Amélie Orne’s nine A.M. flight from New York had her touching down in London at seven P.M., but thanks to delays at the gate and a lengthy queue for customs, it was well after eight before she was able to collect her luggage and make her way to a bathroom in Heathrow’s Terminal 2.
Looking at herself in the mirror, she gave a soft tsch of annoyance at her reflection. The bags under her golden eyes spoke of her exhaustion, as did the pallor of her skin. Despite her tailored blouse and slacks arranged to be just so, her shoulders slumped, and she had to make an effort to straighten her posture despite the relatively tolerable business class seating on her flight.
Sighing at the state of herself, Amélie could feel the beginnings of a headache forming between her eyes. She couldn’t even muste
