"Of course I want you to come. I'll call Utopia right away. Have you got your flight yet?"
"I'm looking at the computer screen right now. I can get a connecting flight in Denver, but I won't get in until late," she warned.
"Now I'm excited. We're going to have such fun. Let me know your arrival time. As soon as you've booked it, call me back. See you soon, Avery. Love you."
Carrie's frame of mind vastly improved. She disconnected; then she called Utopia. After that, she went to work. She made notes until the limo pulled up to the airport. The lines through security moved at a snail's pace. Carrie, shifting the strap of her carry-on from one shoulder to the other, took a palm recorder from her purse and dictated instructions for her office staff. When the plane had taken off and she was comfortably seated in business class with a chilled glass of Chardonnay, she opened her laptop and went to work again.
Her thoughts kept going back to Avery. She could call her now, she decided, and find out what time her flight was. She reached for the phone hooked into the armrest, then changed her mind. Better to wait. If she used the plane phone, she'd have to shout to be heard over the drum of the engines and the static, and then the other passengers around her would hear every word.
As soon as she got off the plane in Aspen, she moved out of the main traffic stream and sat down to dig through her carry-on for her cell phone. She'd pulled everything out before she remembered she'd stuck the phone in her purse. It wasn't like her to be so disorganized, she thought as she closed the carry-on. She happened to glance up and see the man holding a sign with her name on it. Another limo driver, she assumed, dressed in a dark navy business suit. He was quite distinguished looking and handsome, a younger version of Sean Connery. She quickly stood as she tucked the phone in the pocket of her blazer. Adjusting the collar of her blouse, she called out, "I'm Carolyn Salvetti."
His smile was dazzling. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Salvetti." He had a charming British accent. The name tag pinned to his lapel read "Mr. M. Edwards."
"Are you with Utopia?… The spa?" she asked.
"Yes, I am," he said. "Do you have your reservation with you?"
She reached for her travei bag. "It's right here."
"Oh, I don't need to see it, Mrs. Salvetti. I was to make certain you had the papers with you. Shall we go get your luggage?"
She felt ridiculous, all but running in her Manolo Blahnik slingbacks, trying to keep pace with her long-legged escort. She slipped once, and if he hadn't grabbed her arm to steady her, she would have fallen on her face. She'd meant to change her shoes before she got on the plane, but then she'd gotten caught up in work and had forgotten about it.
They passed a phone bank that reminded her she still needed to know Avery's flight itinerary. Damn it, she'd told her to call as soon as she'd booked her flight. Carrie knew what had happened. Avery had gotten waylaid with work and then had to run to
get everything done.
It was probably too late to catch her at work or at home. She was probably already at the airport or perhaps on the plane now. Still, Carrie wanted to try. Maybe Avery would check her phone messages when she got to Denver. Yes, she would call as soon as they reached the baggage claim area.
"Will any other guests be going with us to the spa?" she asked.
"Yes," he said. "There are two other guests. They're waiting in the lounge. As soon as I pick up your luggage, we'll head out."
"Do you have anyone scheduled for pickup this afternoon or this evening?"
"No, this is my last trip. Why do you ask?"
"My niece, Avery Delaney, is joining me at the spa."
Her comment so surprised him he stopped in the middle of the corridor. "You were expecting Miss Delaney to join you?"
Hadn't she said so? "Yes," she said. "But she's flying out of D.C. If you aren't scheduled to come back and pick her up, the
spa must be sending another escort."
They continued walking. "Yes, that must be so," he said, sounding somewhat preoccupied.
"I don't have Avery's flight information, but she might have called the spa to tell them so someone would pick her up. Could you call Utopia and find out? It would be lovely if we could wait for her. I do know she's coming through Denver," she thought to add.
"I'll be happy to call the spa," he said. Glancing around, he nodded toward a line of empty chairs in front of a deserted gate.
"Why don't you have a seat."
He was placing her carry-on at her feet when she asked, "What does the 'M' stand for?"
"Pardon me?"
"Your name. 'Mr. M. Edwards.' What does the 'M' stand for?"
He saw no reason to lie. "Monk. The 'M' stands for Monk."
"How delightfully different."
"I prefer that all clients call me Mr. Edwards,"
What a stiff-neck, she thought. "Yes, of course."
"If you'll excuse me…" He moved to the window as he pulled out his cell phone. Carrie grabbed her bag and went after him.
She wanted to ask him to find out if there were any messages waiting for her at the spa.
His back was to her as she approached. She tapped him on the shoulder. "Mr. Edwards."
Startled, he whirled around. "Hold on," he said into the phone. Then, "Yes?"
"Would you ask the receptionist if I have any messages?"
He repeated the question, waited a moment, and then shook his head. Carrie felt foolish standing there and so she went back to the chair and sat down.
He wasn't on the phone long, and when he returned to her side, he picked up her bag and apologized for the delay.
"There is another escort assigned to Miss Delaney."
"Couldn't we just wait?"
"I'm sorry. Did you say something?" he asked.
His preoccupation was irritating. "I asked if we could wait for my niece."
"I'm afraid not," he replied. "The other two clients have been waiting for you. I couldn't ask them to wait even longer. I hope
you understand."
"Yes, of course."
"Thank you," he said. "The others will, no doubt, appreciate your cooperation."
"Who are they?" she bluntly asked.
"I'm sorry?"
"I was asking, Mr. Edwards, who the other clients are."
"Mrs. Trapp is from Cleveland, and Judge Collins's plane arrived from Miami."
Carrie hadn't heard either name before and wondered if they were famous. She certainly hoped so. She could use as many influential connections as she could get. Maybe the judge was one of those celebrities on television. Wouldn't that be something?
They finally reached the baggage claim area and joined the hordes of passengers pushing their way to the front. "How long will the drive to the spa take?"
"Not long," he answered. "You won't be going directly to Utopia this evening, however," he added. "There was a problem with
the water main, but it will be repaired by midnight. So that you won't be inconvenienced, the director has made arrangements
for you and Mrs. Trapp and Judge Collins to spend the night at a private retreat."
Carrie was about to protest that, yes, it was an inconvenience. She would have to unpack and then pack again, but then Mr. Edwards said in a casual, off-handed way, "I believe Mr. Cruise and a companion were the last guests."
Her eyes widened. "Tom Cruise?"
"That's right. Then tomorrow morning," he continued smoothly, "you'll be taken to the spa."
"Will my niece be staying at the retreat too?"
"I'm not certain. If the problem has been solved by the time her flight arrives, then she'll be taken directly to the spa."
"Is the retreat near Aspen?"
"Just outside, high up in the mountains in an area called Land Between the Lakes. It's quite beautiful there. Cold nights and warm, mostly sunny days this time of year. Great climate for hiking and camping."
"I'm not the outdoor type, but you certainly look like you are," she said, noticing the thickness in his shoulders and the bulging muscles straining the fabric of his obviously custom-made suit. What were they paying chauffeurs these days?