He didn’t want to go back to the castle.
He’d have to find someone to care for Taffy.
He didn’t want someone else to care for Taffy. At least…not completely.
‘You haven’t found the puppy?’ It was Harriet, Dolphin Bay’s postmistress, emerging from the post office and carefully adjusting a sign on the door to read ‘Back in Five Minutes’. ‘Oh, my lord…’
‘I’m not
‘You’re my lord to me,’ she said, resolute. ‘Ever since I saw you in that kilt.’ She peered into the box and her mouth dropped open in shock. ‘You’ve found her,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, my lord. Where was she?’
‘An eagle had her,’ he said, but he was moving forward. ‘Harriet, see that sign?’
‘The sign?’ She turned back to where she’d written Back in Five Minutes. ‘Yes?’
‘Can you make it five hours?’
She looked at him as if he was crazy. ‘Of course I can’t.’
‘Yes, you can,’ he said encouragingly. ‘I’m your liege lord. You just said it. My wish is your command. Harriet, I command you to change the sign, hop into the front of the car and cuddle Taffy.’
‘Why?’
‘Your liege lord needs his fair lady.’
‘Flight 249 to Los Angeles is delayed by sixty minutes. We wish to apologise for…’
‘Fine,’ Susie said to Rose, and glowered at the screen. ‘Let’s go buy some duty-free perfume. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?’
‘No,’ said Rose.
‘What do you mean, she can’t come in?’
‘Sorry, mate, dogs are forbidden in airport premises.’ Hamish had parked the car in the multi-storey car park and they were now at the airport doors. Hamish was carrying Taffy’s box and Harriet was carrying the IV line.
‘You can’t go any further,’ the man said, and Harriet sniffed, knowing what was coming.
‘Harriet…’
‘You’re going to ask me to sit in the car with Taffy,’ she said darkly. ‘Just when it gets interesting.’
‘Harriet…’
‘Don’t mind me.’ She sighed, her bosom heaving with virtuous indignation. ‘I’m just the peasantry.’ Then she grinned. ‘Go on with you,’ she told him. ‘But I’m not staying in the car. I’ll just sit on the doorstep here and watch the comings and goings. Taffy and me will like that.’
‘You can’t stay here,’ the security officer told her, and she puffed up like an indignant rooster ready to crow.
‘There’s a sign saying I can’t come in with dog,’ she said. ‘But there’s no sign saying I can’t look in with dog. That’s just what I’m doing.’
And she sat on the rack holding the luggage carts in place. She slung the IV bag over her shoulder, she took Taffy’s box into her arms and she smiled.
‘What are you waiting for?’ she demanded. ‘Go fetch who you need to fetch.’
Her flight had been delayed. Oh, thank God, there was sixty minutes’ grace. But even then it wasn’t easy. There was the little matter of the metal doors at passport control.
‘You can’t come through,’ he was told. ‘Not unless you’re a traveller.’
‘I’m a traveller.’ He hauled his passport from his wallet and displayed it. ‘I’m from the US.’
‘You need to be booked on a plane today. You need seat allocation before you can get through.’
They were adamant.
‘We can get a message to whoever you want to see,’ he was told. ‘But if they come out they’ll have to go through security again. No one will be happy.’
Maybe she wouldn’t come out, he thought. Maybe a message wouldn’t work.
He took his wallet over to American Airlines. ‘I have a ticket two days from now,’ he told them. ‘Any chance of swapping it for today?’
‘The flight’s fully booked,’ he was told. The girl behind the counter eyed him dubiously, and he thought that even if he had been booked there might be trouble. He’d dragged on jeans, a windcheater and trainers but he hadn’t shaved that morning and he’d come straight from the beach.
And he knew he looked desperate.
Hell.
The gates stayed shut. She’d be through there, sitting, miserable, maybe crying…
He stared at the screen. There was Susie’s flight, leaving in forty-five minutes. Any minute now they’d start boarding.
The flight straight after that was to New Zealand.
Susie’s flight was from Gate 10.
The New Zealand flight was from Gate 11.
Act cool, he told himself, trying frantically to be sensible. If you launch yourself at the counter and act desperate, they’ll drag you off as a security risk.
So he sped into the washroom, washed his face, bought a comb and a razor from the dispenser and spent precious minutes transforming himself from a beach bum with hair full of sand to someone who might board an international flight with business in mind. Casual but cool.
He stared at himself in the mirror. What was missing?
Ha! Five more precious minutes were spent buying a briefcase and a couple of books to bulk it up.
Then a walk briskly to the Air New Zealand counter, feeling sick with tension and with the effort not to show it. ‘Any chance of getting onto the flight this afternoon? I only have hand luggage. I’m booked for a US flight in two days but I’ve finished what I need to do here and could usefully see some of my people in Auckland.’
His authoritative tone worked. The girl looked him up and down-and smiled. ‘Do you have a visa?’
He did. The work he did required travel at a moment’s notice and he always had documentation.
‘There’s only economy available,’ she said, and he almost grinned. What value a comb?
‘Thank you.’
Which way was New Zealand?
Why would she want to buy perfume?
‘Let’s have a look at duty-free cigarettes.’
‘You don’t smoke,’ she told herself.
‘I might. If I get desperate enough.’
‘Are you all right, madam?’ an assistant asked, and she blushed.
‘Um…yes. Just telling my daughter about the evils of smoking.’
Hell, why was security taking so long? The line stretched forever.
‘Passengers for Air New Zealand, please come through the priority line.’
Thank God for that. But when he was through…
‘They’re boarding already. If you’d like to board the cart we’ll get you straight to the boarding gate.’
Fine. But he was jumping off early.
She wasn’t in the departure lounge.
Where was she?
‘This is the final boarding call for Flight 723 to Auckland…’
Where was she?
‘Pardon me, sir, your flight is ready for boarding. You need to come this way.’
‘Not until I find who I’m looking for!’
There was a commotion down near her boarding gate. Shouting. Beefy security men, running.
