Page 12 of The Unlikely Pair
“And if the Conservatives think they can win this election by simply promising tax cuts and waving the Union Jack, they’re underestimating the intelligence of the electorate. The British people want more than just catchy slogans and flag-waving.”
I make a wild guess that Toby hasn’t noticed my presence yet.
“We’ve got seven months to prove we’re the party with the real solutions, not just the party with the best three-word chants,” he says as he sidesteps another group of travelers, hitching the strap of his laptop case further up his shoulder.
He glances up at the terminal gate number. When his gaze drifts down, he freezes mid-step, his eyes locking with mine, his expression morphing from surprise to disdain in seconds.
“I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later.”
He ends his call and stuffs his phone back in his pocket without taking his eyes off me.
For a few seconds, we just stare at each other.
“Harry,” he says finally, his voice laden with icicles.
“Toby.” I inject the exact same temperature into my own voice.
“What are you doing here?” His voice is clipped and abrupt.
“It appears we’re sharing a flight to Oslo.” I get a certain satisfaction when his eyebrows fly up at that statement.
“You missed your flight as well? I thought punctuality was your hallmark.”
“I encountered an unexpected delay this morning,” I say curtly.
Toby smirks, but I’m spared from whatever witty gem he’s brewing by the arrival of a young, dashing fellow with a pilot’s hat jauntily perched on his head.
“Hi, guys. My name is Kade. I’ll be your pilot today,” he drawls in an Australian accent.
“So you’ve drawn the short straw and have to fly us, eh,” Toby says, sticking out his hand to shake. “Nice to meet you, Kade. I’m Toby.”
Why must he always be like this? So affable and personable to everyone?
Everyone but me.
“Harry,” I say stiffly, offering my hand.
Kade gives it a perfunctory shake, looks between us, and then seems to decide to direct most of his charming smile at Toby. “It’s a simple hop over to Oslo. There’s a bit of weather we may have to skirt around, but it should be a relatively smooth trip. I’ll give you a safety briefing once we’re on board. You guys ready to roll?”
“I’m not sure about rolling, but I’m definitely ready to fly,” Toby says with a grin at Kade.
After the last formalities, we walk across the tarmac to the waiting jet.
I don’t know much about airplanes, but I’ve flown in a few jets like this, where their small size belies the extreme comfort.
Sure enough, inside the jet there is a level of luxury only matched by limousines on the ground.
As Kade talks us through the safety briefing, I’m only half listening.
Instead, I’m hyperaware of Toby’s presence in the opposite seat.
His legs are sprawled out, looking completely relaxed, as he chuckles at Kade’s final safety tip. “In the unlikely event of a water landing, you can use your seat cushion as a flotation device. But let’s be honest, if this thing turns into a boat, I’ve done something terribly wrong.”
“I’m sure we’re in safe hands with you,” he says, giving Kade one of his usual Toby grins.
I have to look away.
Toby Webley’s smile was the first thing I ever noticed about him.
