The Hit-and-Run Man

Chapter Two

Chapter TwoHoward Greenfield had never got used to flying. Waiting in the airport departure lounge after check-in, there was always a twinge of apprehension. The obvious increased security around London and in Heathrow following the recent I.R.A. bomb attack on the Stock Exchange certainly wasn't helping that either. He wasn't sure what made him more nervous; the possibility of being caught up in an I.R.A. blast or police officers carrying sub-machine guns. Even so, he enjoyed his trips abroad, an undeniably worthwhile perk of his job.

He felt no guilt in taking pleasure in such perks, having worked his way up from the bottom to the top by virtue of his own efforts. Joining Impact Publicity Services Ltd., one of London's leading firms in the field of advertising and public relations, shortly after leaving school, as a voucher clerk and general dogsbody, spending hours mindlessly cutting out copies of clients' advertisements from the seemingly endless supply of magazines and newspapers that poured into the office, he worked his way up to Senior Account Executive, with special responsibility for overseas accounts. It had meant years of fetching and carrying, hard work and dedication. Now, approaching his forty-third birthday, there was only one step left to make. When Jason Henderson finally decided to retire, he hoped to be a leading contender for the Managing Directorship.

As he had never regarded himself as particularly good looking, Greenfield had always considered it something of a miracle that he had managed to attract a girl like Pauline. That day she first appeared in the typing pool at Impact Publicity is one he would never forget. Only a few days past her twenty-second birthday, she was slim, quite tall, only a couple of inches shorter than he was, with a pretty, round face and long, black hair that hung down her back almost to the waist. Every time she had come near him, in the same room even, he had wanted to reach out and run his fingers through her long, flowing hair.

Always uncomfortable around the female s*x, he had spent his younger manhood years immersed in his work. While other men his age were chatting up and dating girls, he had eyes only for Impact Publicity, busily climbing the career ladder. So, at the age of twenty-seven, he found himself still totally inexperienced with women.

The arrival of Pauline in the typing pool had a new and profound effect on him. Because of his discomfort and inexperience, he had tended to shut out the opposite s*x, building a mental barrier, but with Pauline this had become impossible to maintain after the first meeting. At work he found it difficult to keep his eyes off her, made excuses to be near her, brushed by her so closely there was just the slightest contact, while at home he lay for hours on his bed, staring at the ceiling, just thinking about her.

His awkwardness made the process of getting to know her a slow one. So it was months before he built up enough courage to ask her out, only managing it then, much to his embarrassment, with a deep reddening of his cheeks. He was staggered when she instantly agreed.

With his shyness and lack of experience making the early dates near disasters, he always expected her to refuse the next offer. To his surprise, she never did.

Greenfield was never able to fathom his appeal. He felt he looked older than his years, his hair already showing signs of thinning on top. With a body that was thin and looked under-developed compared with most men his age, despite a more than reasonable appetite, he had always seen himself as unattractive, his former total disinterest in the opposite s*x possibly a subconscious dread of having these feelings confirmed. No man lives happily with rejection.

Pauline, though, seemed to like him and the shy awkwardness slowly faded as the relationship blossomed. They first made love in her parents' caravan, a weekend retreat set deep in the Kentish countryside. She had told her parents she was going with a girl friend. He had gone with mixed feelings of hope, anticipation, but mostly apprehension. She had aroused in him feelings and longings he had never known before and he was desperate to make love to her, but this brought a new worry all of its own.

He didn't want her to know that at the age of twenty-seven this would be his first time. Pauline had told him she was not a virgin and he had led her to believe he wasn't either. Determined as he was to maintain that impression, his resolve crumbled as he looked on a naked woman for the first time. It was impossible to hide the sharp intake of breath or control the spellbound stare of his eyes as they joyously took in every detail of the vision before him. His hands trembled as he undressed.

