Страница 4

'Thanks,' I mutter, and do up the buttons with rumbling fingers, my face hot with humiliation.

'It hasn't been your day, has it?' says the air hostess sympathetically, holding out a hand for

my boarding pass. 'Sorry, I couldn't help overhearing, earlier.'

'That's all right.' I raise a half-smile. 'No, it hasn't been the best day of my life.' There's a short

silence as she studies my boarding pass.

'Tell you what,' she says in a low voice. 'Would you like an on-board upgrade?'

'A what?' I stare at her blankly.

'Come on. You deserve a break.'

'Really? But… can you just upgrade people like that?'

'If there are spare seats, we can. We use our discretion. And this flight is so short.' She gives

me a conspiratorial smile. 'Just don't tell everyone, OK?'

She leads me into the front section of the plane and gestures to a big, wide, comfortable seat.

I've never been upgraded before in my life! I can't quite believe she's really letting me do this.

'Is this first class?' I whisper, taking in the hushed, luxury atmosphere. A man in a smart suit

is tapping at a laptop to my right, and two elderly women in the corner are plugging

themselves into headsets.

'Business class. There's no first class on this flight.' She lifts her voice to a normal volume. 'Is

everything OK for you?'

'It's perfect! Thanks very much.'

'No problem.' She smiles again and walks away, and I push my briefcase under the seat in

front.

Wow. This really is lovely. Big wide seats, and footrests, and everything. This is going to be a

completely pleasurable experience from start to finish, I tell myself firmly. I reach for my

seatbelt and buckle it up nonchalantly, trying to ignore the flutters of apprehension in my

stomach.

'Would you like some champagne?'

It's my friend the air hostess, beaming down at me.

'That would be great,' I say. 'Thanks!'

Champagne!

'And for you, sir? Some champagne?'

The man in the seat next to mine hasn't even looked up yet. He's wearing jeans and an old

sweatshirt and is staring out of the window. As he turns to answer I catch a glimpse of dark

eyes, stubble; a deep frown etched on his forehead.

'No thanks. Just a brandy. Thanks.'

His voice is dry and has an American accent. I'm about to ask him politely where he's from,

but he immediately turns back and stares out of the window again.

Which is fine, because to be honest, I'm not much in the mood for talking either.

TWO

OK. The truth is, I don't like this.

I know it's business class, I know it's all lovely luxury. But my stomach is still a tight knot of

fear.

While we were taking off I counted very slowly with my eyes closed, and that kind of worked.

But I ran out of steam at about 350. So now I'm just sitting, sipping champagne, reading an

article on '30 Things To Do Before You're 30' in Cosmo. I'm trying very hard to look like a

relaxed business-class top marketing executive. But oh God. Every tiny sound makes me start;

every judder makes me catch my breath.

With an outward veneer of calm I reach for the laminated safety instructions and run my eyes

over them. Safety exits. Brace position. If life jackets are required, please assist the elderly

and children first. Oh God-

Why am I even looking at this? How will it help me to gaze at pictures of little stick people

jumping into the ocean while their plane explodes behind them? I stuff the safety instructions

quickly back in their pocket and take a gulp of champagne.

'Excuse me, madam.' An air hostess with red curls has appeared by my side. 'Are you

travelling on business?'

'Yes,' I say, smoothing down my hair with a prickle of pride. 'Yes I am.'

She hands me a leaflet entitled 'Executive Facilities', on which there's a photo of

businesspeople talking animatedly in front of a clipboard with a wavy graph on it.