Flights of Angels

by Victoria Connelly

  ‘Excuse me?’ a female voice caught his attention. It was shy, and distinctly French.

  ‘Yes?’ He looked up and saw a pair of chocolate eyes in a pale, heart-shaped face.

  ‘Are you going to buy that book?’

  Simon stared at her. She was beautiful. Skin like moonshine, glossy brown hair and an expression as delicate as cobweb.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Are you planning on buying that book?’ Her voice was anxious.

  ‘Er - I don’t know.’

  ‘Oh.’ She sounded disappointed.

  ‘Why?’ he asked.

  ‘Because I was going to buy it.’

  Suddenly, the witch was upon them. ‘Is there a problem?’ she all but shouted, poking her nose in between them. Simon grimaced. It really should have been a green nose with a big hairy wart on the end of it.

  ‘No!’ Simon said, snapping the book shut. ‘There isn’t any problem.’

  The old witch stared up and down at him, and then at the young woman before retreating behind her counter. Simon looked back at the young woman.

  ‘Here,’ he said, ‘you take it. I really can’t afford it.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  He nodded and smiled, and she smiled back.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, gently taking the book from him before approaching the till.

  Simon looked on in fascination as the old witch, a staunch recycler, placed Judy Garland in one of his old carrier bags.

  And then the moonshine woman was gone. Simon watched from the shop window as she disappeared up the street, swinging his carrier bag by her side.

  Chapter 7

  Claudie almost skipped into the office the next morning. Today was the day. Today, Jalisa had promise to introduce her to the rest of her flight.

  Where would they be? Would Jalisa have taken up her position in the fig tree or would she have adopted something more formal in order to introduce everyone? And who would they be? It was hard for Claudie to imagine. Jalisa had said that they were a motley bunch but what exactly did that mean? Claudie didn’t even know if they’d be men, women or both, and if they were all modern-day angels or angels from another period in time. Jalisa had said she’d met Shakespeare so there was really no telling who these other angels might be. She smiled wistfully. Just imagine. She might end up with a tiny Gene Kelly on her desk. She’d never get any work done.

  It was all very exciting but, as she walked towards her desk, she felt her mouth drooping as she realised there was nobody around. A wave of insecurity hit her. What if she’d imagined the whole thing? What if this Jalisa had just been an externalisation of her inner desire for help? Oh, God! She was beginning to think like Dr Lynton. Inner desire for help indeed!

  ‘Morning, Claudes!’ Kristen sang.

  ‘Morning,’ Claudie replied, suddenly remembering that she was actually here to do a job, not be entertained by little angels other people couldn’t see.

  And then she spotted it. A tiny little scribble on her top post-it note. It was barely discernible, but Claudie could just make out the message.

  ‘Claudie. Sorry but we’ll be a bit late today. Love, Jalisa x.’

  So she hadn’t imagined it then.

  She pulled her chair out and switched her monitor on, flexing her fingers in preparation for a heavy morning’s typing. Kristen was already in full flow, and Claudie guessed she’d got in early to catch up on some of the work before the bosses arrived.

  ‘Has anyone got a post-it note?’ Kristen suddenly asked, looking round the office hopelessly and catching Claudie’s eye. ‘I swear those things have legs!’ she said, walking towards her as soon as she spotted some.

  ‘Can I pinch some of yours? I promise I’ll replace them as soon as the stationery order comes in.’ Her hand was already over them. Claudie placed her hand on top of Kristen’s. She couldn’t let her have the post-its. Not with that message on. What on earth would she make of it?

  ‘I only want a few, Claudes!’ Kristen laughed. ‘Before I forget what I’m meant to be doing today.’ She picked them up.

  Claudie closed her eyes, waiting for the questions to start. Could she possibly deny all knowledge? Could she get away with saying she’d never heard of anyone called Jalisa? Probably not. She knew Kristen too well, and she always had a way of wheedling things out of her.

  ‘Kristen? I think I’ve may have scribbled something on one of the post-its.’

  ‘What? Where?’ Kristen held them up for inspection. ‘There’s nothing here, Claudes. They’re blank. See?’ She held them out and Claudie’s eyes widened as she saw Jalisa’s tiny message in blue ink.

