Nasty (Human) Virus

Hi

I have had 10 consecutive days of children at home.  They all took turns with some nasty rashy virus.  Horrible!  It seriously intervened with Coffee mornings and my PhD.  Luckily, all is back to normal.

I hope you are all still enjoying the Blooks.  Some of you have mentioned that it would be great if you could get a hard copy of the book as it is hard to take your laptop into the bath with a glass of bubbly!  If you send me an email I will send you a PDF file of the first 10 chapters of either (or both books). - pruim@mac.com

Sandy

PS No photos - no excitement this week

Out of Bounds - Chapter 8

When they woke up late on Saturday morning, Tom was feeling much better and raring to go.

 

“Can we go and do all the things people usually do on weekends?”

 

“I don’t know.  What do people normally do on Saturday mornings?”

 

“I don’t know,” he said with a huge smile and a shrug.  Kate was still half asleep and having trouble following the logic of this conversation.  She looked so bemused that Tom ruffled her hair and explained, “I’m usually playing golf on the weekends.  I try not to miss the cut too often.  So I don’t get to do all those routine things couples do on weekends.”

 

“I don’t either – not that I’m playing golf but that I seem to have been missing out on the couple bit.”  She was still so sleepy that she wasn’t even worried about the fact that she had basically told him she’d been a sad single female before he came along.

 

“Well, let’s pretend for today that we are a normal couple.”  She humphed.

 

“Then we will have to do the grocery shopping, complaining the whole time about how crowded it is and how expensive everything is, then you will spend the afternoon watching the football while I clean the flat, do the washing, ironing, getting more and more resentful.”

 

“Er.  Can’t we do the young and in love movie version.  You know brunch in some hip café, reading the newspapers companionably, walking arm in arm in the park, shopping at the markets on Portobello Road, drifting off to bed for an afternoon…nap before going out tonight.”

 

“Now that sounds more appealing.  Particularly good idea to go out for brunch since I don’t actually have any food you’d want to eat.”

 

 

 

As they sat in the hip café drinking cappuccinos, Kate regarded Tom over the top of her newspaper.  He really was gorgeous and she could get quite used to having him around to do nice things with.  He looked up at her, “What?”

 

“If we really were two normal people having a proper relationship, is this what we’d be doing all the time?”

 

“Probably,” he shrugged, “Anyway, we are normal people having a proper relationship.”

 

“I don’t think so.”

 

“Excuse me, are you Tom Benson, the golfer?”  Kate looked up at the older man who had interrupted their conversation.  Tom just nodded and smiled in a friendly way.

 

“Could I have your autograph, please?”

 

“Sure.”  Tom signed the piece of paper the man held out, shook hands with him and then turned back to Kate as if nothing had happened.  It was obvious that the people at the surrounding tables were scrutinising them closely to try to work out who Tom was.

 

“Well, that’s not normal for a start.”  He shrugged again.

 

“It’s no big deal.”

 

“I’m sorry - the only person who interrupts me while I am drinking coffee to ask me for an autograph is my secretary and it’s usually for her petty cash claims!”  Tom laughed and suggested they get on to the walking arm in arm bit.

 

At the end of the day, she had to admit that she had enjoyed pottering around London with Tom enormously.  She had finally broached the subject of the fancy dress aspect of the party and they had spent a couple of hours rummaging in market stalls for something suitable for Tom to wear.  The theme of the party was James Bond – the party was for Patrick, a friend of Matthew’s from school who worked for MI5 (not that anyone was actually sure what he did – personally Kate thought that he was probably an auditor but didn’t want to admit to such a boring job so in real MI5 style sexed it up a bit!).  She felt it was unfair to expect Tom to wear anything too outrageous when he didn’t actually know anyone at the party.  She was a little disappointed but could understand why he had rejected her suggestion that they should wear a pair of pyjamas – that was, Tom should wear the bottoms and Kate the top.  In the end, he wore a sports coat with an open necked shirt and a cravat and was one of the Russian baddies from one of the movies in the 80s that she was a bit hazy on.  Kate wore black trousers and a gold waistcoat, blow dried her hair into a lovely 1960s shape and was Pussy Galore – after all, it was such a great name!

 

They were greeted at the door by Patrick, resplendent in his dinner suit, martini in hand.  Kate introduced Tom and they were quickly swept into the party.  Most of the men were, like Patrick, wearing dinner suits.  There was also a Blofeld, complete with stuffed fluffy white cat and a Q, anxious to show anyone he could his gadgets, which included a pair of exploding balls that he had to rummage around in his trouser pocket to find whilst muttering ‘Now where are my balls’.  The girls were generally in a state of undress.  One stalked past in knee high stiletto boots, PVC trousers and a bustier.  Kate had had to close Tom’s mouth for him.  It turned out that she was Patrick’s usually rather meek and mild girlfriend, Cordelia.  When Kate commented to Patrick that she hadn’t recognised Cordelia, he laughed and explained that when she had been planning the party people had simply misunderstood the theme – they all thought it was Bond when in fact it was meant to be bondage! 

 

There was a commotion at the door with the arrival of Matthew, sporting a long blonde wig, tiny white bikini (with enormous fake breasts) and a dagger in his belt.  He made his way through the laughing crowd to Kate and kissed her warmly.  She turned to Tom, “You remember Matthew, don’t you?”  Tom was completely gobsmacked but recovered his composure enough to shake hands.

 

“He is appalling and totally incorrigible,” said a mellow voice behind Matthew.  Kate squealed and hugged the man tight.

 

“Tom, this is Jasper, Matthew’s partner.  He’s wonderful and you will love him so just ignore Matthew and talk to Jasper.  Jasper, this is Tom Benson.”  Tom and Jasper fell into an easy conversation and Kate felt free to wander off to talk to other people. 

 

She had a fabulous time at the party, fuelled by mojitos and the knowledge that she wouldn’t be going home alone.  She didn’t spend the whole night glued to Tom’s side, confident that he would cope without her.   She remained very aware of him throughout the party and quite enjoyed the feeling of him watching her across the room while she was talking to someone else.

 

She was happily bopping around on the dance floor, when Tom came and grabbed her hand, pulling her close to him.

 

“Pussy, darling, I think it is time we go and do what James Bond does best.”

 

“What?  We have to go and save the world from total domination by an evil mastermind?”

 

“No, the other thing he does so well.”

 

“We need to speed around in an open topped sports car?”

 

“No, the other, other thing he does so well.”

 

“Oh, that. Okay, just let me go and say my goodbyes.”  Tom spent another half an hour, during which he had another beer and chatted with Jasper, watching Kate work her way around the room hugging and kissing people as she said her farewells (and even introducing herself to a few people she had not yet met!).

 

Once they’d made it out on to the street, Tom asked whether she always took so long to get ready to leave.  She looked rather sheepish.  “Yes.  I’m always worried that I might miss out on something if I leave.”

 

“I promise you, if you leave with me, you won’t miss out on anything.”  He folded her into his arms and kissed her passionately on the doorstep until the next lot of partygoers leaving interrupted them.  Kate blushed but he just shrugged and dragged her off into the night to look for an empty taxi.

 

 

 

When she woke up the next morning, she reflected that she had indeed not missed out on anything by going home when she did.  She did, however, miss Tom in her bed now.  She had assumed that he would be there when she woke up in the morning so she was a bit disappointed that he wasn’t.  She lay stretching in the bed trying to wake up gently.  She couldn’t hear any noises in her flat to indicate he was there.  She sat up to look around.  His bag was still on the floor where he had left it so he obviously hadn’t done a runner.  She slid out of bed and into her bathrobe that had been flung across the armchair.  She padded out into the kitchen but there was no sign of him.  She made herself a cup of tea with a sigh and fetched the paper from the doorstep.  As she was heading off back to bed, the doorbell rang.  She looked through the peephole to check who it was – Tom.  She opened the door for him.  He was standing on the doorstep, in shorts and a T-shirt, red in the face and sweating profusely.

 

“Good morning, can I help you?” she asked politely.

 

“I’m selling the complete Encyclopaedia Britannica door to door.”

 

“Ahh, that explains why you’re so hot and sweaty but I’m sorry I don’t need an encyclopaedia,” she answered with a laugh.

 

“How ‘bout a vacuum cleaner?”

 

“Er, no.”

 

“Steak knives?”  She just shook her head.

 

“Now, this is my absolute final offer – croissants, freshly squeezed orange juice and the paper,” he said holding out a bulging plastic bag.

 

“Oh, I think you had better come in.”

 

They spent a lazy morning eating croissants, drinking coffee and reading the paper (Tom actively avoiding the coverage of the tournament for which he had missed the cut).  In the afternoon, they headed off to a bookstore as Kate wanted to buy the latest Ian McEwan book.

 

As they mooched around the bookstore, she asked, “Do you read?”

 

“Yes, Kate, I can read.”

 

“No, I mean, do you like to read? Do you read a lot?”

 

“I guess I do.  Lots of time on planes, you know.”

 

“And what do you read?  Airport thrillers, guy lit, military history, biographies, pop science?”

 

“God, is this some kind of test?  If I say the wrong thing I’m out on my ear?”

 

“Mmm, possibly.”

 

“Okay, I’m guessing that you are a completely obsessive reader – like you appear to be about any of the things you actually take seriously.  I’m guessing that Jane Austen is your favourite author and Pride and Prejudice is your all time favourite book.  Am I right?”

 

“Maybe.”  He crowed in triumph.  Of course, he was right!  What self-respecting reader didn’t love Pride and Prejudice with a passion – particularly readers with a passion for soppy romances but too snooty to admit it, requiring their romance to be packaged as literature – Pride and Prejudice, The English Patient, Possession.  Tom interrupted her thoughts.

 

“So I should probably say that I love Jane Austen but I don’t think you’d believe I had ever read any.”

 

“Well, have you?”

 

“No.  How about you?”

 

“All of it – even the juvenilia and the incomplete novel.  Sad, huh?”  He laughed at her.

 

“So back to my original question,” she prompted.

 

“I read thrillers – lots of sex and violence.  I read biographies – I just finished reading Nelson Mandela’s.  I thought I should read it since I met him last year at a golf tournament in South Africa.  I don’t read military history.”

 

“Thank God, for that,” she snorted.  She was dying to hear all about meeting Nelson Mandela but didn’t want to seem like too much of a groupie so filed it away for later reference.

 

“Pop science I may need to give a go.  Guy lit, I’m not sure about.”

 

“You know, Nick Hornby.”

 

“Oh, no, too introspective for me.”  It was her turn to laugh at him.  He looked serious, then asked, “So, did I pass the test?”

 

“Yes, of course.  It was the military history that was vital.”

 

“And do you read, Kate?”

 

“I spend all day at work reading and then like nothing better than lying on the couch reading when I get home.”

 

“So no television for you then?”

 

“Oh, no, I watch TV and read at the same time.” 

 

He shook his head.  “I should have known.”  There was a pause and then he went on, “So this was all designed to check that I would not disrupt your lifestyle?  That I would agree to spending hours lying around reading with you?”

 

“Well, will you?”

 

“Alright, but can you also read naked in bed?” 

 

Kate threw him a cheeky grin.  “Shall we buy some books and see?”

 

Consequently, they spent the afternoon in bed reading - well at least, some of the time was spent reading.

 

 

 

Kate climbed out of bed as it started to get dark.  She padded out to the kitchen to rummage in the fridge and pantry to find something for dinner.  By the time Tom had followed her out, he was sniffing appreciatively.

 

“Smells great.  What is it?” 

 

She giggled, “It is my mum’s secret weapon in the cooking stakes.  Whenever she’s really busy and running late with dinner she always bungs on some onions and garlic to fry so the whole house is full of great smells and my dad thinks she’s cooking up a storm and has been at it for ages.  The smell keeps him happy even if he has to wait forever for his dinner.”

 

“So did you get all of your feminine wiles from your mother?”

 

“Plenty to learn from her.  She’s amazing.”

 

“Well, you aren’t so bad yourself,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist.

 

“If you do that, you’ll never get anything to eat.”  He let her go immediately and she looked vaguely disappointed.

 

“Sorry but I’m starving,” he said, with a shrug.  He watched her as she zipped around the kitchen, efficiently turning out spaghetti with creamy tomato sauce in the time it took to cook the pasta.

 

“This is incredible,” he said, as he slurped up the spaghetti.

 

“I’m a whiz at 10 minute dinners.  I’m always so tired when I get back from work that I can’t be bothered with anything that takes any longer.”  She took another sip of wine and regarded him over the top of her glass.  She hated to admit to herself, and certainly would never admit to him, that it tasted way better with him than it had ever done before. 

 

After dinner, they lay on the couch watching television.  It was all so normal that it was a bit of a shock when he suddenly grabbed the remote control from her and changed channels just as the sports report started on the news.  She had briefly forgotten that this was a hiatus from real life and that this wasn’t something they’d be doing every weekend.  She tried to think bracingly that it would probably get boring after a while.  Yeah, right!

 

“How about you go into another room and I watch the news and tell you who won?”

 

“As long as it is not that snotty nosed Spanish kid, I don’t care.”

 

“You mean Alonso.  What’s wrong with him?  He seemed pretty innocuous to me.”

 

“I know.  He is but it’s just that he’s always touted as the new generation and he makes me feel positively decrepit.”

 

“What at the age of 32?”

 

“Hmm, sad, isn’t it?”  She snatched back the remote control and flicked back to the news.  Tom leapt off the couch and headed into the hallway.  She called him back, “Too late, we missed it with all our fannying about.”

 

“I beg your pardon, all of our what?”

 

“You know, farting around, fannying about.”

 

“I think you’ve been living in London far too long if you can use an expression like that casually in conversation.”  She threw a cushion at him.  She moved to her laptop and turned it on.

 

“Are you going to do some work?”

