in between a teenager with earphones and a mountain of a man who constantly wiped his sweaty, receding hairline. I would never be able get out fast enough in an emergency—provided I was even alive or capable of getting into one of the life rafts. They had those inflatable rafts on board this plane, right?

  I cautiously tapped the shoulder of earphones kid, who swayed to whatever he was listening to with a glazed expression on his face.

  “Would you mind swapping seats with me?” I begged. “I’m afraid I might have to—” I pointed at the bathrooms and mimed gagging. My grandmother would have been appalled.

  “Sure. No problem, man.”

  He jumped up and I slid into the aisle seat.

  I felt much safer here, especially because now I could see the flight attendants’ station through the half-open curtain. Candy Dee was talking with a blonde colleague and their laughter calmed me immediately. It seemed that no plane crash was imminent.

  I looked at the businessman on the other side of the aisle, rustling his newspaper and mumbling to himself. He was an attractive man—not in the classical sense, but . . . Now he smiled and a cute dimple appeared.

  For some reason, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him, and I soon became painfully aware that I was staring at this stranger for far too long. I took note of his dress shirt, loosened tie, and nice trousers. Expensive shoes, well polished. His hands were sturdy, but pale, uncalloused. No wedding ring. Not a Scot, but probably an English businessman, I thought, feeling proud of my ability to read people. I was rarely mistaken. Brown eyes.

  I jumped. The man had noticed me. He looked me up and down as if trying to decide whether we knew each other. I quickly lowered my eyes. How awkward. At least he had helped dispel the images of aeroplane parts bobbling in the ocean. I now felt confident that I would arrive in Scotland alive.

  Remembering my cursory Internet research, I shuddered. Scotland offered everything I detested—forces of nature, driving on the left side, whining bagpipes, sheep stomachs stuffed with innards, men in strange outfits who probably smelled like sheep. However, I was engaged, so I shouldn’t be getting that close to any Scotsmen anyway. This was also true, of course, for attractive, unmarried Englishmen.

  Reassured, I closed my eyes—only to open them with a start a few moments later. Snippets of conversation in English drifted over to me, sprinkled with quiet laughter.

  “Sure, I thought of you, Maisie . . . Yes, I got it, just the one you wanted . . . I look forward to it, too . . . I’d say in two days . . .”

  He was on his phone. On an aeroplane!

  “Excuse me,” I hissed, leaning into the aisle.

  “Not at all . . . quite a bit . . .”

  “Excuse me!” My voice was tinged with hysteria.

  He covered the mouthpiece and leaned towards me with a blank look. A faint scent of . . . I shrank back. This guy, unbelievably, seemed to smell of chocolate cookies.

  “Yes, may I help you?”

  “You . . . your . . .” My hands were trembling.

  The man looked at his mobile phone, a puzzled look on his face.

  “Phone,” I managed to say, ashamed of sounding like a breathless psycho.

  He frowned and seemed to think about what I’d said. Then he nodded with an aloof smile . . . and resumed his phone call! “Sweetie, what did you say? . . . Oh yes, sure . . .”

  I was speechless. He leaned back and murmured to the person on the other end of the line as if it was the most normal thing in the world to make a Boeing 737 crash. I imagined the wildly spinning altimeters in the cockpit, the plane listing to one side, spiralling into the depths, until . . .

  Oh god, we were all going to die.

  “Are you all right, miss?”

  In my panic, I hadn’t noticed that the jerk had finished his call.

  “Didn’t you listen to the flight attendant earlier? You’re not allowed to use a phone on a plane,” I snarled in German, too angry to remember my English.

  He peered at me sideways, a look of mild amusement on his face.

  “It was important,” he answered in surprisingly correct German, and seemed to be about to say more when his phone started to vibrate. He immediately switched to his mother tongue.

  “Jennifer? I’m on the plane . . . Well, just the usual trade fair craziness . . . Definitely a few interesting options for the Edinburgh branch. Looks like we’re landing on time . . . Dinner at your place sounds wonderful . . . Yes, I like . . .”