  ‘I’m yours!’ she remembered Jalisa telling her. It was true then. Nobody else could see or hear them at all.

  ‘Have you lost something?’ Kristen asked.

  ‘Oh, no!’ Claudie shook her head vehemently, a smile stretching its way across her face.

  By eleven o’clock, Claudie had almost forgotten about the imminent arrival of her flight. Mr Bartholomew had placed a great wodge of notes on her desk and had even given some to Kristen, who was really Mr Simpson’s PA. She’d lost herself in a maze of black ink, and almost leapt out of her seat when Jalisa’s legs dangled over her monitor without warning.

  ‘Morning, Claudie! Bet you’d forgotten about me!’ she said, cocking her head to one side, her dark ringlets spilling over her left shoulder.

  ‘Jalisa!’

  ‘Did you get my note?’

  ‘Yes! But I-’

  ‘Good,’ she interrupted. ‘Sorry about the mix up - terrible delay in Angel Resources, and then the Despatches team were running late. They really should get themselves organised. They’ve no idea how much chaos they cause. But we’re here now. All together at last.’

  Claudie’s eyes flicked round her desk in wonder but couldn’t see anything that resembled another Jalisa.

  ‘No!’ Jalisa smiled. ‘We’re here, but not quite here, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘No,’ Claudie said honestly.

  ‘You have to be quite sure that this is the right thing for you.’

  ‘Oh, but I am!’

  ‘You realise that, once we’re here, you can’t just decide to send us back on a whim. We have to do our job and we’re not allowed to leave until it’s completed.’

  ‘Yes! Yes!’ Claudie whispered eagerly. ‘I know.’

  ‘Okay!’ Jalisa laughed, throwing her hands up as if to deflect Claudie’s enthusiasm a little. ‘Then you’re ready to meet us all?’

  ‘YES!’

  ‘Claudes?’ Kristen looked round from her desk. ‘You’re talking to yourself again.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Claudie quickly apologised, feeling herself blushing.

  Turning back round to face Jalisa, she whispered, ‘Yes, ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘Okay. As I said before, each member has been specially chosen for the job: possessing some quality or ability to help you. I’ll introduce them to you one at a time.’

  Claudie bit her lip as she watched Jalisa, wondering where the other members of the flight would appear.

  ‘Albert?’ Jalisa called quietly, looking down the side of Claudie’s computer. Claudie’s eyes followed and there, miraculously, appeared a little old man, figure stooped like a wind-blown tree, wearing grey hair and the biggest, reddest nose Claudie had ever seen. She tried to stop herself from laughing. It wasn’t exactly what she’d expected, not after the beautiful, elegant Jalisa.

  ‘How do you do,’ Albert said as he removed his hat, his large amber eyes beaming up at her.

  ‘How do you do,’ Claudie replied, smiling down at him.

  ‘Albert died in 1955, which explains the clothes.’

  ‘Hey! Cheeky young miss!’ Albert shouted, brushing down his tweed coat with pride.

  ‘But he’s got a great sense of humour, haven’t you, Bert?’

  ‘I wasn’t chosen to entertain the troupes because I was a miserable git, was I?’

  Claudie giggled.

>   ‘See!’ Jalisa said, ‘he’s working already.’ There was a pause. ‘Now there’s something I need to explain about Elizabeth,’ Jalisa said.

  ‘Who’s Elizabeth?’

  ‘You’re about to find out. She can be a bit stroppy and, to be perfectly honest with you, I’m not at all sure why she was chosen for this flight. I have a feeling that she’s your token person from history.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Claudie asked, becoming intrigued.

  ‘Wait and see.’

  ‘Elizabeth. We’re ready,’ Jalisa announced and Claudie watched as, by her pot of pens, there appeared a beautiful young woman in a cream and burgundy gown. As soon as she came into focus properly, Claudie could see that she had a deep scowl etched across her forehead and was standing with her hands placed very firmly on her hips.

  ‘It’s Lily! How many times do I have to say it?’ Elizabeth remonstrated.

  ‘Now don’t start the minute you arrive,’ Jalisa sighed.

  ‘Who is she? Is she a princess?’ Claudie asked, seeing Elizabeth smile at the comment. ‘Oh, my God!’

  ‘What?’ Jalisa sounded worried.