 

“No, I’m going to check who won on the internet.”  He sat miserably on the couch while she waited for the BBC News homepage to open.  She silently clicked to the sports page and then the relevant story.

 

“So who do you think won?  Based on what you saw on Thursday and Friday.”

 

“Hmm, well, Alsonso was playing well and it was in Spain so he is a realistic option.  Maybe Jonathan Squires, he was the highest placed Aussie or Ernie Els, you can never rule him out.”

 

“And he is so gorgeous.”

 

“Excuse me, Ernie is gorgeous?”  She just nodded.  “Really?”

 

“He’s big and manly.  He’s all laid back and solid and dependable.  I just love him.  I mean, his nickname is the Big Easy.  What’s not to like?”

 

“And what am I?  Chopped liver?”

 

“No, my friend, you are extremely easy.”  It was his turn to throw a cushion at her.

 

“Just put me out of my misery and tell me who won.”

 

“Okay, it was another Spaniard.  Miguel.  Won in a play off with Squires.  Won it on the first play off hole.  Squires fired his tee shot into the water and it was all over.”

 

Tom moved behind her to read over her shoulder.  He was grinning broadly.

 

“What’s so great about Miguel winning?”

 

“You see, he’s about 45, bit of a paunch, smokes cigars out on the course, big drinker, thinks all this fitness stuff is crap.  He says it’s just about getting a little white ball in a slightly bigger hole.  I think perhaps that loses something in the translation.  But you get the idea.”

 

“In other words, you won’t feel the need to get up and go for a run tomorrow morning.”

 

“Exactly.  Speaking of which, I think it is about time we went back to bed.”  Kate laughed but was more than happy to be led off to the bedroom yet again.

 

“I could get used to this,” Tom muttered to her as he drifted off to sleep later that night.

 

“Hmm, me too.”

 

 

 

The next morning, Kate reached out a hand to whack the alarm when it went off and then snuggled down further into the bed.  She really didn’t want to go to work.  Tom rolled over and put his arms around her.

 

“Do you feel sick?”

 

“No,” she mumbled into his chest.

 

“Pity, if you were sick then perhaps you’d have to spend the day in bed and I could stay and make sure you’re alright.”

 

“That sounds heavenly but unfortunately I do have to go to work.”  She stretched and then threw off the covers.  It was a slow and difficult process getting out of bed, especially as Tom kept pulling her back into bed and she found it impossible to resist.  Somehow rekindling her relationship with Crazy Clive seemed far less attractive than staying in bed with Tom. 

 

She came back into the bedroom when she was ready to go to work.  She sat down on the edge of the bed.  Just the sight of him, all tousled and sleepy, was enough to make her stomach flip.  She kissed him.

 

“When will you be back in town?”  She hadn’t even meant to ask the question.  It just popped out.  She had intended to play it cool, just a casual ‘see you later’.  Now she sounded like some possessive mistress type. 

 

“I have to be here the week after next for a sponsor event.  On the Tuesday but it’s a cocktail party so it shouldn’t be too be late.  Perhaps we could meet up afterwards.”  She had a sneaking suspicion that meeting up afterwards was code for come back to my hotel and have sex – at least she hoped that was what it meant.

 

“Let’s see how it goes.  Now I hope you don’t miss the cut again this week.  Have a good week.”  She gave a casual wave over her shoulder as she left.  She cringed inwardly.  Her behaviour was all over the place – now she was sounding like her mother chatting to one of her church flower arranging buddies.  She really wasn’t sure how you were supposed to handle the whole post blissful coupley weekend thing.  It just seemed weird that after an intense couple of days together he was going away and she wouldn’t see him for another 10 days.  She wasn’t even sure what was going on.  Were they a couple?  Was he her boyfriend?  What was she supposed to do in the unlikely event that someone else asked her to go out?

 

Plagued by uncertainty, she whipped out her mobile as she walked from the tube to work.  She called her own number, hoping he would realise it was her.  He let it go to the answering machine.  “Tom, it’s me, please pick up.”  She waited a while but he didn’t answer.  Maybe he was in the shower.  She hung up and then decided that it was probably a good thing that she hadn’t spoken to him.  She probably would’ve asked him if he was her boyfriend as if they were in high school again.  She blushed at her own stupidity.  Perhaps she could be really juvenile and get Imogen to ask for her – that had always worked well in high school. 

 

She gave herself a stern talking to.  She was a grown woman not a giggling teenager.  She was capable of having a relationship with a man that was outside the categories that she would have recognised at 16.  There was no need to analyse it and determine exactly what was going on.  She could just go with the flow and see where it led them and not worry too much about the consequences.  Hmm, and pigs might fly, too.  It was not in her nature.  She needed to know exactly what was going on and what the future held.  Unfortunately, with Tom that just wasn’t possible.

 

Her gloomy, preoccupied state lasted throughout the day.  And whilst it had been difficult leaving home that morning, it was nothing to the feeling of coming home to an empty flat.  Usually she cherished her solitude and the peace and quiet that came with living alone.  It was a nice contrast to her crazy working life.  But today it was just depressing and lonely.  Made even worse by the fact that Tom had gone out and bought her flowers before he had left.  Really, he was the most wonderful man, if a little inconvenient.  She couldn’t be bothered eating and fell straight into bed.  Even though Tom had made the bed, there was still an indentation from his head on the pillow (at least she could see it) and it smelt of him.  In fact, there was a definite Tom sized hole in her bed.  Luckily, she was not so far gone that she wasn’t able to give herself a mental kick in the pants.  She really was being quite pathetic.

Copyright (c) Sandra Pruim 2008

On an Island - Chapter 7

The Flight

 

God, there was a sea of people lining up at the Delta Airlines counters.  To make matters worse, Jo had purchased a ticket in coach, so there was no chance of moving to the front of the line.

All she could hear was irritated passengers making their displeasure known to the staff at the counters.

She heard one man with an obvious southern accent ask one of the attendants the following question:

“Since when have Delta airlines started employing farm girls to do this job?”.

The southern girl behind the counter had probably heard it all before anyway, because she replied “ever since we’ve stared transporting cattle”, not missing a beat, and not looking up once.

 

Jo giggled a little at the woman’s chutzpah, even if she herself was thinking exactly what that rude man was also thinking.

 

The crowd gathering around the counters was separated into 3 basic groups.

The first was the mostly Greek and other European passengers who could afford to travel business or first class, and who were ushered to the counters with the warm smiles of the Delta Airlines boys and girls.  These people were clearly distinguishable from the general rabble which was pushing its way toward them by their neat and clean luggage, and their crisp clothing.  Most of the women wore make up that was subtle and pleasing, and wore clothing that radiated wealth and elegance.  Their shoes were made of suede, their skirts linen.  Very European.  Amongst these women were several Americans also, and these ones were discernible by their clothes which were either Gap or Old Navy.

The men in this group by contrast wore clothing that was expensive but designed to look shabby and unpretentious.  Given that most people knew just how expensive Gucci loafers were, it rather defeated its purpose.

This group was a quiet one, and Jo wished that she was one of them.  Beyond the check in counters, this group was going to be greeted by the calm and smiling staff of the Crown Room Club, though in all honesty Jo had been a member of these “executive lounges” before, and they were mostly filled with the same sense of entitlement and loud demands as the rest of the airport population, only these people wore linen clothing.

 

Instead, she was faced with waiting for another forty five minutes at the very least until she could check in and buy herself a tepid coffee from one of the airport cafes.  The line-up ahead of her didn’t look appealing, though Jo at least kept herself occupied in observing the behavior of the crowd before her.

 

The second clearly defined group was mostly Americans on what appeared to be budget tours.  There were two or three of these groups, and each group was made up of women and men either in jogging suits or very poor quality jeans.  They invariably wore baseball caps with a number of pins stuck to them, and they also wore fluorescent badges on their lapels signifying that they belonged to this or that tour group.  A couple of other tour leaders were circling their respective groups, trying to sound enthusiastic about their impending flight and subsequent tour.  Jo could see in their faces that they’d done this all before on many occasions, and although it was probably difficult for the group members to detect it, Jo could see that these tour group leaders treated their members as one would a flock of sheep, herding it this way and that, with little regard for the fact that these were individuals in front of them that may have their own wishes and needs.  She imagined that these group leaders thought very little of their members, though perhaps she was being unkind by being judgmental about these people herself.  She couldn’t be sure who was now observing her, in the same way that she was observing this group.  She realized that to an onlooker, that she would now be classed in the “loud American” group, and she didn’t like that thought very much.

 

The third group appeared to be mostly Greeks who had come to LA to visit relatives.  They were accompanied by an entourage of aunts, uncles and cousins, all behaving very loudly and all with very little taste.  It seemed that the relatives felt little need to stay behind the check-in barriers, and consequently there appeared to be many more people on the flight at first glance than was actually the case.  These Greeks were easy to tell apart from the ones in business class: they spoke loudly (and in Greek) and there was a great deal more animation in their expressions than the others.  In that way, Jo thought that they really did resemble the Americans, though of course, an American could never admit to that.

 

It took Jo forty five minutes to snake along the line until reaching the Delta staff.  She was lucky enough to be greeted by a very effeminate man who reminded her of Paul and who wore a number of “service medals” on his lapel.  Jo figured that this was as close to active combat as he was going to get, though in looking around her, she realized that the vista before her very closely resembled a battlefield, albeit very much a rag-tag one with no clear winner or loser.  In fact, to an onlooker, it would be very difficult to ascertain exactly what was going on within LAX.  The place at times seemed to be full of activity but with very little output.

Nonetheless, the time spent in the queue enabled Jo to size up the mostly Greek passengers, imagining what she must be in for when she arrived at her destination some sixteen hours from now.

 

The man at the counter looked up at her.

 

“Are you traveling to Athens maam, or are you connecting to a destination beyond that?”

 

“Athens.  Do you have the correct time over there at the moment?” Jo wanted to adjust her watch, thinking that by doing this she would avoid jet lag.

 

 

“No I don’t maam.  I’m just LAX ground crew.  I’ve only ever traveled between LAX and Century City, and although you might think so, you don’t need a time change for that journey”.

Jo giggled.  After forty five minutes waiting to check in, Randy at the counter was able to make her laugh, so life couldn’t really be that bad, could it?   

 

“May I have your ticket and passport please, and anything else you care to hand over to me?”

 

“Well here’s my passport and my ticket; I don’t think I have anything else that you might be interested in”, Jo said with an impish look.

 

“You never know DOCTOR Sweeney..  well now I am interested, he said with mock awe as he looked at the name on her ticket.  Maybe you could give me the all over treatment- God knows I’m in need of it”.

 

“Randy, I run a women’s clinic, so I’m not sure that you really want to be given doctor’s treatment by me...but then again..”

 

“No, I think I’ll leave it there Dr Sweeney.  I do have several ailments that may need attending to shortly, but I don’t think that your services will do the trick!”

 

“As you wish Randy”..  Jo said with an grin, knowing exactly the kind of smuttish thought was going on in Randy’s head at that precise moment.  She knew the kind of treatment that he was after, and figured it would be very similar to the kind of treatment that Paul would be looking for later that same night.

 

As Randy handed her the boarding pass and all her documents back, Jo turned to see a throng of people surround a very star-like person wearing very dark sunglasses.  She moved her way through the security screening point toward the departure lounge.  This was LA after all, so anyone could be walking thorough the gates at that time.

The mob that was stopped at the security check point did seem to be shouting things at her primarily in Greek, so it was possible that the woman was a minor celebrity in Greece and that fellow passengers had recognized her, wanting a little of her fame to rub off on them.

For her part, Jo hoped that the woman wasn’t traveling on her flight, because back in coach, the one thing that Jo did not want to endure was a flight of thirteen hours duration in which people were constantly badgering this woman and talking about their experiences amongst themselves.

 

As Jo moved past the sour-faced security attendants, she began to get excited at the adventure that she hoped she was about to commence.

Regardless of whether the letter proclaiming her to be heiress to the stone house was genuine or not, the whole idea of looking for the answer was in itself a huge success for her already.  She fantasized about what kind of an experience she would find at the other end of this flight, having a hundred images in her mind as she moved into the ladies’ room.  She knew she had to hang on until passing through security, because anyone going to the ladies’ room prior to that always aroused suspicion.  It always looked as though the person was hiding drugs or doing something else illegal.  She learned that from some TV thriller, and never forgot it while traveling.  Jo figured that every major airport probably had hidden cameras in the restrooms to find these things out.  Alternatively, the cameras may well have been there for the amusement of the security staff, and as she walked in to the restroom of the Crown Club (she was still a member, even if she was traveling coach), she hoped that some balding overweight man in a camera room wasn’t looking at her screen and masturbating at the thought of what was to come.

 

What a thought.

 

As she pushed the restroom door open, she realized that the star-like person was at the wash-basin, re-applying some eye make-up.

 

The two women smiled at each other as Jo pushed open her cubicle door and entered.

 

A few minutes later, Jo left the stall to find the woman still there, applying lipstick repeatedly.  Jo figured she must be passing time in there.

 

“Hello”, Jo said.  “It looks like you have quite a fan club out there”.

 

The woman looked at her and smiled.  She was around thirty, blonde, with brown eyes and wearing jeans, boots and a very fluffy sweater.

 

“Yes, I do, unfortunately”, she said with an accent.  “I’m trying to have a little rest in here”.

 

Jo thought she had the tiniest glimpse of what it must have been like to be a celebrity- where everyone knew your name, and everyone was watching you, wanting to talk with you and touch you.  Jo could tell that this woman was resenting that celebrity, and that tragically, a restroom cubicle was the only way to have a little peace.

 

The lipstick slipped out of the woman’s hands as she fingered it, and Jo reached down to pick it up.

“Nice color, MAC”, Jo admired.