  I felt sick. This man had to be stopped.

  I unlatched my seat belt with some difficulty, gave the Englishman a dirty look, and walked with as much dignity as my wobbly knees allowed towards the flight attendants’ station.

  Candy Dee was not pleased. I could see it in the look she exchanged with her colleague and from her reluctant march down the aisle to verify my accusation. I ducked nervously into the bathroom, but half wished I’d followed her to watch. Candy Dee represented authority here, even though she was five foot nothing and sounded like a little girl.

  I returned to my seat five minutes later, head held high. Unfortunately, the scene I found there did not resemble the one I’d imagined I would see.

  Candy Dee sat in my seat, her childlike, knobby knees turned towards the Englishman. Their heads nearly touched across the aisle as they looked at photos . . . on his mobile phone. They didn’t even notice me until I cleared my throat. Candy Dee jumped up as if I’d caught her sneaking a cigarette.

  “Nevertheless, Mr. Murray, I still have to ask you to turn off your phone,” she said sweetly, with a blissful smile.

  “Why don’t you call me Aidan, Candy? And you know what?” He cast an amused glance at me. “Why don’t you take my phone, so I won’t accidentally annoy anyone? I’ll pick it up later.”

  I rolled my eyes and dropped down into my seat, almost forgetting to buckle myself in. Candy Dee left, grinning like a teenager with a crush. I shut my eyes defiantly, determined not to open them again until we’d landed.

  Someone gave a little cough to my left. “Excuse me, miss?”

  I grudgingly looked over.

  “You snitched on me! What’s the word in German . . . verpetzt?”

  He looked at me, seemingly fascinated rather than annoyed.

  “I had to save all of us, Mr. Murray,” I muttered, setting him straight.

  “I see,” he said, pursing his lips.

  “Stop that!” I snapped, forcing myself not to stare at his mouth. It was surprisingly soft, almost feminine.

  “What am I supposed to stop?” he continued in German.

  “The puppy-like dramatics. Maybe they work on Maisie, Jennifer, and Candy Dee, but I’m not buying what you’re selling.” To stress my point, I wiggled my hand with the silver engagement ring Justus had given me.

  “Whoa! What’s bugging you?”

  “I have no problem with bugs, just with people who endanger others because they think the rules don’t apply to them.”

  He laughed. “And you obey the rules by eavesdropping on private conversations and denouncing people to the flight crew instead of asking them politely to turn off their phone. You didn’t have many friends in school, did you now?”

  “But I did ask you!”

  “No. You just informed me, not very politely, that I had a phone—I was aware of that—and also that they’re not allowed.”

  “You—” I gasped for air. This guy was simply unbelievable.

  “How can such a pretty woman be so uptight?”

  He leaned across the aisle and I automatically pulled back. But that did not deter Mr. Mur
ray.

  “You look like a girl who never let her classmates copy her homework.” He stroked his chin.

  “Whereas I’m sure all your friends let you cheat,” I answered, trying not to let on how right he was.

  Grinning, he eased back into his chair. “You seem to know how to think on your feet. What do you do for a living?”

  “I’m a lawyer,” I replied.

  “Perfect. And what brings you to beautiful Scotland? A case?”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “What’s wrong with a nice little chat?”

  “Maybe I don’t want to chat with you.”

  “Believe me, that’s exactly what you want.” He gave me a meaningful look.

  At that moment, the aeroplane began to tremble like a massive animal in pain. I winced when the seat belt sign switched on with a loud ding.

  “Just a little turbulence.” Aidan Murray shrugged. “Look at me and answer my question. Why are you flying to Scotland?”

  “It’s . . . private,” I moaned, clawing at the armrest again. His eyes were green, not brown, as I’d thought at first—green with gold flecks.

  The plane rumbled and rattled. A child began to cry. Candy Dee and her colleague scuttled around, calming passengers, and finally retreated to the jump seats, their backs straight as arrows.

