Chapter Nineteen – Interlude
He glanced at his wristwatch and cursed under his breath as he stood waiting for the cab outside his large house. His gloved hands fell down his sides, flexing, as he stared down the street willing for the taxi to pick him up. Anyone watching him from distance would see a calm man dressed in a tailored flight uniform, the buttons glistening in the sun together with the screen of his hat and the golden wings on his chest. However, Paul Metrand was nothing but calm at the moment although he didn't show any outward signs that he wasn't. He had been to the hospital in order to get medically recertified to fly after the accident in the Alps.
The rules where such that he wasn't allowed to see his own doctor for the occasion since the flying organization considered the physician was not objective to the cause. There had been an accident a few years earlier after a pilot had bribed his doctor to certify him fit although it was clear he wasn't. The captain had suffered a heart attack when flying across the Atlantic Ocean and it was only due to quick thinking and years of experience that the first officer on the flight had managed to bring the aircraft down safely on the ground. The accident never got out to the general public but an agreement was reached within the flight organization to oversee the rules of certification.
Paul disliked hospitals and the smell of disinfectants. He felt sick just by walking into the building. The reception area had been bustling with activity and it had taken him some time to find the doctor he was to see. The man had been thorough, a bit too thorough for Paul's liking, insisting on poking and prodding him, studying his medical history intently and the lab results of the tests he'd submitted a few days earlier. Paul had had a feeling that the lean and tall doctor in his mid-fifties had been trying very hard to find something amiss. In the end Paul hadn't been able to keep quiet and had asked him about the verdict in case he should make plans for a desk job instead. The doctor had then looked straight at him with a look of amusement on his face and said; "Captain Metrand, somehow I can't picture you behind a desk and you shouldn't be either. I'll tell you something, not many people walk away from a flight accident, not many pilots manage to save every passenger onboard. There is a fine line between a miracle and a disaster," he had trailed off and let the sentence hang in the air. "What I'm trying to say, Captain Metrand, is that you're damn lucky. I want you to be in perfect condition before letting you up there again because there are many people that will depend on you. Your vitals are good, the severe bruising over your collarbones have disappeared, the cuts and contusions reported after incident are gone-" The doctor had scrutinized him for a moment from where he'd taken a seat behind the desk. "I bet you're stiff and even sore in some places but that's not uncommon and certainly not something that should hold you back. So, congratulations Captain Metrand, enjoy your flight," he had finished.
There was a horn thumping further down the street that brought him out of his reverie and he spotted the taxi coming around the corner to pick him up. Relieved he reached for his flight portfolio between his legs and got into the car. He had one hour to get to the airport, meet up with Isabelle for lunch and call in at the office to go through his role as fleet captain.
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Tears stung in her eyes as she picked up the phone. It was as if she was living in a nightmare. She told the operator whom she wanted to speak to and waited patiently.
"Maggie Whelan?" A soft voice said at the other end.
"It's me," Gemma whispered. "I just wanted to say that you're right."
There was a gasp at the other end.
"I never thought-" Gemma began in a quivering voice. "I never thought he could be that cruel. Wrongs must be corrected, Maggie. I'll bring the company down. I don't care about the costs."
"No, Gemma," Maggie said. "You'll not do it alone."
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Isabelle Delé was weary and a bit nervous as she'd parted ways with her fiancé just after lunch at Charles de Gaulle International Airport. Paul was in a hurry and had disappeared out of sight as soon as he'd finished eating and gulped down a cup of coffee, leaving her alone to check in at the FWA office. She could have gone with him straight away since she was heading to the same place but she hesitated and went for a stroll along the tarmac instead. As she'd passed the gates next to the row of company offices she walked over to the façade of glass staring, unseeing, out at the various taxying airliners. She'd never given it much thought before, just rushed between flight and office or taken a cab directly from the aircraft, the latter common since she'd started working on the Concorde. She sighed and glanced around the busy hallways of the southern tarmac, not remembering it being that crowded and the tempo so hectic. It tired her to see people with rug sacks looking completely lost, security personnel arguing with owners of one of the stores about a customer trying to steal a sandwich, an old man being pushed by a young man trying to get to the right gate in time.
