Grace Takes Off (8 page)

After we’d enjoyed our fill, Bennett asked if it would be all right to have Chef Antoinette
come out of the kitchen so that we could thank her personally. Nico smiled as though
he thought the request quaint, but indulged us just the same.

One of the butlers brought her out. No more than five feet tall, she had black-rooted,
dishwater-blonde hair and was wearing a strawberry-stained white apron that barely
made it around her girth. With a darting glance at Nico, she nodded as she mumbled,
“Buongiorno
.
”

Bennett spoke to her in broken Italian with Nico helping whenever he stumbled on a
word, but I caught enough of the conversation to understand Bennett’s effusive compliments
and humble gratitude.

Antoinette’s eyes grew wide and glassy. She listened, swallowing visibly. Her mouth
went tight as her cheeks flushed red. When Bennett finished, she flashed an inquiring
glance toward Nico. Then, as though throwing caution to the wind, she rushed forward,
grasping Bennett’s hands in both of her ruddy ones, thanking him in overjoyed Italian
and, if I understood her correctly, wishing him a long life, much prosperity, and
all the graces God could offer.

She bobbed low, and as she made her way out again, thanking Bennett, thanking Nico,
and thanking me, I was moved by the woman’s heartfelt gratitude. We all want to be
appreciated, I mused. Here was a perfect reminder of why I should always make a point
of thanking people and letting them know that their efforts were valued. I wasn’t
bad at that, but I could be better. I decided I would be, starting now.

Barely had the door swung shut behind her when one of the butlers returned, bearing
another linen note. Nico read it, again slowly, nodding as he did so. He folded it
and placed it on the table. “Your passage on the two o’clock flight is confirmed.
My assistant is finalizing the details as we speak. The aircraft is a privately owned
jet. There will be about six other people on board. They, too, have an important engagement
tomorrow, but they will be happy to take you along.”

“That’s wonderful news,” Bennett said, “Do you know who we’re riding with?”

Nico pulled the note and reread it. “SlickBlade,” he said.

Bennett leaned forward. “Come again?”

Nico repeated the name, as Bennett sat back, baffled. “Never heard of them. They must
be a razor company. Maybe a division of a bigger firm.”

The name seemed familiar to me, but I wasn’t sure where I’d heard it before.

It was clear Nico didn’t have a clue, nor was he concerned about it. He struggled
to stand. “You have several hours before you must leave. Let us retire to the terrazzo
until you must bring me sadness by leaving my beautiful home.”

ANGELO DROVE US TO THE AIRPORT. WHEN
he��d first taken his seat behind the wheel, Bennett tapped him on the shoulder. “What
happened to the man who drove us here originally? I thought he would be driving us
back.”

Angelo turned his considerable bulk in the front seat and held up both hands, telling
Bennett in Italian that he didn’t understand.

Angelo turned forward again and started the engine. “I guess it doesn’t matter, does
it?” Bennett said.

I glanced in the rearview mirror to catch Angelo looking at me. “I guess not,” I mumbled.

Once we’d passed through the front gate Bennett cleared his throat. “It was good to
see Nico again. Good to reconnect. I’m glad you were able to spend time with Irena.
I have a sense that the two of you hit it off pretty well.”

I didn’t want to talk in front of Angelo, but I wasn’t quite sure how to communicate
that to Bennett. “She’s great,” I said. “The place she took me was perfect for conversation,
although it didn’t seem as though it would be when we first walked in.”

“Were you able to ask her about her brother, Gerard?”

I pointed out Bennett’s window. “Aren’t olive trees lovely? I never get tired of them.”

He gave the passing landscape a cursory glance. “Yes, but—”

“I imagine it would be wonderful to come out here during harvest.”

He opened his mouth, but I kept talking. “Or harvesting grapes. That would be something
to see, wouldn’t it?”

I watched concern work across Bennett’s face. “I take it you’d like to come back again
someday.”

“There’s an incredible amount of history here. So much to see.” I didn’t know how
much longer I could keep up inane conversation, but Bennett seemed to get the idea.
Or at least I thought he did when he sat back and folded his arms.

A moment later, however, he asked, “So, you don’t want to share what you know about
Gerard, is that it?”

“I think it might be better for us to wait awhile,” I said with what I hoped was a
facial expression that communicated my reluctance to talk in front of Angelo. To my
dismay, the big man’s body language suggested he was fully tuned in to this conversation.
“Let’s talk on the plane, okay? It will be interesting to see who we’re flying back
with.”

Bennett waved a hand in the air. “Nothing to be nervous about. I’ve encountered my
share of corporate types before. They tend to fall into two groups—the workers and
the partiers. The first group never stops talking the whole flight, but they’re so
worried about anyone overhearing that they keep their voices down. The second drinks
for the first three hours then, sleeps the rest of the way. Either way, we should
be in for a mostly quiet flight.”