  “I’m going to die,” I mumbled, gritting my teeth to keep them from chattering.

  “Why Scotland?” The awful man exuded calmness.

  “I’m visiting someone,” I said, gasping for air.

  “A man? Maybe the one behind this?” He gestured towards my engagement ring and placed his hand over mine nonchalantly. The soft pressure was strangely reassuring.

  “I’m visiting my cousin,” I lied, and pushed my glasses up. My pulse rate must have been 180 at least.

  “Is she as pretty as you are?”

  “Much too young for you.” I managed to grin. “Besides, she isn’t crazy about Englishmen in suits.”

  “You think I’m English?”

  “Well, you don’t look Scottish.”

  “And what do Scottish men look like, in your opinion?”

  “They’re taller and more muscular. They wear lambswool jumpers . . .” And they definitely wouldn’t smell of chocolate cookies.

  “Well, now, I’m about six feet tall and have quite a few muscles. My pullovers are in my duffel bag—alpaca, by the way. Lambswool is for women.” He winked. “You don’t look like a lawyer either, by the way, even though you’re talking like one.”

  “Is that so?” I really needed to stop holding my breath. I already felt quite dizzy.

  “Annie Stone,” he replied, staring at me so intently that I had to turn away. “My primary school teacher. Her face was as grim as yours.”

  I chose to ignore his impertinence. “So you’re really Scottish?”

  “Gu cinnteach, madam.” Grinning, he stuck his thumb in the air. “That was Gaelic,” he added, as if that was necessary. “It means ‘for sure.’”

  “And what were you doing in Germany? Visiting one of your girlfriends?”

  “I sold a flock of sheep.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Just a little.”

  “Very funny.”

  “But it did make you smile.”

  “Touché. Your point. And I’ll even add half a point because your German isn’t bad.”

  “My mother’s from Flensburg.” He tilted his head to one side. “Tell me about the guy to whom you’re recklessly willing to give away your heart.”

  Even though he was joking, I felt attacked.

  “I’m not giving anything away. Believe it or not, there are still some people who take marriage seriously!”

  “What makes you think I don’t take it seriously?”

  “I don’t get the impression that you’re much for commitment.”

  A strange expression flickered over his face. He pulled his hand away and turned to look out of the window past his seatmate. I felt my cheeks burn. Had I been holding hands with this womaniser the entire time? How embarrassing. But I wasn’t myself, what with this horrible flight . . .

  “It’s almost over, ma’am. We’re about to land,” he said.

  I leaned forward and peered out. Indeed, lights appeared through the fog. A city.

  Aidan chuckled and I suddenly found him less unpleasant. His nearness was actually calming—and the flight wouldn’t last much longer, thank god.

  “All that’s left is a safe landing in Edinburgh, Miss . . . ?”

  “Josefine,” I replied quickly. “I’m Josefine.”

  “Josefine.” The way he pronounced my name was unusual—drawn out and soft—as if he had secretly added a few vowels.

  My seat was vibrating. The landing flaps went out—I felt an uncomfortable pressure in my ears.

  “Aidan . . .”

  I squinted and tried to suppress visions of a crash landing. What did it matter? I would never see this man again, whether we arrived safely or not.

  “Aidan, until we’re on terra firma, would you mind holding my hand as you did before?”

  It was thanks to Candy Dee that Aidan Murray disappeared from my life even faster than I had hoped he would. She showed up before the seat belt signs were turned off. Ignoring our clasped hands, which we quickly dropped, she instead gave Aidan a look so seductive that any other woman would have considered it a declaration of war.

  “Your mobile phone, Mr. Murray.” She blushed. “Aidan.” She bent down and whispered loud enough for me to hear, “I saved my number. Just in case you’re in Frankfurt one of these days and want a personal tour of the city.”

  “What a generous offer, Candy,” Aidan replied, showing off the dimples that probably secured him offers of sightseeing tours from every woman on the planet.