"Excuse me miss?" An old woman said kindly, breaking through Isabelle's reverie, forcing the flight attendant to put on a polite smile, a smile that came out of habit due to years in her profession.
"Isabelle Delé," she said softly at the gentle woman. "Can I help you in some way?"
The woman chuckled lightly with relief. "I don't travel a lot," she excused herself sheepishly. "Had I known this place was so big, I would have come earlier."
Isabelle nodded and broke into a genuine smile this time. "I'll help you missis?" she asked realizing that she didn't know the name of the old woman before her.
"Oh forgive me. I'm Clary Winters and that'll have to be miss since old Albert decided to give in five years ago," she said with fondness. Luckily I have a son and several adorable grandchildren but unfortunately for me they live in the United States. You see I don't really fancy flying."
Isabelle placed a hand on the shorter woman's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "You are not the only one," she assured her. "Do you know what company you're booked in on?"
Clary looked dumbfounded for a second and Isabelle felt the need to add that if she knew that they could walk up to the reception disk and as the clerk.
"I'm so sorry dear, I thought you were one of those attendants," she apologized.
"It's all right, Miss Winters, I don't mind helping you. I'm just not very well informed about ground service and flights."
The old woman studied her for a moment then smiled. "Of course dear you're dressed like a flight attendant. Silly me, I can see that now," she admonished herself as she opened her large purse to search through it after a boarding pass.
Isabelle waited patiently at her side until the woman retrieved a ticket and handed it to her.
"Transatlantic," the flight attendant said aloud, sounding thoughtful. "Flight 503 Dulles International – Heathrow." She glanced down the large hallway trying to recall where Transatlantic's office were situated and broke into a satisfied smile as she spotted the sign. Isabelle gently crooked her arm and led the old woman towards it. "Don't you have any luggage, Miss Winters?"
"Oh, please call me Clary, and no, I know about luggage handling, it'll just end up somewhere else and I'm too fond of my things to take the chance," she said softly.
They walked in silence for a while as other passengers and staff walked or rushed passed them while several last boarding calls echoed through the loudspeakers.
A dark haired woman glanced up at them from behind the counter as they neared, plastering a false smile that made Isabelle sick. She didn't blame her she had done the same thing earlier but it felt so wrong.
"How can I help you, ma'am?" the woman asked gently in a soft-spoken British accent as she looked from Isabelle to Miss Winters.
"This is Miss Clary Winters," Isabelle clarified. "She's to board your flight 503 to London. Can you please see to it that she gets onboard?"
The woman, whose nametag read Annie Nichols nodded. "Not personally, but I'll call my colleague-" she turned toward the office and lounge behind her and gently knocked on the plexiglass window. –"Sarah will be here shortly," she assured them both and then turned all her focus on the old woman. "I'm glad we found you, Miss Winters, the aircraft is about to leave within 25 minutes. The gate is on the level below and one section to the left from where we are now," she informed.
Isabelle took pity at the old woman's weary expression and asked; "I can go with you if you like," she offered.
"No no, Miss Delé, there is no need," Clary assured her appreciating the offer. "I'm sure they'll help me get onboard in time now that I have found the right people."
"Then I hope you'll have a good flight, Miss- Clary," Isabelle said joyfully as she turned to head back.
"Miss Delé," the old woman asked softly, halting the flight attendant, causing her to turn around to face the woman again.
"I never asked, which airline do you work for? I'm sure your uniform states that somewhere but my sight isn't what it was when I was younger."
The woman had such a charming way that it caused Isabelle to smile.
"Federation World Airlines," she said.
"Does your company travel to Britain?" Miss Winters asked hopefully.
Isabelle nodded. "Yes, but I'm not. However, if you feel like travelling to France-" she suggested softly in her French accented voice.
"My dear, I'm glad if I manage to get to London in one piece," Clary said lightly with a smile. "Thank you for helping an old, deranged woman."
"You're doing just fine. I get lost too occasionally when I get to a new airport," she admitted and bid her goodbye. "Take care now and have a pleasant stay in London."