“I hope you’re right,” I said.

“SlickBlade,” Bennett said absentmindedly. “I wonder where the company is headquartered.”

At the airport, an efficient young woman wearing a trim blue uniform and a wide crimson
smile met us at the car. “You are Mr. Marshfield?” she asked in heavily accented English.
“And Miss Wheaton?”

As she explained that she would be escorting us to our plane, Angelo and a skycap—I
wasn’t sure what they were called in Italy—unloaded our luggage onto a wheeled cart
and the skycap rolled it away.

When Bennett and I turned to thank Angelo, the big man nodded acknowledgment, then
surprised me by grasping my forearms. The rumble in his voice was low as he said,
“Safe travels,” in English.

He pivoted, easing back behind the wheel in barely the blink of an eye. He roared
away from the airport as the cheery young woman with the bright red lips urged us
forward. “Come along, please, we are nearing time to leave.”

The plane was a little bigger than the one that had brought us to Europe. Because
we weren’t flying commercial, there were no security lines to navigate and no boarding
passes to obtain. The chipper young woman’s responsibility apparently ended at the
tarmac where, under the afternoon sun, she handed us over to another blue-uniformed
woman, who introduced herself as Evelyn.

About forty years old, with dark hair pulled back in a tight bun and the hint of a
New England accent, Evelyn came across like a self-assured corporate executive: bright-eyed,
capable, and all business. I wondered if she was employed by the charter company or
by SlickBlade.

“I’ll be your flight attendant today,” Evelyn said. “Welcome. Your pilots will come
to say hello before we take off, but for now please rest assured that your luggage
is being taken care of, and all you need worry about now is relaxing on your flight
home.”

“Are the other passengers—those from SlickBlade—already here?” Bennett asked as she
escorted us up the airstairs.

“They have arrived,” she said, gesturing vaguely in the direction the plane was facing.
“It seems they decided to add another passenger at the last minute.”

She stepped into the fuselage, turning to face us as we crossed into the passenger
seating area. “Wow,” Bennett said in an unusual expression of appreciation. “SlickBlade
must do well for itself.”

He wasn’t kidding. If I hadn’t known better I would have thought I’d stepped into
someone’s living room instead of onto a plane. Soft music drifted around us as I took
in the cream-colored cushy seats, teakwood tables, and curvy blue neon lights running
along the plane’s center. A flat-screen TV took up one side wall, with a built-in
cream colored sofa opposite.

“Oh, you mean because of all this.” Evelyn circled a hand in the air. She winked at
us. “It’s more like they have friends in high places.”

Bennett and I exchanged a puzzled look as we made our way through the elegant space.
Evelyn ran a hand along the back of one puffy leather headrest. “You’ll notice how
far apart these are spaced?” She grabbed the top of the seat with both hands and swiveled
it right then left. “Each goes all the way around and reclines fully so that passengers
may sleep if they like—any direction they like. Here. . . .” She pointed to the control
panel on the armrest. “Push a button and the lights dim, push another and I’ll come
over to get you whatever it is you need, whether it be a pillow or to have your drink
refreshed. My galleys are at the front and back.” She pointed. “All meals have been
prepared by local chefs here in town, and I can guarantee they’ll be delicious.”

“Sounds heavenly,” I said. “Do we choose where we want to sit, or are we assigned?”

“I suggest you choose two together in the front, or if you prefer, the very back.
That way you don’t split the group up. They tend to make use of the sofa and television,
though I’m certain you’d be welcome to join them. Either way, there’s no doubt it
will get cozy in here.”

My preference would have been to take the back seats, but Bennett pointed to the two
up front, on either side of the cabin. “These will do,” he said, lowering himself
into one.

I sat in the other. “So much for having a quiet conversation,” I said gesturing to
the expanse between our seats. “We’ll have to shout to hear each other.”

Evelyn brightened. “Oh no, this is an incredibly quiet plane,” she said. “Not only
that, but look. . . .” She pulled at a recessed handle built into a wall directly
in front of Bennett that separated the seating area from the front entrance. With
a smooth, almost inaudible
whisk
, she pulled another seat out from the wall. It wasn’t as soft and cushy as the reclining
models, but it would serve its purpose if Bennett and I chose to have a private conversation
en route.

Just as she folded the seat back into the wall, we heard a ruckus coming from outside.
Men were shouting, or more accurately, shouting insults at one another, each voice
trying to outblast the others, it seemed. I stood to see what was going on, but Evelyn
waved me back. “Sounds like SlickBlade is here.” She started for the door to welcome
them, but before she disappeared around the corner, she turned and winked. “Buckle
up.”