 

“Thank you.  It’s a very practical color.  I wear it everywhere.  Not only that, I have a deal with the cosmetic company, so I have to wear their make-up.  It’s part of the contract.  It’s good quality product though.  Have this one”.

The woman reached into her bag to pull out a fresh lipstick.  “I have more than I can use”.

 

“Thank you, that’s very kind.  Are you sure?”

 

“Of course”.

 

“Please pardon my ignorance”, Jo said apologetically.  “I know you’re famous, you must be.  I just can’t place your face”.

 

“Kouklitsa-mou, you wouldn’t know me.  I’m a pop singer back in Greece.  My name is Liana Kelisi”.  She held out her hand.

 

Jo took it, announcing herself as Jo Sweeney, from Los Angeles.

 

“Nice to meet you Jo.  If you’re not traveling with anyone, maybe we can have a drink while we’re traveling on the plane.  I don’t have anyone with me on this flight, so the seat next to me is empty.  Are you with your husband or partner?”

 

Jo looked a little sheepish, more embarrassed about the fact that she was sitting way back in coach.  She managed a weak, “No, I’m traveling on my own.  That would be nice.  Enjoy your flight”.

 

With that, Jo dried her hands and left the women’s room, making her way through the lounge to claim one of the few remaining empty seats.

 

She picked up the LA Times, thumbing through it absent-mindedly as she waited for her flight to be called.

As she moved to the Entertainment section, she realized Liana must be a bigger star than simply a pop singer in Greece.  There has a half-page feature on Liana Kelisi and her upcoming hosting gig at the Eurovision Song Contest, due to be staged in Athens in 2 days time.  The article also talked about the fact that she had a single out at the moment which was Number 1 on the Billboard Dance chart, the first major international hit of Liana Kelisi after having a string of platinum albums and number one dance tracks in her native homeland.

 

Well, that was Jo’s brush with fame.  It had only happened twice before in her own consulting room (and both of those women were ageing and fading stars of day-time television), and Jo, probably because of the fact that it was part of her daily work, didn’t feel at all over-awed by the experience.  This was quite different however.  Liana was mysterious and unknown to Jo, and her friendly and casual conversation made Jo feel very comfortable.

 

A crisp loud-speaker overhead announced Jo’s flight:

 

“Delta Airlines flight 636 to Athens is now boarding through Gate 42.  All Crown Club passengers on this flight are kindly requested to make their way toward the Departure Gate”.  The message was repeated in Greek.

 

Ten minutes later, Jo was swiping her documents through the boarding pass reader and entering the plane, moving through the business cabin to get to seat 24C.

 

She passed Liana as she made her way down the aisle.

 

“Where are you sitting Jo?”, Liana asked as she passed.

 

“Oh, I’m in row 24.  I couldn’t get a decent ticket at the last minute”, she lied

 

“Sit here next to me, Jo.  I have two seats.  Please, put your bags away and sit down”.

 

“But won’t someone want this seat?”

 

“No, no.  I have two seats.  I normally travel with my manager, but he had to go on ahead on another flight.  I always book two seats.  Please join me.”

 

Jo was very thankful that she wouldn’t have to join the jostling masses at the back of the plane in cattle class, though she felt somewhat guilty at being the object of this woman’s generosity, given that she hardly knew her.  The woman had already given her a lipstick, a brush with stardom, and now a seat in business class.  All Jo could offer was advice on incontinence and menopause, which she hoped Liana didn’t need.

 

The cabin attendant offered Jo and Liana a drink, and sensibly, Jo chose an orange juice to Liana’s wine.  She was a California girl, after all, and health was something that she needed to work on, all the time.

 

After taking a few sips, Jo realized as she looked at Liana that Dr Sweeney was feeling neither healthier nor happier.  She gently motioned to the cabin attendant and asked her for a white wine.  This trip was about discovering new places, not only geographically, but also emotionally, and Jo realized that she needed to let some of her guard down, if she was going to become the person she wanted to be.

 

As the final safety checks were being done and the emergency maneuvers were being demonstrated, Jo turned to Liana and said: “Thank you for this; I appreciate it.” Liana smiled.

“I saw an article about you in the LA Times, in the airport lounge.  I have a rough idea of who you are now”.

 

“There, you see, it is quite simple to summarize a person.  Tell me about you Jo.  Why are you traveling to Athens?”

 

Jo and Liana spent hours talking about their lives.

Jo talked of the fact that she was a doctor who spent most of her life, both personal and professional, pleasing others and how this had led to her becoming increasingly unhappy with the direction her life was taking.  She told Liana of the package that she’d received from the Athens law firm, with its keys and property title apparently proving that she’d been left a house and land on the island of Patmos.  Liana was fascinated by this, and how it could happen, and allowed Jo to talk for much of the time.  For her part, Liana said that she’d heard of this before, and that it was often the case that confused foreigners had inherited something from a relative they never knew they had.

They exchanged smiles and words that friends who’ve known each other life-times do.  Jo felt an instant bond to Liana, a woman who she realized must have been a big star in her native Greece, and who was in LA on a short promotional tour prior to returning to perform for her country at the Eurovision Song Contest.  Liana explained that Eurovision was an institution in Europe, a kitsch production that had been entertaining generations of Europeans for at least 50 years.  Essentially it was a continent-wide talent quest where singers battled it out to win their prize in the name of their country of origin.  Despite the parochialism of the voting, years of criticism from Europeans in general and the media in particular, the viewers of Europe kept turning their televisions on by the millions.  Who knows, perhaps this was destined to be a Europe-wide phenomenon that in 1000 years time would be uncovered in a time capsule, only to discover that it hadn’t changed a bit in all that time.

 

Two glasses of wine later and a herbal sleeping tablet saw Jo awake with a thud just as the plane was touching down at Athens Airport.  She’d thankfully missed most of the flight, though by the time she woke from the haze that was the wine of a few hours ago, the aircraft doors were being opened and the first passengers were disembarking.

Jo started shuffling around, looking for her immigration and customs papers, noticing that her dinner partner Liana was way ahead, exiting the plane with her sunglasses on.  She turned and waved at Jo, pointing down as she did so.  By the time she realized what she meant, Liana was gone, the only thing distinguishing the experience from a dream being an envelope wedged into the seat pocket in front of Jo.  The envelope had “Come” written on it.  She opened it, and inside was a VIP ticket to Eurovision, all details included.

 

Jo smiled, thinking about how much she liked the place already.

Copyright (c) Petros Markou 2008

Salalah

Hi

Well, life has got in the way of blogging lately.  We had our amazing trip to Salalah - a 3,200 kilometre (including 800 kms each way of absolutely nothing!) round car trip.  Followed by a week of visitors and now the girls are back at school and have managed to pick up various icky diseases.  Needless to say I am no Florence Nightingale so this has not been a fun week.

To make up for my incredible slackness, here is a double dose.

Hope you enjoy it.

Sandy

Out of Bounds - Chapter 7

 

Kate woke up to the sound of the telephone by her head ringing.

 

“Hi, Mum,” she mumbled.

 

“Hello, darling.  How did you know it was me?”  Her mother’s cheerful reply came down the phone line.  Kate rolled over and squinted sleepily at the clock.

 

“Mum, no one else thinks that 6.30 in the morning is a reasonable time to call people.”

 

“Anyway,” her mother continued as if Kate had never said anything, “your father and I saw this girl on the news this morning who looked just like you.  She was with that Tom Benson, you know, the golfer who won that tournament in Ireland over the weekend.  We know that you met him but I told your father you weren’t planning to go to Ireland for the weekend so it couldn’t have been you.”

 

“No, it was unexpected.”

 

“What? You mean it really was you?”  The surprise evident in her mother’s voice was almost enough to make Kate smile, even if it was only 6.35 am.  She could hear her father in the background saying “I told you it was Kate.”

 

“Yes, Mum, it really was me.”  That silenced her mother momentarily.

 

“But he was kissing that girl.”

 

“Mum!”  She could not believe she was having this conversation with her mother - it was appalling.  Bloody Tom Benson and his overzealous victory celebrations.

 

“I didn’t realise you knew him so well,” replied her mother tartly.

 

“Nor did I!”

 

 

 

It was the first of many conversations Kate had about the televised kiss.  Unfortunately, it didn’t prepare her for the widespread interest in her apparent romantic involvement with Tom Benson.  After all your mother is supposed to be concerned about who you lock lips with but the tea lady isn’t, not to mention the people at the dry cleaners, the off licence or the corner shop.

 

It only got worse once she got to the office.  She discovered a huge photo of Tom adorned the back page of The Times, together with a small inset of her and Tom together.

 

“It’s a great picture of you,” Matthew said, leaning over her desk to take a closer look.  She glared up at him.

 

“I would much rather that there were no pictures of me.”  Her eyes fell on the caption beneath the photo.  ‘Tom Benson celebrating his 2 shot victory with a good friend.’  Good friend, indeed!  She passed a weary hand across her face.

 

“I can’t believe that he didn’t warn me about this.”

 

“Why would he?  For him it’s perfectly normal that what he does on the weekend gets reported in Monday’s Times.”

 

“Oh, shit.  How many people read The Times anyway?”

 

“You don’t want to know, half a million, maybe.  Everyone in this office for a start.” 

 

She groaned, “I don’t think I’m cut out for this celebrity girlfriend thing.” 

 

Matthew scoffed at her, “It’s not as if he’s that famous.  You aren’t being followed by paparazzi, are you?  No one is camped outside the building or at your flat?”  She shook her head.  “It could be much worse.  You’re lucky he plays such a boring sport and that he’s Australian so relatively few people will be interested.  Now if he were an English football player, you’d be in big trouble.”  She threw a bundle of post-it notes at him but had to laugh.

 

“I think the pictures will have a longer life than the relationship itself.”

 

“Don’t be such a pessimist.”  They were interrupted by Gillian.

 

“Nice picture.  Although it’s a pity that you weren’t wearing your ALG cap at the time and that it doesn’t identify you as working here.”  Kate looked at her in absolute horror.  It hadn’t occurred to her that her love life could be used to market her employers.  Gillian gave a cheery wave and continued on her way.

 

“Did that really just happen?  Did she actually infer that the next time I get my picture in the paper I should make sure that I’m wearing something with ALG on it or at least tell them where I work?  She is absolutely bonkers.”

 

Luckily the photo of Kate and Tom Benson was very small so that when it was photocopied to A3 size and plastered all over the office (by the banking lads) she was barely recognisable.  However, to overcome this, they had drawn a big red circle around her and an arrow with the words ‘Our Kate’ scrawled across the bottom.  Matthew assured her that if it were anyone else she would think it was very funny.  She just humphed at him and bleated, “But it isn’t anyone else.”

 

Thoroughly sick of the whole thing, she called Tom to complain.

 

“So how is the champion of the world?” she asked sharply.

 

“Oh, not sure about that but definitely filled with a great sense of well being and that all is right in the world.  Although it would be better if you were here,” he answered in the soft sexy drawl that was guaranteed to stop her being irritated by anything.

 

“Where are you?”

 

“Still in Kinsale.  Are you sure you couldn’t just bunk off work and come back?”

 

“Yes.  Anyway, I have a bone to pick with you.”

 

“Pick away.”

 

“You didn’t warn me that a picture of us would be plastered all over every newspaper in the country, not to mention footage of us being on the news all around the world.”

 

“Are you getting hounded by the press, Kate?”  His amusement was evident.

 

“No, worse.  My mother – she saw it on the bloody morning news in Australia. One of the advantages of living on the other side of the world from your parents is supposed to be that they don’t know anything about your love life.”  He just laughed.

 

“So they know about us, big deal.”

 

“Big deal,” she repeated hotly. “The whole bloody world knows about us.  Well, at least they know you have a ‘good friend’ as The Times put it.”

 

“Ouch.”

 

She remained silent sulking.

 

“Come on, it’s not that bad.”

 

“It is.  And the bloody Lipstick Nazi, you know Gillian, she told me next time I should try to wear my ALG cap.”  Now he was roaring with laughter.

 

“The whole thing is ludicrous.  Today’s front page news is tomorrow’s fish and chip wrapping.”

 

“They don’t wrap fish and chips in newspaper anymore.”

 

“It’s just an expression.  Look, let me be blunt.  No one is really that interested in the private lives of golfers.  Yes, there may have been a picture of us together in the paper or on the news but it is just there to add a bit extra to the story.  A bit of ‘ahh’ factor – you know, ‘oh, isn’t it nice that he has someone to share this moment with’.  That’s all.  You said it yourself – they didn’t even bother to find out what your name is.  Your colleagues will get used to it.  Once people know about us it will cease to be interesting.  And as for your parents, so what if they know there’s something between us.  They won’t disapprove of me, will they?”

 

“I don’t think so,” she mumbled.

 

“Kate, it’s an occupational hazard.  If you want to have a relationship with me then occasionally your picture may appear in the paper or on the news.  But hopefully the other parts of the job will make up for it.”

 

“And what other parts of the job would they be?” she asked in mock innocence.

 

“Oh, you know, sex.”  She started to laugh, despite her grumpiness.

 

“So sex with you is supposed to make up for all of this brouhaha?”

 

“Yep.”  He paused for a fraction then asked, “It does, doesn’t it?”

 

“Hmm, I guess so.”

 

“I guess so?”

 

“Bye, Tom!”

 

 

 

About two hours later, Natalie came in with a bouquet of beautiful purple irises.  She didn’t say anything but just raised an eyebrow before leaving to collect a vase from the kitchen.  Kate burrowed in the flowers to find a card.  Typical of Tom, it was short and to the point, “Another perk of the job.”

