Learning to Trust by Lynne Connolly Page B

waiting taxi. To his relief she didn’t stand there and wave him off.
     
    At the airport he got out of the taxi and tipped the man as generously as he could, considering he only had a hundred and fifty euros left. Enough to do what he had to. He went straight to the desk and bought a ticket for Pisa. It had to be an internal journey, otherwise they’d demand his documentation, and he wanted to leave as clean a trail as he could.
    It would take the occupants of the gray car that had followed him from the café to the airport a while to discover that he didn’t intend to get the plane. He made his way toward the gate, but ducked aside before he got there and visited the restroom. He did it again and again until he didn’t see anyone he recognized from the car, and was as sure as he could be that nobody was following him. Then he visited a cash machine and topped up.
    As he browsed in a luggage store, he watched the people coming and going. By the time he’d bought a new leather case he was almost sure he’d headed anyone off. He made the assistant bag up his purchases, which caused some muttered curses, but he didn’t want a chance of anyone seeing it before he was ready.
    He crossed to the restroom close to the luggage store and waited five minutes, taking his time washing his hands. Two men entered and left. He’d better get on with this before someone accused him of loitering.
    Only then did he get into a cubicle and strip out of his jeans and T-shirt. At last he could use the Armani suit he’d dragged around with him. With the help of navy pinstripe, only slightly crumpled, a crisp white shirt and red tie, he turned himself back into a sharp businessman. Or as sharp as he could manage in an airport restroom. He pulled the shoes out of their bag at the bottom of his holdall, gave them a quick rub and put them on over black socks. It would be far too hot once he got out of the air-conditioned airport, but he’d cope.
    As he left the cubicle, he glanced in the mirror over the sinks. Checking his appearance, he realized it felt like years since he’d looked at that particular reflection instead of less than a month. He’d been through so much, learned so much.
    He needed to smell good, but he’d left his aftershave in his toilet bag. Hotel receptionists tended to notice things like that. A machine in the corner provided the answer, but what came out of the spray didn’t appear to be the one he’d selected, but a cheap substitute. Even here the gangs had sway, he guessed, substituting the real thing for a knockoff.
    He went over the plan he’d formulated in the cab, sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. Shit, but this stuff would be exciting if he wasn’t worrying himself stupid over the woman he’d left behind.
    He dipped his hands in cold water and brought some order to his hair, brushing it back from his forehead instead of keeping a heavy lock falling forward, bad boy style, using the new set he’d bought at the luggage store. Brush, razor, comb and nail file. He filed his nails down from the ragged edges he’d somehow let them grow into, and gave them a perfunctory buff. Businessman? He frowned at the reflection. Yes, that would do. Like this he didn’t look like the tousled tourist who’d left the café that morning. He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. Better . Then he lifted his chin and finally recognized the arrogance he sometimes used to quell the paparazzi or a woman coming on to him too strong. An arrogance he’d once used thoughtlessly, so accustomed to deferential treatment and respect. That had finally ended at the university, when only academic excellence and the ability to stand up after a few pitchers of beer earned respect. That and sports, of course. In his first year his fellow students had destroyed any pretensions he’d started out with. He could only feel gratitude toward them.
    Now he needed that attitude, the supreme self-confidence of his early years. Only that