  Candy Dee sauntered off with swaying hips and giggles that reminded me of the squealing piglet sound one of Charlie’s old dolls used to make. Charlie had dragged that doll everywhere until I was so sick of the constant oinking that I made the doll disappear. It was probably still languishing in Grandmother’s rain barrel behind the shed.

  I feigned rummaging in my handbag while Aidan retrieved his bag from the overhead compartment. Absentmindedly, I applied some lip gloss—I had carried the small jar with me for years without ever having opened it. It had been a birthday present from Charlie, who didn’t care that I never used the stuff. Why did I mind Candy Dee’s behaviour? I tore at the seat belt, which apparently did not want to release me.

  “Push first. Then pull.” Aidan pushed my hands aside. The clasp opened with a soft click. I was free.

  “Thank you,” I said, with as much aloofness as I could muster.

  He looked at me for a moment, and then his dimples went back into action.

  “Whatever it is you’re really looking for, Josefine, know that nobody asks you to give your heart to Scotland. But if you do, Scotland will love you back.”

  And he left. Taken aback, I watched his tall frame head towards the exit and disappear into the multicoloured mosaic of caps and hats.

  What Scotland gave me first was a problem smelling of peppermint drops. The woman behind the car rental counter shook her head sympathetically, pushing a strongly scented peppermint sweet around in her mouth.

  “Sorry, miss.”

  “But I even paid in advance!” Flustered, I waved my voucher in front of her and rifled through my handbag for the third time. It was an act of pure desperation since I now remembered where my driver’s licence was—in the glove compartment of my Mini Cooper, which was in its parking garage in Frankfurt.

  The woman transferred her mint from one cheek to the other. “As I’ve told you already, without a licence, I’m not allowed to give you a car.”

  I groaned. “I don’t believe this.”

  The mint clicked against her teeth. “That’s the law. No driver’s licence, no car.”

  “What would it cost me for you to bend the rules?” Determin
ed, I pulled my chequebook out.

  The clicking ceased. “Did you just say what I think you said, miss?” she asked sternly, and looked at me with much less compassion than before.

  I felt sweat break out on my forehead. Had I fallen so low?

  “Well, you see . . .” I swallowed and looked over my shoulder.

  The bearded man behind me in line stood there with a blank expression on his face. His wife checked her watch and sighed. I leaned forward and waved the car rental woman closer.

  “It’s a matter of life and death,” I whispered nervously. “I have to be in the Highlands as soon as possible. Would twelve years of driving without an accident and five hundred pounds be enough for you to help me out a little”—I glanced at her name tag—“Deborah?”

  Deborah peered at me without a word. Then her ample bosom trembled and she uttered a sound that hovered between disbelief and resignation. “Why don’t you try a peppermint drop, miss.”

  Annoyed, I looked at the little metal tin she pushed towards me.

  “Take one. They’re good.”

  I took one of the powdered sweets and put it in my mouth.

  “Delicious, no?”

  “Terrific,” I mumbled, trying to catch my breath. This thing would match any chilli pepper on the Scoville scale.

  “Just take the whole tin. You probably need them more than I do,” Deborah said good-naturedly, and I tucked the incendiary tin into my blazer pocket.

  Someone groaned behind me. “How long is this going to take, miss? Are you trying to rent the entire lot?”

  “Don’t rush us, sir.” Without taking her eyes off me, Deborah took out a pad of paper.

  I fought to suppress a smile. I knew it. Five hundred pounds would do the trick for anyone. She scrawled something on the pad, tore off a page, and shoved it towards me.

  747 9:25 p.m. HAL

  I looked up, confused. “What does that mean?”

  She chewed on the last remnants of her peppermint. “That’s the bus to Halbeath. It leaves from the terminal entrance. You get off at the last station and change to the bus to Inverness. If you prefer, you could get a taxi—hellishly expensive, though. Hurry, miss. Shouldn’t waste time in matters of life and death.”