“Damn him to hell,” she told the room conversationally, but only she was there to hear, and she really knew that she was damning herself and taking all the blame. After a few minutes, she felt recovered enough to go look for Wayne and Carl. She found them talking, or rather arguing, across the desk in Carl’s office. They both turned when she entered. “There you are,” said Carl irritably. “It’s about time you got here.”
“What do you mean?” she asked. “I’ve been to the conference room and you didn’t show up.”
“Scott Bennett told us you’d be late and so we’ve been talking over things in here while we waited for you.” Carl surveyed her speculatively, and she flushed with annoyance. Wayne’s eyes slid away and she glared his way for a moment.
“Well, Scott was wrong,” she replied tartly, moving over to a chair and angrily sitting. “I’ve been waiting in the other room, so why don’t we get on with whatever we’re supposed to be doing?”
Carl tossed her several pages of typewritten paper. “Before we get on to the new assignment, I want you to rewrite this,” he told her in a no-nonsense voice. Wayne threw up his hands in disgust and turned away, while Leslie frowningly looked through the pages of her last article.
“Whatever for?” she indignantly asked. “I worked my—” She caught sight of Carl’s stern, waiting face. “—my tail off on this.”
“It’s too emotional,” he told her flatly and sat back for the explosion.
“Like hell it is!” She bounded up in anger just as he’d known she would, and for the next ten minutes argued hotly about the merits of her article with Wayne indignantly interposing his own statements from time to time.
“We won’t use it until you rewrite it!” Carl finally said firmly, and Leslie snapped back at him:
“It’s damned good and you know it!”
“Of course it is, you idiot! But it’s still too emotional!”
“It’s angry!”
“I know it! So sit down and cut it out!”
She suddenly quietened and got really serious, feeling much better for letting off some steam. “Is it really that heavy?” she muttered, looking through the pages. “I thought I’d handled it well.”
“It’s beautifully eloquent, and it’s too much, Les. You’ve got to be more dry, simply stating the facts. Toward the end let yourself be a little bitter if you like, but only about human conditions, not about politics. This isn’t an editorial, it’s a news article.” Carl sat back and drummed fingers on the desk as he waited.
She sighed, resigned, knowing he was right. “All right. I’ll get it done by the end of the day.” She peeped at him from behind the papers she was perusing.
“I need it by two this afternoon,” he said, and actually winced as he waited for another explosion.
This, however, she’d been expecting. “Slave driver,” she muttered bitterly, but stood and headed for the door. She grinned as she left the room. Wayne and Carl were already arguing about something again.
“On my desk at two o’clock, finished!” Carl roared after her. “And be here at two-thirty for the briefing of your next assignment, do you hear?”
“Don’t push it, Carl!”
She was done and on time, and she had a half an hour to herself. She nipped down to the canteen, picking up a sandwich and a cup of coffee and heading for an empty table. After a quick glance at her watch, she wolfed the food down and decided to take her coffee back up with her. She hurried for the stairs.
That afternoon she found out that she and Wayne were supposed to be going to South America the next day via New York, and she nodded, unsurprised. One was sent where one was familiar with the language and people, and she did speak fluent Spanish. She had hoped for a change, though. “At least it’s not El Salvador,” she muttered.
“Argentina.” Carl was crisp. “We want you to get the general flavour of the country and its mood. Dig into it, and the Falkland crisis. Get the commoner’s opinion about it, and play up the human interest. Get reactions to the rebellions—use your head and sniff around. You’ll be down there for a month or two, and of course if you get wind of something that might take you out of the country, use your judgment and go for it, if you think it’s best. You have my cautious blessing. Also…” As Carl talked and rounded the corner of his desk, Wayne looked over to Leslie and crossed his eyes. She stuck out her tongue at him. “Wayne!” Carl barked, seeing the one but not the other. “Could you control your puerile tendencies, if you don’t think it would strain your I.Q. too much?” Leslie grinned.
