She looks at the book in her hand as if wondering where it came from and with a little laugh hesitates by his side long enough to toss it on to her seat before she goes up the plane towards the toilets.
Two people are waiting in line ahead of her. She takes her place abstractedly, standing in fact almost even with the row where her first neighbour, the business man, is sitting. But she does not seem to be aware of him or to care in the slightest that he glances up at her twice, three times, at first apprehensively and then, as she continues to ignore him, less so. He turns a page of his newspaper and folds it conveniently for reading, and reads it without looking at her again, settling further into his seat with the slight sigh of one whose visitor has left and who is at last alone.
It has turned out that the sick-looking man is after all connected with the plump woman and the young girl who sat beside him on the plane. He is coming out of the airport building, now, not infirmly but with an air of serious exhaustion, accompanied by the woman and the girl.
Lise stands a few yards away. By her side is Bill; their luggage is on the pavement beside them. She says, ‘Oh there he is!’ and leaves Bill’s side, running up to the sick-eyed man. ‘Excuse me!’ she says.
He hesitates, and makes an awkward withdrawal: two steps backward, and with the steps he seems to withdraw even more his chest, shoulders, legs and face. The plump woman looks at Lise inquiringly while the girl just stands and looks.
Lise addresses the man in English. She says, ‘Excuse me, but I wondered if you wanted to share a limousine to the centre. It works out cheaper than a taxi, if the passengers agree to share, and it’s quicker than the bus, of course.’
The man looks at the pavement as if inwardly going through a ghastly experience. The plump woman says, ‘No, thank you. We’re being met.’ And touching the man on the arm, moves on. He follows, as if bound for the scaffold while the girl stares blankly at Lise before walking round and past her. But Lise quickly moves with the group, and once again confronts the man. ‘I’m sure we’ve met somewhere before,’ she says. The man rolls his head slightly as if he has toothache or a headache. ‘I would be so grateful,’ Lise says, ‘for a lift.’
‘I’m afraid—’ says the woman. And just then a man in a chauffeur’s uniform comes up. ‘Good morning, m’ lord,’ he says. ‘We’re parked over there. Did you have a good trip?’
The man has opened his mouth wide but without making a sound; now he closes his lips tight.
‘Come along,’ says the plump woman, while the girl turns in an unconcerned way. The plump woman says sweetly to Lise, while brushing past her, ‘I’m sorry, we can’t stop at the moment. The car’s waiting and we have no extra room.
Lise shouts, ‘But your luggage — you’ve forgotten your luggage.’
The chauffeur turns cheerily and says over his shoulder, ‘No luggage, Miss, they don’t bring luggage. Got all they need at the villa.’ He winks and breezes about his business.
The three follow him across the street to the rows of waiting cars and are followed by other travellers who stream out of the airport building.
Lise runs back to Bill. He says, ‘What are you up to?’
‘I thought I knew him,’ Lise says. She is crying, her tears fall heavily. She says, ‘I was sure he was the right one. I’ve got to meet someone.
Bill says, ‘Don’t cry, don’t cry, people are looking. What’s the matter? I don’t get it.’ At the same time he grins with his wide mouth as if to affirm that the incomprehensible needs must be a joke. ‘I don’t get it,’ he says, pulling out of his pocket two men‘s-size paper handkerchiefs, and, selecting one, handing it to Lise. ‘Who did you think he was?’
Lise wipes her eyes and blows her nose. She clutches the paper handkerchief in her fist. She says, ‘It’s a disappointing start to my holidays. I was sure.
‘You’ve got me for the next few days if you like,’ Bill says. ‘Don’t you want to see me again? Come on, we’ll get a taxi, you’ll feel better in a taxi. You can’t go on the bus, crying like that. I don’t get it. I can give you what you want, wait and see.’
On the pavement, further up, among a cluster of people waiting for a taxi is the sturdy young man in his business suit, holding his briefcase. Lise looks listlessly at Bill, then beyond Bill, and just as listlessly takes in the man whose rosy face is turned towards her. He lifts his suitcase immediately he catches sight of her and crosses the road amongst the traffic, moving quickly away and away. But Lise is not watching him any more, she does not even seem to have remembered him.
In the taxi she laughs harshly when Bill tries to kiss her. Then she lets him kiss her, emerging from the contact with raised eyebrows as who should say, ‘What next?’ ‘I’m your type,’ Bill says.
The taxi stops at the grey stone downtown Hotel Tomson. She says, ‘What’s all that on the floor?’ and points to a scatter of small seeds. Bill looks at them closely and then at his zipper-bag which has come unzipped by a small fraction.
‘Rice,’ he says. ‘One of my sample packs must have burst and this bag isn’t closed properly.’ He zips up the bag and says, ‘Never mind.’
He takes her to the narrow swing doors and hands her suitcase to the porter. ‘I’ll look for you at seven in the hall of the Metropole,’ he says. He kisses her on the cheek and again she raises her eyebrows. She pushes the swing door and goes with it, not looking back.
FOUR
At the hotel desk she seems rather confused as if she is not quite sure where she is. She gives her name and when the concierge asks for her passport she evidently does not immediately understand, for she asks him what he wants first in Danish, then French. She tries Italian, lastly English. He smiles and responds to Italian and English, again requesting her passport in both languages.
‘It is confusing,’ she says in English, handing over her passport.
‘Yes, you left part of yourself at home,’ the concierge says. ‘That other part, he is still en route to our country but he will catch up with you in a few hours’ time. It’s often the way with travel by air, the passenger arrives ahead of himself. Can I send you to your room a drink or a coffee?’
‘No, thank you.’ She turns to follow the waiting page-boy, then turns back. ‘When will you be finished with my passport?’
‘Any time, any time, Madam. When you come down again. When you go out. Any time.’ He looks at her dress and coat, then turns to some other people who have just arrived. While the boy waits, dangling a room-key, to take
