As Sarah looked out the airplane window and saw the little geometric farms receding ever in the distance,  her decision to fly across the country would not stop in New York. From there she was scheduled to make the connection for her flight across the Atlantic to London. It was utter madness she kept telling herself from her reclined seat, to risk her new job at the clinic just to capriciously join the man she now felt so emotionally connected to. 

            Had it not been for Jess' attractiveness, his finesse in bed, and more importantly his gentlemanly and charismatic nature towards her, she would never had been so vulnerable to let this happen. Part of it all  was the fact that she was now twenty-four years of age, and could honestly say she had never had a fulfilling relationship with a man as of yet. As her friend Carrie and her mother had been telling her for years, it was time to get over her past tragedies of the heart and move on. And to the two of these counselors, and now even Sarah herself, Jess was a superlative potential mate—scoring high in all categories of what a woman would seek in a man. 

            It also didn't hurt that Mr. Jess Danford was a man of considerable means. On every occasion of their adventures together, he did not falter in his generosity, nor demonstrate his insistence on a lifestyle that was jaw-droppingly well-funded and fueled by his exquisite tastes. All of this was like candy to a baby for Sarah's mother who, like most maternal caregivers she had ever known, wanted a good life and a first-class existence for their daughters. 

        After the six and a half hour flight across the country, Sarah spent her two hour lay-over looking at gossip magazines and partaking of the shopping which all airport terminals force upon people in transit. Looking at a number of the glossy covers on these magazines, all highlighting the enviable and glamorous lives of young women currently in the limelight of cinema or the recording industry, Sarah could honestly say to herself a life with Jess promised nothing less than such an existence.  Of course, this was all early speculation, and she could not yet even hope to fully know how much of his expressed feelings towards her were truly serious  or promised a future. She could only hope his gestures had the lasting and growing quality a woman wishes for from a healthy relationship. 

        Passing by a mirror unexpectedly on the wall of one of the shops, Sarah could see this young woman she had become, with all the fair features any of the celebrities gracing the covers of those magazines had—and without the magic or techno-wizardry of Photoshop or surgery. Boarding her connecting plane that mid-morning hour to depart for England, she felt a certain trepidation leaving her native land. It was in fact the first time she had done so alone and by her own volition. Her only previous trip to the UK with her parents so many years ago was only now a blur of partial memories and unpleasant images—the cloudy weather and boring adults who seemed to make over her annoyingly where ever she was paraded by her parents. 

        The flight across the Atlantic Ocean was filled mostly with businessmen who, while boarding, rudely and hungrily gave the dark honey- haired girl that lingering look—a gaze which she was only too happy not to have to endure back at her work each day. There her only contacts were women therapists and the exceptional children whom she worked so diligently with. Fortunately, the person sitting next to her for the entire flight was herself a woman. Margie, as she called herself, shared for several hours polite conversation and some laughs. She entertained Sarah with several humorous stories about raising her three children in the Midwest. She also proudly boasted of her thirty-two year marriage to a man she still loved and admired. 

        "I know very well how rare that is today," Margie told her. "Almost every girl I grew up with eventually got divorced or became separated from their men. It's partly luck and mostly a lot of hard work to stay together," she added. 

        Sarah nodded and growing weary, prepared her pillow for some much needed rest on the flight. 

        "Just don't think it will always be easy or delightful when you fall for someone at your age, Hon." 

        Sarah kept her eyes closed but listened intently. 

         "Many times girls just don't really know the real man they've chosen . . . until it's too late." 

        The woman then responded to Sarah's obvious concern when she remained silent, reluctant to acknowledge this last remark. 

        "Well, come on now," Margie explained. "You of course have a lot of time at your age. Some girls have to kiss a lot of frogs until they find that special prince out there, sweetie. You'll find him eventually." She then laughed. 

        "Yes. I hope so," Sarah only said, her eyes still closed. She then tried to sleep—thinking only of the past wonderful adventures Jess had consistently provided for her. 

