CHAPTER TEN
Sapphire flicked on the computer and headed to the tiny kitchen at Hot Air Aviation to fill the kettle, tapping her fingers restlessly on the work surface as she waited for it to boil. Endless admin jobs seem to have been created since Marco had taken over the running of the airline and Sapphire was missing the camaraderie of flying.
A small charter plane had just landed and she looked at it with longing, but she dutifully sat down at her desk and opened her emails like the good employee she was determined to be.
She was accompanying Mr Clarke to Aberdeen for a business meeting in a few days’ time and was looking forward to getting away from the office, where she was beginning to feel stifled. She often flew with him in her capacity as cabin services manager, but lately she was becoming more like a PA or a carer to the dear man. She wondered how long it would be before he took a back seat completely. And where, a little voice asked, would she be then? Would Marco Cavarelli use the opportunity to fire her?
She sighed. This wasn’t helping her to sort out the emails and the sooner she did that, the sooner she could escape. Since Marco had decided to set up his own desk in her office, she was permanently jumpy, reminding herself of the timid ginger cat back at the convent that would leap into the air at the slightest noise. Her head swivelled around, almost of its own accord whenever she heard footsteps in the corridor, and she’d started biting her nails again, something she hadn’t done in years. Every time the door creaked open she was fearful that it would be Marco, or even more fearful that it wouldn’t be. None of it helped her nerves.
She scanned the messages, and the name of the very man she’d been thinking about leaped out at her in an email, mixed up with the spam and invoice requests.
Sapphire, Mr Clarke is not well so have rescheduled the trip to Edinburgh as it suits me better and the 125 aircraft is being utilised elsewhere.
She scanned the next sentence with a light heart, pleased that he was going to be absent for some time. Her stomach swooped in foreboding though, as she finished the email.
Report at Luton 10.00. Flight number EDI204 leaving at 11.30 hours. I have attached your boarding card. Please print it out. See you at Luton Airport.
She read it twice, the horror growing as she took in the implications: two days on her own with Marco Cavarelli, the man who possibly mistrusted her, quite probably disliked her and definitely had too much sex appeal for her blood pressure.
No, she couldn’t do it.
She hadn’t seen him since the first-aid day and had unsuccessfully tried to erase him from her mind to concentrate on more important matters. She was playing a losing hand where Marco was concerned and it hurt to think he held her in such low esteem. She just wanted him to go back to Italy and out of her life.
Her hand strayed to her throat, the memory of his cool fingers on her skin making her sigh. If she hadn’t been so messed up when they’d first met, things might have been different. No – she couldn’t think that way. He was her boss and her position in the pecking order was as low as his opinion of her. He also had the power to sack her if he chose to, and she really needed to remember that.
She composed a reply to his request, almost knowing she’d lose the battle before it started.
Unfortunately, can’t make Edinburgh as have too many admin duties to complete.
She chewed her lip as she wondered how to sign off. Regards, Sapphire? Best wishes, Miss Montrose? Lots of love? She grinned at that one, but in the end just signed her name.
Sapphire.
She waited for him to reply with increasing irritation, her eyes fixed on the computer screen. She didn’t want to go anywhere with him – she didn’t like the emotions he stirred up inside her. She took a sip of her tea and tried to drum up enthusiasm for a VIP catering uplift, scheduled for a flight next week. She tapped her foot and drummed her fingers, glancing at her inbox every ten seconds.
Nothing.
Minutes passed and she tried to imagine his mood as he read her email. Her mobile phone rang and she picked it up, not recognising the number.
‘Sapphire, it’s Marco. Look, I’m not arguing about the trip. Just be there, it’s an important meeting.’ She started to protest, but he swept on. ‘There’s no one else. All of the pilots are flying and Robert Clarke is ill. This is not a request, Sapphire.’ He ended the call abruptly, leaving her wide-eyed and gawping at her mobile.
‘Who was that?’ Finbar sauntered in with a couple of plastic carrier bags, the contents steaming gently. His hair had a decidedly pink hue to it and he looked as if he had a sparkly powder on his cheekbones. Sapphire sighed. She’d almost given up ticking him off about his non-uniform, uniform – he’d only say he was being discriminated against. He would deliver this statement falsetto, and accompany it with a huge theatrical wink that would make her laugh. He was totally incorrigible as he knew she didn’t have the heart to reprimand him.
‘Who was it?’ he repeated, as Sapphire continued to stare distractedly at her phone.
‘It was the man who thinks he owns me,’ she answered, throwing her mobile onto the desk. ‘How did he get my number, even?’
‘Ooh, Mr Handsome Gorgeous himself. I wouldn’t mind being owned by him.’
