The Ghost Read Online Free PDF Page B

again, she had Simon. Charlie had no one in his life to console him.
    It was pouring rain when he woke up on the day he left, and he lay in bed at the hotel for a long time, thinking of what was happening, where he was going, and why he was leaving. He felt as though he had a boulder on his chest, and for a minute, he thought about canceling everything, quitting the firm, trying to buy his house back, and refusing to leave London. It was a crazy idea, even to him, and he knew he'd never do it. But for an instant the idea was very appealing, as he lay there, listening to the sound of the rain, trying to make himself get up and get into the shower. He had to be at the airport at eleven o'clock, for a one o'clock flight. The morning ahead of him seemed endless. And as he lay in bed, thinking about it, he had to force himself not to call Carole. He took a long, hot shower, put on a dark suit, a white shirt, and an Hermes tie, and promptly at ten o'clock Charlie was outside the hotel, waiting for a cab, sniffing the London air for the last time, listening to the sounds of traffic moving by, looking up at the familiar buildings. It almost felt like leaving home for the first time. He still couldn't believe he was going, and he kept hoping that someone would stop him before it was too late. He kept wanting her to come running down the street and throw her arms around him, and tell him it had all been a bad dream, and it was over.
    But the cab came finally, and the doorman looked at him expectantly, waiting for Charlie to get in. There was nothing left to do but get in the cab and go to the airport. She wasn't coming. She never would again. She wouldn't be coming back to him, he knew that now. She was Simon's.
    He had a heavy heart as they drove through town, watching people come and go, to perform their daily tasks or do errands, and as they drove, it poured. It was a freezing November rain. It was typical English winter weather. And in less than an hour, they were at Heathrow. There was no turning back now.
    Would you like something to drink now, Mr. Waterston? Some champagne? A glass of wine? the flight attendant asked pleasantly as he turned from his reverie at the window. They had been in the air for an hour, and it had finally stopped raining.
    No, thanks, I'm fine, he said, looking a little less grim than when he boarded. They had all noticed that he looked desperately unhappy. He declined cocktails, and left his headset unused on the seat beside him. He turned his face toward the window again, and when they came by with dinner, he was asleep.
    I wonder what happened to him, one of the flight attendants whispered to a co-worker in the kitchen. He looks beat.
    Maybe he's been out every night cheating on his wife, one of the women offered with a grin.
    What makes you think he's married? The flight attendant who had offered him champagne looked disappointed.
    He's got a mark on his third finger, left hand, and he's not wearing a ring. It's a sure sign he's been cheating.
    Maybe he's a widower, one of them said cheerfully, and her two cohorts groaned at the idea.
    Just another tired businessman fooling around on his wife. Trust me. The oldest flight attendant grinned, and headed down the aisle into first class with fruit and cheese and ice cream sundaes. She stopped to look at Charlie again, he was sound asleep and never stirred, and she rolled slowly past him.
    Her colleague wasn't entirely wrong. Charlie had finally taken his wedding ring off the night before he left London. He had taken it off and held it in his hand for a long time, just staring at it, and remembering the day she'd put it on him. It had been a long time ' ten years in London, nine of them with Carole. And now, as they flew toward New York, even Charlie knew it was over. But he still had his wedding ring in his pocket. And as he slept on the flight, he dreamed that he was with her. She was laughing and talking to him, but when he tried to kiss her, she turned