The Opening
Jo returned from her session with Dr Rubin exhausted, but also a little more reassured. It was good not to have to keep a secret, and she felt as though she’d been carrying that secret around for too long. It was starting to weigh her down, so talking to Dr Rubin lifted that burden a little.
Her answering machine was flashing as she walked in; she checked the number. It was Jeff’s, the ex/current man in her life. She really didn’t want to hear from him tonight. She was looking forward to a relaxing night with her sisters and with Paul. She regarded Paul as practically one of them, they were so close. He was going to be there soon, and they would then head off to meet Cynthia and Sarah. Tonight was their usual Friday night drinks and dinner which the sisters and Paul had got into the habit of making a regular event. They’d probably been doing it now for over a year, religiously every week. Tonight was going the be at the Caroussel restaurant on Hollywood, full of delicious Middle Eastern fare, with some of the hottest waiters in Los Angeles (if you like hairy and rough Middle Eastern types). Jo really looked forward to it, as it was one of the only times she could sit back and be honest with “normal” people. Dr Rubin wasn’t a normal person, he was her shrink. Being honest with him was not the same as being honest with her sisters or with Paul.
Paul called her on her cell phone just as she entered her apartment: heavy breathing ensued followed by “Baby, the man of your dreams is waiting”. Jo opened her front door to find Paul wearing an open-necked yellow Versace shirt and very tight trousers- not quite the man of her dreams, but certainly the man of some other man’s dreams!
As he walked in and sat down, Jo went to the kitchen and started fixing them the usual Vodka and cranberry juice.
“Aren’t you going to check and see what Jeffie wants?” Paul asked, as he saw Jeff’s number flashing on the answering machine.
“I bet I can predict what he’s going to say…that he’s sorry for last weekend when he was such a jerk ,and that he’s going to be busy tomorrow, so maybe you could give him a call on Sunday..”
He pushed the button: “Hi Jo honey, hope your day was a good one, mine was hell...Clint in commercial is busting my ass again over the building project I was telling you about, sorry that’s what was on my mind last weekend….I know I completely messed it up...forgive me? I’m going to be snowed under for the next few days, but after that, I’d love to see you and apologise properly…I mean what I said about going to New York one of these weekends…I love you honey, think of me as I’m sweating it out..”
Paul shook his head disapprovingly. “Very predictable. What did I tell you, “honey””
“I know, Paul. I really don’t know what I’m supposed to do with him. I can’t just out and out tell him to leave me alone; he can be so nice to me. Remember last Christmas? He took me to Tahoe and I had one of the best weeks I’ve ever had. Away from it all. It was magic. He does have some good qualities, you know”.
Paul continued his look of disapproval. “Jo, he treats you like crap. One week out of the last fifty does not make him your perfect man. God, it annoys me how you throw all your standards away with people like Jeff- it happened years before with the Russian guy, remember? You finally saw sense about him. What makes Jeff so different?”
Jo was too focused on the package she received that day to really be listening to Paul’s ravings. She’d heard it all before from him anyway, and didn’t pay too much attention to it, particularly when she knew he was dead right.
She handed him his drink and picked up the Fed Ex envelope that she’d received earlier that day in the office.
“This is it” she sighed as she opened it.
She pulled out several sheets of written material, the first of which was completely written in Greek. Behind it was another letter that appeared to be an English translation of the first, given that it had the same letterhead on it as the first one. Underneath the Greek title was the name “Kanellopoulos and Siris, Lawyers”, the same name that appeared on the outside of the package. Behind these two letters was an official looking document, much like a certificate, again written completely in Greek. At first glance, the most obvious thing about it was a very official-looking blue seal in the bottom left-hand corner, which had a hand-written signature across it.
Jo flashed the documents at Paul, looking a little perplexed as to what this was all about. She moved to the translated piece first, and read it out aloud to herself, Paul listening along intently. It had Jo’s name and address in the top left hand corner.
“Dear Ms Sweeney,
We the undersigned are the holders of the last will and testament of Evdokia Lappas. The will was prepared in 1977 and was witnessed by the late founder of our firm, Theodoros Kanellopoulos. It has been signed by Evdokia Lappas and as far as we can be aware, there is no further will that succeeds this document. We have conducted a search with the General Titles Office in Athens which holds records of all testamentary holdings and transactions, and that office has confirmed that this is the final will of Evdokia Lappas.
Evdokia Lappas died on the 15th of August 2004. It has taken us some time to locate you, as previous correspondence in our possession has your address as being in New York State, and not in California. We apologise for the delay in reaching you.
