Page 36 of Royal Pain
I’m inexperienced with this particular machine and take a moment to figure it out.
“Darling, let me do that for you,” the old English woman says, taking the cup from my hands.
“Thank you. I was fumbling.”
She gives me a smile eked out of thin pursed lips. Reminds me of Maggie Smith onDownton Abbey.A timeworn hat sits atop her head, but it’s not quite big enough. In opposition to the inexpensive chapeaux she wears one of the biggest diamonds I’ve ever seen. It’s not fake, either.
“Where are you off to, dear? Somewhere exciting I hope.”
“It is to me. Eventually Africa. I’ve never been before.”
“How absolutely wonderful! Sounds much better than dreary old London. That’s where I’m headed. I’m going to be visiting my mother.”
I can’t hide the surprise on my face. Her mother must be a hundred and ten.
“Oh my! I’m just pulling your leg, dear. My mother has been dead for twenty-five years. The old bat.”
That makes me laugh out loud, which tickles the woman.
“It sounds harsh,” she says, leaning in. “But she really was a horrible woman. No sense of humor. Except when she was beating my brother and I. She did get a kick out of that.”
The story’s turn has me not knowing how to react. Think my jaw just dropped. She hands me my espresso, deftly prepared.
“Thank you. And I’m sorry,” I manage to say. It doesn’t sound like big enough of a reaction.
“Let’s drink to her demise, shall we?
With that she brings out a pocket-sized bottle of scotch and unscrews the top. She dips her chin, waiting for my answer.
“Why not?” I lift my tiny cup.
“Here’s to not fucking up your child’s life.”
Bottle meets slivered lips and she downs the entire thing. It’s followed by a ladylike burp, hand over mouth, and a mischievous smile.
* * *
Judith has handled every step I’ve taken, including the priority boarding. She didn’t say goodbye until I was settled in my seat. That’s a misnomer because it’s also a lie flat bed, complete with a luxurious mattress! I’m stunned by the whole thing.
There’s only eight suites on this 787 Dreamliner and each is private. There’s actually a twenty-four-hour concierge available to advise us on restaurants in London, or any other guidance we might need.
The flight attendant approaches. “Here’s a pre-flight champagne, Ms. Banks. And your soft cotton pajamas are in the pouch to the left. If you’d like to change before we take off.”
I take the fine crystal flute and put my feet up.
“I think I’ll wait a bit to get comfy. But thank you.”
“We will be serving a full English breakfast as soon as we’re up in the air. But you can order anything from our a la carte menu at any time.”
“Thank you so much. I’m not sure what to look at first!”
“It’s pretty overwhelming. There’s plenty to keep you entertained. Enjoy, and let me know if I can do anything at all for you.”
Did I die and go to elitist heaven?Can’t deny I’m loving it.
* * *
Three hours later, I’m stretched out in my bed, white duvet up to my chin, and headphones on. This audio book is good, but I’m getting sleepy. It’s all the English food filling my stomach. The egg, and sausage, the bacon. But it was the scone I loved best, with clotted crème and raspberry jam. If I keep eating like this for the remainder of the flights, I’ll bust out of my pants! Come to think of it, that’s just the way Zan would want me.
