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“IS THAT EVERYTHING?” Duncan asks after loading my ski gear into the back of the four-wheel drive that replaces the Mercedes for today.
“Are you being sarcastic?” I ask over the rim of the Starbucks coffee he brought me.
He fights a smirk, but his eyes are laughing. “No, not at all. I thought you might need more, given it’s a short break and all.”
I scowl playfully. “Now I know you’re being sarcastic.”
I climb into the passenger side and listen to the start of the five a.m. love songs on the radio as we drive the dark, empty streets of London to Heathrow.
At the airport, Duncan stacks my luggage on a trolley, after I assure him I’m capable of getting from the car to the check-in desk alone. He waits until I’m through the automatic door before pulling away. His wife and little boy are lucky to have such a good guy.
As is par for the course, Heathrow is packed, despite the ungodly hour. On a work day, getting up at four-fifteen in the morning doesn’t seem too bad, but on a holiday-day, it’s a form of cruelty. Scouring the large digital screens overhead, I find the flight number Rachel gave me — Geneva — we’re on time for an 8:05 departure.
My trolley needs a kick-start, but once I get rolling I manoeuvre through the crowds, trying not to jab anyone with my overhanging skis, and wheel into the business-class queue.
“Dayna!” I watch Rachel theatrically navigate the barriers only to ditch her trolley and crash against me. “I love your thirtieth already!”
“Quit ageing me prematurely.” I hug her back. “So, Geneva. Does that mean what I think it means?”
“Well that depends. Do you think it means we’re going to Verbier, your faaavourite ski resort?”
I give her the kind of squeal that would usually irritate me and pull her into another hug. “Thanks so much for arranging, Rach. I’ve decided this is exactly what I need, a few days away.”
“Erm, yep. I should tell you, Teddy arranged certain things.”
“He did? I’ll have to thank him. He texted to say he’s here already. We’re meeting in the first-class lounge.”
“Free coffee. As if sent from the Caffeine Gods!”
When our bags are checked and admin taken care of, we head to security. A male guard hands us each a small plastic bag. While I switch my few liquid items from my hand luggage, Rachel dumps her tote huffily on the ground and kneels to find her mound of liquids and pastes.
“Can I get another bag? Bloody make-up fiends,” she mutters as she dumps more items into the over-full second bag.
“Do you want me to carry some?” I ask.
“Excuse me, miss. You can’t carry luggage for another passenger,” the guard cuts in, his broad chest puffed out.
“For God’s sake, it’s a bloody lipstick,” Rachel chides, wagging the gold stick at him for effect.
“Come on, you’re good. She’s good,” I tell the perturbed guard. I help her stand and we head for the scanners.
Her foot taps as we wait in the short queue for the bag scanner. Her pupils bore holes in me when she thinks I’m not looking and she doesn’t make conversation. Usually I can’t shut her up.
“Why do I get the feeling there’s something you want to tell me?” I ask her.
She folds her arms across her chest. “I… it’s just that…”
“Ladies, step forward.”
We do as instructed by a woman as terrifying as Cruella De Vil and place our things in two grey trays before stepping through the body scanner.
“What were you going to say?” I ask, as I zip up my boots.
She opens her mouth but doesn’t speak, then smiles and picks up my coat, holding it out for me to take. “Never mind.”
“What are you up to, Rachel Parmer?”
She bites her lip. “You’ll see soon enough.” She mutters something under her breath as she leads the way to the first-class lounge.