After their briefing, Leslie asked him curiously, “Why, oh Great One, are we being shipped via the New York persuasion? Why not to Miami or one of the southern airports? Would it be more direct?”
“Yes, it would be more direct!” Carl mimicked her tone of voice and she laughed at him. “It was the only flight that I could get you on tomorrow. You two have had enough time to waste as it is. It’s time you were back to work! You’re changing planes in New York. Here are your tickets…” And the rest of the afternoon passed in an energetic haze of activity as Leslie rushed around to get everything ready for her departure the next morning. She was leaving again. It tingled all through her every time she thought about it. Everything would be fine.
But that night, as the night before that, she tossed and turned and couldn’t get to sleep as she thought of the one man she would dearly love to get out of her mind. She wondered if he was sleeping with anyone else that night, and if so, with whom. She couldn’t wait until tomorrow. Then maybe she could get him, and herself, and what they’d done out of her mind.
She was packed and ready, so all she had to do in the morning was shower and get dressed, leaving her hair wet and hanging down her back. It would dry soon enough and she wasn’t taking her hair drier with her, anyway, so she would have to get used to it again. There was no telling where they were going to end up, and the drier was extra weight. She couldn’t know how prophetic her thoughts were at the time. And when she did realise it, the irony of the situation and the danger drove any possibility of amusement right out of her mind.
But this morning she had no inkling, and all she knew was that she was going to have a long hard day of travelling ahead of her. She dressed accordingly. Gone was the sophisticated woman from the day before. Today she had on a pair of khaki slacks and a sleeveless cotton shirt, with a khaki jacket slung over her arm as she headed out her door, only one piece of lightweight canvas luggage with her and a carry on filled with a tape recorder, plenty of batteries, and all of the stationery she would need. Travelling light was something that she had become used to some time ago. It was surprising how many pairs of slacks her lightweight luggage piece would hold. Her only luxuries were some blusher, eye shadow and mascara, and her photo of Dennis and Jenny.
She was meeting Wayne at O’Hare and started to look for him the moment she entered the terminal. He was not yet there, she saw, as she made her way through the throngs of people. She had plenty of time, so she checked her luggage in and then headed for the magazine stand, purchasing several to keep her occupied while she waited for the flight and for Wayne.
Once she thought that she felt appraising eyes on her, but when she looked up, she found no one she knew close by, and so she soon dismissed it from her mind. It was getting close to boarding time, and he still wasn’t there. She stood, reluctant to miss the flight and loath to board without Wayne. She flicked her wristwatch up, an impatient movement. There was time to make a call, to see if he’d left his apartment or not.
Just as she’d turned towards the row of telephones, she heard a shout behind her and turned back around. Her heart gave a great lurch and her world swayed a moment before righting unexpectedly, and she fervently hoped that her discomposure hadn’t shown on her face, for there walking towards her was not only Wayne, but Jarred and Scott, and they all had luggage in their hands. Just as the suspicion hit her mind, she dismissed it, telling herself that it couldn’t be, but there Wayne was, explaini
ng that they’d got caught in traffic, but at least they hadn’t missed the plane, and Leslie began to realise that Scott and Jarred were on the same flight to New York that they were. She took a deep breath. It was only for a few hours, she thought consolingly, while her eyes bounced to Scott and then off him again. Then she and Wayne would be getting off and taking another flight south while Scott and Jarred continued to London and from there to Turkey. They might not even be sitting together.
Scott hadn’t even looked at her, as he surveyed the crowds of people, the babble of voices both foreign and domestic, his head thrown back, feet wide apart and well planted. He had on a pair of faded jeans, very tight, with a white cotton shirt that emphasised his dark tan and rugged, uneven features, and his silvered hair that was carelessly brushed back. It curled under, low on his neck, giving him a leonine appearance. She quivered, and wondered that no one else could see the powerful tug of attraction she felt for him.
Somehow, she wasn’t sure how, she managed to say in a calm, neutral tone, “I’ll just have a seat then, and wait for you to check your luggage on.” Wayne nodded to her, Jarred grinned, and they all took off for some time.
