'Excuse me, Mac,' and the man was as startled as I was by Dan's sudden interruption, 'Just let me get my vouchers and you can continue your tirade.'
The girl clerk just stared at Dan, recovered herself and handed him two vouchers.
"See here, Mac,' the salesman began, finding a new victim for his anger, 'you've no idea how…'
'See here, Mac,' Dan replied in the same ranting tone, 'I think you're entirely right to blame the girl since she started the blizzard just to hold you up, but I'm tired of waiting around this place.'
'The airline limousine will take you to the hotel, sir,' the girl said, and then wrote out another voucher for the salesman, passing it to him with a very polite smile.
I didn't see what happened then because Dan hurried me off.
'Sorry about that. Jenny, but that sort of bastard irritates the hell out of me. Now, the baggage claim is thataway.'
Our things were on the appropriately designated carousel and mine conveniently circling as we arrived. I grabbed it off.
'My god, I didn't think a woman could travel with that little luggage!'
I awarded his comment a sour and patronising humph and waited, tapping my foot, to see what he plucked from the moving belt. My chagrin at his modest but expensive leather case was doubled by the fact that the initials were D.J.L. What an incredible coincidence of names. I wondered what the J stood for. Maybe he was Dan-Dan, the mystery man. He was surreptitiously checking for initials on mine, but the identifying mark is the Snark Island Custom Control sticker.
'Snark Island?' he asked, perplexed.
'You haven't heard of it?' I clicked my tongue sympathetically. 'Of course, it is very exclusive.'
'Knitters only?'
He recovered quickly. He pointed towards the exit and the long profile of the hotel limousine and we made for it. As we stepped outside, the wind blasted snow into our faces. When the porter came forward to take our luggage, Dan bent to ask him something which the wind masked from me. The man shook his head emphatically and Dan shrugged, ushering me into the limousine.
'No taxis to town at all,' he said, gloomy and depressed.
Our limousine was full and the driver pulled cautiously from the curb, windshield wipers going full, but only just keeping the glass clear enough for him to see ahead. I'd not been in Denver before and I was not going to see much of it this trip. The drive seemed to take longer than it probably did in objective time. No one said anything, but a soft susurrus of sound suggested to me that the driver was swearing under his breath. I don't blame him: even I could feel he had little traction under the wheels. We skidded only once going about a rotary and one of the women in the back gave a sharp cry. I think we were all relieved to get to the hotel entrance.
The truth came out at the reception desk when the clerk assumed Dan and I were together and tried putting us up in the same room.
'My name is Lovell, not Lowell,' I said, enunciating clearly. 'Jane Lovell.'
'Sorry, miss.'
I let that mistake ride because I didn't wish to get involved with being a widow and Mrs. or Ms. or anything, and stepped aside to let Dan have his go at getting a room.
'You really are Lovell?' Dan asked as with several other strandees we followed a bellboy to the elevators.
'Yes, it is rather close, Mr. Lowell.' '
We'll have a drink on that. Or do you really want to sit in your room and knit?'
'I'd love a drink.' I didn't mean to put the emphasis so plainly on 'drink,' as if I were conscious of a need to specify. I caught the intense look he gave me but before I could stammer an apology, he grinned.
'Or knitting needles at two paces?'
At least he didn't take offence. 'I didn't know you indulged.'
His humour was reflected in the mischievous glint in his eye. 'As often as possible,' he said, speaking through the side of his mouth.
We were in the elevator which was crowded and effectively precluded further banter.
At the ninth floor, the bellboy gestured all of us out. We were parceled off at rooms, bang, bang, bang, down the corridor. We were the last to be installed. The bellboy unlocked both doors, since they were side by each, escorting me into mine.
It was standard modern hotel, with western motif, pleasantly done: TV, large and prominent, a desk, some rather nice western and cowboy prints by Bama on the walls, the outsized bed with a striped spread. I tipped the boy and he backed out of the room with the usual patter about room service. He hadn't quite closed the door when he came back in.
'Sorry. Have to check.' He fumbled with the second door on the far left. 'Maid left it open after all.' He used his pass key, gave me a big grin and departed.
I heard the shutting of the door in Dan's room as I made my way to the bathroom to check my make-up.
I looked as tired as I felt and I'd half a mind to renege on that drink. Remembering his taunt about staying in my room with my knitting, I brushed my hair, washed my hands and face, put on more mascara and lipstick, dabbed on a patch of perfume. A drink, he'd said, and the way I felt, I'd need a drink to get some sleep. I'd forgotten how
dislocated one could get, time-wise, on these barnstorming trips.
There was a knock on the door. 'Look, I…'I started to say 'after second thoughts'…
'You're hungry! That's what's wrong with you. You've got to eat and this is the city for high protein, guaranteed on the hoof steak!' He grabbed my arm and had me half out the door.
'Hey, just a minute…'
'If you bring that knitting, I'll kill you.' He hauled me forcefully into the hall.
'My key.'
'Lord, and your purse if that's where your money is.'
'Isn't this hotel safe?'
'I don't trust any of them these days,' he said in a way that bespoke sad experience.
In the darker lighting of the hall, he looked tired, too, with deep lines from his nose to the corners of his mouth, and eyes dark with fatigue. He took my arm again, his hand warm through my wool sleeve, warm and rather comforting.
We had a drink and Dan insisted that what I needed more was the steak: I needn't have the trimmings, he said, but a decent steak would do me the world of good. So much good that he'd talked himself into having one as well. To such humorous persuasiveness it is impossible to say no. And it was very good for my morale to sip bourbon and soda in the company of an attractive man who was determined to amuse me. It was a relief not to have to wax intelligent, giving ponderous answers to self-conscious questions, or probing my unconsciousness for the 'real' reason behind some of my tales. (Funny how audiences refused to accept as a 'real' reason, the need to earn money!)
We took our drinks to the table and after we'd ordered, we both fell silent. And that, too, was unexpectedly pleasant and without strain.
'God, I'm beginning to realise how tired I am,' Dan said as he stretched his long legs out under the table and arched his back against the banquette padding. 'You, too?'
'Me, too.' I rotated my neck against knotted muscles.
The steak was perfect: the trimmings came anyhow, comprised of baked potatoes (I do miss the Idaho in Ireland) with slathers of sour cream and butter and a green salad. The companionable silence continued as we applied ourselves to the meal. Opposite our table was a big picture window and the snow drifted idly down the pane, its progress slowed by an overhang, while beyond the leisurely flakes, the wind whipped the drifts vigorously: the effect was mesmerising and peaceful.
A subdued babble of voices heralded the arrival of another group of snow-bound travellers but the dining room was large. The newcomers were quickly absorbed and our island of solitude preserved.