 

 

 

When she got home late that night, there was a message on her machine from her sister.  “Don’t care what time you get in – call me.  Call me at work, home or mobile.”  There was even a bit of a giggle at the end of the message.  She checked her watch and calculated the time in Sydney.  Amelia would probably still be at work, so Kate dialled her home number, hoping to leave a message and get off the hook without actually speaking to her.  She was thwarted as her sister answered on the second ring.

 

“Katie Kate, what have you been up to?  Mum is all in a tizz - worrying what the neighbours are going to think of her daughter - snogging, not just on national television, but international television.”  She could just see her sister, Amelia, curled up in her favourite armchair, twisting the chord around a finger and relishing Kate’s discomfort – in the nicest possible way.

 

“Hi, Millie.  How are you?”

 

“No, enough about me already.  I want to talk about you.  Far more interesting from what Mum tells me.”

 

“Oh, God.  What has she been saying?”

 

“Not much.  I think she called me to find out what I know that she doesn’t, which in this case, my dear sister, is absolutely zip.  So spill the beans.”

 

“Don’t you have an antenatal class to attend or some breathing to practice?” Amelia was pregnant with her first child, the much anticipated first grandchild in the Shaw family.

 

“No.  Come on,” Amelia wheedled, just as she had when they were small and, just as always, it worked a treat on Kate.  She gave Amelia the sisterly version of events, that is, the one that ended with a caution not to tell their mother too much.

 

“What counts as too much?” Amelia asked.

 

“Anything!”

 

 

 

Tom was right and the whole thing did blow over, largely forgotten by everyone save for the odd dig by one of the banking lads.  Kate wished they were could take a leaf out of the tax lawyers’ book – more work and less talk.  She was very glad that it did die down as the Greengoods deal was turning into a mammoth headache and she had very little time to devote to anything else.  The drafting of the prospectus was proving difficult as Crazy Clive did not answer the prospectus questionnaire like any normal person would.  After the first few times that Clive’s answers had been shown to be significantly different from reality, Kate got exceedingly nervous and made Ravi double check everything.  Needless to say, Ravi was less than impressed.  She insisted they had proper documentation for every claim in the prospectus, beyond even the usual rigorous requirements, as she just did not trust her client.  This task was made even more difficult by the fact that Greengoods was a family company where decisions were made on the basis of what seemed fair and were rarely formalised.  The company’s shareholders meetings were a joke and the few resolutions that existed rarely complied with all the formalities required.  It was not so much that Crazy Clive was dishonest but that he saw the world in a different way to most people.  It was just a pity that the Securities Commission was unlikely to share his alternative view of reality!

 

The whole thing made Kate edgy.  But that was nothing compared to how she felt when Clive called her on Thursday afternoon to tell her that he was unhappy with the bankers they had chosen (whom he described as ‘heavy’) and thought that they should try to find others more attune to his own personal philosophy.  She had spent at least an hour on the phone explaining to him why this was not the best course of action.  At the conclusion of the conversation he promised to meditate upon it and call her back in the morning with his answer.

 

He finally decided that they should stick with the bankers they had but requested that Kate should act as a go between as he didn’t want to deal with them directly.  She was so relieved that they didn’t have to start hunting for new bankers at this stage that she didn’t tell him all the reasons that this wasn’t a great idea but consoled herself with the fact that things would probably proceed more smoothly this way.

 

She called the bank’s representative, Jeremy Davies, a colleague of Imogen’s, to tell him the good news.  He was, of course, delighted that he could just deal with normal, sensible, rational Kate.

 

“I just want to know what you did to piss him off so much so that if he gets really out of hand I can pull the same stunt and then he won’t want to deal with me directly either and some other sucker can be his Girl Friday.”  Jeremy just laughed.

 

As she put down the phone it started to ring again. It was Natalie.

 

“I have Mr Greenwood on the line for you.”  Kate groaned inwardly.

 

“Hello, Mr Greenwood.  I’ve just been speaking to the bankers and they’ve agreed to channel all correspondence through me.”

 

“Excellent.  I have just been thinking.”  She wanted to scream, “Don’t, what ever you do, start thinking – that is what causes all the problems” but she refrained.  She spent another half an hour on the phone listening to Crazy Clive’s various demands and bright ideas to ensure the smooth running of the float of his company.

 

 

 

She was so relieved when 6 o’clock finally crawled around, that she turned off her computer and headed straight to the boardroom for Friday afternoon drinks.  She met Matthew on the way in.

 

“Gin and tonic, Kate?”

 

“No, I think I need a beer.”

 

“Rough day, then?”

 

“Hmm, Crazy Clive is living up to his nickname.  He’s changed his mind about the launch date for the IPO on advice – from his clairvoyant!”

 

Matthew handed her a bottle of Heineken.  She ignored the proffered glass and drank straight from the bottle.

 

“Oooh, how uncouth.  You’ll get Henry all in a tizz if he sees you drinking beer without a glass.”

 

“You know it’s one of my favourite hobbies – stressing Henry out with my antipodean ways.  By the way, is couth a word?  Do you know of any other un- words that are not words in their own right?  Most of them seem to be in pairs, you know, unusual – usual.” Matthew paused to think then shoved a glass into her hand as Henry entered the room so that by the time he saw her she was innocently pouring beer into a glass.

 

“Unconscionable, darling.  No such word as conscionable.  But perhaps there should be!”

 

Their inane banter was interrupted by Kate’s mobile phone. 

 

“I wish I knew how to change the bloody ring tone,” she muttered under her breath as she tried to find it quickly to avoid any more of the song blaring out.  Matthew had changed her ring tone to Sex Bomb after the photo in the paper.

 

“Kate, it’s me. I’ve missed the cut so can I come and spend the weekend with you in London?  Please?”

 

“Why did you miss the cut?”  She wandered over to perch on the window sill and look out into the gathering night.

 

“Well, you see, if you score ten shots more than the leader they don’t let you play on the weekend and it is called missing the cut.”

 

“That is not what I meant.”

 

“Okay, I’m sick as a dog.  I’ve picked up some awful cold and I feel miserable.”

 

“So you want to come and spread your germs to me?”

 

“Yes, that is exactly what I have in mind.”  He managed to make it sound positively desirable.

 

“You don’t expect me to play Florence Nightingale, delivering you bowls of chicken noodle soup and making you tea with lemon and honey, do you?”  Before he had a chance to suggest that perhaps she could just don the nurses uniform and not worry about the chicken soup, she continued, “I’m a crap nurse and sick people get boring after a while.  Just warning you.”

 

“Okay, I am officially warned.”

 

“So when will you be here?”

 

“I’m flying out this evening but probably won’t be in London until late.”

 

“I’m at work drinks and then I’ll go home so just give me a call when you get in so I know when to expect you.”

 

“So I can stay at your place?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“It’s not going to spoil any of your plans for the weekend?”

 

“Oh shit.  I have a party to go to tomorrow night but I’m sure I can wangle an invitation for you.”  She didn’t bother to mention that it was a fancy dress party – she figured the less he knew the better.  Or worry about the fact that he was supposed to be sick and might not want to go out.

 

When she clicked off her phone, she realised that Richard was standing beside her.

 

“So how are things with Tom Benson?”  She looked at him, trying to gauge his feelings about her and Tom.

 

“He missed the cut.”  She decided to opt for the least amount of information possible.  He waved her response away. 

 

“So are you two an item then?”

 

“I don’t know about being an item.”  She wasn’t even sure what being an item entailed.  Trust Richard to come up with some arcane terminology that she didn’t really understand.

 

“Are you seeing each other?”

 

“Yes, we are, over the weekend.”

 

“I’m not convinced that he’s actually good enough for you, Kate.” He shook his head emphatically.  “But if you think he’s what you need, then fine.  But just let me say this,” he said, waggling a finger at her, “if he hurts you, if he makes you cry, just you let me know and I’ll deal with him.”  He planted a kiss on her cheek and then walked out of the boardroom.

 

She looked up to see Matthew, arching a brow at her.  “What was that all about?”

 

“No idea.  He offered to defend my honour, if necessary, with Mr Benson.”  She started to giggle.  It really was ludicrous.

 

“He’s been at lunch today to celebrate the close of the Barrington deal, so he’s probably drunk as a skunk.”

 

“He was swaying slightly.”  They looked at each other with raised eyebrows and then nodded slowly.  That must explain it all.  She shook her head slightly and happily accepted another beer from Matthew.

 

 

 

She slipped out of the boardroom as the music was getting louder and louder and the junior staff looked like they were settling in for the long haul, aided and abetted by John Cruickshank, a recently divorced partner looking to recapture his youth. 

 

She popped into her local Thai takeaway, Bow Thai.  The name was corny but the food was great and it was round the corner from her flat.  Unfortunately, Kate was a regular regular.

 

“Your usually order?  Tom Yum Goong, red beef curry, plain rice?” asked Lek, the tiny Thai woman that owned the place.

 

“That’ll be fine but could I also have a green chicken curry, Tom Kha Gai and an extra rice.”

 

“Ooh, you have a visitor – maybe, you have a boyfriend.”  Kate just smiled and sat down to read the paper while she waited.

 

She happily munched through her dinner, watching Shooting Stars repeats on BBC2.  Once she finished eating, she cast a critical eye over her flat.  One of the advantages of always working late was that she was never at home to make a mess.  She pottered around plumping cushions, straightening the magazines in the basket under the coffee table.  She put fresh sheets on her bed, getting quite giddy at the thought of sharing her bed with Tom.  She really needed to get a grip!

 

She cast a critical eye over herself and decided that she needed to have a bubble bath.  She tried to close her eyes and relax but all she could see in her mind’s eye was Tom stretched out on her bed naked.  It was no good.  She climbed out of the bath and was wrapping a towel around her dripping hair when the doorbell rang.  She slipped into her fluffy white Country Road bathrobe and padded out to the door.  It was Tom.  He gave her a lazy smile.

 

“Come in, you poor sick baby.  I have some Tom Kha Gai for you.”

 

“What?”

 

“Tom Kha Gai - Thai chicken soup.  I figured if chicken noodle soup can fix a cold then spicy Thai chicken soup would fix it twice as fast.”  She flashed him a winning smile as she pulled him inside.

 

“I think we’ve been here before.  Except last time I was wearing the terry towelling.  Are you wearing boxer shorts?” he asked as he pulled her towards him by the tie of her robe.  Kate chuckled, “No.”

 

“Oh, I feel better already.”

Copyright (c) Sandra Pruim 2008

Out of Bounds - Chapter 6

Kate woke up early on Saturday morning with a flutter of excitement at the thought that she was going to see Tom Benson.  Not just see him, but see him in his own environment, in action in a golf tournament.  She showered quickly and then dithered about what to wear.  Jeans and a cute top was probably fine but she also had to think about getting there in a private jet, she wasn’t sure you could just lob up in any old T-shirt on a private plane.  In the end, after trying on every possible combination of jeans and little tops she settled on a tight fitting white T-shirt and a red cashmere cardigan with boots rather than trainers.  She chose this because it was what she was wearing when the taxi beeped its horn outside her building.

 

Once in the taxi on the way to the airport, Kate began to think about going on a private plane.  The whole process was fascinating as it seemed to her that she was unlikely to ever have the opportunity again and that she should make the most of this glimpse into how the other half lived. 

 

She was thoroughly impressed as she leant back into the big squishy leather seat, drinking her freshly squeezed orange juice and munching on a croissant as London disappeared beneath the clouds.  Kate thought she could quite easily get used to this kind of travelling.  Her travel companions, Fred and Cecillia, and their daughter, Caroline and her husband, Peter, were clearly used to the levels of luxury around them.  The two managers from Elert, for whom this trip was part of their bonuses for contributions to the company, were looking around at everything as intently as Kate was.

 

She chatted amiably with Caroline on the brief flight.  The only awkward moment came when Caroline asked her whether she was there as a guest of her father’s company.  Kate didn’t feel that she could lie to Fred Higgins’ daughter, so she simply said that she was a guest of Tom Benson and that her father had kindly offered her a lift.  This caused Caroline to raise an interested eyebrow but she didn’t pursue the matter further.  Kate was sure that Caroline would be watching her like a hawk for any indication of exactly what her relationship with Tom Benson was.

 

They arrived at the small commercial airport in Cork, where they were ushered into two waiting Range Rovers to make the 45 minute drive to the Headland Golf Links, where the tournament was being held.  The course was several miles outside of Kinsale, a picturesque fishing village that had become something of a retreat for well heeled tourists seeking golf and gourmet food.  It was rumoured that members of the Royal Family had cottages in the area to get away from it all in style.

 

As they got out of the cars at the course, the driver handed Kate a large envelope with her name on it. He also told her he would take her luggage to the house.  She had no idea what he was talking about but was so intrigued by the envelope that she let it slide.  When she turned it over to open it she saw a note from Tom.

 

“Tee off 1.35pm.  See you afterwards.  Tom”

 

She laughed at the brevity of his note and opened the envelope.  It contained a security tag and nothing else.  Kate noticed the others were also pulling out matching VIP tags and attaching them around their necks.  She slipped hers over her head as she walked with Caroline and Peter through the entrance gates. 

 

Hoards of people were still streaming in and Kate and the others moved along with the throng towards the first tee.  The atmosphere was amazing as the good-natured crowd revelled in the glorious weather and the opportunity to see some of the world’s best golfers in action.  Kate, too, began to feel a little anticipation as the time for Tom’s tee off drew near. 

 

By 1.30 pm Caroline and Kate had managed to push their way to the front of the people surrounding the tee off area.  Tom was introduced by the official starter.  The spectators clapped enthusiastically.  Tom turned and acknowledged the crowd before bending down to tee up his ball.  Kate was frankly curious to see him in action.  He looked confident and focussed.  She watched intently as he plucked a piece of grass and tossed it in the air to test the wind (trying not to think of him blowing in her ear but failing) and then he took a couple of practice swings.  Finally he stepped up to the ball.  The crowd held its collective breath.  Tom swung his club smoothly, connecting with the ball crisply.  People began to applaud as his ball soared high in the air straight down the fairway.  Tom acknowledged the applause and stepped over to his caddy to wait while his playing partner teed off.

