she looked out at the hallway and wondered how many more letters like that Michael Wainwright had stored in the lateral files. Did Tina read them all, the way she seemed to read his e-mail? Did she keep them in a single folder? Did she label it, and how? She couldn’t imagine that Tina was good at filing anything except her nails. But Tina had that easy-going personality that could schedule meetings, briskly dismiss the unwanted and pacify those that required it, make up plausible excuses when necessary and juggle a raft of social engagements and girlfriends.
All of the objects, photos and, most importantly, the note, had made her even more nervous. She was out of her depth and she knew she wasn’t a good swimmer. One slip of the tongue, one cramp in her style and she’d go under. But, she reminded herself, she had no illusions about her relationship with Michael Wainwright. She was a convenience, a diversion, a temp. She had started her job there at Crayden Smithers as a temp and, if she found herself humiliated when she returned, she could easily leave. At her level in the business hierarchy it wasn’t hard to find another poorly-paying job and perhaps she would go back to Staten Island, losing the commute and gaining a little self-confidence.
The longer she waited the more doubtful she felt about the whole plan. It wasn’t too late, she told herself, to simply roll her little black suitcase out the door. She could put her ticket and a note on his desk but the thought of him, his smile, his jaunty walk, the ingratiating smile he used when he wanted to get his way, the memory of the feel of his hand on hers stopped her. And, she thought, she would never get to use her passport if she left now. She also wouldn’t be able to face any of the women, not even Abigail Samuels.
Claire opened her purse once again and took out her passport. It was a lovely document and made her feel important. She stared at her own picture and at the pages and pages that were so-far empty. Michael’s passport lay on his desk and, summoning up her nerve one more time, she went over and picked it up.
His face stared out at her neither smiling nor gloomy. It was a far more sophisticated expression than her goofy grin. But that wasn’t what impressed her. It was the page upon page of stamps from immigration and visas. Bermuda. Italy. Germany. Hong Kong. There were stamps from places Claire had never heard of and the booklet was nearly full. She was surprised to see how the official seals were stamped helter skelter, one from the Netherlands stamped right over another from Thailand. She would have imagined it more like a postage stamp collection where each one would be carefully placed to be savored later. Michael’s passport would expire in two more years. What happened if there was no more room in it before then? she wondered. She hurriedly put it down. She didn’t want him to walk in and catch her snooping.
At seven thirty-four, when she was sure that they would miss the plane, Michael—she hoped she had practiced calling him by his first name enough—walked in. ‘God, they talk and talk,’ he said. ‘We better get going.’
Claire stood up and grabbed her coat and the handle of her rolling case. ‘Won’t we miss the flight?’ she asked. ‘We need at least two hours for check-in.’
He smiled at her. ‘Not with Special Services,’ he said. He shouldered his own bag and took the handle of hers. His hand brushed hers and it was so warm against her cold one she nearly jumped. He didn’t seem to notice. ‘Come along,’ he said.
The driver took their bags the moment they reached the lobby. Claire was a little surprised to see that the ‘limo’ was only a regular Mercedes sedan, but the seats were comfy and the driver was so skilled that they reached the airport in less than half an hour. Michael apologized when they got into the car because he had to look at a file for the next morning’s meeting. ‘Just let me get this
All of the objects, photos and, most importantly, the note, had made her even more nervous. She was out of her depth and she knew she wasn’t a good swimmer. One slip of the tongue, one cramp in her style and she’d go under. But, she reminded herself, she had no illusions about her relationship with Michael Wainwright. She was a convenience, a diversion, a temp. She had started her job there at Crayden Smithers as a temp and, if she found herself humiliated when she returned, she could easily leave. At her level in the business hierarchy it wasn’t hard to find another poorly-paying job and perhaps she would go back to Staten Island, losing the commute and gaining a little self-confidence.
The longer she waited the more doubtful she felt about the whole plan. It wasn’t too late, she told herself, to simply roll her little black suitcase out the door. She could put her ticket and a note on his desk but the thought of him, his smile, his jaunty walk, the ingratiating smile he used when he wanted to get his way, the memory of the feel of his hand on hers stopped her. And, she thought, she would never get to use her passport if she left now. She also wouldn’t be able to face any of the women, not even Abigail Samuels.
Claire opened her purse once again and took out her passport. It was a lovely document and made her feel important. She stared at her own picture and at the pages and pages that were so-far empty. Michael’s passport lay on his desk and, summoning up her nerve one more time, she went over and picked it up.
His face stared out at her neither smiling nor gloomy. It was a far more sophisticated expression than her goofy grin. But that wasn’t what impressed her. It was the page upon page of stamps from immigration and visas. Bermuda. Italy. Germany. Hong Kong. There were stamps from places Claire had never heard of and the booklet was nearly full. She was surprised to see how the official seals were stamped helter skelter, one from the Netherlands stamped right over another from Thailand. She would have imagined it more like a postage stamp collection where each one would be carefully placed to be savored later. Michael’s passport would expire in two more years. What happened if there was no more room in it before then? she wondered. She hurriedly put it down. She didn’t want him to walk in and catch her snooping.
At seven thirty-four, when she was sure that they would miss the plane, Michael—she hoped she had practiced calling him by his first name enough—walked in. ‘God, they talk and talk,’ he said. ‘We better get going.’
Claire stood up and grabbed her coat and the handle of her rolling case. ‘Won’t we miss the flight?’ she asked. ‘We need at least two hours for check-in.’
He smiled at her. ‘Not with Special Services,’ he said. He shouldered his own bag and took the handle of hers. His hand brushed hers and it was so warm against her cold one she nearly jumped. He didn’t seem to notice. ‘Come along,’ he said.
The driver took their bags the moment they reached the lobby. Claire was a little surprised to see that the ‘limo’ was only a regular Mercedes sedan, but the seats were comfy and the driver was so skilled that they reached the airport in less than half an hour. Michael apologized when they got into the car because he had to look at a file for the next morning’s meeting. ‘Just let me get this
Similar Books