Concerned that his ignorance of what to do would show him up proved unfounded. Once in bed with the girl he loved so dearly and wanted so desperately, everything seemed to happen so naturally. Pauline gave no indication then, nor had she since, that she was aware that on that rainy Sunday afternoon she was bringing Howard Greenfield's virginity to an overdue end.

A few months later, shortly after his twenty-eighth birthday, they were married, but his vision of night after night of hectic s****l activity, making up for his lost years, took a nasty jolt when she became pregnant after only three months. Someone once told him that the world's best contraceptive was a young child in the house and this he found to be undoubtedly true.

Even so, as he waited for his flight to be called, he felt he had little to complain about, entering middle-age with a degree of contentment many would envy. He had a good home, a caring wife whose looks made nonsense of her years, a daughter who was his pride and joy and a career that still had a challenge to offer, still presented a final pinnacle to climb.

So why did the first, accidental, contact with those large, blue eyes, across a crowded airport departure lounge, arouse such a stirring within him? It was only a fleeting instant, a moment's hesitancy as her eyes met his, before she lowered them, uncertainly, appearing coyly conscious of his stare.

Greenfield felt he should look away, but was unable to. She was beautiful in an almost bewitching sort of way, making it difficult to turn one's eyes away, as though drawn by an invisible magnet. The momentary meeting of eyes across the room had evoked a stirring within him reminiscent of the feeling he had experienced many years before, when Pauline first came to work at Impact Publicity and for the first time made him want to reach out and touch a woman. It was a sensation he enjoyed, leaving him wishing she would look up again.

At a guess he would have said she was in her mid-twenties, not quite as tall as Pauline, dressed in a black two piece that looked not only smart, but expensive. The black pencil skirt split at the side high enough to attract attention without becoming indecent, hugged the contours of her lower body as it tapered to a point just below the knee. Underneath the black, buttonless jacket she wore a white open-necked blouse. Her blonde hair dropped into curls that danced around her shoulders, but nothing matched the impact of those large, appealing eyes that Greenfield would have defied any man to turn away from.

Seemingly unsettled by his analytical stare, she moved away into the refreshment area, making him feel somewhat embarrassed in the way he used to be. What was it about this woman that she was able to evoke feelings from his past so easily?

Because he was never totally at ease flying, Greenfield disliked the hour or so between check-in and departure, the waiting around serving only to allow time for his apprehension to grow. He tried to convince himself that was the reason for drifting into the refreshment area, not wishing to admit to the alternative attraction. With a cup of coffee he didn't really want, he sat alone at a table, casting his eyes disinterestedly across the front page of the morning paper he had bought earlier on entering the airport. There was a picture of Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher and a lead story reporting Opposition claims that she and the Government were in denial about the country slipping towards recession. Greenfield found politics tiresome, but he did share the concerns around recession. He was picking up some worrying indicators in his business dealings and wondered what recession would mean for his company. Folding the newspaper up and lifting his eyes, he tried to look around without appearing too obvious. The woman who had stirred his senses so was nowhere to be seen.

He was taken aback at the wave of disappointment that swept over him. This was madness. What would he have done if she had been in the room? When had he ever been able to strike up a conversation with a complete stranger, even a male, but especially a female? In the course of his work it was different. There had to be a reason for every meeting, whether with prospective clients or existing ones, so there was always something to talk about to break the ice and maintain conversation. Outside work, he still, as ever, found it virtually impossible. Smiling, he told himself what a fool he was being and picked up his spoon to stir his coffee.

Before he could do so, someone lurched into the side of the table, sending coffee splashing over the rim of the cup. Only an instant reflex action, jumping quickly along the bench seat, enabled him to avoid the hot, spilling liquid. He looked up at the culprit, but any words of admonishment died on his lips at sight of the concern in those big, blue eyes that he thought were lost for ever.

“Oh God, I am sorry,” the woman said frantically, sliding into the seat opposite him without waiting for an invitation. “I wasn't looking where I was going.”

“It's all right,” Greenfield reassured her, “please don't worry about it.”

