daughter. Jocelyn was sitting on the floor, paging through a fashion magazine Megan had gotten for her. In the background, the television played on. No one was bothering to watch it.
Jocelyn gave her mother an impatient look. The question had been put to her before. “No, Megan and I are going out.” She giggled behind her hand before she managed to compose herself.
She was behaving very oddly lately, Johanna thought. Maybe it was all a phase. Maybe it was because they had taken her away from her friends and forced her to spend her summer in a foreign country with only eight channels, Johanna thought.
She might have read more into it, had she not felt ashamed for wanting to hide behind her daughter, to use her as a shield of sorts in this awful ordeal she was going to have to face.
“All right. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone,” she said as she crossed to the door. She looked back, but Megan and her daughter were oblivious to what she was saying. She gave up. “Goodbye.” There was no response. No one seemed to have even heard her. Johanna raised her voice. “Goodbye.”
“Huh? Oh, yes, goodbye,” Jocelyn answered, then turned her attention toward Megan and more important matters.
Hero worship, Johanna thought as she rode down the elevator. Jocelyn had a bad case of hero worship. It was easy to see why. Megan was tall and pretty and seemed to have everything. Certainly clothes and a sharp, flashing wit. But the shallow streak that Johanna detected within Megan made her wish that she hadn’t chosen her to come along with them. There hadn’t been enough time to make a proper choice. The woman they had used and relied on all these years had quit, only two days before the trip to London. Johanna had frantically accepted the first civilized person who had arrived from the agency with no communicable diseases.
Just goes to show you, you can’t go by first impressions . Well, it would pass. They’d be going home soon. In the fall school would start and Megan would be gone. They had a housekeeper at home and that was sufficient.
The tall, burly doorman snapped to life when he saw her walk through the revolving door and approach him. His name was Masterson and Johanna had made his acquaintance the first day they had arrived. He unconsciously approved of the white two-piece suit she wore. The single strand of pearls at her throat was just the right accent. A lady, through and through. There were so few of them these days.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Whitney. It looks like a very pleasant day for you. Shall I have someone bring your car around?”
She smiled and shook her head. “No, I think I’d rather have a cab this afternoon. I really don’t know my way around London that well and driving on the wrong side of the street always confuses me.”
“The wrong side, ma’am?” Masterson’s tone was amused as he beckoned for a cab to break free of its formation and pull over to the curb.
Johanna smiled up at the man. “I guess you don’t consider it the wrong side.”
“No, madam, we don’t.” He held the door open for her and tried not to admire her legs too much as she slid into the cab.
Johanna leaned forward. She glanced at the rearview mirror. The cab driver had small, squinty eyes, set in a pockmarked, lined face that had seen more than its share of the rough side of life. It sent a slight chill down her spine. She was just being unduly jumpy of late, she thought.
“Heathrow airport, please. Pan Am terminal.”
The wiry cab driver nodded as he pulled the handle of the meter down. “Pan Am terminal it is, mum.”
Johanna tried to settle back in the seat but found that she was too tense. Maybe she should have driven, she thought. That way, on the way back, she would have had something to occupy herself with, to fill in the silences. A reason to lapse into silence herself. God, what was she going to say to Denise? What words were possible in this kind of a situation?
“I had a friend on the
Jocelyn gave her mother an impatient look. The question had been put to her before. “No, Megan and I are going out.” She giggled behind her hand before she managed to compose herself.
She was behaving very oddly lately, Johanna thought. Maybe it was all a phase. Maybe it was because they had taken her away from her friends and forced her to spend her summer in a foreign country with only eight channels, Johanna thought.
She might have read more into it, had she not felt ashamed for wanting to hide behind her daughter, to use her as a shield of sorts in this awful ordeal she was going to have to face.
“All right. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone,” she said as she crossed to the door. She looked back, but Megan and her daughter were oblivious to what she was saying. She gave up. “Goodbye.” There was no response. No one seemed to have even heard her. Johanna raised her voice. “Goodbye.”
“Huh? Oh, yes, goodbye,” Jocelyn answered, then turned her attention toward Megan and more important matters.
Hero worship, Johanna thought as she rode down the elevator. Jocelyn had a bad case of hero worship. It was easy to see why. Megan was tall and pretty and seemed to have everything. Certainly clothes and a sharp, flashing wit. But the shallow streak that Johanna detected within Megan made her wish that she hadn’t chosen her to come along with them. There hadn’t been enough time to make a proper choice. The woman they had used and relied on all these years had quit, only two days before the trip to London. Johanna had frantically accepted the first civilized person who had arrived from the agency with no communicable diseases.
Just goes to show you, you can’t go by first impressions . Well, it would pass. They’d be going home soon. In the fall school would start and Megan would be gone. They had a housekeeper at home and that was sufficient.
The tall, burly doorman snapped to life when he saw her walk through the revolving door and approach him. His name was Masterson and Johanna had made his acquaintance the first day they had arrived. He unconsciously approved of the white two-piece suit she wore. The single strand of pearls at her throat was just the right accent. A lady, through and through. There were so few of them these days.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Whitney. It looks like a very pleasant day for you. Shall I have someone bring your car around?”
She smiled and shook her head. “No, I think I’d rather have a cab this afternoon. I really don’t know my way around London that well and driving on the wrong side of the street always confuses me.”
“The wrong side, ma’am?” Masterson’s tone was amused as he beckoned for a cab to break free of its formation and pull over to the curb.
Johanna smiled up at the man. “I guess you don’t consider it the wrong side.”
“No, madam, we don’t.” He held the door open for her and tried not to admire her legs too much as she slid into the cab.
Johanna leaned forward. She glanced at the rearview mirror. The cab driver had small, squinty eyes, set in a pockmarked, lined face that had seen more than its share of the rough side of life. It sent a slight chill down her spine. She was just being unduly jumpy of late, she thought.
“Heathrow airport, please. Pan Am terminal.”
The wiry cab driver nodded as he pulled the handle of the meter down. “Pan Am terminal it is, mum.”
Johanna tried to settle back in the seat but found that she was too tense. Maybe she should have driven, she thought. That way, on the way back, she would have had something to occupy herself with, to fill in the silences. A reason to lapse into silence herself. God, what was she going to say to Denise? What words were possible in this kind of a situation?
“I had a friend on the
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