Page 8 of Love Affair in London (Once Again #12)
D espite the end of her engagement and the wedding cancellation, Piper felt giddy. Maybe it was the two champagne cocktails she’d had in the lounge. More likely, it was knowing she’d never have to deal with Bethany, Ashley, or Megan again.
Seated in first class, with a bowl of warmed nuts and another glass of excellent champagne, she was glad Roger had refused to fly coach. She might actually become addicted to the luxury of her own pod.
But, as the flight wore on, the best part of first class was the handsome guy from the lounge, who’d taken a seat two rows ahead of her. Every time he stood to stretch his legs or she passed him on the way back from the restroom, he smiled. And what a smile it was.
She dined on asparagus and filet mignon with béarnaise sauce, and the airline’s chef had added English trifle for dessert.
She watched one of the latest movies—so forgettable she couldn’t remember its title—until her eyelids closed.
Then she stretched out on her lie-flat seat and slept until the flight attendant woke her for breakfast when they were an hour and a half out of London.
She’d slept almost the whole way and felt refreshed. Jet lag? What was that?
A full English breakfast lay before her, with fried eggs, fried potatoes, fried tomatoes, fried mushrooms, and even fried bread. Since there were only small portions of each, Piper ate it all, and damn if it wasn’t delicious.
As soon as the plane arrived at the terminal, she gathered her things.
Out in the aisle, she went up on her toes to pull down her carry-on.
Though she was five-seven, she couldn’t reach her small case, which had slipped back against the far side.
She waited for the flight attendant to help, but suddenly he was there, the man.
At least six-two, maybe even six-three, he towered over her.
She didn’t think of herself as petite, but this man made her feel that way.
It was a luscious sensation, his body close to hers as he brought her case down.
“Thank you so much,” she said as he set it on the cabin floor.
His smile dazzled her, like a cover model on a later-in-life romance, though he was probably in his early forties.
“Enjoy your stay,” he said in a deep voice that strummed her feminine nerves.
Being first class, they exited the plane ahead of the other passengers, but she lost him in the crowd of arrivals from two other flights.
Struggling to pull up the handle of her carry-on, she noticed his dark head, with that smattering of attractive silver, far ahead of her in the passport line.
By the time she made it through customs and collected her suitcase, he was long gone.
Oh well. He would be something to fantasize about while she was here.
She took the Heathrow Express to Paddington station, where she’d pick up a cab. It would have been cheaper to take the subway, but lugging her suitcase and carry-on would create a nightmare, especially as she’d read that not all stations had elevators or escalators.
The noise of London assaulted her ears as she entered the taxi line. And it was exhilarating. She was actually here, after all the planning. The iconic black cab looked like something out of a World War Two movie, and red double-decker buses passed them when they pulled out into traffic.
London teemed with midday traffic and so many of the classic black cabs.
Tourists flocked the sidewalks, wearing floppy hats, shorts, and too-white legs, as if they hadn’t seen the sun since the previous year.
She hadn’t mapped the route, simply given the driver the address of her hotel near Tower Bridge.
They passed iconic sites, Hyde Park, Buckingham Palace, Trafalgar Square, the London Eye on the other side of the Thames, the Shard which loomed above everything.
The cabbie might have taken her on an extended route to increase his fare, but she didn’t care.
She loved the city and wanted to see every site.
At the top of a small rise in the road, she thought she saw the building with the Sky Garden atop it reaching high into the sky.
Then the spires of Tower Bridge broke against the horizon, and they passed the massive walls of the Tower of London.
The driver turned down a narrow road barely wide enough for two lanes of traffic and followed along one wall of the Tower of London.
The Thames and Tower Bridge were ahead, people thronging the stairs leading up to the bridge.
Noticing a Tesco grocery store on the left, she knew where she could buy champagne for her nightly cocktail rather than ordering in the bar.
She looked forward to sitting on her balcony and relishing her drink and the view.