“I have some tissues somewhere.” She rummaged desperately in her handbag. “Where the hell are they?”

“Please, it's all right, honestly,” he insisted. “I was able to move in time. None of the coffee went on me.”

This she was obviously relieved to hear, though the general state of agitation persisted. There was more than a spilt cup of coffee on her mind, he reckoned. She raised her eyes to look at him, but the smile appeared forced. Nevertheless, the same tingle of excitement he had felt a few minutes earlier, when their eyes had met fleetingly for the first time, stirred within him again, only stronger. A female voice on the public address system announced his flight to Barcelona.

“He's not bloody coming, I know it!” She seemed to be talking to herself, as if she had forgotten Greenfield was there. “And he promised this time. He bloody well promised.”

For a moment she seemed close to tears. Greenfield leaned towards her, picking up the faintest sensual hint of her perfume.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “Were you expecting someone?”

With a deep sigh, she leaned back in her seat. The tears had not come. Her state of agitation appeared to have been overtaken by one of resignation.

“My husband,” she answered quietly. “I am married to what is commonly called a 'workaholic.' He has his own engineering company and seems only to be happy when he's working. He's there all hours of the day or night. Anything or anyone else, including me, comes a very poor second.” She gathered up her bag as if to leave. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't be burdening a complete stranger with my troubles.”

“My name's Howard Greenfield,” he said without the slightest trace of hesitation. “Now we're not strangers anymore, are we?”

He couldn't believe he had really said it. No need to think about it, no building up of courage, it had come straight out. Where was the shyness and awkwardness with members of the opposite s*x that had been such a burden to him all his life? What magic spell did this woman weave that could bring out in him such a display of instant confidence?

For several seconds she sat and looked at him, as though deliberating whether to go or stay, uncertain of his directness. He wished he knew what was going through her mind.

“Julie Hutchinson.” This time it was a warmer, natural smile. “Where are you off to, Howard?”

“Barcelona.”

“For long?”

“Two days, three possibly. Depends how things go.”

“Business?”

Greenfield nodded. “I'm afraid so. What about you?”

“I was supposed to be going to Barcelona, too.”

“Was?”

“That's the way it looks,” she said sadly. “We – my husband and I – have an apartment on the outskirts of Barcelona. I fell in love with the city some years ago when I accompanied my husband on a whirlwind tour of Europe, looking for export orders. It's a big, sprawling monster, always bustling with activity. I feel alive out there, really alive.”

“You make it sound very special.”

“It is to me. I guess I'm just a big city girl. Trouble is we've hardly ever been back there. Four times this year I've sat here listening to the flight calls. Each time was like today. He never came.”

“It can't be easy building up your own business.” Greenfield felt obliged to say something in her husband's defence, though reluctant to make too many excuses for him. “New problems must be cropping up all the while. It must be something pretty important to stop him coming.

“The business is built up. He has more than fifty people working for him.” She lowered her eyes, staring absently at the table. “The real truth, Howard, is that he just doesn't want to leave it. The place would run itself; he doesn't need to be there. But that's where he wants to be, playing with his lathes, his millers and God knows what other machines, rather than alone with me for a few days.”

“Then he's a fool.”

Once again Greenfield was stunned by his lack of hesitation. He seemed to be taking on a new personality, becoming a new man. This woman was bringing out in him a measure of assertiveness he would never have thought possible.

Obviously pleased at the flattering response, she managed another smile. “Each time I've gone back home,” she went on, “the obedient housewife, making the dutiful sacrifices for a husband who is happier with his machines.” The change of mood came suddenly, her tone becoming angry and bitter. “Well sod him, bloody well sod him. This time I am not going home. He can stop on his own and play with his machines. I'm going to have some fun of my own.”

The Barcelona flight was called again. Her eyes locked onto Greenfield's, sending a tingle racing through his body, from head to toe.

“Howard, the seat next to me will be vacant,” she said. “I would be pleased if you would join me.”