BENNETT’S FROWN MATCHED MY CONCERN. I
whispered, “I hope they don’t plan to carry on like that for the whole flight,” but
he couldn’t hear me over the din of the approaching argument. From what I could tell,
it was mostly good-natured, but there was no disputing that it was loud.

“I think Evelyn sold us a bill of goods,” Bennett said. “They haven’t been inside
arranging passage for one of their group, they’ve been drinking. Heavily, too, from
the sound of it.”

At that, a man stumbled through the doorway, grasping both sides of the wall that
separated the passenger cabin from the front of the plane. “Hey,” he slurred, leaning
forward, “who are you?”

The guy was younger than I’d expected, twenty-five, tops. Tall, wearing a midnight-black
wig that skimmed his shoulders, he had to be sweltering hot in his black leather pants,
black T-shirt, and matching leather jacket, rife with chrome zippers. He didn’t wait
for us to identify ourselves. He raised his head, apparently focusing on the seat
behind me, and I could tell he was trying to gauge how hard it would be to reach his
goal. Clearly, it took all his effort just to remain upright.

A set of male hands clapped his shoulders from behind. “Easy there, Jeff. We’ll get
you settled.”

The guy behind Jeff poked his head around. “Hello,” he said. All I could think was
that these two patronized the same wigmaker. Their faces were completely different,
but their hair was identical. “Don’t mind my friend here. He’ll be asleep inside of
five minutes.” To Jeff, he said, “Easy does it, buddy. One foot in front of the other.
Yeah, there you go.”

I watched the two men navigate an unsteady path between us, and found it curious that
the helpful friend had a pair of drumsticks poking out of his back pocket.

Bennett leaned forward, sending me a look that communicated his intense displeasure.
I held up both hands in supplication. What could we do? We were the guests in this
situation. If Bennett didn’t have a commitment for the next day, we could have begged
off and tried to secure alternate transportation. But that was not an option.

The next through the door was a giant of a man. Tall and muscular, with a creased,
pockmarked face, he was at least thirty-five years old, maybe more. He had sweat-flattened
dark hair that curled at the nape of his neck and a vaguely familiar face. He wore
expensive jeans and carried his black wig down by his side like a briefcase. The glittering
diamond stud in his ear had to be at least two carats. He was flanked by two women,
who were having a discussion between themselves, chatting and gesticulating in front
of him as though he weren’t there. The women were dressed more appropriately for the
weather in skimpy pastel tops, pale capris, and high, strappy sandals.

The passage wasn’t wide enough for them to come through as a threesome, so the big
fellow allowed the two women to enter first. They gave us a passing glance, but didn’t
miss a beat in their conversation.

Their companion smiled at me, then at Bennett. “Hi, I’m Adam. But most people call
me Slick.” He reached to shake Bennett’s hand.

“I’m Grace,” I said as he shook my hand. The light was beginning to dawn. “You were
playing at Troppo last night, weren’t you?”

His craggy face broke into a smile. “You caught the show? Awesome.” He looked up to
where Jeff was being tucked into the seat behind me. “You hear that? This lady here
was at the dance club last night.” To me, he asked, “What did you think? You like
our sound?”

In my peripheral vision, I could see Bennett’s confusion. “To be honest, I spent most
of the evening upstairs.” Adam’s face fell, so I quickly added, “But for the time
I was down on the main floor I thought you were great.” It was the truth. I’d almost
said as much to Irena last night. “You had quite a crowd there,” I said. “Lots of
dancing.”

Adam looked as though he wanted to say more, but the last of the group jostled in
behind him, led by a gorgeous collie that pranced onto the plane, straining against
its collar. At the other end of the leash was yet another black-wigged man. Older
than the two young men behind me, closer in age to Adam, he called to his eager pooch,
urging the dog to heel. Clamped to the man’s arm was a tightly packed woman who wore
too much eyeliner and too little blouse. The narrow walkway didn’t allow the three
to walk abreast, so when the dog finally did heed its master, the woman was required
to step back to allow the duo to proceed first.

The man stopped to coo softly to his dog, patting its side, saying, “There’s a good
girl. We’re here now. Time to relax.”

He couldn’t see the daggers of resentment the woman shot the dog, who was behaving
exactly as one might expect, pawing the ground, panting, glancing around at her new
surroundings with happy, doggie expectation.

The man greeted us with a big smile. “That’s right,” he said, pointing at Bennett,
“we’ve got guests on this leg. Millie, say hello.”

Judging from the look on Bennett’s face, he thought the woman’s name was Millie, but
as became apparent a split second later, the guy had been talking to his dog. Millie
frisked forward, her gorgeous coat practically sparkling in the light, and placed
a long white paw on Bennett’s lap.

