Charlotte

It was silent around me as I watched the planes land from inside the terminal. I had been here for half an hour but I was afraid of leaving. Once I stepped outside, I’d be exposed to the elements. This was the first time I’ve ever traveled alone and I didn’t know what would happen to me. I was doing my best to prolong the inevitable. Five minutes later of watching planes take off and land, I finally managed to put on my big girl panties and leave the sitting area. I found my way to the baggage pick up and found my white leather vintage case; there were only three luggage bags left on the conveyer belt at this point. I made my way outside to find a cab.

The topaz blue sky was intense against my eyes; I was lucky England was having great weather today. Quickly I placed my sunglasses onto my face and adjusted my outfit before flagging down a black cab. As the cab pulled up, I opened the door and placed my luggage on the back seat, shoving my hand down my pants pocket and producing a slip of paper. I looked up to see the driver looking at me patiently through the rear view.

“This address please,” I spoke softly, handing him the slip of paper. I shut the door and sat back, sighing softly as I slipped the sunglasses off my face. I opened my suitcase and pulled out a camera from it. My digital had broken so I only had my Canon film camera and sixty rolls of film. Checking the film had been loaded correctly, I looked up at the driver. “Excuse me, do you mind if I roll the window down?” I asked politely.

“Go on ahead,” he replied gruffly, briefly glancing at me. I faintly smiled and rolled the window down. I took photos whenever we slowed to a snail’s pace, or when we stopped. I was careful with my film though; it wasn’t wise to waste a slide when you didn’t have to. I put the camera away and contemplated creating small talk with the driver or not; I didn’t. The ride was a little while longer before we pulled up to The Montague on the Garden Hotel in silence.

“Thank you very much,” I said softly, pulling out the bills I needed to pay him with some change for a tip. Having all of my belongings, I got out and shut the door. The hotel was beautiful. I was greeted immediately by the older doorman who took my bag for me and opened the door. He waved a bellhop over who took the bag, giving me an attractive smile. I returned the smile and approached the desk, checking in. I was given my room key and a folder of papers. I thanked her and turned to walk away when she stopped me, handing me another slip of paper with a series of numbers.

Confused, I turned away and waved the bellhop over, handing him my room key. Soon I was alone in my room; it was the Bloomsbury King room. The theme throughout was black and white and it was beautiful. I placed everything down, keeping only the slip of paper in my hand. Counting it out, I realized it was a phone number. I contemplated dialing the number. I had slept on the plane, so I had no jetlag, I wasn’t hungry either. Out of excuses, I picked up the hotel phone and dialed. It rang and rang and rang. Just as I was about to give up the voicemail answered me.

“Hey, you’ve reached Brier’s tel. I’m not here so call me back later, but if this is Charlie, meet me at Ben’s place at three.” Click. I moved the phone from my face and stared at it. Looking up I saw that it was already two. I quickly got up and took the stairs to the main floor. I rushed to the Concierge Desk, butting in front of someone.

“I’m sorry, this is an emergency. What’s the quickest route, walking, to the Palace of Westminster?” I gasped out quickly, attempting to catch my breath. The woman stared at me oddly before taking out a highlighter and map. The walk was only a mile and a half. It’d take only 40 minutes to get there walking, but I had other ideas. Taking my directions, I ran out of The Montague in a hurry. I had only a half hour to meet him.

Brier Knight and I have known each other for almost seven years, sort of. When I was 14 and he was 16, we were assigned as pen pals through a buddy program in school. We wrote to each other constantly and were one if not the only pair who continued contact with each other past the first year. He knew all of my secrets and I trusted him completely. I never let him down; whenever I received a letter from him, I returned it quickly. I had no plans of letting him down ever, which was why I was running through the city like a crazy woman; so I wasn’t late.

I could see the clock tower in front of me and I pushed harder on my heels. It wasn’t much of a wonder I hadn’t broken my neck already. I wore heels my whole life that it was natural to me. My legs were feeling sore and tight, my arms were heavy and I was just beginning to perspire. Glancing up at the clock, I sighed stopping as close to it as I could get on the sidewalk. I turned and looked around, just as the clock struck three. The chimes rang loudly in my head as I stressed myself to find him. I paused seeing a wild mane of brown hair standing out above the crowd of tourists and their cameras. My brows furrowed as I slowly approached him. Just as I was a few feet away, he turned around, just as the thirteenth bell rang.

“Charlotte, you’re here,” Brier said, smiling widely; his voice was smooth and his accent charming. I looked at him, my composure awkward, a smile spreading upon my face. “Give me a hug! I’ve waited seven years for this day.” He laughed, wrapping his arms around me. I returned the hug, melting into his fit body and embracing him tightly. I’ve waited for this day too.

We sat at a small table at TeaSmith. A cup of white tea sat in my hands while Brier traced the rim of his cup that sat patiently on the table. We took his black Suzuki motorbike almost four miles away just for good tea. I was impressed that he remembered I enjoyed tea far better than coffee. I held a hint of a pleasant smile on my face the whole time. I couldn’t get rid of the smiley feeling it gave me to be here. I sighed softly as a cool breeze rushed by and watched as Brier finally lifted the cup to his lips.

“So, what made you come and find me?” he asked, placing his cup back down. “America’s a ways off from here you know.”

“The letter,” I replied, my smile growing.

He raised an eyebrow, his blue eyes gazing at me with confusion. “What letter?”

My smile faltered. “The one you sent me unsigned.”

“Charlotte, I never sent you an unsigned letter.”