She looked up as someone paused by her and she smiled politely at Jarred, wondering inwardly how much Scott would have told him about their encounter. The euphemism she used made her smile grimly. News teams were by nature usually people who got fairly close. She wondered if Scott knew how to hold on to his tongue, and it struck her that she knew very little about him. She shook her head impatiently. She didn’t want to know him. It had all been a mistake. How many times had she to convince herself of that?
Her restless gaze wandered over the people in the noisy, uncomfortably hot airport and she saw Scott and Wayne talking some distance away, both men with their back to her. She let her gaze wander freely over them both, and then realised that she was staring mostly at Scott. She made her gaze return to her magazine. Then the two men were sauntering over and it was time to board the plane. She stuffed her magazines into her bag, readied herself with her ticket. Scott was just behind her, with Wayne and Jarred following, and she quickly went down the aisle to her seat, waiting resignedly when she saw the three men following her. She wasn’t surprised. The seats had all probably been booked at the same time, so naturally they fell together when possible. She was rather discomfited, though, when she found herself seated by the window and Scott’s lean form easing down beside her. Her eyes flew to his impassive face. Was there possibly a hint of satisfaction there? She told herself she was imagining things. Hold on to your cool, Les, she whispered silently. You’re losing it.
His legs took up a great deal of space and brushed against her, the thigh hard. She busied herself with arranging things in her bag and taking her magazines to stick them in the pocket of the seat in front of her. Then, checking to make sure she had her press pass, batteries and stationery, she closed the bag. Scott had already deposited his hand luggage underneath his feet, tucked into the provided space, and he sat back with his head resting against the back of the seat, legs stretched as far as he could get them, eyes closed. On the other side, Jarred and Wayne were talking with low voices. Trying very hard to relax herself, she sat back and watched the people as they were boarding.
She found plenty to keep herself entertained. Up ahead was the boarding entrance, and a harried looking flight attendant was talking in a low voice to a red-faced, indignant lady accompanied by a smallish, rather embarrassed man who had a peculiar habit of blinking rapidly behind his eyeglasses, giving him the appearance of being perpetually close to tears. Just behind her two young girls were arguing vehemently in rather loud voices as to which one would get the window seat. To the right were three children and their mother, the oldest child around twelve and the youngest still in nappies. She looked tired already, and Leslie’s heart went out to her. Her attention was snagged by a flight attendant walking down the aisle, coming their way. At first Leslie’s eyes lit upon the young lady disinterestedly, but then her gaze sharpened in speculation. The attendant not only looked hassled, as many attendants do especially after a long and hard flight, but this one looked positively haggard. Her complexion was pale and her eyes showed strain, and her mouth was held so tightly that there was a thin white line around the edges. She put up a hand as she passed Leslie’s row to tuck up a stray strand of hair, and her fingers as they touched her temple were trembling. Leslie’s brows drew together into a slight frown. The girl was obviously under a great deal of strain.
“And what’s caused you to look so forbidding?” Scott’s voice queried softly just by her ear. She jerked in surprise and forced herself to relax, her face to calm.
“Nothing of importance,” she replied composedly. “You switched seats with Wayne, didn’t you?”
“What do you think? How long are you going to be in Argentina?” A quick turn of the head to stare at him, and Leslie found it a big mistake, as she was staring into warm, velvety chocolate eyes only inches away. Her eyes skittered away only to light upon his mouth, firm and yet mobile, and now slightly crooked at the edges. She knew that mouth. Utterly shocked at her own reaction to this man, she jerked her gaze away and had to ask him to repeat his question.
“God only knows,” was her short reply. She then sat back and buckled her seatbelt and did her best to project a repelling attitude. She might have known that he wouldn’t even deign to notice her efforts.