Greenfield always found aeroplanes to be claustrophobic, making him feel as though he was sealed up in a closed hollow tube, and normally a cramped, narrow-aisled Boeing 737 did little to relieve this effect. This time, sitting beside Julie, he hardly noticed it. His attention wrapped up entirely in her presence, even the heady feeling that went with the take-off, which usually he found unpleasant, was ignored. Happily, as the aircraft soared upwards towards the sun, he watched her pain drain away, replaced by an aura of contentment, relaxed, but obvious.

Mid-way through the flight, shortly after they had picked tentatively at the functional, but hardly appetising, aeroplane meal, she slipped off her jacket, dropping it lazily against the back of the seat. He swallowed dryly at the sight of her breasts stretching the fabric of the perfectly-tailored white blouse. In crossing her legs the hem of her skirt had travelled up above her knee. Attracting his gaze to her slender legs, it was impossible to ignore the feelings she aroused within him. He told himself repeatedly he was a happily married man with a teenage daughter, a respectable career, a comfortable home and a contented life-style, but it was a lost argument. This young, beautiful woman gave him her full attention, interested in every word he spoke, gently, and affectionately he thought, touching his arm when she laughed or made a special point, and sometimes leaning closer towards him, fleetingly her shoulder brushing his, as she spoke very quietly, as though the words were meant just for him to hear, the rest of the world excluded. As the flight progressed she became increasingly responsive to his presence, allowing him to brush away some straying strands of hair off her forehead and, as he sensed an invitation to become bolder, to playfully squeeze her hand a couple of times. As the conversation turned just a little flirtatious, the full reality of the situation finally hit him. This was not a dream or a daytime sensual flight of imagination; this was really happening and that was the moment he became aware of the feeling that he wanted this woman more than anything in the world.

Knowing it was wrong to feel this urge did not make it go away. He knew he should get up now, move to his own seat, read his newspaper or a book, do anything but remain sitting within the magic reach of the woman who, in a couple of hours, had turned his emotions upside down. But his rekindled ego demanded he stayed where he was.

Yet he was already beginning to have doubts as to whether he could turn the relationship into something more than travelling companions. Though his shyness and awkwardness were gone, his lack of experience remained a handicap. Pauline was the only girl he had ever dated or attempted to date. He was unpractised in judging the mood of a female, guessing how receptive she would be if he asked her out, knowing whether he was underplaying or overplaying his hand. Would Julie agree to a date or would he just be making a fool of himself?

With Pauline it had been different. Seeing her every day in the office had made for a long getting-to-know-you process and allowed plenty of room for procrastination. Then time had been on his side. Now it was his enemy. As the 'plane began its descent into Barcelona airport, he knew that, very shortly, in the warm afternoon Spanish sunshine, Julie could walk out of his life for ever.

Arriving a couple of minutes behind schedule, together with the other passengers they clambered aboard the vehicle ferry that took them from then aircraft to the terminal. Unable to sense what she was thinking or how she felt, he saw his chance rapidly fading away. If only she would give him a sign, just the tiniest of signs.

Finally, she did, more positive than he could ever have hoped for. As they waited in the queue, shuffling slowly through passport control, Julie turned to him and asked, “Howard, is this your first ever visit to Barcelona?

“Actually, yes,” he smiled.

“It is such a beautiful city,” she said with overwhelming enthusiasm. “You should cancel all your appointments tomorrow and let me show you the sights.”

That was the encouragement he needed. True she was only suggesting a sightseeing tour, but the newly-found confidence she had brought out in him pushed him into seizing the initiative.

“There's tonight first,” he said boldly. “Have dinner with me.”

Her answer came without hesitation. “I would really like that. I know a super little restaurant, serves the best food in Barcelona.”

It was done. The deal was struck. He knew then that tonight she would be his and somehow he sensed she knew it too.

“Where are you stopping?” she asked.

“Husa Presidente.”

“I know it.” As the official rubber stamp thumped down on her passport, she added, “I'll pick you up with a taxi about eight.”