human error. So I looked at our policies and procedures, researched sexual harassment online, went onto forums for research. It didn’t feel like he was bullying me as such and he was the junior employee. When I read all the horrifying true stories on the message boards and chat rooms of how people had ended up going off sick with work-related stress and falling into depression, even losing their jobs, houses and marriages, it made my own fears seem silly.
I settled for making notes of the date, time, location and content of any worrying conversations or events in my moleskin notebook, and called Human Resources. I didn’t name myself or Tony, wanting to guard my privacy and in hindsight, my pride. The HR Manager advised me to try and resolve the issues with my staff member informally and if it didn’t work to raise a formal complaint under the grievance procedure or take him through a disciplinary process, which would be taken seriously by the company. She took pains to ask if I felt physically threatened in any way but I couldn’t honestly say yes at that point.
Coming off the phone feeling better, I was determined to have a clear, minuted conversation with Tony, where I’d tell him I knew he was trying to undermine me and wouldn’t stand for it. That it’d be regarded as insubordination and a potential conduct issue. But before I had a chance, one awful evening cut my time at the casino short.
I never saw it coming, not what happened. Despite the storm warnings on the horizon I should have noticed.
Now
‘Miss?’ The air hostess pops up next to me.
‘Argh!’ I jump, wrenched from the past, hand jerking around the glass on the tray. A wave of cold water sloshes over the rim into my lap. Yelping, I make an ‘ah–ah–ah’ sound as the icy liquid soaks through my trousers. It can only be this freezing because all the ice has melted. How long was I brooding for?
Alex frowns at me and I fall silent with a self-conscious grimace, standing to mop up the mess.
The stewardess shakes her head, pointing out the window. ‘Sorry, you’ll have to wait until we’ve landed. I’ll bring you a towel to sit on. Can you fasten your seatbelt please?’
‘Huh?’ I glance out the narrow cabin window, gobsmacked to see it’s night time, thousands of twinkling lights appearing as the plane banks to the right.
She brings me a thick navy towel. ‘Thanks,’ I murmur, tucking it under me. I watch as she takes a seat by the emergency exit, trying to ignore the flutter of panic in my stomach. I absolutely hate landing, always worrying the plane won’t brake in time and will overshoot the runway or that despite being strapped in I’ll get tossed around the cabin somehow. I may have watched too many disaster movies but it’s the first episode of Lost I blame, when the plane crashes on the mysterious tropical island and the beach is awash with broken fuselage and torn bodies.
Compared to the stress of being near-destitute, landing should be easy, but rationalising doesn’t stop me moulding my body into the damp seat, or my short bitten nails from digging into the slick leather armrests.
‘Once we’ve disembarked it’s a twenty-minute drive to the hotel,’ Alex says curtly, powering down his laptop.
I nod, staring at the headrest of the opposite chair and smarting from his tone. I don’t know what his problem is but he’s going to have to get over it. And I’m going to act like the strong independent woman I was before Tony bowled into my life. I will deal with Alex head-on … if I get off the flight alive.
The plane begins its descent. Screwing up my eyes, I start counting inside my head. The engines slow and my breathing comes in short, sharp bursts through my nose, jaw clamped tight. We hit an air pocket, dipping down, then up, and I let out a quiet squeak, ears popping. Please don’t crash, please don’t crash, please do not crash.
There’s a muffled protesting squawk from the stewardess and I sense movement but dare not open my eyes. What if the crew are preparing for an emergency landing? I’ll freak out completely. Better to stay in blissful ignorance.
I get a shock as long warm fingers curve round mine in silent comfort. I tilt my head and squint out of one eye and find Alex beside me, a serious expression on his face.
‘We’ll be fine,’ he whispers close to my ear and I shiver. ‘Just keep breathing.’
I didn’t have him down as the compassionate sort, but the thoughtfulness and his comment make me smile. Does he think I’m so scared I’ll stop breathing? That’d be a great front-page headline. Woman hyperventilates to death on plane, too wimpy to cope!
‘Okay,’ I murmur, ‘I’ll try.’
‘Good.’
His deep-blue long-lashed eyes stare into mine. My chest squeezes my heart into my throat, or at least that’s what it feels like. The connection of our hands brings us close enough that our arms are aligned, his shoulder against mine.
‘You’ve already dropped your end of the deal,’ he remarks.
‘Pardon?’
‘Oh good, you are still breathing. For a second there I wasn’t sure.’
Smart-arse, I think and can’t stop another smile from erupting. I shift away a bit. Maybe if we’re not so close … ‘Landing might present a challenge but I’m pretty sure I can cope with drawing breath.’ Is the shadow of stubble on his jaw getting darker? God, he’s sexy.
He cocks an eyebrow, a bit Sean Connery as James Bond. ‘From the shade of white you’re currently sporting I wondered how much oxygen was making it to your brain.’
‘Gee, thanks!’ Mouth dropping open, I go to wrench my hand away.
His fingers tighten, stopping me. ‘Relax! I’m kidding. You really are anxious about flying aren’t you?’ He nods to the towel peeking out from under my legs. ‘Is that why you spilt your water?’
‘Yes.’ No, it’s because I’m clumsy as hell when I forget to pay due care and attention. ‘It’s not the flying, though, it’s the landing bit. I really don’t like the transition from air to ground.’
‘Why didn’t you say something earlier?’
‘I need this assignment.’ I pause. ‘And we couldn’t exactly boat across.’
He’s not quick enough to hide his smile. ‘No, but I would have tried to make it easier for you if I’d known.’
An automatic response would you really have cared? almost breaks free but he’s showing he cares now. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I say lightly, ‘but thank you.’
‘So how do you usually cope?’ he asks after a moment, a deep line appearing between his dark eyebrows. ‘When you go on holiday?’
‘Er.’ I glance around the spacious cabin, avoiding eye contact. Then peek at him. ‘Don’t laugh.’
‘It can’t be that bad. What is it?’
‘I drink.’
‘So? Other people drink to calm their nerves.’
‘No, I mean, I drink. Three or four vodkas usually help achieve the right sort of numbness.’
‘Three or four? Over the course of the flight?’
‘Um, not exactly.’ Please don’t let him think I’m an alcoholic. ‘First one is when the seatbelt lights blink on.’ Does he know he’s stroking my knuckles? It’s making my insides go hot and funny. ‘Second one is when the plane starts banking for approach. Third is usually as we start our descent and I might slip a fourth in during descent.’
‘How do you get away with it?’
‘Miniature