And what exactly were the rules of this trip? Was she supposed to stay out of the way or join Kathleen?
This job hadn’t come with any instructions, apart from the fact that she was expected to drive. She was looking forward to spending a quiet evening with a large burger, and her tattered copy of The Grapes of Wrath to get herself in the mood, although she hoped there would be considerably less drama and hardship in her version of the journey across America.
Overwhelmed by gratitude for her new life, Martha had joined Kathleen on the balcony.
“Shall I order something to eat from room service, Kathleen? You’d probably like an early night.” Her grandmother had always had a nap in the afternoon. She knew Mrs. Hartley did too because she yelled at anyone who knocked on her door between three and four.
Kathleen, however, was buzzing. “Early night? It’s five in the afternoon.”
Her skin was pale and her eyes looked tired but they gleamed with an excitement that spiked Martha’s excitement too.
It wasn’t her job to argue with her new employer. She was a driver and companion, not a minder. And if you didn’t know what you wanted by the time you were eighty, then what hope was there?
Liza’s concerned frown slid into her mind. Martha had enough experience of disapproval to know that Kathleen’s daughter had disapproved of her. She was a little daunted by Liza, and not only because she envied anyone with well-behaved hair. Liza’s was as smooth and pale as buttermilk. And then there was her air of competence. Martha hadn’t needed to be told she was a teacher. She doubted there had ever been an issue Liza couldn’t solve, or a class she couldn’t control.
But she wasn’t employed by the daughter, was she? She was employed by the mother.
Still, there was no harm in checking. “It’s ten o’clock back home. No, wait—it’s a six-hour difference. So it’s eleven at home.” Her mother would be cleaning her teeth and yelling at her dad to check that he’d locked the doors. Martha was grateful she wasn’t there.
“You’re on Chicago time now. We have a couple of hours to shower and freshen up, and then we’re going for dinner and cocktails.”
“Cocktails?” Her grandmother had always drunk hot cocoa before bed. Martha had made it for her, using exactly the right amount of milk and sugar. Sometimes she’d eaten a nice digestive biscuit.
Kathleen gazed out over the skyline. “Last time I was here, I drank cocktails. I want to do it again.”
“You’ve been here before? When?”
“I was thirty. It was my first trip to Chicago.”
“I can’t wait to hear all your stories. You can tell me over drinks.” It sounded so adult and sophisticated. She, Martha, was going to drink cocktails and talk about exotic travel. Her conversation was normally restricted to the mundane, but tonight she was going to travel through Kathleen’s experiences. Or maybe she was being too presumptuous. “I don’t have to join you of course. If you’d rather be by yourself—”
“Why would I want to be my myself? You’re part of this adventure.” Kathleen beamed. “You’re a jet-setter now, Martha.”
Martha didn’t feel like a jet-setter and she was pretty sure she didn’t look like one either, but she was willing to do whatever it took to embrace that lifestyle.
“What should I wear?”
“Casual chic.”
What exactly was that?
In the end she wore the only dress she owned. She grabbed her denim jacket in case she was chilly and slid her feet into a pair of white running shoes.
Kathleen was wearing her customary floaty layers in jewel colors, with a narrow gold watch on one wrist and multiple bangles on the other. With her cropped white hair and her effortless elegance, she looked impossibly glamorous.
When you looked at her you saw bone structure and poise rather than age, Martha thought.
“You look beautiful, Mrs. Harrison.”
“Call me Kathleen.” Kathleen picked up her purse. “We’re heading up to the roof terrace, where we will drink Manhattans and eat lobster risotto.”
Was that going to be delicious or disgusting? Martha pictured herself in the local pub at home on her return. I’ll have a Manhattan and lobster risotto. The response would probably be, What, love? accompanied by a blank look, a plate of fish fingers and half a pint of beer.
The roof terrace turned out to have views over downtown Chicago, and the lake beyond that.
“This is very cool.” Martha settled herself at the nearest available table but Kathleen gestured to the waiter.
She said something that Martha couldn’t hear, and the next moment they were being ushered to a table by the balcony, with the best views of the skyline.
Martha sneaked a look at the people around her, relieved to see a variety of clothing. Some were casual, some dressier in their approach, but they all had one thing in common—confidence. They all looked as if they belonged.
Martha sat up a little straighter and tried to look as if this glamorous bar was her normal habitat even though she was sure she wasn’t fooling anyone. She probably stood out like a zebra on a sandy beach.
And then the cocktails appeared, delivered with a flourish.
“To adventure.” Kathleen raised her glass and Martha, half dizzy with jet lag, tiredness and an overdose of excitement, lifted hers too.
“To adventure.” And a new life, far away from her old one.
Martha, explorer and drinker of exotic cocktails.
Take that, Slimy Steven.
She took a mouthful of the cocktail and almost choked. Her alcohol intake was restricted by her lack of funds, and when she drank she usually drank the beer her dad kept in the fridge. She probably had the most unsophisticated palate on the planet.
It took three sips for her to discover that the cocktail was the best thing she’d ever tasted and four to decide she’d be quite happy never to drink anything else. By the time she’d emptied her glass she realized that Kathleen was nothing like her own grandmother.
There was a strange spinning feeling in her head. Jet lag? Cocktail? Having had no experience of either before this moment, it was impossible to tell.
Kathleen ordered another and Martha was about to point out that drinking so much on an empty stomach might not be such a good idea when the lobster risotto arrived.
Chicago was spread before them, glittering and bright.
“What did you say that persuaded them to give us this view?”
“I told them the truth.” Kathleen picked up her fork. “That I’m of somewhat advanced years and one never knows if this could be my last supper.”