Viette #2: Arrival in London

One thing about England: it doesn't disappoint, Viette brooded sullenly as their tiny plane bumped down onto the runway. As usual, her father had allowed her the seat by the teeny window for their trip, and Viette had pensively watched the changing landscape thousands of feet below as they flew. Their first stop had been Genoa, then Paris, and now, at last, they had arrived in London, and the sun was setting somewhere behind the stifling gray fog draped over the dreary buildings.

Viette glanced cautiously at her father. He'd had very little to say the whole day, and mostly he had been reading a big, thick history book and taking notes in it anytime they were seated long enough for him to spread out his work. Henry was a commissioned researcher, employed freelance by universities and families to study and translate anything they were too lazy do on their own. In Greece he had been working for a family called the Katsaroses, investigating their history and tracing their ancestors back to the Spartans in the Trojan War. It was a fascinating sort of career and both Henry and his daughter appreciated the luxury of learning about all kinds of history and living in any place where someone like Henry was required. But during times like these, when Henry was Viette's only company, she wished he would have put away his work long enough to just see how she was faring.

Carefully, Viette tapped Henry on the arm. He glanced up, and the look on his face clearly revealed that he hadn't even realized they'd landed. "Oh, are we in London already, Viette?"

"Yes," Viette said with a sigh. She reached under her seat and grabbed the bag she'd stowed there. "Is Grandpa meeting us inside?" She peered warily out the window again, wondering if all that fog was thick enough to be considered rain instead.

Henry slowly packed away his heavy volumes and notebooks. "Umm... yes," he said distractedly.

Viette sighed, and wondered how long his troubled mood was going to last.

Outside the compact little plane which had brought them from Paris, Viette immediately determined that the fog was, in fact, rain instead. She pulled her arms through a sweater she had begrudgingly carried on the first plane in Greece and tugged a hat over her ears. What a terribly dismal place -- and yet, perfect weather for the occasion which had brought them back to England.

Henry put his arm around Viette's shoulder and gave her a sort of half-hug as they gazed out at the squat little building which served as a control tower for the airfield where they had landed in the south of London. "I guess I should have reminded you to pack a coat," Henry said.

Shrugging, Viette said, "It's not cold here. It just looks cold." Henry chuckled, and they hastened for the terminal building.

Inside, Viette immediately spotted her tall, lanky grandfather among the few tired-looking people lingering by the foggy windows. She ran forward and threw her arms around his neck. "Grandpa Peter," she cried happily.

"Little Vivienne," he said in his familiar, gruff voice. He held her out an arm's reach and tugged on one of the reddish brown curls hanging past her shoulders. "I'm glad to see you haven't cut off your pretty hair like all the other girls in this city."

"I was told I couldn't," she said with a bit of false dismay, throwing a glance back at Henry, who was talking to an attendant by the door. Looking back at her grandfather, she caught the look of sorrow on his worn face before he rearranged his features to look happy to see her again.

"How... how is he?"

Viette inspected her father from a distance. His shoulders were hunched beneath his tattered black coat, the one he always looked uncomfortable in because it was his most formal overcoat. His favorite gray fedora hat was angled to shadow his eyes, and his hands fidgeted with the clasp on his bag.

Sighing, Viette turned back to her Grandpa Peter with a shrug. "He's not been very easy to be around, but I understand. I'm really going to miss Aunt Carlotta." At the sound of his daughter's name, her grandfather cast his eyes away from Viette's and his lip trembled slightly. She put her hand on his shoulder and smiled with the caution she'd been using around her father. "He hasn't really talked about it since the messenger showed up in Kavala. He didn't even tell me what happened to Carlotta; he just booked our flights and helped me pack." She paused, trying to gauge his reaction -- but he didn't seem to have anything to say, either, on the issue of Carlotta's sudden death. Dawes men, she groaned. So chatty. "Are you going to be alright, Grandpa?"

"I'm... we'll be alright, Vivienne," he said after a moment. He draped his arm around her shoulders the same way his son did. "Let's head on to Brighton. I know you're excited to see everyone again."

"Oh, of course," Viette said, forcing a little too much cheer in her voice. Grandpa Peter gave her a look and she blushed, but, with a laugh, she pulled the cap over her ears again before going back out into the London evening.