‘He is neither of those things.’ Sapphire transferred her glare to Finbar.
‘Don’t take it out on me. I bring you good tidings: airline breakfast, the food of the gods.’ He lifted up one of the paper bags and waved it in front of her nose.
Sapphire snorted. ‘Very poor gods, if that’s the best they can do.’ She took one of the breakfasts and loosened the lid, peering inside. ‘How was the flight?’ she asked, more to get her brain back on track for work, than out of genuine interest.
‘Oh, the usual, I –’
‘That man is so arrogant.’
Finbar pursed his lips and tilted his head to one side. ‘My mistake, I thought we were talking about me, for a minute.’
‘Sorry, but he is so unreasonable. He’s just commanded me to be at Luton Airport tomorrow to fly up to Edinburgh for two days for some kind of meeting.’
‘To stay in Edinburgh? Darling, rooms to rent are as rare as rocking-horse shit. It’s the Edinburgh Fringe and everywhere is booked. Unless you want to share and I can’t quite see Mr Cav. slumming it in a makeshift attic conversion, sleeping top to tail with a trapeze drag artist called Trixie-Belle, can you?’
‘God, you’re right. That crowd of dancers we flew up there the other day said it was hell to find accommodation.’ The butterflies in her stomach flew away, and with them the unlikely scenario she’d allowed herself, for just a moment, of listening to kilted Scotsmen playing Amazing Grace on their bagpipes, while wandering around Edinburgh Castle, and maybe meeting Marco later for drinks and supper. She wasn’t quite sure when the last bit had snuck into her daydream, but it had somehow ended up as an inevitable end to the day.
She sighed and took the lid off the hot breakfast tray without enthusiasm. This was more like her average day – eating leftover airline food, not swanning it up in a top-class restaurant in Edinburgh. ‘I guess I’ll just do as he says and hope we end up getting the late shuttle back at the end of the day.’
‘Well, you never know, he might have all angles covered and you’ll find yourself eating haggis and chips in the local boozer and washing it down with a pint of heavy.’ Finbar was good at accents and this was said with a thick Glaswegian delivery, making Sapphire laugh. ‘You can round off the night singing your favourite Proclaimers songs on karaoke together on a makeshift stage, swigging back Glenmorangie and calling each other ma wee hen.’
She giggled at the thought. ‘Yeah, ’cos that’s really likely to happen, isn’t it?’
‘Well, you know what you’re like after a couple of whisky chasers.’ He laughed, before turning serious. ‘Actually, he does know what you’re like after a few drinks, unfortunately.’
She groaned. ‘Will I ever be allowed to forget it?’
Finbar grinned slyly. ‘Eat up, you’ll need lots of energy for Edinburgh.’ He pulled the lid off his breakfast tray and sighed. ‘And if you should happen to bump into that Jamie Fraser from Outlander, be sure to give him my phone number.’
‘In your dreams.’
‘I know.’ Finbar rested his chin on his hands, a dreamy smile on his lips. ‘Jamie Fraser and Marco Cavarelli. My cup runneth over.’ I’d certainly teach them a thing or two.’
‘Finbar. Please. Do not go there. I’m about to eat.’ Sapphire speared a mushroom, although her stomach had nosedived again, something she was becoming used to whenever Marco’s name was mentioned. ‘I know: why don’t I see if you can go instead?’
‘Something tells me I’m not the sort of glamour he’s after, sweetie.’ His look was wistful, but he soon rallied. ‘Promise you’ll tell me all the gory details when you get back.’
‘I don’t imagine there will be any. The most excitement I’m likely to get is a glimpse of hairy Scottish buttocks under a kilt.’
‘Aye, well, that’s probably better than nothing,’ Finbar agreed, before taking a bite of croissant, showering the desk with pastry flakes.
‘Gross,’ Sapphire said.
‘Me or the hairy buttocks?’
Sapphire laughed in a preoccupied way as an image of Marco’s naked bottom jumped into her mind unbidden: all smooth skin and taut rounded muscles, and all of it totally, totally out of bounds. She snatched up her sketchpad, which was never far away, before sliding her pencil back into her bag as common sense took over. Do not start drawing fantasy images of any part of your boss’s anatomy, Sapphire Montrose, she told herself. She pushed aside her sausage and eggs; there was no room for food amongst the butterflies that filled her stomach once more.
She wished she could dislike Marco as much as he so richly deserved, but somehow the right emotions didn’t surface even though she was pissed off that he had put her in an untenable position. She ground her teeth – something else she had not consciously done since childhood. If this carried on, she’d be certifiable.
The only way she could manage to survive the ordeal was to retain an aloof veneer and keep her distance from him – and that was what she would absolutely, undoubtedly, indefatigably do.