In Love with a Gentleman Read Online Free PDF Page B

of my torture-shoes, I pack several pairs of sensible flats as well as a few pairs of jeans. I’m not sure whether a teacher in England can wear jeans to work, but presumably I’ll have some free time. I vacillate over what else to pack. Winter boots or not? I’m bringing my luggage on the train, so my suitcase can’t be too heavy. Perhaps I can buy things I need when I’m there . . . But since assistant teachers are not well paid, it’s probably best to bring anything I need.
    So much to think about! What will the accommodations be like? The headmaster made arrangements for me. He wrote in an e-mail that I’ll be staying in an older couple’s house. However, because my landlords will be on vacation when I arrive, I’ll stay with a student’s family for the first two weeks. What if it turns out to be a nightmare? What if I’m unhappy with where I’m staying?Oh, it’ll be okay. My indomitable optimism chases away my concerns. I’m excited about my trip to England.
    A few days later, I find myself on a ferry from Calais to Dover. I decided against traveling through the Chunnel. Although my friends assured me that it is the fastest and cheapest way to travel, the concept scares me. Whizzing deep into the bosom of Mother Earth in a tunnel underneath the English Channel? How scary is that? A person needs nerves of steel for that kind of thing. Alternatively, I could have booked a flight, but then I couldn’t take all the luggage I need. Besides, I like the idea of taking such a monumental journey—a whole year in another country—in a more traditional way.
    I store my bags in the overhead bins and stay out on the deck for the duration of the crossing. I’m too excited to sit still. The sea is calm, and the sun is shining. I lean on the railing and look over to the English mainland. Chatty travel companions and parents with small children, who are all running around and playing, surround me. The wind blows my hair and clothes. Now and then I turn my head so the wind can blow against my face. The White Cliffs of Dover appear in the distance. It’s the first time that I’ve traveled by ferry to England, and I am amazed by how impressive the cliffs look. I had no idea they soar so high. Along the top of the cliffs, I can see tiny points moving up and down. Apparently, these are people looking down at us. I wonder if there’s a railing up there. I hope so.
    As the ferry comes into port, I quickly pick up my bags and get in line with the other passengers who are waiting to go ashore. The tranquility that I enjoyed on the deck ends quickly once I’m off the ferry. People are scurrying everywhere, and officials stand around, wanting something from everyone. I just want to get away, find my train to London, and move on. Almost an hour later, I’m finally able to catch my train. It’s evening rush hour, and the train is full to bursting. Scraps of conversation in English swirl around me. I try to understand, but so many people are talking at once I can’t make sense of anything.
    Lugging my heavy bags, I move through the packed train and find an open seat. An obese man is standing in the middle of the aisle, blocking my way like a cork in the neck of a wine bottle. We’re at a standstill. Two slim girls try to push past us. I squeeze myself into a compartment. Inside, the passengers give me dirty looks.
    The fat man hisses at me, “How can you be so stupid and travel with such heavy luggage at this time of day? Completely thoughtless.”
    I bite my tongue so I won’t say, How can you be so thoughtless and bring your big, fat ass on the train during rush hour ? Of course, I resist the temptation. I don’t want people to chalk me up as just another rude German. My accent would be a dead giveaway.
    Our train stops at Victoria Station and bursts open like a piece of ripe fruit. My fellow passengers and I spill out onto the platform. I pull my suitcases clumsily behind me. I also have a shoulder bag with a strap