Grinning at the pooch’s friendly demeanor, Bennett took the paw in his hand and said,
“Hello, Millie.”

The man introduced himself as Matthew, and the woman who’d boarded with him watched
this little interplay with what could only be described as hot, molten loathing.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Matthew asked in a proud papa voice. Before Bennett could
answer, Matthew turned to me, almost shyly. “Hello.” He introduced himself and his
dog, and seemed surprised when his companion elbowed into the small space between
us.

“I’m Pinky.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes and her name didn’t match her face. She
had the brand of sass I’d expect to see in a dive bar: beer in one hand and a cigar
in the other, hurling insults at the young guys playing pool all the while hoping
one might ask her to join them.

She had a weathered, puffy look about her, and I got the impression that she was biting
the insides of her cheeks. Her anger wasn’t directed at me but at the poor dog, whose
eyes were considerably more friendly than Pinky’s. “We’re the last to board because
she”—Pinky flung her hand in Millie’s direction—“needed to make a stop, if you know
what I mean.”

Not knowing what else to say, I shrugged. “Better out there than in here.”

Matthew smiled. “See, that’s the kind of attitude I like,” he said to Pinky before
moving deeper into the cabin and tossing another comment over his shoulder. “I think
maybe you made a mistake joining us. Get with the program, Pinkster, or you’ll never
make it in this group.”

She mouthed, “Pinkster?” and tightened her lips, but didn’t say a word. I swore her
cheek biting intensified.

Evelyn took a position at the front of the cabin and clapped her hands to get our
attention. “Now that everyone is aboard, I’d like to go over a few guidelines before
we take—”

She stopped mid-sentence as a man appeared behind her. Dressed in a navy-blue jacket
with matching slacks and the sort of buttons and pockets you’d find on a uniform,
he carried a duffel bag over one shoulder and took in the limited surroundings. I
guessed him to be about forty-five years old, handsome, with a full head of dark hair
and a dazzling smile that he used to his full advantage. “I am sorry to interrupt,”
he said in a deep Italian-accented voice as he extended his hand to Evelyn. “I am
Rudolfo.” I didn’t think it possible, but his smile widened. “You may call me Rudy.”

Evelyn was a full head shorter than our newest arrival, but that didn’t stop her from
adopting an authoritative voice. “You must have the wrong airplane,” she said, gripping
his upper-arm sleeve with one hand as she tried politely to navigate him back out
the door. “This flight is full.”

He didn’t budge. “You misunderstand. I am here for service.”

“Excuse me?” Evelyn said with a skeptical lilt. “Service for what?”

Her efforts to escort him out hadn’t done much good, and he stepped into the widest
part of the cabin, where we could all see him and hear every word of the conversation.
“I have been contracted to accompany you. To assist.”

Evelyn blinked a couple of times as she processed this. Her head tilted. “There’s
been a misunderstanding,” she said. “Obviously.”

“No misunderstanding.” He held a finger in the air as though suddenly remembering
something. He dug into the pocket of his uniform jacket and pulled out a folded set
of papers. “Here are my orders.”

Evelyn’s body language was like that of a feral cat’s facing an adversary. She puffed
herself up to her greatest height, clearly wary of this stranger, yet poised to strike
if he continued to threaten her authority. She took the pages out of his hands and
scanned them quickly. As her shoulders relaxed, she began to frown. “Well,” she said
briskly, “it seems as though your story checks out. You’ll understand if I call the
office and verify.” She didn’t phrase it as a question as she moved for the phone.

Rudy appeared momentarily perplexed, though not the least bit put out. “You wish me
to begin preparation for takeoff?”

Wound tight already, Evelyn didn’t like being interrupted from her call. She held
up a finger and spoke through clenched teeth. “Just. Stay. Right. There.”

Rudy faced us, smiling. “Hello,” he said while Evelyn completed her call. “You are
going home?” He barely waited for our acknowledgment before continuing, “This airplane
visits your North Carolina and also New York, yes?”

I exchanged a glance with Bennett as we both shrugged. Up to this point we hadn’t
known the plane’s ultimate destination. “We’re getting off at the first stop,” I said.
“Charlotte.”

Evelyn returned to tap Rudy on the shoulder. I could tell from the consternation in
her eyes and the tight set to her smile lines that she was following orders she didn’t
agree with. “Welcome aboard, Rudy,” she said. “I didn’t realize that you and I were
going to be a team.” She pointed to the rear of the plane. “Why don’t you get yourself
settled in the crew area in the back galley, and I’ll be with you just as soon as
I finish going over safety protocols.”

Rudy’s wide smile was back. “It will be my pleasure.”

Evelyn caught my eye. “The more the merrier, I suppose,” she muttered.

I watched Rudy make his way to the rear of the plane, wondering what was up with that.