“Terminal 2E.”
“All right, Maurice, listen up,” she said, rummaging around in her purse, “the flight for Seoul takes off in forty-five minutes. If you can get me to Terminal 2E in five minutes, I will give you a huge tip.”
The chauffeur sped off.
“Uh-oh . . . do you take credit cards?” Mia asked, embarrassed. “I don’t have any cash on me.”
“Are you going to take this flight to Asia, while your husband goes to London?”
“I’m going to try.”
“Forget the tip, then,” he said, weaving between a taxi and a bus. “That guy’s unbearable.”
The car roared along full throttle and, three minutes later, came to a halt in front of Terminal 2E.
The chauffeur hurried out to open the trunk, took out Mia’s suitcase, and put it on the pavement.
“And what am I supposed to do with his?” He gestured to David’s overstuffed bag.
“Maurice, you are now the proud owner of a pricey collection of cashmere sweaters and silk shirts. Thanks ever so much!”
Mia grabbed her luggage and hurried toward the check-in area.
There was only one agent left behind the desk.
“Hi, I have to go to Seoul. It’s urgent.”
The woman frowned doubtfully.
“I was about to close the flight. I’m afraid it’s fully booked.”
“I’m prepared to travel in the toilets if I have to.”
“For eleven hours?” the woman asked, looking up. “I can put you on tomorrow’s flight.”
“Please,” Mia begged, taking off her sunglasses.
The woman saw her face and her eyes lit up.
“I’m sorry. But are you . . . ?”
“Yes, I am! Could you please get me a seat?”
“You should have told me from the start! I have one first-class ticket left, but it’s full fare.”
Mia put her credit card on the desk.
“What date would you like for the return flight?”
“I have no idea.”
“I need a return date.”
“In a week . . . no, ten days . . . or two weeks . . .”
“Which one?”
“Two weeks! Please hurry!”
