The Independent Bride. Sophie Weston
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on the evidence. You walked into him and he was nice about it. He didn’t yell and he didn’t threaten to sue. Isn’t that enough to start with?
It was. It had to be. Anyway, it was the first hopeful thing that had happened for weeks. Give thanks for a civilised Englishman’s good manners and don’t ask for the moon, Pepper told herself practically.
Still, she made her way back to her seat with a smile on her face. And when the chatty passenger in the next seat started a conversation again, she even replied.
The woman was a grandmother from Montana who had never been to London before. In fact, she confided, she had never flown long distance before. She refused Pepper’s invitation to change seats, but she did crane across her to look out at the landscape below as the plane came in to land.
‘It’s big, isn’t it?’ She sounded awed.
The flight was early. Very early. The sun was barely up as they came in to land at London Heathrow. It glittered on buildings and planes. To Pepper, leaning her forehead against the bulkhead, even the runway looked as if it was studded with diamonds. On the ground nothing moved.
In the cabin, there was that air of suppressed excitement that came from being woken too early, fed croissants and orange juice you didn’t want, and throttling down from five hundred miles an hour. And being about to step out into a new country.
Or, in Pepper’s case, a new universe.
Maybe the Englishman was right. Maybe she should try looking for her cousins. How hard could it be? And she was going to have plenty of time.
Grandma Montana swallowed. Suddenly, after all the hours of chat, she blurted out the cause. She was going to meet her unknown English son-in-law and her two English grandchildren for the first time. She was real nervous, she confessed.
Pepper did not know what to say. ‘That’s a new concept for me. My grandmother has never been nervous in her life.’
‘She must be very brave.’
Pepper was crisp. ‘If people never cross you, there isn’t that much to get nervous about,’ she said tartly.
It felt good to say it. She sat straighter in her seat.
The airbus hit the runway and there was a loud rushing noise of giant brakes. Grandma Montana gave a little gasp. She was very pale.
To her own surprise—well, she was Mary Ellen Calhoun’s granddaughter, and, until a week ago, designated heir to Calhoun Carter; she didn’t do emotion—Pepper took the older woman’s hand.
‘Everything’s fine. It always makes a noise like that.’
Grandma Montana’s smile wavered. ‘Thank you. I was sure it was really. But—’ She gave Pepper’s hand a squeeze, as if Pepper were her own family and entitled to that intimate little gesture. ‘I’m being silly. You’re very kind.’
It hit Pepper like a ten-ton truck. Kindness! Outside Calhoun Carter, people were kind to each other without expecting a return. The man she’d knocked into had been kind about it. Now this woman was thanking her for a gesture that her grandmother would have laughed at.
She nearly said, No, I’m not. I’ve never been kind in my life. There’s no room for kindness in business. And I’m a business woman to my toenails. I’ve got three degrees and my own biography at Fortune to prove it.
Nearly.
Only somehow she didn’t. Somehow she thought—But I don’t have to stay like that. I can change. The unshaven man with the sexual force field around him had said she could do anything she set her mind to. And she could. She could.
So she said slowly, ‘You’re not silly. Doing anything for the first time is scary.’
‘I suppose so.’ The woman sounded doubtful.
The brakes were off and the airbus had come out of its wild thrash down the runway to a stately prowl. She let go of Pepper’s hand. For a moment Pepper nearly took it back again.
She said abruptly, ‘Are your family meeting you?’
‘I sure hope so. But they might not have got here yet. We’re so early.’
‘Tail wind across the Atlantic. Happens a lot. They’ll probably allow for it.’
Pepper’s companion began to look more hopeful. ‘Do you think so?’
‘People do,’ said Pepper, who had been met by chauffeurs all her life. Astonishing herself, she said, ‘Look, would you like me to stay with you until your daughter gets here?’
The woman looked as if she had won a lottery. ‘Would you?’
‘Sure. No problem.’
‘But you must have people meeting you—’
‘No,’ said Pepper steadily. ‘Nobody meeting me.’ Ever again. ‘I’ll be glad to stay with you. Really.’
But in the airport her good intentions hit a setback. A voice behind her called, ‘Ms Calhoun? Ms Calhoun?’
She turned instinctively. It was a financial journalist for an international press agency. She knew him slightly.
‘I thought it was you,’ he congratulated himself. ‘I was sitting behind you.’
Oh, one of the partying entrepreneurs. He wouldn’t have believed his eyes, seeing her travelling outside business class. Pepper bit her lip. Having avoided the financial pages so far, she really didn’t want to be caught out in London.
But he seemed unsuspicious enough. ‘What are you doing here? Are Calhoun’s thinking of taking over a British company?’
After only a momentary pause, she held out her hand.
‘Not a business trip,’ she said firmly. ‘How are you, Mr Franks?’
His eyes were shrewd. ‘Just back from New York. I’ve been covering the sustainable trade talks. What are you doing in London?’
Pepper remembered her conversation with the unshaven pirate. ‘I’ve got family here,’ she said, inspired.
He was sceptical. ‘Really?’
‘Really.’ She took rapid stock and told him part of the truth. ‘I haven’t had a holiday in quite a while. I’m told London in spring is beautiful.’
He pursed his lips, clearly unconvinced. But handling inquisitive journalists was all part of a day’s work for Pepper. She gave him a bland smile. He gave up.
‘Have a good time. If you could do with some company any time, give me a call.’
He fished a business card out of his wallet and handed it over. She managed not to wince. There had been a moment when she’d thought the pirate was going to give her his card. Now that would have been a triumph indeed. A man who didn’t know she was an heiress giving her his number!
‘Thank you,’ said Pepper, not looking at it. She thought wryly, Now, this is much more the sort of pick-up I’m used to.
The journalist was offering a classic bargain—dinner, or a night on the town, maybe a bit of inside information, in return for an exclusive on Calhoun Carter’s next move on the acquisition trail. He wouldn’t have bothered to say a word to Pepper if he had known that Mary Ellen had kicked her out.
The luggage carousel began to turn. She gave him a nod of farewell.
‘Excuse me. I’m going to be walking someone who’s new to London through Customs. Goodbye, Mr Franks. Nice to see you.’
But she kept his card. In the survival game you held onto any advantage you could get, however unlikely.
Steven looked for the glorious redhead in the baggage arrivals hall. There were so many people that it would have been a miracle if he’d found her. But he still looked.