The taxi slowly pushed through the crowd crossing the street, then turned the corner to her hotel, which stood almost on the riverfront, with an impressive view of Tower Bridge and its blue spires.
Since Roger had booked a room with a river view, the bridge would be right outside her window.
The blood in her veins pumped with excitement.
It wasn’t as if she’d never traveled before.
But this was England. This was London. This was the site of so many TV shows and movies and mystery series she’d watched.
This was the history she’d read about for years, having loved all the books about Henry VIII and his six wives.
Though he hadn’t killed them all, he’d done his fair share of hacking off heads.
She wanted to visit Hampton Court and Greenwich and Buckingham Palace, the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben, St. Paul’s Cathedral and Westminster Abbey where King Charles’s coronation took place.
She wanted Sunday roast at an English pub, real English trifle, and afternoon tea.
There were so many things to do, and she’d brought her most comfortable walking shoes.
Researching the London Underground, she’d discovered she could use her contactless credit card, no problem.
That meant she could go anywhere in London without worrying about what Roger wanted to do.
This trip was all about her, and she would make the most of every moment.
Her driver pulled up beneath the hotel’s portico and a doorman rushed to open her door, helping her finagle her bags out of the back seat.
There was no trunk, just a wide back area designed for both passengers and suitcases.
She didn’t even complain about the hefty bill, adding on extra for his delightful tour of the city.
The moment her transaction was done, a family grabbed him, ready to take over her cab.
The marble lobby sported a Starbucks in the corner, and Piper had to laugh, seeing the same café she would see at home.
Marching up to the long counter, carryall slung over her shoulder and the doorman setting her bags beside her, she spoke to the clerk, who raised his head.
“I have a reservation.” And everything went smoothly after that.
Her room was on the fifth floor, and the moment the bellboy dropped off her bags, she closed the door behind her and raced to the balcony, throwing open the French doors.
There was Tower Bridge with its aqua blue accents, one of her favorite colors.
In the warm early afternoon air, she snapped her first photos.
These weren’t the most luxurious accommodations she’d stayed in with Roger—the man loved his creature comforts—but she’d chosen this hotel for its access to the river and its proximity to Tower Bridge and the Tower of London next door.
The Sky Garden was only a few blocks away, and the Underground was available through a tunnel under the road.
Everything was walkable. Which made this room fabulous. And breakfast was included.
With a large bed, the room was clean, and the desk, bureau, and side tables made of solid wood. She found a refrigerator inside the sideboard, and the bathroom delighted her with its green and white tiles and gorgeous clawfoot tub. This was exactly what she’d wanted.
Especially with the amazing view, even if the balcony was only big enough for a couple of chairs and a cafe table.
Having slept well on the plane, she didn’t feel any jet lag, even though it was only six in the morning back home. She wasn’t hungry since they’d fed her only an hour and a half before the plane landed. More than anything, she wanted to walk across Tower Bridge.
She unpacked first, not wanting to come back later to have the task still waiting for her. On the way back from the tower, she could stop at Tesco for a bottle of bubbly to make her champagne cocktail.
Half an hour later, wearing leggings, a loose blouse, tennis shoes, and a light jacket, she set off.
The weather was warm, but the breeze off the water was brisk.
She’d bought a new purse that was supposedly theftproof, with a steel cable in its strap so a thief couldn’t run along with scissors and cut it.
God, she was such a tourist. But how she loved being here.
The view from her window had been amazing, but down here by the river, with Tower Bridge above her, it was spectacular.
She skipped down the few steps to the dock, feeling like an excited child.
Several boats moored there, with nearby signs saying they would head to Greenwich.
She’d booked tickets for a boat ride to the historic town for tomorrow afternoon.
She must have taken a million pictures—only a slight exaggeration—of the barges on the water, the bridge’s blue spires, almost turquoise in the light, the hordes of tourists walking across, the walls of the Tower of London, and the Shard, London’s tallest building.