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Leaving the car in the Short Stay car park, I head into the terminal building at Heathrow. Checking the board, it seems that Dominic’s plane is on time and with good luck and a following wind, he should be coming out of the arrivals gate at any moment.
I stand at the barrier, taking up my place amid the relatives, the taxi drivers, the crush waiting for people to arrive, be it business colleagues, loved ones or Maasai warriors. I’m barely able to keep still. Excitement is even making my toes twitch.
A steady flow of people emerge through the automatic doors and I look over the heads in front of me, trying to pick out Dominic. Minutes pass, then more. Nothing. I should have got him to text me to let me know that he’d actually got on the plane. Anything could have gone wrong. The bus to Nairobi could have broken down. What if it took Dominic longer than usual to walk the ten kilometres to meet it? What if he was eaten by a lion on the way?
Then my breath catches in my throat.
The doors open and there, standing tall in his traditional red shuka is Dominic. His shoulders are back, his head up, but he looks anxious and confused, lost. I push my way to the front of the barriers.
‘Dominic!’ I shout. ‘Dominic! Over here!’
He turns and sees me and the whole of his face lights up, and I can’t stand it any longer. With superhuman strength, I climb up the barrier, jump over and run into Dominic’s arms. He picks me up and twirls me around.
‘You made it,’ I say. ‘Thank God. You made it.’
He lowers me to the ground. ‘Janie,’ he says. ‘My Janie.’
We kiss, oblivious to the crowds around us. Then we pull away from each other, shy now.
‘Come on, let’s get you home.’ I slip my hand into his. ‘The car’s just across the way. How was the flight?’
Dominic shrugs. ‘I think it was a good flight, but I did not feel as if I was in the sky at all.’
‘I know. Boring as hell,’ I agree. ‘Did you watch movies?’
‘No,’ he says. ‘I did not know how it worked and I did not like to ask.’
As we leave the concourse and hit the street, Dominic recoils. The temperature out here is hovering just above freezing and Dominic is only wearing his tunic and a blanket. On his feet are open leather sandals. He is, quite probably, going to die of hypothermia before I manage to get him back to Nashley. It must be like stepping straight out of a sauna and into a freezer for him. How I wish I’d thought to borrow a coat from Mike for Dominic. And trousers. Some socks wouldn’t have gone amiss either. How stupid of me not to think of it. I just assumed that Dominic would be in Western clothes, but then I know that he has nothing else. As I take him to the car, he looks around in awe at all the vehicles in the multi-storey car park.
‘It’s much nicer than this once we get away from the airport,’ I assure him.
He nods uncertainly. My heart goes out to him and it suddenly hits me just how much trust he has put in me, in our relationship, to come here. Everyone is warning me about how awful it is going to be for me and no one – not even me, if I’m brutally honest – has thought about how different and difficult it will be for Dominic.
All his worldly goods are in one tiny case, which I put on the back seat. In the car, I whack the heater up as high as it will go, but Dominic is already shivering.
‘We’ll get you some clothes,’ I promise. ‘Tomorrow. Some warm things.’
‘I would like that, Janie,’ he says.
‘We’ll be home before you know it and my cottage is lovely and warm.’
He smiles at me and I see the relief in his eyes.
Before I pull away, I turn to him. ‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘Thank you for coming to me.’
‘I am very pleased to see you, Miss Janie Johnson. Very pleased indeed.’
I lean towards him and we wrap our arms around each other again.
‘Everything will be all right,’ I whisper against his neck. ‘Just you wait and see.’
Chapter Fifty-Three
We drive down the narrow winding lanes to Nashley, past the ancient church and manor house, past the duckpond where the ducks have, quite sensibly, settled down for the night. When I pull up outside Little Cottage, I turn to Dominic and say, ‘Your new home.’
Dominic, it has to be said, looks more than a bit shell-shocked. ‘Your village,’ he says, ‘is not like my village.’
‘No,’ I say. ‘But you’ll love it here. I’m sure you will.’
He looks reluctant to leave the warmth of the car, which is quite understandable.
‘The house will be warm,’ I assure him. ‘And I’ll get you some clothes from my friend, Mike, who lives next door. He’ll help us out until we can get to the shops.’