 

Kate was staggered at how fast the club had moved through the air and how hard Tom had actually hit the ball.  It was nothing like watching golf on television – you didn’t get the sense of power and speed or the concentration of the spectators.  She was surprised to admit that it really was gripping.

 

As the round progressed, she became aware that there were a fair number of young females in the gallery with her.  She wondered whether they were more interested in Tom or his playing partner, Manuel Alonso, a young Spaniard, who looked like he had been waylaid on the way to some painfully hip night club.

 

The course was stunning, set on a rugged headland jutting out into the Atlantic.  Kate paid rapt attention throughout the round - it helped that Tom was playing very well and moving steadily up the leader board.  She joined the rest of the spectators clapping and cheering as Tom sunk yet another birdie on the 18^th green to complete his round.  She watched as he shook hands with Alonso, who had not enjoyed such a pleasant day, and the two caddies.  Caroline then elbowed her in the ribs as if they were adolescent schoolgirls as Tom turned and winked directly at Kate.  It was the first time in the entire afternoon that he gave any indication that he was aware of her presence.  She grinned back at him and giggled girlishly with Caroline.

 

She became aware of someone at her elbow.  “Excuse me, Miss Shaw.  Please come with me,” said a middle-aged man wearing a navy blazer with the crest of the Club emblazoned on his pocket and holding a walkie talkie.  Kate said a quick goodbye to Caroline and Peter and then followed the man who was clearly some official from the Club.  He led her behind the main grandstand around the final green, ducked under a rope and showed her to a portacabin.

 

“Please wait here, Miss Shaw.”

 

“Thank you,” she said politely as he disappeared back under the rope and merged into the crowd again. 

 

She was not entirely sure what was going on but figured that she should just go with the flow (most unlike her usual controlling self!).  Kate waited, gazing around her and soaking up the atmosphere for several minutes.  She realised that this must be where the players all went to sign their scorecards and submit them to the tournament officials.  As she was musing upon this rather inanely, Tom stepped out of the portacabin.

 

“Hello,” she said rather formally, suddenly unsure of how to behave.  It was difficult to reconcile the focussed sportsman she had watched all afternoon with the irreverent, charming and quite frankly sexy Tom Benson she found so irresistible.

 

“Hi, yourself.  Did you enjoy your afternoon?” he asked.

 

“I had a great time.  It was a real eye opener.  That Spanish golfer is awfully cute.”  She laughed as he gave her a playful swat on the bottom.  She suddenly felt more sure of herself now they were back on the safe ground of outrageous flirting.

 

“I have to go to a press conference now.  It’ll take 15 minutes max.  Do you want to come and get the complete professional golfing experience?”

 

“Sure,” she replied, curious to see yet another aspect of Tom Benson. 

 

They entered the Clubhouse where a press room had been set up.  A security official checked Kate’s tag before allowing her to follow Tom inside.  Tom showed her to a seat at the back of the room and made his way to the table at the front.  There were 10 or so journalists waiting to talk to the players as they filed through after finishing their rounds.  Tom was asked several questions about how he enjoyed playing in Ireland (“I love it.  My grandfather was Irish so it always feels like coming home.  In fact I have a house here in Kinsale so I try to come here as much as I possibly can but, of course, nowhere near as much as I would like.”), how he felt the course was playing (“Today was perfect.  The fairways are fine but if you miss by just a fraction the rough is a killer.  The first cut is very long so you really get penalised if you make the slightest mistake.  The greens are always a challenge.  And the prospect of landing a ball in the water is a constant worry.  If the weather holds up, tomorrow should be a very enjoyable day.  But if it turns, it’ll be a nightmare out there.”) and how he rated his chances for tomorrow (“I played very well today and made the most of the conditions.  I’ve given myself every chance to finish strongly but we’ll just have to wait and see what tomorrow brings.”).

 

Tom then indicated that the interview was over by standing up with a polite “Thank you”.  It was obvious that he had been in control of the whole situation.

 

“Come on, Kate, let’s go,” he said as he reached her at the back of the room.  He led her out through the front of the Clubhouse where the same black Range Rover was waiting to take them away.

 

“Where are we going, Tom?” she asked hesitating to get in the car.

 

“Sorry,” he said, smiling at her.  “To my house.  It’s close by in the village and has plenty of room for both of us.  I didn’t think you would mind,” he added a little sheepishly.  Kate was preparing to be annoyed at his presumption when she remembered that she had done precisely nothing in relation to organising the weekend, other than turning up at the airport at the allotted time, so she was in no position to complain now.  And if she was perfectly honest, the idea of being alone with Tom in a normal setting was very appealing.

 

They were dropped off outside a beautiful slate covered cottage on the road facing the river near where it turned to join the sea.  It was set in a tiny garden that was filled to bursting with wildflowers.  A fire was already blazing when they went inside.  Kate turned to Tom questioningly.

 

“Mrs McKechnie.  She comes in and cleans for me, organises food and stuff.  Her husband maintains the cottage and the garden when I’m not here - and when I am here, too!” he explained.

 

“You do have your life well organised,” she said admiringly, wishing she had a Mrs McKechnie in London to look after her.

 

“It all helps me to focus on playing golf, which is the whole point after all.”  She laughed at his mock serious tone.

 

“Do you have a personal assistant to make travel arrangements, hotel bookings, look after your schedule and appearances?”

 

“Why?  Do you want the job?” he continued in the same light tone.

 

“Hardly,” snorted Kate, “I’m more used to being looked after than looking after.”

 

“So more likely to try to poach my staff?”  She gave him a wry smile and he went on, “I have a contract with a sports management company.”

 

“Like IMG?” she interrupted.

 

“Yes, they have a designated person who looks after all of my needs.”

 

“All of your needs?  That must be quite a job!” she said with raised eyebrows.

 

“Well, not all of them,” Tom said as he pulled her towards him and kissed her.  After several minutes of thoroughly satisfactory kissing, Tom pulled away from her.

 

“Sorry, Kate, what I need now is a shower.”

 

“Really?” Kate asked, slightly dismayed at his abrupt change of gear.  Kate swayed against him indicating what other needs may be more pressing.

 

“Really – but you can come and scrub my back, if you like.”

 

She gave him a stern look.  Tom continued, tugging on her hand, “Come on, I bet you’re really dirty after your trip from London and all that trudging around the course.  If you do my back, I’ll do yours,” he added winningly.

 

“What happened to no sex during tournaments – it’s bad for your performance on the golf course.  Remember?”

 

“You think that if we went in the shower together that we would end up having sex?” he asked innocently.

 

“Well, don’t you?” she said with her hands on her hips.

 

“Ok, too risky,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender.  “Do you want to go first or can I?”

 

“No, you go ahead,” she said graciously.  He kissed her lightly on the lips and told her to help herself to anything in the fridge and that he would be back in half an hour.

 

Kate spent the time snuggled in an armchair in front of the fire, with a glass of wine, reading the latest golf magazine she had found on the coffee table.  She tried to keep her thoughts focussed on the world of golf, which she knew little about, by reading an article about the virtues of different grass cutting techniques so she would stop thinking about Tom, naked and wet, in the shower that she could hear running.

 

After they had both had showers, Tom placed a steaming casserole on the table.

 

“Did you whip this up while I was in the shower?” Kate asked.

 

“Um, no, Mrs McKechnie made it.  But I did make the salad.”

 

“With ingredients Mrs McKechnie left in a bowl for you?”

 

“Yes, but it is my own secret salad dressing recipe.”

 

She smiled at him, “Well, I love salad dressing so I can’t wait to try yours.”

 

It turned out to be a very delicious and relaxing meal.  They chatted casually about everything and nothing.

 

“Have you been to Ireland before, Kate?”

 

She stifled a giggle.  “Yes, Imogen, my best friend, and I spent two weeks driving around a couple of summers ago.  Although I think us driving was a hideous mistake.  The combination of tiny, windy roads, lashing rain and excellent pub lunches was not good.”

 

“So you enjoyed it then?”

 

“I think I was drunk for most of it!  Imogen insisted we try a new beer every day.  And then there was the quest for Ireland’s best pub.  The first day we went to a pub in Cork for dinner and saw it was billed as the best pub in Ireland.  We were so excited that we just managed to stumble (literally!) across the best pub in Ireland.  After about four days we realised that every pub in Ireland has a plaque declaring it to be the best pub in the country and so refused to go into any establishment that didn’t have a best pub sign.”  She laughed at the memory.

 

“I can see that you have the feel of the place down pat.”

 

“Hmm, drinking and bullshitting,” she mused, with a glint in her eye, “I don’t think they are exclusively Irish traits.  Although you do have an Irish grandfather, I heard today.”

 

“Yes, he came to Australia after the War seeking a better life.”

 

“Did he find it?”

 

“Well, he found my grandmother and they had eleven children so it can’t have been all bad.”

 

A look of utter horror passed across Kate’s face.

 

“Which part is bothering you?  Being married to my grandad or having eleven kids?”

 

“Having never met you grandad, I’d have to say the eleven kids.  I mean, you’d have to be pregnant or breastfeeding solidly for twenty years.  Were they Catholics?  Or did they just like children?”  She still looked very worried.

 

“Catholic and the kiddies came thick and fast.  I think there’s about 15 years between the whole lot of them.”  She made a noise of distaste.  He continued, “I thought you said you liked the idea of having children.”

 

“Yes but I believe in moderation in all things.”

 

“All things?” 

 

She had to laugh, “Well, except alcohol and shoes.”

 

“The alcohol comes as no surprise but shoes?”  He made a great show of looking under the table.  Kate was fairly sure that her boots wouldn’t have set off too many alarm bells (but that was only because he hadn’t seen the price tag or the fabulous lime green paisley lining).

 

She nodded seriously, “I love shoes.”

 

“How much?  Do they occupy a whole room in your flat?  Like do you keep your shoes in boxes with photos on the front so you can find them?  How many pairs do you have?”  He sounded genuinely worried.

 

“I wouldn’t say I had plunged off the deep end and into obsession.  I just like them.  A lot.  Enough that I would buy shoes and then have to buy an entire new outfit to go with them.”  He took another look at her shoes and shook his head.  She gave him an enigmatic smile.

 

“Come on.  There must be something that you are just a bit obsessive about, that doesn’t make any sense but you love it anyway.  Like collecting guitars when you can’t actually play.  Ludicrously expensive watches.  Gadgets.  That kind of thing.”  She waved a hand about and looked at him questioningly, wondering what he would be into.

 

“Shoes.  I love shoes.  I’m not obsessive.  No, no.  I just like them,” he paused for effect, leaning forwards confidentially, “a lot.”

 

“Am I supposed to look under the table at your enormous bare feet for verification of that or are you just taking the piss?”  He cocked an eyebrow at her.  She rolled her eyes in response.

 

“Actually I collect antique golf equipment, old clubs, balls.  I’m a bit of a golf history buff.”  Kate was struggling to stifle her giggles.  “That’s sad.  Please tell me you’re joking because that is so much worse than scouring the world for the perfect hand held electronic organiser.”

 

“You forget that Elert is one of my sponsors so I have the perfect PDA.”

 

“Yes.  I actually worked on the deal when they took over that company.  Bloody nightmare, it was.”

 

“I also have a watch sponsor, a clothing sponsor, a shoe sponsor, a credit card sponsor, a hotel sponsor or as the terminology is these days, partner.”

 

“Do you actually get to choose anything for yourself?”

 

“Yeah, who the partners are.”  They both grinned at this.

 

“And in your private life, do you get to choose the partner?”  Kate looked at him through lowered lashes, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.  She wasn’t sure why she had asked this or quite what it was she wanted to know.

 

“Sure I get a choice but unfortunately precisely what makes me an attractive proposition for corporate partners can make me very unattractive in a private context.”  He stood up and walked around the table to her, giving her a hand up.  He looked anything but unattractive to Kate.  He leant over and kissed her gently on the lips.  “On that note, I’m off to bed.  I have a big day tomorrow.” 

 

“I’m just across the hall, if you’re in need of any confirmation of your attractiveness,” Kate murmured against his lips.  He chuckled and kissed her properly before leading her down the hall to her room.  And leaving her there, alone.

 

She lay in the big bed in the guest room, unable to concentrate on her book.  She was thinking about sex.  She was primed to think about Tom and sex together.  Like Pavlov’s dog.  After all she’d never seen Tom before in any situation where they hadn’t ended up having sex sooner or later (and usually sooner rather than later).  It was logical that she expected to have sex, not that she expected it exactly but she certainly wouldn’t have said no.  She couldn’t believe they were sleeping in the same house but not together.  Not that she actually wanted to sleep with him – she would much rather be awake with him.  Tucking an arm under head, she contemplated nipping across the hall and sidling into bed with Tom.  Would he actually mind?  Would he send her away?  Surely he couldn’t resist a naked woman in his bed?  Especially not her. 

 

She was in the process of throwing back the covers when she remembered the whole no-sex-before-a-tournament thing.  Was it really true that sex could affect your performance on the golf course?  But what about the fact that sex always made you sleep better?  How could he possibly sleep the night before a big day without the perfect sleeping potion?  She was busily weighing up these competing ideas when she realised that there was no way she wanted to be responsible for him playing badly on the final day of a tournament when he was in a position to win.  With that responsible thought her shoulders sagged and she pulled the covers back over her.  She rolled on to her side and gave the pillow a good thump to make it more comfortable (and to relieve some frustration).  Sometimes she really hated being sensible.