  ‘I haven’t got the young Queen Elizabeth I in miniature on my desk, have I?’

  Jalisa laughed which made Elizabeth scowl beautifully again. ‘Good gracious, no! Although she did come from a very good family, didn’t you?’

  ‘The best.’

  ‘Where are you from, then?’ Claudie asked.

  ‘1540.’

  ‘No, I meant what place?’

  ‘I see! Suffolk.’

  ‘There’s something else I should tell you,’ Jalisa said from her vantage point at the top of the computer.

  ‘What’s that?’ Claudie asked, strangely reminded of the grand ballet sequence at the end of An American in Paris which she always thought couldn’t possibly get any better, only to be proved wrong over and over again.

  Jalisa cleared her throat, ‘Eliz, - I mean Lily, has a twin,’ she explained, somewhat apologetically.

  As soon as the word twin was out, an identical image appeared next to Elizabeth.

  ‘Wow!’ Claudie gasped. ‘She’s beautiful.’

  ‘Thanks a lot!’ Lily intoned.

  ‘I mean - they’re beautiful.’

  ‘This is Mary. The other half of the Tudor twins,’ Jalisa said.

  ‘Hello, Claudie,’ Mary said, a pretty smile lighting her face.

  ‘Hello,’ Claudie replied, feeling her eyes saucering in wonder. She’d never met identical twins before, and the experience was astonishing enough without them being sixteenth century, six-inch tall angels to boot. She peered closely at their dresses: the square, bejewelled necklines, the tight bodices and double-skirts, and large trumpet sleeves. At last it clicked.

  ‘They look like Anne Boleyn!’ Claudie told Jalisa.

  ‘Anne Boleyn!’ Lily declared, outraged. ‘That witch! Jane Seymour, if you please.’

  ‘Jane Seymour? The actress?’ Claudie asked, rather puzzled.

  ‘The queen! The one Henry chopped Anne’s head off for. Anyway, if you think I’m wearing all this stuff any more, you’ve got another thing coming.’

  ‘Now listen, Lily. I just knew you were going to be trouble,’ Jalisa said, waving a warning finger.

  ‘All I’m saying is that we should be able to dress in up-to-date clothing.’

  ‘What’s wrong with what you’re wearing?’ Claudie asked. ‘I think it’s beautiful.’

  ‘It might very well be, but it belongs in the Victoria and Albert.’

  Albert’s ears pricked up at the mention of his name. ‘Did someone call?’

  ‘Go back to sleep, Albert, dear,’ Lily whispered and turned back to Claudie. ‘I love what you’re wearing though,’ Lily continued. ‘Is that this Gooky I’ve been hearing about?’

  ‘Gucci?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘Goodness, no!’ Claudie exclaimed, her hands flying up to her navy jacket. ‘This is from Debenhams.’

  ‘Debenhams. Who’s he? I’ve not heard of that designer.’

  ‘God! All she ever goes on about are clothes,’ Mary complained.

  ‘Well why shouldn’t I want some modern things to wear?’

  ‘What’s wrong with what you’ve got?’ Mary asked.

  ‘I’ve been wearing it for nearly five hundred years. I’m getting a bit bored with it,’ Lily snapped back.

  ‘Girls! Enough already! Mr Woo’s still got to make an appearance.

  ‘Heaven preserve us!’ Bert snorted, making himself comfortable on Claudie’s strawberry lipbalm.

  ‘Er, Bert,’ Jalisa began, ‘we all know you two have your differences, but this isn’t the time to air them. We’re here to work, okay?’

  He nodded dolefully.

  ‘Mr Woo?’ Jalisa called, and suddenly there was a fifth figure on the desk. A perfect little Chinese man, with jet hair, a wide face, and the kindest, softest eyes Claudie had ever seen. They were just the kind of eyes Claudie had needed ten months ago but which, apart from Kristen, had been sadly lacking.

  ‘Mr Woo died only last year, so he’s rather new to all this. You’ll have to bear with him as he’s still rather shell-shocked,’ Jalisa explained. ‘Keeps thinking he’s going to wake up and be back at his herbal remedies shop in North London.’