Then the hatch was closing and the flight attendants were walking briskly about, as engines started to a high pitched whine. The plane lurched, and then moved gently away from the boarding apparatus. She gripped the sides of her seat tightly as the attendants went through safety procedures that she never bothered to listen to anymore. How many times had she flown? A dozen? No, more than that. Two, three dozen times? She had no idea, but it didn’t matter, for the take offs and the landings always petrified her. Her fear was consistent, she acknowledged grimly, slowly paling. She had to give it that. It hit her every time. Usually Wayne was there to talk her out of it, keep her mind occupied, but now he was sitting on the other end of the row. She stared straight ahead as the plane began to hum even more, and the captain came over the intercom to wish the passengers a good flight. She leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes, willing the sickness to go away.
“Are you all right?” The question came from Scott, and was sharp. She nodded tightly without looking. The plane was now taxiing to the runway and was about to start taking off. Her hand was taken and held firmly, Scott’s large hand a warm shock to her cold, tense one. “Good Lord, your hand is like ice! Leslie, are you okay?”
The low concern in his voice caught at her attention and she reluctantly opened her eyes. Instead of looking to him, she found her eyes drawn to the swiftly moving scenery outside, and she took a deep, shaking breath. Then Scott’s voice came, calm and reassuring, and he told her to look at him, not outside. She slowly complied, and then she did nothing but stare into his steadying, comforting gaze while he talked softly to her of God only knew what. She didn’t know, for she just listened to the sound of his voice while the plane’s power built up into incredible speed, pinning her against her seat, holding her down, and she fleetingly wondered what all of that power would be taking her to. The thought invariably hit her at this time, for she was now powerless to turn the plane back, totally at the mercy of the huge machine.
As soon as they were in the air and more or less flying levelly, she wriggled her fingers in protestation of his hard grip and sighed limply. “Thanks,” she muttered, “I’m all right now. It’s not bad at all when we’re up, but the going up and the coming down really get me.” Colour was coming back into her face and she could breathe normally again, instead of feeling as if her chest had a tight band of steel around it. She grinned ruefully. “Wayne is usually there to hold my hand.” She looked past Scott and found Wayne looking in concern around Jarred. She wrinkled her nose at him and he laughed.
“You’re full of contr
adictions, aren’t you?” Scott said quietly, and the statement brought her eyes to his face, surprising a contemplative, searching look. “There’s a lot I don’t understand about you, Leslie Tremaine. Quite a bit, I’d say. Just about everything about you, except for your work. You’re crystal clear in your work.”
Her face closed warily, and she drew back from him as far as she could get. “I’m no enigma, no contradiction,” she denied flatly. “And I don’t need for my actions to be dissected into tiny bits. I am what I am, and nothing you do or say is going to change it. I’ll be going to hell my own way, like everyone else in this world, and it’s nobody’s business which road I take.”
“Nobody’s business?” he mocked gently, and his gentleness was more unsettling than anything she could produce. Then mockery went away, and he was left to stare at her seriously, somehow sternly as he said, “And of all the different aspects of you that I’m just getting to know, that is certainly the most pitiable.”
Leslie kept her head turned to the window and she stared out at the fluffy, thick looking clouds. They looked so real, it seemed that someone could jump from the plane and bounce in their mass instead of dropping right through and sinking like a stone in water. It was, she knew, going to be a long flight.
Chapter Three
By the time the plane was nearing New York, Leslie felt like she’d flown half way around the world. She was limp and strung out from being continuously tense beside Scott. He, quite infuriatingly, seemed very much at ease, with legs sprawled carelessly out and his head tilted back. He treated her with a careful courtesy that was in itself an insult, and occasionally she saw fleeting flashes of that inexplicable anger he felt towards her. What was wrong with him? she wondered irritably. What was he expecting after such a night? What possibly could have developed from a night like that? It had been all wrong from the beginning. The only reason she could come up with for his behaviour now was that he was piqued because she’d left so abruptly. Strange situation, strange, uncomfortable man. On the one hand he treated her with thoughtfulness and on the other he treated her with sarcasm.
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