 

She drew her knees up and slid one hand under the pillow.  Presumably it was a good thing that they could spend time together without sex.  After all a relationship that was based purely on sex was not a good thing.  But were they having a relationship or was it just a bit of fun (in which case it should be firmly based on sex)?  Whatever it was they seemed to have reached a middle-aged cosy stage alarmingly quickly!  With this rather depressing thought, her eyelids became heavy and she started to drift off to sleep.

 

However, she was disturbed by Tom sliding into bed beside her.  He snuggled up behind her, wrapping an arm around her.  He whispered to her, “I couldn’t sleep knowing you were just across the hall.”  He smiled as she moved so that their bodies fitted more comfortably together, without saying a word.  “Although that was clearly no problem for you.  I was worried you might be lonely or get the wrong idea.”  The only reply he got was a muffled “Mmm,” accompanied by some nodding.  He leant down and kissed her neck.  The fact that she was half asleep didn’t prevent her from arching her body indicating her pleasure at his touch.  She slowly rolled over, putting her arms around him and burying her face in his chest.  Then she looked up at him with a slow smile and said sleepily “I thought you’d never come.”

 

When Kate awoke in the morning, Tom had gone.  She wondered whether her longing for him was so strong that she had imagined him in the bed with her.  No, she was pretty sure he had really been there.  After all he had left another his epic notes on his pillow. 

 

“Tee off at 2.05.  Car will be here at 12. T”

 

She sifted through the events of yesterday.  It had been interesting to see Tom at work.  She was impressed by his seriousness.  Not surprising since she had never seen him be serious for more than five minutes off the golf course. She imagined what it would be like if he could come and watch her in the office.  The thought made her giggle.  She had a nervous feeling as she thought about the day ahead and how Tom would play.  She hoped that he would do well.  She marvelled that he dealt with this kind of stress week in, week out.

 

Kate took a stroll around the village before the car came to pick her up.  It was delightful.  There were small cottages along the river and a wild field with a stone ruin of what looked like a fort on top of the hill on the opposite side.  The cottages had obviously belonged to fishermen and their families and some still did judging by the boats pulled up to the shore of the river and the nets and buoys in some of the front gardens.  They were painted riotous colours – bright yellow, blue, green, red and a couple that were covered in slate, like Tom’s. 

 

She meandered along the road to the shops.  This section of the village was in sharp contrast to where Tom’s house was.  It was packed with shops aimed at tourists and even had a parking lot for coaches.  It was already buzzing at ten in the morning.  Kate spent some time in a tiny bookshop that was packed to overflowing with books.  She bought several books by Irish authors and then headed to the café next door for coffee and some reading.

 

On the walk back to Tom’s, she stopped to sit on a stone wall in the sun with a view out across the water.  She fished her phone out of her bag and called Imogen.

 

“How was Charlie’s opening?” 

 

An obviously sleepy Imogen responded shortly, “Open.”

 

“What?”

 

“The pictures were all very open.”  Kate looked at the phone wondering if they were actually having this conversation together or Imogen was talking to someone else about something else.

 

“What?”

 

“It was something of a departure - allegorical paintings of flowers in bloom.”

 

“Allegorical is a big word so early on a Sunday.”

 

“I read it in the catalogue,” Imogen snapped. “But don’t worry - the centre of every flower looked like a vagina.”  They both giggled and Kate was rather glad she had missed it.

 

“And any cute boys there?  The juice boy?  Richard?”

 

“No but your great friend, Clarence Walker-Wright, was there.”

 

“Right Wanker?  At Charlie’s exhibition opening?”  She was hastily shushed by Imogen.

 

“Why are you shushing me?  Is someone else there?”

 

“Maybe,” she replied in a very smug way that left no doubt in Kate’s mind that there was a naked man in Imogen’s bed.  She was also more than a little worried that it might be Right Wanker. 

 

“Apparently she’s his cousin.”

 

“No!”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And?”

 

“And what?”

 

“Imogen!”

 

“Oh, all right then since you twisted my arm.  Maybe I did go for a drink with him after the opening, and then dinner and then to a club and maybe I also brought him back here and…”

 

“Stop!  Stop right there.  I do not want to hear another word.  What you do in the privacy of your own home is your own business.  But, Imo, Right Wanker?”

 

“Oh, come on, Kate, he’s cute in a patrician, inbred way.”

 

“But he’s such a wanker.”

 

“Ah, well that’s where you are wrong because I can tell you he…”

 

“La la la la la,” Kate sang loudly to block out whatever it was Imogen was so keen to share about Clarence.  Imogen broke into a throaty sex kitten chuckle that made Kate most uncomfortable.

 

“And how about you poppet?  How are you getting along with golfer boy?”

 

“Fine.  Thank you.”

 

“Oooh, you’re getting all prim and uptight about him.  It must be love.” 

 

“Bugger off.”

 

“So have you been reduced to having cuddly sex in bed with the lights off and actually enjoying it?”  She said this with complete disdain.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous.  I’m not discussing my sex life with you.”

 

“Ha – I knew it.  Katie’s in love.  Kate and Tom sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-NG.”

 

“Bye, Imogen.  I’ll talk to you when you are not still drunk,” she ended haughtily.  Imogen just laughed, “I’m not the problem, luvvie.”

 

She sat on the wall in the sunshine and thought about what Imogen had said.  Was she in love with Tom Benson?  She sat very still for a moment trying to focus on how she felt about him. She couldn’t possibly be in love with him.  She hardly knew him.  Her only real experience of being in love was with Andrew and that was a relationship that developed over years.  So she was definitely of the view that love was something that grew rather than came as a bolt from the blue.  All that love at first sight crap was just lust.  She was certainly in lust with Tom, there was no doubt about that.  They had clearly moved beyond a casual fling, after all they did do exactly what Imogen had said.  But just how far beyond that had they gone?

 

She enjoyed his company.  He was funny and charming.  He was very handsome and her stomach did a little flip every time she saw him.  But she didn’t miss him desperately when he wasn’t around and she felt sure that to be in love you had to want to be with that person all the time and feel incomplete without them.  She certainly didn’t feel that way.  A look of distaste crossed her face.  She didn’t like the idea of not being in control, another aspect of love that she was not so keen on.  That sense that your happiness depended on someone else was scary.  No, on balance, she decided that she was definitely not in love with him – at least, not yet.

 

Further navel gazing was prevented by a black Range Rover driving past obscuring the view.  It had come to pick her up and she still had to walk back to the house and get ready to go.  She jumped off the wall and walked quickly down the road back to the house, all rumination on the state of her feelings for Tom Benson and how he might feel about her (a can of worms she hadn’t even dared to open) were replaced by thoughts of what to wear.

 

By the time she arrived at the golf course she felt positively ill at the thought of watching Tom play his round of golf.  She wondered whether he also felt so bad or whether he was used to the tension or even revelled in it.  She hoped so for his sake.  Perhaps it would be easier for him because he got to go out and actually do something whereas she just had to watch.  She hoped fervently that he would do well.  So did Caroline.

 

“I do hope that your boyfriend plays well today.  It would be so exciting if he won.”  Kate didn’t know what to say.  Should she tell Caroline that he wasn’t her boyfriend which would lead to the tricky issue of quite what was going on between them or just smile politely and say “Me too”.  Feeling as ill as she did about what was to come, she took the wimpy option.

 

By the end of the first nine, Kate thought perhaps she should have denied the relationship vehemently.  She had decided that she wasn’t cut out to be a golf girlfriend as she had bitten all of her nails to the quick (and this while Tom was still playing well and just one stroke behind the leader!).

 

It was at this point the weather turned nasty.  The wind whipped up and howled across the sea and the golf course.  It turned colder and Kate was glad of the huge waterproof jacket that Tom had insisted she take with her for the afternoon.  It amazed her that all the fans stayed on, rapt in the proceedings, despite the weather.  In fact they seemed to enjoy it more as the weather turned and made otherwise professional golfers look like rank amateurs. 

 

The other golfers struggled in the appalling weather but Tom managed to keep everything together.  He ended up atop the leader board with one hole to play, not because of his own brilliant play but because all the others were falling by the wayside.  As Tom teed off for the eighteenth hole from below a lighthouse, Kate crossed her fingers that he would be able to come away from it unscathed.  Provided that he scored a par or better he would win the tournament.  Kate felt as if she were holding her breath for the entire hole, which of course was not possible but she was so tense.  Tom, on the other hand, looked cool as a cucumber, walking down the fairway towards the green, head down into the wind. 

 

Tom had reached the green in regulation and had two putts to score a par.  He didn’t need them as his ball rolled neatly into the cup on the first attempt.  The crowd erupted as Tom casually picked his ball up out of the hole as if it were no big deal and then threw it with a beaming smile into the spectators.  Then he turned around obviously looking for someone in the crowd, when he spotted Kate he indicated that she should come and join him.  She walked slowly towards him, not quite sure what to do.  He took several long strides towards her, picked her up, swung her around joyously and kissed her hard on the mouth as she slid back down to the ground.  She laughed up at him and took in the rapturous applause. 

 

“I think you might just be a lucky charm.”

Copyright (c) Sandra Pruim 2008

On an Island - Chapter 6

Preparing To Go

 

“Jeff, no there isn’t someone else, and no, it isn’t you who has driven me away”.

 

Jo was trying to wind things up in LA before boarding a Delta Airlines flight to Athens where she hoped she could at least have an interesting holiday, even if nothing else eventuated.  Jeff wasn’t making things any easier.  The more things got difficult, the more his underlying character was revealed to Jo.  At this point, despite saying that he was feeling jealous about Jo leaving the country for the Mediterranean, he somehow managed to change the emphasis to make it all about him.  Of course, it must be about him.  There couldn’t possibly be any other reason except if it was about him.

Jo continued to humor him, and allowed him to talk about how this was all impacting on him.  She’d known for a long time that the relationship really was over, but in essence she was a coward and was fearful about what Jeff might think of her if she decided to be firm and really did leave him.  The other thing that Jo was fearful of was being alone, and although being with Jeff was often like being alone, at least he was there, no matter how dysfunctional he was.

Imagine, a 30-something medical professional being so desperate as to hang on to someone like Jeff!  It was pathetic, but Jo had to accept that this was the path her life had taken.  Only she could make changes in this life of hers, and she knew only too well the kind of effort that this meant.

After enduring ten solid minutes of Jeff talking about himself, she could endure it no longer.  She gingerly put the phone down, Jeff still talking, and imagined that this was the first day of her new life.  A life in which she no longer had to tolerate a mediocre relationship or feel as though she was responsible for someone else’s happiness.  Dr Rubin’s therapy had been pushing her this way for years, but Jo had never actually been ready to make the change.  She hoped that she now was.

 

A minute after she put the phone down, it rang again.  It was Jeff again.  Rather than worrying about it, or being irritated or angry, Jo found herself not caring at all what his response would be.  This was a new experience for her.  She let the call go through to her answering machine, and turned the volume down, knowing already what Jeff would be saying.

 

Jo had given herself a week to organize the necessary arrangements.  Krystle, despite her Zen-like wisdom, couldn’t help but express her irritation at having to re-schedule two weeks worth of patients while Jo chased some whim which was bound to end in a great deal of disappointment.  Jo understood Krystle’s position, and she understood that she was expecting a lot of her in holding the fort while Jo used this unexpected opportunity to change her life.

She called Krystle at the office, hoping to have a quick run-down of how the arrangements were proceeding, followed by some well-wishes about her upcoming departure.  Instead, what she heard after Krystle picked up the phone was some wailing in the background, as though something had gone terribly wrong and someone was paying with their lives.

Krystle picked up the cordless and moved to the corner of the room.

 

“It’s Mrs Andrews.  I’ve just told her the news that you won’t be able to see her for two weeks at the very least, possibly longer.  She started verbally abusing me on the telephone before arriving here at the office only to discover that I was not, in fact, lying.  You have actually gone away for two weeks.  She broke down crying, and she’s been doing it ever since”.

 

“Christ, Krystle.  I really don’t want to deal with her right now.  I have preciously little time as it is.  Do some of that amateur psychology on her that I know you’re good at.  Give her a few pats on the head and gentle and encouraging words.  I’m sure she’ll be fine”.  Jo had enormous faith in Krystle’s ability to stay calm in a crisis.

 

“Look Jo.  I’m sure she’s going to be perfectly fine.  It’s just that I have a mountain of work to get through before tomorrow morning, and Mrs Andrews is making it difficult for me to do it.  Don’t worry Jo.  Everything will be fine.  Have a great time.  Just call in every now and then to let me know how things are working out… and when you expect to be back”.

 

“Thanks Krystle.  You are a star.  I’ll make sure I bring you back the perfect gift from Greece, perhaps a swarthy and passionate man?  I’ll see if I can fit him into my luggage!”

 

“For that Jo, I’d be happy to keep counselling all of your most dependent and needy patients.  See you soon.  Take care”.

Jo returned to her bedroom where her suitcase was open and overflowing with shoes and clothes.  She really had no idea what she should be bringing.  Paul had already checked the weather forecast for her Easter in Greece, and it looked as though she’d be packing for a typical Californian summer.

Jo knew that Greeks were a religious lot, so she wasn’t really sure what it would be like to travel to the country during Easter.  In any case, it was unavoidable, as she had little other time in which to travel.  Although she had her own practice, there were limits to the amount of time that she could absent herself from work.  Her patients didn’t take kindly to her having any time off, actually.  There’s almost an expectation in L.A.  that one’s doctor is available for patients at any time, day or night.  This was one part of her working life that Jo detested.  In any case, the Easter period in Los Angeles was generally a quiet one also, as people took advantage of the occasion to take a vacation.

