left me. I was a bastard after all. This
was bothering me, but not nearly as much.
The sixty-mile drive to Nice Airport was interminable.
She was booked to Detroit via Paris and Chicago and I was booked
to London. She accepted the tickets and my check for twenty
thousand dollars. I don’t think she really wanted to take them,
but, considering the alternative, she accepted without a word of
thanks. We didn’t speak for the entire trip. Thank God it
wasn’t the tourist season. The trip to the airport would have
taken hours instead of less than one hour. I parked the car in a
lot and saw her to the counter and helped her check in. I never
thought to ask if her passport was in order until we got to the
airport. Luckily, it was. I walked her to security for domestic
departures. She walked through, her back to me, and I watched
her till she was almost out of sight. At the last moment, she
turned around. We stared at each other from afar for a long
time. Finally, she waved, and I could read her lips. They just
said, “Thanks.”
I went out to turn in the car and check in my own luggage.
There was time between flights and I needed a drink. As I sat in
the airport bar quietly drinking alone, I felt emptier than ever.
Chapter 4
I sat in the back seat of a Jaguar, which was chauffeuring
me to Claridge’s Hotel in the Mayfair section of London. This
was probably my favorite stopping place in the world. I closed
my eyes and took stock of my thoughts and feelings. I still
missed Jane and felt regretful for ending our affair. I didn’t
miss Laura at all and wished with all my heart that I could take
back the note I wrote her before I left. The concept that I put
my feelings for her in the same class as my feelings for my
parents was now an utter embarrassment and source of guilt to me.
I would call Ann Marie this evening and report everything that
had transpired since our last conversation. I looked forward to
talking to her. I knew that she would soothe me and make things
better. I had given myself a mission: spend two weeks in London
and enjoy it without the company of women. I wanted desperately
to cure my addiction. It might be easy because all I wanted now
was Jane. If Laura was an example, though, could I forget Jane
unless I found someone else? It was a trap that was tearing me
apart. My head ached and I couldn’t wait to get to the hotel,
take a few aspirins and a drink, and sleep for about twelve
hours.
It was the evening rush hour in London and it doesn’t
matter which direction you are traveling. It’s every bit as slow
as any other large metropolis in the world. We pulled up at the
hotel on Brook Street and I was immediately besieged with the
most courteous and efficient service. I was escorted into an
office off the main lobby and seated in a comfortable chair. The
manager greeted me with, “Welcome back, Mr. Boyd. It’s so nice
to see you again.” Claridges has always been noted for its
service, but if you are a repeat guest, all stops are pulled out.
The manager was dressed in tails, as was the young man who showed
me to my room. We waited for the lift and I looked around,
drinking in the scene around me. Claridges doesn’t really look
like a hotel. It is more like a large mansion. There is much
marble in the lobby area, yet it is extremely tasteful. The
carpeting looks old, but is in immaculately new condition. The
public rooms are charmingly Victorian. It’s the kind of elegance
that defines the word. Just past the desk, straight on, is a
beautiful sitting room where drinks are served. To its left is a
charming tea room where afternoon high tea is a must for any
visitor to London. To its right is an elegant dining room, one
of two in the hotel.
I was shown to my room and it was, as usual, extremely
comfortable. The bathtub was even larger than the one in France
and the shower head was about twenty-four inches in diameter and
played straight down
was bothering me, but not nearly as much.
The sixty-mile drive to Nice Airport was interminable.
She was booked to Detroit via Paris and Chicago and I was booked
to London. She accepted the tickets and my check for twenty
thousand dollars. I don’t think she really wanted to take them,
but, considering the alternative, she accepted without a word of
thanks. We didn’t speak for the entire trip. Thank God it
wasn’t the tourist season. The trip to the airport would have
taken hours instead of less than one hour. I parked the car in a
lot and saw her to the counter and helped her check in. I never
thought to ask if her passport was in order until we got to the
airport. Luckily, it was. I walked her to security for domestic
departures. She walked through, her back to me, and I watched
her till she was almost out of sight. At the last moment, she
turned around. We stared at each other from afar for a long
time. Finally, she waved, and I could read her lips. They just
said, “Thanks.”
I went out to turn in the car and check in my own luggage.
There was time between flights and I needed a drink. As I sat in
the airport bar quietly drinking alone, I felt emptier than ever.
Chapter 4
I sat in the back seat of a Jaguar, which was chauffeuring
me to Claridge’s Hotel in the Mayfair section of London. This
was probably my favorite stopping place in the world. I closed
my eyes and took stock of my thoughts and feelings. I still
missed Jane and felt regretful for ending our affair. I didn’t
miss Laura at all and wished with all my heart that I could take
back the note I wrote her before I left. The concept that I put
my feelings for her in the same class as my feelings for my
parents was now an utter embarrassment and source of guilt to me.
I would call Ann Marie this evening and report everything that
had transpired since our last conversation. I looked forward to
talking to her. I knew that she would soothe me and make things
better. I had given myself a mission: spend two weeks in London
and enjoy it without the company of women. I wanted desperately
to cure my addiction. It might be easy because all I wanted now
was Jane. If Laura was an example, though, could I forget Jane
unless I found someone else? It was a trap that was tearing me
apart. My head ached and I couldn’t wait to get to the hotel,
take a few aspirins and a drink, and sleep for about twelve
hours.
It was the evening rush hour in London and it doesn’t
matter which direction you are traveling. It’s every bit as slow
as any other large metropolis in the world. We pulled up at the
hotel on Brook Street and I was immediately besieged with the
most courteous and efficient service. I was escorted into an
office off the main lobby and seated in a comfortable chair. The
manager greeted me with, “Welcome back, Mr. Boyd. It’s so nice
to see you again.” Claridges has always been noted for its
service, but if you are a repeat guest, all stops are pulled out.
The manager was dressed in tails, as was the young man who showed
me to my room. We waited for the lift and I looked around,
drinking in the scene around me. Claridges doesn’t really look
like a hotel. It is more like a large mansion. There is much
marble in the lobby area, yet it is extremely tasteful. The
carpeting looks old, but is in immaculately new condition. The
public rooms are charmingly Victorian. It’s the kind of elegance
that defines the word. Just past the desk, straight on, is a
beautiful sitting room where drinks are served. To its left is a
charming tea room where afternoon high tea is a must for any
visitor to London. To its right is an elegant dining room, one
of two in the hotel.
I was shown to my room and it was, as usual, extremely
comfortable. The bathtub was even larger than the one in France
and the shower head was about twenty-four inches in diameter and
played straight down
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