like a knife. His arm went numb, squeezing and pumping, like the nurse was checking his blood pressure.
“JT... Hey!”
The despair left him as suddenly as it arrived. He shocked back into his seat to a rush of air vents and the muddled chaos of people standing all around him, struggling over each other to get their bags from the overhead compartments.
“I thought we’d lost you.” Kapowski was perky in her seat, a sharp fingernail still poised to give him another jab. “You slept like a baby for the last two hours. “We’re there already!”
“Where?” He was still dazed from the heavy sleep that had finally caught up with him.
“Heathrow dummy! You missed the best bit.”
“Best bit?”
“The landing! ”
Tayte let out a sigh and rubbed his eyes. “Sorry. I was dreaming.”
“Oh... Anyone special?”
“No. No one special.” He stumbled over the words. “Well, maybe,” he added, feeling the need to correct himself. “It’s - well it’s something I’m working on.” He stood up, eager now to get off the plane. “It’s a little complicated.”
“Oh, don’t mind me. I’m not the prying kind.”
The passengers were clearing. Tayte reached into the compartment above their seats and pulled out a familiar briefcase that he hoped had enjoyed the trip more than he had. “Can I get your bag?” he asked.
“I’d like that, I really would. But I travel light.” She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a card. “Look me up if you need anything,” she said, winking as she handed it to him. “I’m in town the rest of the week.”
Tayte knew he wouldn’t use it, but he took the card anyway. “Thanks,” he said, slipping it beneath the flap of his jacket pocket without giving it a glance.
The aisle had cleared. They were the last few on the plane. “Well, nice meeting you,” Tayte offered. Then he went for the exit, still half asleep and scarcely able to believe the flight was over and he was still alive.
Outside, the taxi rank droned with the chatter of diesel engines. It was raining and cool, and the air under the canopy shelter was heavy with the smell of diesel fumes. Tayte made his way towards the black cab at the front of the queue, opened the passenger door and followed his bags in.
“Padding-ton station,” he said, forcing a neutral accent that sounded a little too phonetically correct.
The cabby looked mildly confused. “Paddington?”
“That’s right - Paddington.”
“You do know there’s a rail link that’ll get you there in half the time for about a third of the price?”
“No, I didn’t. Good of you to say, but I’m here now.”
“Okay mate - it’s your money.”
The cabby turned back to the wheel and pressed a few buttons on the meter.
Tayte checked his watch. “I have a connection to make at ten to midnight.”
“No problem pal. It’ll be quiet once we clear the airport.
Tayte settled back and stretched out his legs, still tense from the flight. Beyond his own reflection in the glass window, which now told him he was in need of a shave as well as a hair cut, it was too dark to see anything much: other cars, grey buildings, an outline of trees that were no more than damp shadows beyond the street lights. As he sat listening to the clickety-hum of the engine and the rush of tire rubber against the road surface, he reflected again on what else had started to puzzle him.
He considered the facts. James Fairborne had remarried. The question was why? And just over a year after arriving in England? Divorce seemed unlikely, though not impossible. But why would Eleanor have gone in the first place if things were already rocky between them? Then there was the question of the lack of records for Eleanor and the children, and for James’s sister, Clara and her husband, Jacob Daniels. No death records, no further