 

Along with her clothes, Jo lay out the items that she’d recently obtained from the Fed-Ex delivery.  It was surprising just how much information she’d accumulated in such a short space of time.  Aside from the original title deeds that she’d received from the law firm in Athens, she made sure she’d made several copies.  In addition, she had the little green key, with the 6-4 and OPAP inscription on it.  She thought of copying this key also, but figured it would be close enough to her at all times, so that it would be almost impossible for her to lose it.

Next to these items were also printouts from the internet with the address of the law firm she’d dealt with, and printouts of a map of Patmos, the island where apparently her property was located.  She’d also printed out a number of tourist guides to the island, as well as transportation information for her to be able to locate this property.

Paul had helped her with this information that morning, and had also tried to “Google Earth” the place.  Unfortunately the satellite resolution of the island was not quite up to scratch, and it was difficult for Paul and Jo to see anything more than some fuzzy outlines of houses in the general area of her property.  Modern technology was fantastic, and Google Earth was particularly fantastic.  Imagine being able to spy on any part of the world, simply by moving your mouse around!  Jo wondered what other sinister kinds of uses people could make of this.  Whenever there was something fabulous and innovative like this, there was usually an angle which also made it incredibly dangerous in the wrong hands.

 

Jo didn’t really want to think about that right now.  She just wanted to zip up her bag, get her documents ready and go.  She needed this.

She’d already heard from Cynthia, Sarah and Paul that day, and wasn’t expecting to hear from anyone else before she left in a few hours.  She’d heard from her parents of course, her mother regularly and rigidly calling her daily at seven pm, a ritual she had with every daughter.  Her parents had moved to Palm Springs around four years ago after realizing they didn’t have to be around for the sake of their daughters anymore, but it was difficult for them to let go of them any more than they had already.  They’d started taking things a little easier, and moving to Palm Springs was part of that change in their lives.  Mostly, Jo’s mother busied herself with Bridge and social engagements, and their father either read or worked in the garden, battling the heat and the sand to create something that resembled an English country garden.  Despite the challenges in keeping it green, he loved it.  The garden was something very creative for him.  Ever since retiring from his accountancy practice, the garden had occupied him more and more.  It reached a point where now he really was as busy as he ever was in his practice- creating garden beds, arranging irrigation and then changing it all when he felt it just wasn’t right.

Jo adored him, and always longed for a special bond with him.  The reality was however that there was some kind of block in their relationship which had always seemed to be there.  She also often felt that he was a little controlled by their mother, even though he’d flatly deny this.

 

Her mother was a little more difficult to reach, emotionally.  To the outside world, she was everything a mom should be.  She cared for her children, fussed about them when necessary, and made sure that all matters were organized for them with a minimum of fuss.  Despite this however, there was a certain distance that had evolved between them.  Jo wasn’t even sure whether the same kind of feeling existed for her sisters, and it was hardly as if she could pin-point anything specific to talk to them about.

Her parents’ move to Palm Springs reflected that distance, Jo thought.  Years ago, she couldn’t have imagined that her parents would be anything but completely involved in their everyday lives.  Sure, at times they were too involved, but at the same time, Jo and her sisters felt a great deal of warmth and love from this closeness.

Jo felt that the move to Palm Springs really was her mother’s idea, even if both her parents now thought that it’d been the best move they’d ever made.  The distance between them began at that time, and had been growing steadily wider since.

 

It was strange that Jo was reflecting on all of this now.  She wasn’t conscious of having thought about it before, outside of her sessions with Dr Rubin.  The trip was making her think about many things, including the fact that she was initially a little reluctant to her parents about going over to Greece.  She’d considered the dilemma in her head before deciding that they of course must know, somehow feeling that her parents were intricately tied in with this property on Patmos.  She’d even discussed this feeling with Dr Rubin, who hadn’t completely dismissed her as a loon, as she imagined he often must.

Like she often did however, when her mom actually did call, any plans of discretion or emotional control that Jo may have had went completely out the window.  Though she had the good sense not to reveal to her those instincts about her mom’s involvement, she did tell her that she was leaving on the next flight out to Athens because of what she’d received in the Fed-Ex package.  She spoke to her about this person called Evdokia Lappas and her possible inheritance.

Jo thought that what she detected on the other end of the line when her mom called was confusion, but also something else which was hard to determine.  Perhaps sadness?  It was hard to tell.  Jo hadn’t really explained anything, so it must have seemed very weird.  Despite this however, Jo kept much of her thinking to herself.

If there was some kind of intrigue related to this property and the woman who left it to Jo, she needed to discover that on her own.

 

Her doorbell rang.  Paul had come to pick her up and take her to LAX.  Jo was barely listening to him in the car as he put in his order of items to be purchased while she was away.  Most of it related to beach-wear and other forms of skimpy clothing, to be purchased by Jo at the big name stores in Athens.  He figured Jo could pick them up for that half the price they were in LA, though he obviously hadn’t looked at the latest exchange rates with the euro- if he had, he wouldn’t have bothered asking Jo to buy him a book-mark, let alone a pair of Dolce and Gabbana swimming trunks!

 

As they drove along the 105, Paul counseled her like an anxious parent:

“You have to remember, sweetheart, that the only thing these guys want to do is get into your pants.  Don’t think they’re all sweet and lovely, handsome as they may be; believe me, they’ll try anything to get an easy lay, so watch out.

Oh, and remember- the sun is fierce over there, so make sure you wear block out every day.  We don’t want you coming back burned to a crisp”.

 

“Yes dad.  You forget I’ve been around the world on two occasions before.  On one of those occasions, I actually did it on my own, and traveled the trains of Russia to boot.  I think I can manage it.  Thanks anyway though, honey.  I know you want to come with me and have an adventure too.  It’s just that you can’t be with me on this one”.

 

“I’ll miss you though, and I’ll call you too”.

 

With that, Paul pulled up to the departures ramp, and let Jo step out.  In the end, she didn’t take much luggage with her, deciding that if she needed anything desperately that she hadn’t packed already, that she could easily buy it when she arrived.

She waved Paul off and faced the check-in counters.

Copyright (c) Petros Markou 2008

On an Island - Chapter 5

The Telephone Call

When she woke, Jo was paralyzed with panic.  How could she possibly have slept?  She stood up and looked around her, trying to re-group.  After a full two minutes, she realized it was around 10.30 am in Athens on a Saturday morning.

She decided to call the number anyway.

+30 21 06444610.  Ring, ring, then pick up.

The woman said something to her in Greek.

“This is Jo Sweeney here, good morning”.

 

“Good morning Miss Sweeney.  You must have received our package.  My name is Thalia, I’m Mr.  Siris’ personal assistant; are you calling from Athens?”

 

“No, I’m in California.  It’s rather late here, and I know it’s Saturday morning where you are, but I thought I would call on the off chance that there was someone in the office.  It seems I was in luck”.

 

“Yes, certainly Miss Sweeney.  We’re always open on a Saturday morning, in any case.  Can I help you with anything?”

 

“Well, yes.  I’d like to know what the letter is all about?”

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“I want to know what Mr.  Siris means by saying that I’ve inherited a stone house and land on the island of ..”

 

“Patmos, Miss Sweeney”.

 

“Yes, Patmos.  I don’t have an aunt or mother or sister or grandmother called Evdokia Lappas.  I have no connection with anything in Greece aside from some vague memories of a holiday brochure my parents once had.  This letter can’t be for me.  It must be some kind of mistake”.

 

Oh, but Miss Sweeney.  The letter was most definitely for you.  We have your correct date of birth, do we not?  We have you address.  We tracked you down from an address in New York.  Apartment 42-23, 18^th St, Manhattan.  Is that your address?”

 

“Yes, it used to be, many years ago”.

 

“I think we even have your social security number: 214-73-9982”.

 

“How did you get that?  My sisters don’t even know that”.

 

“Oh, these things can be found out quite easily, if you really want to.  Mr.  Siris has some friends who can provide him with information from America, Germany and many other places.  Our firm deals almost exclusively with estates and wills, so it’s very important to be able to locate individuals.  Greece is a country that has many of its people outside its borders, so our firm is always doing international searches for people such as yourselves”.

 

“I see.  So are you able to help me with my question?”

 

“I don’t understand what your question is, Miss Sweeney”.  Jo was sure Thalia was just trying to be difficult.

 

“This must be a mistake.  How can I be the beneficiary of what appears to be a substantial piece of land and a stone house in Greece?  How has this come about?”

 

“Miss Sweeney, there has been no mistake.  Mr.  Siris and his notary general, Mr.  Basilis, have looked over the will of Mrs Lappas on several occasions.  There has been no mistake.  She expressly left the property that we informed you of to you, and you alone.

There are no further details left to us.  All that we know is that upon her death, we had information forwarded to us regarding her passing.  As we appear to be the only holders of her will, we have taken the action to execute the will and therefore pass on the property to you.

Of course, we’ve also withheld our fee for this action from Mrs Lappas, though this will not affect you.  The fee was paid for by Mrs Lappas herself in 1977, and we are obliged under national law to carry out the execution of the will once the account has been paid for”.

 

“I see.  Do you have any further information that might help me.  This is all very new and confusing.  It’s quite a surprise; in fact it’s a shock to me”.

 

“All the necessary information was conveyed in the letter that we sent you.  There’s no further information that we have.  I think I mentioned in the letter that I, I mean Mr.  Basilis, prepared, that this transfer of land ownership should be registered with the General Titles Office in Athens”.

 

“Yes you did.  You gave me the address also”.

 

“Yes, these things are best done in person.  It will take many months before this happens if you do it by exchanging letters and faxes.

Miss Sweeney, there is something that may help a little, though it’s not very much.  Also, I may not be able to tell you personally.  Just one moment please and I will check with Mr.  Basilis to see what he says is the correct thing.  Please hold…”

 

Before Jo could ask anything further, she was being serenaded by a computerized orchestra of elevator music.  It was probably God’s revenge for playing the same foul Stevie Nicks songs in her waiting room, and consequently on the on-hold function of her office telephone system.  Krystle’s mother had a profound influence over her, including her rather dated taste in music, and most of the time, Jo was just happy that someone knew how to actually work the on-hold function.  She didn’t begrudge Krystle the pleasure of listening Fleetwood Mac while trying to keep some of Jo’s more demanding patients under some kind of reasonable control.

 

“Miss Sweeney, this is Matthew Basilis”.

 

“Hello Mr.  Basilis”.  The man spoke flawless English with a slight Greek accent.  Despite her anxiety about where all this was leading, she was interested enough in his voice to imagine what he looked like.  Tall, dark and swarthy, wearing a crisp shirt and tie.  With her luck, he was probably a pale and pasty dwarf who was wearing Bermuda shorts and working out of some hole in the wall in one of the slums of Athens.

This all flashed into her mind in a millisecond, and then she continued.

 

“Mr.  Basilis, thank you for the letter that you sent to me and which I received yesterday by Fed Ex.  I’ve just been speaking with your assistant”.

 

“Yes, yes, she told me that you don’t know what to do next”.

 

“That’s true Mr.  Basilis, but I also wanted to know if you had any information about why I was given this property by a woman I don’t know”.

 

“Miss Sweeney, I understand that this might be confusing for you, but for us, this kind of thing happens all the time.  We deal with these matters every day, in fact, several times each day, so I’m sorry if we don’t seem to have more information for you.  The only thing that I can tell you is the following:

Last year, one or two days after the death of Mrs Lappas in August, we received a phone call informing us of this event, and reminding us that we had her will, and the obligation to execute that will.  She told us that her name was Maria Rosatis, and that she was a friend of the deceased.  We made a notation of her name on our file.  For our purposes, it was not important who told us of Mrs Lappas’ passing.  We confirmed her death with the local authorities and we also confirmed that there were no suspicious circumstances.

“We started trying to contact you shortly after her death, as you were named as the beneficiary of her estate, along with what appeared to be your address at the time.  We eventually located you, but in the meantime, the key that I passed on to you arrived at this office.  Thalia, my assistant, was on vacation when the key arrived, so there’s no information on the file as to who presented the key.  My younger sister’s friend was helping us in the office that week, and many important things did not get done”.

 

Jo detected the annoyance in his voice about the girl’s obvious incompetence, but was fascinated at the information she was receiving, however scanty it was.

 

“Did Maria Rosatis drop the key off, and why after such a long time?”

 

“Miss Sweeney, I don’t know.  I can’t tell you anything about the person who dropped the key off to our office; it may have been a man, it may have been a woman.  We also haven’t even checked whether Maria Rosatis is a real person.  It may be a false name.  That happens a lot here in Greece.  Affairs, illegal dealings.  Many people have different names to the ones that were given to them by their parents.

That’s all I can tell you Miss Sweeney.  Most people in your position sell their properties immediately, but if you decide not to sell your property and you come to Greece, please come in.  I would be happy to share a coffee with you”.

 

“Thank you Mr.  Basilis”.  Too late, he was gone already and Thalia was back on the line.

 

“Miss Sweeney, I hope Mr.  Basilis could help you.  Do you have a cell phone number.  If we hear anything further I would be happy to call you”.

 

“Thank you, yes I do.  It is 212-526-6329”.

 

“Very well.  Have a good day”.

 

“Yes”.

 

Jo was burning with questions, all of which it was apparent could not be answered by a longer telephone call.  At 1 am on Saturday morning however, she started to feel the exhaustion of the day’s events, and lay down, knowing she would need to travel there herself to understand just why she had been chosen to inherit this land.

Copyright (c) Petros Markou 2008

Book Week

Hi

This week was book week at school for our daughters.  Not surprisingly they too are obsessive about their books.  At last count they had a 1,000 books between them!

I am counting down the days (4) before we go on a long driving holiday (1,500 km) to Salalah in Oman. 

I just posted a new chapter of Petros' book and my own.  Depending on how the packing is going I will try to post some chapters before we leave on Wednesday.

By the way if you click on the label at the bottom of the chapter posts you will get to see the whole book so far.

