Doctor Who_ Warchild - Andrew Cartmel [12]
And definitely too imaginative.
Roz knew the type. Tormented by their own intellects.
They couldn’t just accept things or let sleeping dogs lie. Their sweeping intelligences could always come up with something to worry about.
Benny was like that.
If Benny didn’t watch out she’d turn into a jumpy old spinster.
Now Roz looked at Benny. Benny was biting her lip and frowning, clearly worried about something. ‘What’s wrong?’
said
Roz, against her better judgement.
‘I don’t know if I should go through the green lane or red lane.’
Roz stared at the airport customs area ahead. It was divided into two corridors, GOODS TO DECLARE and NOTHING TO DECLARE, the floors marked with red and green arrows.
‘Well, have you got anything to declare?’
‘My garlic and paprika is agricultural produce. Don’t they have to check that for plant viruses?’
‘I don’t think you need to worry,’ said Roz.
Benny frowned, her forehead wrinkling. ‘I don’t know, better safe than sorry. I think I’ll take it through the red lane.’
Roz sighed with disgust. ‘Suit yourself.’ She’d been right.
In a few years Benny would be a neurotic old maid jumping at her own shadow. Roz turned away and headed towards the green lane. ‘I’ll see you back at the house in Kent.’
She left Benny wandering hesitantly down the red lane.
Roz took a deep breath. It felt good to be on her own.
She strode through the NOTHING TO DECLARE channel, customs personnel watching her without interest. Roz knew that she had nothing to worry about.
She had dropped the gun into the river in Budapest and she wasn’t carrying anything else incriminating.
She was striding through customs, past anxious looking tourists opening their suitcases for inspection. Ahead of her was the glass sliding door leading to the arrivals area.
Roz had almost reached it when she heard a voice.
‘Excuse me, Miss.’
Roz kept moving.
‘Excuse me.’ The voice was sharper now. Roz looked up and saw two uniformed guards blocking her way. Both of them were armed.
‘Would you mind coming with us, Miss?’
‘Not at all, but there’s really no need-’
‘This way please, Miss.’
One of the guards took Roz’s suitcase and the other led her through a door behind the customs counter. People were staring at her.
The guard led Roz into an office with a couch, three chairs and a small desk. The guard carrying Roz’s suitcase followed them into the office.
Sitting there at the small desk was an oddly dressed old woman. Roz felt a jolt of surprise. It was Mrs Woodcott. She looked up as Roz came in.
‘That’s her,’ said Mrs Woodcott. ‘Bring her in and lock her up.
Fee sat there beside Jessica, keeping her company for as long as she could. They sat there together in the arrivals area for another half an hour. But then the Scottish stewardess had to leave and hurry into town to meet her own date.
So Jessica was left alone with the depressing anonymous furniture and steady flow of total strangers that only an airport can provide. She decided to give Roy another ten minutes. She tried all the phone numbers one more time.
Then she gave him another five minutes, then another five.
Then a final five, to bring it around to exactly the half hour.
Then Jessica made herself stand up. She felt oddly heavy, as if she’d just climbed out of a swimming pool. She stared dully at the flowers at her feet. She hardly recognized them. Jessica forced herself to pick them up. It was like picking up something filthy. She could feel an ugly anger rising in her heart. She didn’t let herself think about Roy. She walked past the information stalls and the car-hire desks.
Past people she knew well. As though sensing her need to be left alone, they didn’t even look at her.
As she walked through the terminal Jessica up-ended the beautiful bouquet of roses. On her way out she jammed them into the nearest garbage can.
She could have caught a tube-train from the airport. She could have taken a taxi or waited for a lift from one of the other flight attendants coming off shift. That would have been the safe or sensible