Walking on Air (ebook)

Argumento de Walking on Air (ebook)

Billie Pascoe is determined to escape from her past mistakes, her present job, and her very uncertain future. Attempting to flee her problems, she opens a warehouse on the edge of a run-down air field ? despite not knowing a thing about how to run a business. Her status as the world?s biggest areophobe doesn?t help either, but the biggest problem of all takes the form of Jonah Sullivan, the gorgeous pilot and plane-owner who walks into her life at the worst possible moment. Billie soon discovers exactly what Jonah has mind for her warehouse ? and while she?s not exactly sold by the idea of becoming a wing-walker, she soon learns how far her courage extends for love...

Billie stepped through the doors. Although it was scorchingly hot outside, inside Sylvias unit the temperature was throbbing at equatorial. Verdant palm trees fronded into plastic pools of ludicrous blue, a fountain trickled into a turquoise waterfall, and every inch of the warehouse was vibrating with spicy colour. Vivid pinks and oranges, scalding yellow and searing red: every inch of the walls was awash with tropical splendour. Two plastic parrots and an evilly grinning monkey swung listlessly from a tangle of vines. Billie wouldnt have been at all surprised to spot David Attenborough.

Totally bemused, she smiled warily. I, um, seem to have wandered into a parallel universe

Bit of a stunner, isnt it? Sylvia picked her way through a maze of polythene-wrapped bundles and lodged the sombrero on a raffia-roofed cocktail bar. Watch where you step, dear. Im a bit overcrowded. I could do with more space, really. She waved at a lull display of highly coloured bottles behind the bar. Pina colada? Small chartreuse? No? I suppose not if youre driving. Wed better stick with a cuppa

As Sylvia rattled through a multi-coloured bead curtain, Billie had to make an effort not to pinch herself. Shed probably wake up in a moment in the flat, with her Winnie-the-Pooh pyjamas all of a tangle, and find Miranda with her early morning bug-eyes raiding her dressing table in search of a stale Marlboro Light.

There now, Sylvia said, her head on one side through the beads like an inquisitive budgie. Thats got the kettle on. Now let me explain, dear Id had a bit of a row with Douglas, my husband. Id flounced out of the house all full of burning indignation, like you do, saying that I was going to work and not to wait up. She indicated the vanity case. Id even made a big show of packing a few things to make him think I was leaving. But my courage had almost deserted me by the time Id reached the taxi rank. And, you see, if youd been a man, I wouldnt have got into the cab, and Id have slunk home again, and Douglas would have won. But it was you, and Im here, and I havent lost face. So, it was fate, dont you think?

Er, well, yes, maybe So, have you? Left him, I mean?

Sylvia shook her head. I havent got the guts, dear, sadly. No, Ill just hang on here for a while and hope that when theres no meal on the table this evening he might miss me. Then Ill go home and well spend three days not speaking Its all a bit of a bugger, to be honest.

Billie, feeling nothing but sympathy, squeezed herself between the packages, staring at huge posters for Goa and the Maldives and the Florida Keys. What exactly do you do here? Are you some sort of travel agent?

Only in my fevered imagination. Sylvia smiled ruefully. But I do so like playing the part. No, my dear, its far more mundane. Im a sorter, packer, and distributor of dreams for the travel industry. She looked at the bewilderment on Billies face. I send out the brochures to the shops, dear.

Billie followed Sylvia to a revolving dais in the centre of the room. Stacks of brochures were piled on the floor, and Sylvia expertly flipped up half a dozen from each to make a complete set as the rotunda revolved.

Simple, she said, and deadly dull. So, I spice things up a bit. Ill never go to any of the places I see in these little beauties, she tapped the highly coloured glossy brochures so I made my own resort here. The guys who do the deliveries and collections all think Im bonkers but who cares, eh?

Billie shook her head in admiration. So the brochures come from the printers, and you sort them and bag them into mixed lots and then

They go off to the travel agents. About ten from each tour company in every batch. I even do my own shrink- wrapping. These travel shops dont have storage facilities for the hundreds of brochures that are issued, so its nonstop work for me. All year round. It was a gap in the market, you see. They pensioned me off from the civil service and I was out of my mind with boredom. My Douglas told me hed divorce me if I wasted my endowment but I thought balls, Douglas, its my money. So I approached all the big holiday companies and put myself forward as a brochure co-ordinator and well, here we are. Hes never forgiven me for being successful. Oh, that sounds like the kettle. Excuse me a sec

Sylvias scheme was so simple and dead clever. Billie stared at the tropical splendour in admiration. If only she could do something half so inventive. If only she had the nous to tell Reuben that she was definitely leaving the taxis, and plunge Granny Pascoes few thousand into a similar plan A plan that would bring independence and some self-respect She sat down next to the waterfall. Could she do something like this? Obviously, yes as long as she had the premises, the idea, and a ton of courage. Billie knew she didnt have the first, definitely didnt have the second, and was feeling rather doubtful about the third.

There we are. Sylvia handed her a mug and sat beside her. Nothing like a cup of tea, even on the hottest day, is there?

Sylvia suddenly sounded so much like Billies mother that she felt desperately homesick. Next weekend she was going home to Devon for a special family party. She wished fervently that it was now, that she could hijack the Granada and belt off down the A303 and never have to make another decision as long as she lived.

She sipped her tea, trying to wipe out images of the farm, and her parents, and her brothers, and how uncomplicated life had been before shed attempted to be grown-up. Er, and all these warehouses? Theyre all owned by small businesses like you, are they?

God, no! Sylvia looked shocked. Not owned, dear. Leased. From Maynard and Pollock in Amberley Hill. Five-year leases, with fairly stringent clauses attached, but worth it in the long run. If you had more time Id introduce you to the others. A nice little crowd weve got here now. Chummy, you know?

Billie could imagine. Chummy had been sadly lacking in her life in the last couple of years. Oh, Miranda had become a good friend, and Mirandas friends had become hers, and most of the taxi-drivers were OK but she had no sense of belonging to Amberley Hill. No identity. No roots.

So, Sylvia swallowed her tea with an appreciative murmur, you know all about me. What about you? I mean, you dont look like a cabby, dear. In those navy trousers and the Aertex shirt you look like a schoolgirl. What made you want to do this for a living?

Billie stared into her mug, playing for time. The real reason was appalling; the often-repeated fictional version somehow no longer rang true. She shrugged. Oh, you know. It was something I just drifted into Its not what I really want to do with the rest of my life Actually, Im just planning a change of direction

Good for you. Any particular direction?

Not really. Maybe running my own car hire firm or chauffeuring.

Go for it then, Sylvia beamed. Youve got so many advantages, dear. Being young, free, and single oh, I mean, you are single, I suppose?

Very single. Billie finished her tea and stood up, smiling at Sylvia. Thanks so much for showing me your unit. I really admire you for doing this and, youll be all right, will you? With your husband and everything?

Sylvia stood up, straightened her T-shirt, and shrugged as she followed Billie to the door. God knows, dear. Douglas is a man. Who knows where the hell you stand with men? Im damn sure I dont.

And neither, Billie thought, blinking outside in the searing sunshine, do I.0