Last Act Read Online Free Page A

heavy on her shoulder, the pain struck for the first time that day, and hard. The worst yet. She put down the tapestry bag and leaned against the corridor wall for a moment, eyes closed. What had Aunt Susan always said?
Listening to the pain helps.
    â€œExcuse me, you are not well?” She opened her eyes at the friendly, foreign voice and saw that the queue was beginning to shuffle forward and that the man behind her had leaned forward to pick up her big bag. “Let me help you with this?” He was middle-aged, city-suited, carrying the flat brief-case of the professional traveller. “Mine is nothing.” His smile was kind. “But, are you sure you are well enough … Let me call a stewardess.”
    â€œOh, no, thank you. It’s nothing. I got up too early.” She managed the pretence of a smile. “No breakfast.” It was true, so far as it went.
    â€œFoolish. A traveller, like an army, marches on his or”—he smiled again—“her stomach. You will let me carry this for you until we are on the plane, and perhaps do me the honour of sitting with me and letting me buy you a brandy. I am a reliable person.” He reached, one-handed, into his breast pocket, produced a card and showed it to her. “Wilhelm Schann of Zurich. I shoot trouble in computers. Or they shoot me.” It was obviously a joke he had made many times. “Ah. We move again. Let me take your arm.”
    She was glad to. The print on the card had dazzled in front of her eyes. “Rest,” the doctor had said. “Regular meals. A sensible life.” What was sensible about this enterprise? Nothing. She could still turn back. The queue was shuffling forward only slowly as people at the front were searched.
    â€œAre you sure you should go?” He might have read her mind. “If it is just a holiday? You look, if you will forgive me, very far from well, Miss—”
    â€œPaget,” she supplied it.
    â€œMiss Paget. I could help you back with the bag. Really, I think it would be wise.”
    It was said with a kind of fatherly emphasis that she found, for some reason, irritating. “But my luggage,” she objected. “It will be on the plane by now.”
    â€œTrue. I had not thought of that. But if you told them … explained … They would get it back for you. They are not entirely incompetent, the airlines.”
    â€œIt doesn’t matter.” The pain was easing at last. “I must go. It’s not a holiday,” she went on to explain. “It’s a job. I can’t possibly let them down.”
    â€œOh, in that case.” He picked up the tapestry bag as the queue moved forward once more. “You must just let me help you on to the plane.”
    She was very glad to agree, and more grateful still when, having settled her at last in a window seat, he rang for a stewardess and asked for a glass of water for her. “The lady is not well,” he explained. “I suppose you cannot find anything stronger?”
    â€œNot until we are airborne, but I’ll remember then. I’m afraid it may be some time.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œWe’ve not got clearance yet. The way things are, goodness knows when we will.” She glanced anxiously at Anne, quiet in her corner. “I’ll fetch that water right away.’
    Sipping it, Anne felt better. Idiotic to have gone without breakfast, but there had been no time. If only she had known about the delay. She looked at her watch. “Are we going to be very late, do you think?”
    â€œI am afraid we may be. For me, it is no matter. I am merely going home. But you … you have a connection perhaps?”
    â€œYes. I’m going to Lissenberg. I have to catch the express. Tell me.” She had been wanting to ask the question. “Is it far from Zurich airport to the station?”
    â€œThe bus takes half an hour. They run every five minutes. Or, if you are