                                                                        *     *     * 

        Arriving at Heathrow Airport and ascending the ramp to  enter the busy terminal, Sarah was approached by an attractive woman of about forty. She identified herself quite professionally in a refined British accent as 'Mr. Danford's secretary.' The well-poised woman—wearing a tight-fitting blue suit and blond hair braided back into a flawless ponytail, politely asked if Sarah was  indeed Miss Bertram from California. 

        "Yes . . . . I am she," Sarah responded, a bit apprehensively. 

        "Well good afternoon, Sarah. My name is Jackie Lomont . . . I'm here to transport you to your hotel accommodation . . . Please follow me, won't you?" 

        Sarah, who half-expected Jess to intercept her there, was too surprised to speak. 

        "We'll go retrieve your luggage now and then proceed on to the Claridge's Hotel here in London. It's just about thirty minutes by motor car," the young woman added cheerfully. 

        Sarah smiled nervously and pulled her carry-on luggage up along beside her as the trim secretary led the way. They proceeded through the labyrinthine halls of the terminal toward the baggage claim area. Once her single large suitcase was retrieved the woman placed it on a trolley she had procured and the two made their way out to a transport buss to ferry them outside the large airport complex and to a taxi stand on the street. With her bags secure in the trunk of a cab, she and the secretary were driven out onto the motorway into the downtown streets of London. 

        Eventually the black taxi arrived at the entry way of a classic and grand looking hotel. There were valets taking care of parking vehicles in front and these dapper uniformed men quickly helped with Sarah's baggage as she followed Miss Lomont up to the front desk. 

        "Reservations for Bertram," the secretary said mechanically. "The Newberry Suite, please." 

        Sarah could see a large grandfather clock in the bisque and white colored lobby, showing it to be 2:30 PM in England. Next to it in the comfortable sitting area were a number of polished tables and Edwardian leather chairs. Large plants were featured in classical urns in front of Corinthian columns throughout the room. This elegant atmosphere was topped off by a center table which featured a gigantic pastel colored flower arrangement, copiously stocked with fresh blossoms and a full three meters high. 

        Miss Lomont delegated Sarah's luggage to a young, fit porter and led the way to the elevator where the three of them stepped in and soon arrived at the top level floor. They entered the suite with the porter's swipe of an electronic card and Sarah took in a breath as she stepped only in the entryway of her posh room. A small tour of the spacious accommodation ensued including a sitting area, office, bedroom, luxurious bathroom with a spa, and the outside balcony overlooking the city amid a small jungle of potted trees. 

       "Mr. Danford has asked me to inform you that he will join you directly here at the hotel . . . in around two hours . . . that would be just before five o'clock, Sarah. This gives you time to freshen up, bathe if you wish, and even enjoy the benefits or our superb lobby and bar services down stairs." 

        "Thank you," Sarah responded quite speechless otherwise. 

        "Just ring the front desk or their concierge should you need anything." 

        With this, Miss Lomant left Sarah with a card featuring the many services of the hotel and a pair of electronic keys. She even gave the porter a tip and smiled back sincerely at Sarah. 

        "I hope we have the opportunity to meet again, Sarah. Enjoy your stay here in London." With this, the trim woman was escorted to the door by the young uniformed man. 

        "Thank you for your assistance," Sarah called out. "You were . . . a great help. Really." 

        As she turned around and faced into her palatial room, Sarah wondered what else Jess had planned for her over the several days and nights, so far away from California. As she walked into the pastel bedroom and pressed a hand bouncily up and down into the king-sized mattress, she stepped back and then twirled around gracefully, watching  herself in the full length mirror across from the bed. Sarah suddenly felt a little like a princess—a role she had never assumed as a young girl, or even wanted to--not until this altogether remarkable point in her life. 

                                                                  *     *     *

Text and e-book copyright © 2015 Califia Montalvo

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