Page 2 of The Black Trilogy

After a moment’s deliberation, I gave in and retrieved one mobile, removed the battery, and returned it to my handbag. I couldn’t use it—turning it on would allow the people I worked with to locate me instantly—but I felt better having it with me. Call it a comfort blanket. A connection, however tenuous, back to my life. I allowed myself that one concession.

Five minutes had passed by the time I removed my tailored black jacket and stilettos. The jacket in particular, a military style that accentuated my waist and drew attention to my chest, was too noticeable. I hadn’t wanted to wear the outfit, but my assistant picked it out and I was too tired to argue.

I replaced them with a pair of grey ballet pumps and a shapeless cardigan. My white shirt and black trousers were plain enough to keep. An olive green wool scarf provided the final touch, leaving me looking like a librarian who got dressed in a thrift shop. In the dark.

Finally, I tugged my wedding ring off and swapped it onto my other hand. I couldn’t show the world I was married, but I wasn’t going to be parted from that last connection to my husband, even if every glance at it made my eyes prickle with tears.

“I will not cry,” I whispered to myself as I climbed out of the car. “I will not cry.”

I swung my travel bag over one shoulder and my handbag over the other then headed for the terminal. The rain had slackened but it was still falling, a persistent drizzle that made me wish for an umbrella. I sighed and carried on. The walk would only take a few minutes, and I wasn’t going to dissolve. It was just one more nail in the coffin of the second worst day of my life.

The airport was busier than I expected, and a quick glance at the departures board showed every flight was either delayed or cancelled due to the storm.

“F…” Oops. I almost swore, and even under my breath, it still counted.

A few days before my husband died, we’d made a wager. He’d bet me I couldn’t stop cursing, and I’d just laughed, flipped him the finger, and tossed another ten dollars into my swear jar. Okay, so it was more of a swear dustbin—my assistant had replaced it when the cash started spilling over the top. At ten bucks per four-letter word, I’d donated $147,000 to charity last year. But then my beloved made an offer I couldn’t refuse.

“Diamond, if you stop swearing for twelve months, I’ll tap dance on stage in Vegas.”

Really? “Topless? Will you wear sparkly trousers and pink feathers?”

“Sure.” He’d snorted a little. “Because it’s not like you’ll manage it.”

Hmm… “Six months.”

“Nine, and lose the feathers.”

“Deal.”

We’d shaken on it, and even though he wasn’t with me anymore, I was still determined to keep that last bet. Why? Because dropping it would be an admission my husband really wasn’t coming back and that was worse than minding my potty mouth. Nine months, and not a single curse would pass these filthy lips. Of that I was determined.

I took a deep breath, swallowed down all the nasty things I wanted to say, and paid homage to my British roots by heading for the nearest queue. Grumpy passengers milled around the check-in desks, berating the airline staff as if it was their fault the planes were running late. To my right, a red-faced guy chewed out one poor girl who looked on the verge of tears.

“I’m holding you personally responsible if I miss my meeting,” he yelled, spit flying as he got in her face.

“I’m sorry, sir.” What else could she say?

The old me would have called in a favour to ensure the dear gentleman got rewarded with a cavity search as he went through security. New me stared blankly into space as I waited my turn.

When I finally reached the ticket counter, I still hadn’t decided on a destination, but as my passport was British, it seemed sensible to aim for mainland Europe and avoid the need for a visa. Preferably an English, French, German, Spanish, or Italian speaking country as I was fluent in all those languages, but I’d get by anywhere. It wasn’t as if I wanted to talk to anybody when I got there.

“Where do you want to go?” a harried-looking employee asked. He glanced at his watch, no doubt counting down the seconds to the end of his shift.

“What tickets are available for Europe? On planes that are actually going to leave soon?”

He tapped away at his computer keys. “We’ve got…London Heathrow…and…Egypt…and.… No, that’s it.”

“Egypt isn’t in Europe.”

“It’s not?”

His blank face told me I’d be wasting my time with a geography lesson.

“Are you sure that’s all you have?”

England was at the bottom of my list as the border controls were stricter, meaning I’d need to be more creative if I wanted to travel outside the country. This passport would be compromised soon, and the way things were, it wouldn’t be as easy as it usually was for me to get another.

“Yes, I’m sure,” he said, glowering at me like I was a mosquito he wanted to swat. “Do you want the ticket or not?” He tapped his fingers on the desk and looked pointedly back down the queue, which grew longer with each passing second.

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