On the lower deck, a specific area had been set aside for those psychologically incapable of separating themselves from their personal electronics and communication devices, partly because they were inconsistent with the carefully contrived 1920s ambience and partly so the electronic beeping couldn’t annoy the other passengers.
There was no smoking lounge. Popular rumour had it that anyone caught with a naked flame would be pitched overboard from seven hundred feet.
The brochure informed them the airship supported a crew of fifty. ‘One and a half passengers to each crew member,’ said Luke.
No wonder it’s expensive, thought Jane. She calculated her return ticket was the equivalent of four months’ pay.
‘You’ll enjoy lunch,’ said Luke, seating them at a table. ‘We’re only flying at about seven hundred feet so the food will taste good.’
Jane shuddered. ‘There is nothing only about seven hundred feet.’
Lunch was followed almost immediately by afternoon tea. Jane drank a cup of tea and nibbled a tiny, crustless, triangular-shaped sandwich. Luke, obviously regarding the laden tiers of sandwiches, scones and dainty cakes as a personal challenge, got stuck in. ‘Shame Matthew’s not here. Even with his appetite I think he’d have had trouble with this lot.’
Matthew Farrell’s capacity for food was legendary. No one could ever remember an occasion on which he had not cleared his own plate. And everyone else’s as well if they didn’t get a move on.
‘I wonder how he is.’
‘He’ll be fine,’ said Luke, inaccurately. ‘He’ll be making love to that big silver Map thing and probably hasn’t even noticed we’ve gone.’
They arrived so promptly at seventeen thirty that Luke felt compelled to ask if Jane thought they’d circled Glasgow until it was time to land.
Jane wasn’t listening. ‘Oh my God, we’re going down.’
‘It’s quite hard to land if you don’t. You can’t just park in mid-air and step out, you know.’
‘Don’t call me sweetie.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘You usually do.’
‘Not this time I didn’t.’ He stood up.
‘Where are you going?’
‘We’ve landed. I’m getting off. Don’t know what you’re doing.’
Jane picked up her expensive new handbag. ‘Next time we go anywhere together you go alone.’
‘Excellent trip, don’t you think?’ said Luke as they made their way down the airbridge, both of them so stuffed with good food they could barely walk. Smiling staff checked their entry documents and indicated the appropriate customs channels.
‘Do we know where we’re going?’ asked Jane as they emerged from the terminal.
‘Yes, I have the address.’
‘Does she know we’re coming?’
‘I messaged her. No reply as yet.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘She teaches at the Design Centre. A water taxi to Clydebank should get us there. I thought her place of work might be less threatening than turning up on her doorstep. You know – neutral territory.’
Luke had worried unnecessarily. A tall woman with faded blonde hair and very blue eyes was waiting for them outside the Design Centre.
‘Luke? Oh my God, Luke – is that you? Look at you. Oh, my lovely boy, how are you?’
She did not hold back. Luke was enveloped in huge hugs and kisses. Jane took a few paces to the side and looked away.
Birgitte was beside herself. ‘It is so good to see you again. And welcome to your friend Jane, too. I am so happy to meet you. We will go to my apartment straight away. We’ve so much to talk about.’
‘What about . . . ?’
‘My wife? Ilse is away on business in Sweden. We will have the whole place to ourselves. Come. Come.’
Glasgow was not as warm as London but much less muggy. Green roofs were much more in evidence here. As they walked briskly through the city, Jane was particularly struck by the imaginative placing of trees some fifty feet in the air. And Glasgow was much easier to get around. The much less crowded streets meant the use of energy-generating pavements produced more credits. Luke handsomely donated his and Jane’s to Birgitte. For which she thanked them.
Her flat was tiny with minimal furnishings but very comfortable. Everything was in Scandinavian colours, all muted blues and greys. Jane wondered if the art on the walls was Birgitte’s own.
She served excellent coffee in tiny cups and they sat down. ‘It’s so wonderful to see you again, Luke, but what are you doing here?’
He put down his coffee untasted. ‘I wanted to talk to you.’
She nodded encouragingly.
Being Luke, he got straight to it.
‘What did I do that was so bad?’
22
There was complete silence in the room. Not even the background creaks of an old house. Just complete silence.
Jane froze, wondering if she should leave, give Luke and Birgitte some privacy. But they were between her and the door. Had they forgotten she was here? Better to sit back in her quiet corner and keep quiet.
Birgitte put down her cup. Genuine astonishment was written all over her face. ‘Nothing. You did nothing. Whatever made you think that?’
‘Well, I must have done something to make my father sack you. I know that. You left so quickly. And then I was bundled off to that awful school – it was like a prison – a punishment – and . . .’
‘No, no, Luke. This is all wrong. Did your father not talk to you after I left?’
‘No. Not a word. One minute my world was . . . normal . . . and the next moment . . . it wasn’t. Why? What happened? Why did you leave me? And don’t tell me you can’t reveal anything because the old man made you sign an NDA.’
‘I’ll willingly tell you what I know. I would have done so years ago if I’d known you had no idea . . . Although I’m not sure how helpful I can be because I don’t really know what happened, either.’
Luke visibly braced himself. ‘Tell me.’
‘It was a Saturday like any other. I think we’d been to look at the Tower, you and me.’
He nodded. ‘I remember that. You wore a red scarf.’
She frowned. ‘I did, didn’t I? I had forgotten. Anyway, we came home and I made . . .’
‘Fish finger wraps,’ interrupted Luke. ‘And then we had strawberries.’