Happy reading - there are 170 of you so far in 22 countries.

Sandy

PS The Cat in the Hat is the girls' PE teacher...

Out of Bounds - Chapter 5

The next few weeks passed in a flash for Kate as she was busy with work.  She worked long hours, preparing for the float of Green Goods Ltd.  It was a fairly straightforward deal but time consuming none the less.  She made a trip to Green Goods’ head office, outside of Brighton, to inspect the premises and get a feel for the company.  Poor Ravi didn’t get to go to Brighton, which he thought was unfair since he had worked so hard on the preliminary draft of the documents.  

 

It was not an exciting trip, but she did get to stay away over night and it was always nice to get out of the office.  She discovered just how much of a family business Green Goods was on her visit.  Seated in his rather dingy but serviceable office, she asked Crazy Clive about the identity of the shareholders of the company.

 

“Me, my wives and children,” he answered plainly.

 

“Wives?”

 

“One wife, two ex-wives.”

 

“And the children?”

 

“Three from the first marriage, two from the second and two from the third.  The four younger ones are too young to hold the shares yet so I hold them on trust.”  Kate just nodded.

 

“Do any of the family members work in the business?”

 

“Jane, my wife is the marketing manager but she only works part time as the kiddies are still little.  Carole, my second wife, is the company’s accountant and my first wife, Delia, does the designs for our products.”  It was news to Kate that you needed an in house designer for such things but you learn something new every day.

 

“And do any of the children work for you?”

 

“Yes, Alex, my oldest son, works as the manager in our main store, but the other two older ones are still at college.  The next lot are at school and the little ones haven’t even started school yet.”  Crazy Clive looked exceedingly proud of his rather unconventional but tight knit family.  Quite the model business tycoon, thought Kate.  All that was missing was the black polo neck sweater.

 

She took a snow dome of Brighton pier back for Ravi in an effort to cheer him up.  It didn’t work.

 

 

 

When she returned there was a message waiting for her from Tom.  Kate called him and he asked about her trip.  She told him that she had seen Anton DuBois, the tennis player, at the hotel where she was staying.

 

“I’m worried.  Are you becoming a sports groupie?” he asked earnestly, with the laughter just below the surface.

 

Kate, suddenly curious, asked “Do you have groupies in golf?”

 

“Oh, you know, some of the younger lads certainly have girls that like to follow them around.”

 

She snorted.  “Does that mean these younger lads have meaningless sex with girls desperate just to get close to a golf star or that these girls follow them around while they play in tournaments, which is not a groupie at all but in fact a spectator?”

 

“I think there’s probably a spectrum of fans with varying degrees of, er, enthusiasm for their chosen golfer.”

 

“So, Tom, which part of the spectrum do your fans usually come from?” she asked tartly.

 

“Kate, sorry, I have a call on my other line.  I have to go, I think it might be my mother.”  He said with a barely suppressed chuckle.

 

She resumed her work, redrafting the prospectus documents following her trip to Brighton.  It was tedious but satisfying work especially when interspersed with daydreams about Tom Benson and with her in a starring role as a golf groupie.

 

 

 

On Sunday night Kate was sitting on her huge red couch, eating pasta from a bowl and watching a documentary about the Saatchi art collection, when the phone rang. 

 

“Hello, Kate speaking,” she said vaguely as she maintained her focus on the television.  She found it quite astounding the things Charles Saatchi kept in his house in the name of art.

 

“Hi, Kate, it’s me.”

 

“Hello, you,” she positively purred down the phone line as she realised that it was Tom – all interest in fine art dissipating. 

 

“Listen, I’m playing in a tournament in Ireland next week and I’d really like you to come.”

 

She was momentarily taken aback at his invitation.  “Tom, I have to work.  I can’t just drop everything and flit off to Ireland for a few days,” she said peevishly.  It was most unreasonable of him to issue such invitations.

 

“I realise that, but couldn’t you just come on Saturday morning and leave again on Sunday evening?  Surely they give you weekends off.”

 

“Huh,” she snorted.  She thought about it.  A weekend in Ireland watching a golf tournament, a golf tournament featuring the eminently watchable Tom Benson.  The eminently watchable Tom Benson who was asking her to come.

 

“Mmmm,” she said noncommittally.

 

“Before you tell me that you won’t be able to get a flight at this late stage, I have arranged a seat in a private jet for you.”

 

“What?  You have a private jet?” she gasped unbelievingly.

 

“No, it belongs to a friend.”

 

“Do you expect sexual favours if I accept this invitation?” she asked sternly.

 

“Darling Kate, I’m shocked.  I’ll be working, playing in a golf tournament.  Sex is bad for your performance on the course.”

 

“Really?” she asked intrigued.

 

He ignored her question.  “Will you come or not?  Fred Higgins is leaving from Stanstead airport at 9.00am on Saturday.  He’s willing to bring you.  Please come.”

 

“Fred Higgins?  CEO of Elert?  Client of ALG?”  Kate’s voice got higher and higher with each question.  “You asked him to give me a lift on his private jet to come and watch you play golf.  Oh my God!  Tom!”

 

“Calm down, Kate. Fred is one of my sponsors and we are quite friendly.  He won’t think twice about it.  Anyway he likes you.  He loved your Vietnam story and how you handled your little faux pas.”

 

“Oh, this just gets better and better.”

 

Tom lowered his voice, “Kate, please come.   I really want you to be there.”

 

The rational part of Kate’s brain could see nothing but problems.  How could she possibly go away for the weekend?  She already had plans, admittedly with Imogen, who would push her to go, but still.  She had loads of work to do.  Fred Higgins would be there, she would travel to Ireland with him.  She wasn’t sure what Henry Abercrombie would say when he found out about it either.  She didn’t think it was a good idea to mix business with pleasure.  But thinking of pleasure, she found herself agreeing to the scheme without resolving any of the issues.

 

 

 

Kate then spent a frantic few days clearing her schedule, her desk and her conscience so she could go to Ireland. 

 

First of all she dealt with Imogen, which was easy since she thought Kate should pursue the whole Tom Benson thing as far as she could.

 

“Go, go, why haven’t you already gone?” was Imogen’s response.

 

“Ah, because today is Monday and the golf tournament doesn’t actually start until Thursday.”

 

“Oh, okay, fair enough.”

 

“What do you think you wear to a golf tournament?”

 

“God, no idea.  Whenever I’ve seen it on television, they’re always wearing terribly sensible looking clothes.”

 

“Eeew.”

 

“Hmm, not easy to look like a wanton sex goddess to attract and keep the attention of your golfer whilst wearing a pair of trainers.”

 

“Perhaps it would be better if I didn’t distract him while he’s playing,” said Kate, with a giggle.

 

“My advice would be jeans or cargo pants, trainers and a cute little top.”

 

“Hmm, thanks, Imogen.  You do realise this means I won’t be able to come to the opening of Charlie’s art exhibition with you on Saturday night.”

 

“Oh, that,” Imogen said dismissively.  In fact, Imogen was already busy planning who she could invite in Kate’s place.  “Do you think that cute guy from the juice bar would like to go?”

 

“You don’t even know him beyond buying watermelon juice from him on the weekends.”

 

“Yes, but what better way to get to know him than by admiring paintings by my dear friend Charlie.”

 

“Are you forgetting what Charlie’s paintings are usually like?”  Charlie was a friend of Imogen’s who just happened to be a lesbian and painted huge abstract canvasses that on closer inspection all looked vaguely like vaginas.

 

“You’re right.  Do you think your banking friend, Richard, would like to go?”

 

“Piss off!  Will I see you sometime this week for dinner?”

 

“I’ll see you on Thursday at book club.”

 

“Oh, bugger.”

 

“Have you read the book yet?”

 

“No,” wailed Kate.  “What is it again?”

 

“The Glass Palace.”

 

“What’s it about?  Is it good?”

 

“Tut, tut, no talking about the book club book before book club.”  This was a rule insisted upon by Su Lin.  Kate didn’t quite know why it was so important but Su Lin insisted that it was vital and they all went along with it, even Imogen, who was not known for her obedience or her ability to not talk about things you weren’t supposed to talk about.

 

“I’ll whiz through it tonight.”

 

“Ah, Kate, I hate to tell you this but it’s more than 500 pages.”

 

“No problem, I’m a fast reader.”

 

Kate could hear Imogen chortling as she hung up the phone.

 

 

 

She casually approached Henry and mentioned that she had been invited to go to Ireland to watch a golf tournament and that Fred Higgins would be there.  She was a little hazy on the details (particularly that she had been invited by Tom Benson and that she was flying there in Fred Higgins’ plane).  Henry thought it was a terrific opportunity for Kate to further cement the relationship between ALG and Elert.  Kate walked away wondering if Henry thought she was having an affair with Fred Higgins.  He probably wouldn’t mind provided that it meant that Elert’s lucrative work continued coming into the firm, thought Kate grimly.

 

 

 

She did not get to read The Glass Palace that night or the next as she worked ridiculous hours to ensure she didn’t need to be in the office over the weekend.  On Thursday she asked Natalie if she’d mind picking up a copy for her during her lunch hour - a lunch hour that Kate spent at her desk working.  She groaned when Natalie let the brown paper bag containing the book drop on her desk with a sickening thud. 

 

“It was seven pounds.”  Kate took back the change – seven quid for a book she was unlikely ever to read but she needed to bluff her way through book club.  She pulled it out and turned to the last page.  “550 pages.  Bloody hell,” she sighed to herself.  She scanned the last page and frowned over the description of the man and woman’s dentures entwined in the glass on the bedside table – very romantic.  She read the back cover and filed away a few details for later reference – epic, masterful, three generations, Burma, India, Malaya – excellent.

 

Just before she was due to leave the office to go to Sarah’s house (they often met at Sarah’s house as she had a dining table and dining room large enough for all of them), she clicked on to the internet and did a quick search on ‘the glass palace reading guide’.  She selected the top one on the list.

 

She laughed out loud when she read the warning on top of the page.

 

“Reader, beware!  Proceed with caution!  This reading guide may contain material that will allude to and possibly even reveal plot details.  So if you have not read the book yet, please use this guide judiciously!  Reading this guide before you have completed the book may in fact limit your thorough enjoyment of this excellent novel.”

 

It made it sound like your life was in imminent danger if you were to read the guide at the wrong point in time.  It was probably an American website and they were just covering their asses in case some mad litigant decided to sue them for revealing plot details without warning, thus preventing them getting their money’s worth.  Kate scanned through the guide and picked up a few more vital details – Rajkumar goes from rags to riches, Dolly in Burmese palace at time of British invasion, Rajkumar falls in love with her and Uma, a remarkable woman whom Rajkumar ends up with.  Right, no problem, she could bluff her way through this.

 

When she arrived at Sarah’s, everyone was already there.  Kate loved her book club.  They were a rather odd assortment of women, who shared a passion for reading and not much else, which at least made their reactions to the books very different so there was rarely a dull moment.  They were friends and friends of friends.  A couple of lawyers (one now retired at home with a plethora of small children), bankers (one still working but with a baby), a social worker and a vet.  Some of them were pretty competitive, forever striving to say the most insightful thing about the book, some enjoyed the chance to think about something other than work while others were happy to escape their children for a while and be in grown up company. 

 

“I was just telling them all about your brush with fame.  Although from what I heard it was far more than just a brush,” Imogen’s voice cut across all the general chatter in the room.

 

“I beg your pardon?” asked Kate, blushing furiously.

 

“You know, your golfing friend.  Tom Benson, remember him?”

 

“Yes.  Of course.  He was the special guest at this year’s golf weekend,” Kate explained, glaring sidelong at Imogen, who was having a terrific time.

 

“Was he nice?” asked Sarah politely.

 

Before Kate could say something bland, Imogen interrupted, “Oh, I heard he’s fabulous in the flesh.”  Kate blushed even more, which only served to arouse everyone’s interest.

 

“Kate, do you have a bit of a crush on the golfer?” asked Su Lin, joining the fray.  Everyone was laughing, all eyes on her.

 

“Well, he’s cute and probably stinking rich, so why not?” she said glibly, hoping that would be the end of it.  But of course, Imogen wouldn’t let it rest at that.

 

“Do you think you’ll see him again?  I heard he’s playing in a golf tournament in Ireland this weekend.  Perhaps you could pop over and see him there?”  Kate glared at Imogen through narrowed eyes.

 

“Perhaps we should get on with the book,” Kate said coldly.

 

“Oh I loved it.  It was so beautifully written,” said Sarah, clasping the book to her chest, as if to embrace it.

 

“Did you not think that he went on a bit too long?” asked Kate.

 

“No,” said Su Lin staunchly, “I knew very little about this period in Burmese history.  I found it fascinating.  Especially the way he juxtaposed the huge historical events with the small details of ordinary peoples’ lives.”

 

Towards the end of the evening, they were discussing the use of imagery in the book.  Claire was going on about the use of photography in the book and Kate asked what they all thought of the last bit with the image of the dentures.  There were again choruses of how moving it was, like a dance, the movements of the dentures mirroring that of the lovers themselves. 

 

Then the topic turned to what the next book should be.  Kate suggested Property by Valerie Martin.

 

“It won the Orange Prize,” she offered by way of explanation, and it was mercifully short.  Claire, as a working mother, asked the million dollar question, “How long is it?”  Kate smiled and replied “Just a couple of hundred pages!”  That won Claire over and the rest were happy to go along with her and Kate.

 

Kate was very proud of herself at the end of book club, she felt that she had successfully bluffed her way through the book, and through Imogen’s minefield, and convinced them to read a short book. 

 

“All in all a successful evening, wouldn’t you say?” asked Imogen as they were leaving, as if she could read her mind.

 

“Yes, no thanks to you, you bloody cow!” 

 

Copyright (c) Sandra Pruim 2008