  Claudie took a moment to compute this. What was she meant to say to him? I’m sorry you’ve just died? What was the etiquette on meeting a newly dead person? She had no idea, so decided to play it cool. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ she said, nodding to the little man who was wearing the most exquisite olive coat with large embroidered buttons and long, loose sleeves. He gave a half-smile and lightly nodded his head, but didn’t say anything.

  ‘He’s brilliant with alternative medicine, so feel free to ask him for anything you need.’ Jalisa clapped her hands together. ‘So that’s the flight! Hope you like us!’

  ‘Yes, I do! You’re - they’re -’ Claudie struggled to find the right words

  ‘- amazing.’

  ‘We’ll just take up residence round the desk. We can make ourselves scarce when you need us to and we don’t make any mess,’ she laughed. ‘We can entertain ourselves when you’re busy but, if you need us, just call us.’

  Kristen left the office on the stroke of five thirty. Nobody got overtime out of her unless it was arranged in advance and paid for. She went home via the supermarket, guessing Jimmy wouldn’t have managed to find his way there during the course of the day, not unless they’d started stocking parts for model boats.

  Three bags of groceries and high heels made the steps down into Lantern Yard rather difficult to contend with. Kristen huffed, puffed, cursed, almost snapped a heel, and then swore she’d start taking a pair of trainers into work. Of course, she’d promised that before but couldn’t face the reality of teaming an old pair of Reeboks with her gorgeously girly outfits. It just wouldn’t do.

  ‘You’re going to wreck those pretty little feet of yours,’ Jimmy had once warned her, and she knew he was right. It just seemed a long way off to start worrying about right now. She had far too many other things on her mind.

  ‘I’m home!’ she shouted as she pushed the door open into the kitchen, trying not to notice the pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

  ‘Jimmy? You in?’

  ‘Yep!’ he called back from the living room.

  Kristen quickly unpacked the frozen food and then wandered through to the back of the house.

  ‘Still fixing that boat?’

  ‘Not fixing - making,’ he asked, eyes fixed on something Kristen couldn’t see. ‘How was work?’

  ‘Oh, you know - Mr Simpson in his usual panic mode. Angela had a big row with her boyfriend, Mikey. And Claudie-’ she paused.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m sure she was talking to herself. All day! I’ve never heard that before. I couldn’t quite hear what she was saying but it seemed to be full-blown conversations rather than thoughtful mumblings, ‘cause we a
ll do that from time to time. But she was definitely talking to herself.’

  Jimmy didn’t respond.

  ‘Like me,’ she added, turning on her heels and heading into the kitchen to make tea.

  Chapter 8

  ‘I’m not doing any more shopping this week,’ Kristen told herself as she spooned an extra sugar into her coffee. ‘And I’m not doing any more washing up either. No siree. This girl is on domestic strike.’

  The sigh that left her body could have sent half the boats in the harbour out to sea. She was fed up: fed up of being a skivy; of being taken advantage of; and fed up of being unappreciated. And, if she was perfectly honest with herself, of being unmarried too.

  She knew it was pathetic and outdated, and that she should be counting her blessings. She had a good man, after all, and there was more to life than marriage vows, she knew that - but, in her heart of hearts, it was what she wanted. It was the little girl inside her craving the romance and security promised by a wedding. It wasn’t even as if she wanted the full works. No, she was one girl who could do without tiaras and taffeta; a quiet register office would do nicely. As long as there were plenty of flowers and confetti.

  Jimmy, of course, was dead set against marriage after his one and only disaster. He just couldn’t see past his ex-wife and, although he knew she and Kristen were not only cut from different moulds but had also been manufactured in completely different factories, he didn’t seem convinced by the idea of a second marriage. That was for foolish Hollywood actors, not a part-time skipper from Whitby.

  Kristen lit a cigarette, cursing silently to herself after her first delicious puff. She’d been doing all right too. Down to just five a week. Not bad after years of at least eight a day but, with friends like Claudie and Simon, and a man like Jimmy, what chance did she stand?

  Jimmy was still in bed. It was his favourite place until about eleven o’clock, after which time he’d get up, and walk around for half an hour in his bath robe. She rarely saw him before she went out to work, not until the end of May, when the tourist season began to kick in and he’d be up early to get the boat ready. Come to think of it, she hardly saw him then either.