Isabelle watched, as the newly arrived woman called Sarah gently led her newfound friend away to her awaiting aircraft and adventures in London, her spirits higher than before. She felt the glare from the woman behind the counter but promptly ignored it as she turned on her heels to head back to her own company's office. If the clerk couldn't handle someone from the outside being nice to one of her customers it was her problem. After all, Isabelle had never tried to persuade the passenger from going with Transatlantic, she'd only helped a lost old lady to her booked flight. Luckily the company wasn't one of the partnering firms to FWA. The offices nearby had stroke a deal when it came to helping each other figuring they'd all benefit from such actions and the climate was good around the desks of FWA and offices of the airline companies closest to them.
Isabelle once again made for the office, she walked with a confidence she didn't know she had. Men of all ages watch her as she past them and she smiled cautiously used to it from passengers and sometimes even from the crew. Then suddenly fear gripped her and she felt her heart began to thump in her chest. She walked over to sit on a bench in one of the lounges and took a deep breath. She stared out through the window and squinted as the reflection of the sun against a Boeing 747 hurt her eyes. Around her people were laughing, crying, arguing or sleeping. Children stood at the window overlooking the runways, their noses plastered against the glass to their mothers' dismay. Even though Isabelle looked at around she didn't see. She was caught up in her inner turmoil, battling the dark thoughts about life and death and scenes from the accident that she thought she'd dealt with. Her eyes unconsciously fixed on a small white spot up in the air which grew larger for every second until the shape of an Air France Concorde revealed itself. In that instant she was brought back to that fateful day.
"Sit down Isabelle," Paul urged, his face a mask of confusion and dismay as he rapidly knocked on the door to the cockpit.
"No," she whispered as a flood of memories tried to drown her. She didn't want to relive it.
She rarely saw Paul so deadly serious and hastily sat down at his command. She'd only had time to strap herself in before the pressure was lost in the cabin and the door Paul had just walked through flew out in the passenger area. Wind picked up in what usually was a closed compartment, rustling her hair, sweeping the cabin crew's forward desk clean of drinks and snacks. The passengers screamed in panic and the cabin creaked forebodingly. She felt something hard hit her lower leg and gulped. She tightened her grip of the seatbelt that was strapped tight around her and couldn't help but to let out a yelp as the aircraft suddenly began to fall uncontrollably toward the ground. She'd never been so afraid in her life as when she saw the sky through holes in the body of the airliner. The noise of the powerful engines roared outside, the sound deafening as it was no longer blocked by the walls of the cabin. For a while she couldn't orient herself, didn't know what was up and what was down and she fought to stay calm.
A tear trickled down her cheek as a man gently placed his hand on her shoulder, breaking her reverie.
"Forgive me ma'am for asking but are you all right?" he asked kindly.
She swallowed and nodded sheepishly while she reached up with her hand to wipe away the tear from her cheek. "Yes, I'm fine," she whispered.
He gave her a friendly smile. "It doesn't look that way to me," he persisted with kindness.
"I was just overwhelmed by something," Isabelle replied carefully.
"A long lost lover?" he asked.
Isabelle chuckled ironically. "Something like that," she answered cryptically. "Not really wanting to share her memories with a stranger.
"I have a feeling you have no problem of finding company, miss-" he said jovially in a Southern American drawl and then trailed off and listened to the speaker voice.
"…to Chicago gate 27," a female voice said over the loudspeaker.
He glanced in the direction where he'd come from and saw the people had started to form a queue and then turned his attention back to the flight attendant.
"Pardon me, I don't mean to be rude but it looks like my plane will finally be leaving. You can't believe how many hours I've been sitting here in my loneliness wondering how long a plane can be delayed," he said and then chuckled nervously. "What a lousy timing. I've been waiting the whole day. I better go. It would be typical of me to miss it," he said charmingly. "You don't happen to be working at the company? I noticed your uniform."
Isabelle smiled politely, a smile reserved for customers, a smile that didn't reach her eyes and held no meaning. "No, I'm sorry. I'm employed elsewhere," she said.
He shook his head. "Too bad," he whispered with a smile tugging at the corner of his lips and then headed to the gate.
Isabelle sighed and ran a shaky hand through her hair. She had to get out of there. Knowing Paul was busy in a meeting and had no time for her she hastily got up from the bench and headed for the entrance to hail a taxi home and silently wondered what had gotten into her.
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