Evdokia Lappas has bequeathed to you a stone house and associated land on the island of Patmos, eastern Aegean. It is located in the town of Agios Nikolaos. Its precise location is 42 Filellinon Street. The property consists of the stone house, a secondary building located 150 meters from the home, and a land area of 200 stremmata which is mostly covered in grape vines and citrus trees. The property is defined by a stone and metal fence, and the keys to the entry gate are in safe keeping at our office’s secure facility here in Athens. For the sake of completeness, I have enclosed photographs of these keys with this letter, and they may be retrieved by yourself at any time, or any individual that you provide such authority to. Details of what that authority entails can be obtained by contacting this office or any Greek consulate abroad.
The associated certificate of title is genuine, and with this letter, serves as recognition of ownership of this property. Despite this however, we recommend that all our clients register such documents with the General Titles Office in Athens, the address of which is 72 Vasilissas Olgas Avenue, 3rd Floor.
We express our condolences regarding the passing of Evdokia Lappas, and hope that the knowledge that she has bequeathed this property to you eases the pain of her loss.
With sincere respect,
Matthew Basilis, Notary General for Peter Siris, Principal of the Firm”
“What the hell?” Jo was confused. The letter certainly looked official enough.
“This must be a joke. I have no idea who Evdokia Lappas is. This has to be some kind of joke”. She turned to Paul and started smirking.
“OK Paul, what’ve you done? Give me the name of the print company that did this, because they are really impressive, and I want them to do my next lot of business cards”.
Paul looked equally perplexed. “Jo, I didn’t do anything. I agree it must be a joke, but it sure wasn’t me”.
“Really?” Jo looked up toward the ceiling as if in thought. She addressed the piece of paper she was reading from, as if it were a real person.
“Now wait a minute. I have never been to Greece myself, and I’m sure I don’t have any patients of Greek origin either. I have no idea who Evdokia Lappas is, have never heard of the woman, and in fact, have never heard of anyone even vaguely sounding like that, except in foreign movies. All of a sudden I receive this package which informs me I’m the proud owner of a Greek Island property. This just doesn’t make sense. Paul, what do you think?”
Paul took the letters. “It looks genuine to me”, he said as he pored over the original and translated documents.
“Why would anyone send you something like this that wasn’t genuine… and in case you ask me again, NO, I did not send it to you as a joke because I know how empty your life is! I didn’t. We need to go right to the source Jo. Show me the phone number on the letter again?
Ok, we should ring it, but we need to check that this firm is a legitimate firm in Athens, and not some bogus marketing operation run out of Delaware. Where’s your computer …ah, there! Can you log in to the internet Jo?”
“What do you want to do?”
“Why don’t we google this woman Evdokia. Something might turn up. OK..what was it E.v.d.o.k.i.a, what was her last name again?”
“Lappas. L.a.p.p.a.s.”
“OK, let’s see; nothing with that exact combination, hang on, no, there’s nothing on her I’m afraid. Let’s go for the law firm. I think we have a greater chance of success with them. Let me do a Yellow Pages search on this firm in Greece to see whether they exist, and see if their phone number matches with the phone number on the letter…OK let’s Google it…Yellow Pages Greece, law firms….choose city…Athens. Christ, there are thousands of them, this is worse than California.
OK, let’s refine the search, starting with the letter K…Eureka- I’ve found it Jo.. what’s the number again?”
“21 06444610”
“That’s it, it’s genuine. What do you want to do?” Paul enquired
“What do you mean? Should I call them?” Jo asked
“How else are you going to find out a little more? The photos of those keys certainly won’t tell you anything. You can pick those up anywhere”.
Paul was right. The keys looked like simple ones, one of which was made of green colored aluminum, of a type that was found in any hardware store. There were some Greek letters stamped on it and the numbers 6-4, but other than that, there was nothing distinctive about it. The other four keys were simple house keys that gave away no particular clues. Paul was also right about contacting this law firm herself. There was simply no better way of getting more information, short of traveling to Greece herself to ask questions.
“Paul, read the number out to me; I’m going to call them”. As Paul checked the country code on the net, Jo took another drink. All of this was making her very anxious.
“OK, here we go”, Jo said as she dialed. She waited, hearing an unfamiliar tone which was probably a ring tone, until finally a female voice clicked in. A sentence or two in Greek ensued, followed in English by : “the offices of Kanellopoulos and Siris are closed. Please call back at 9 am tomorrow morning”. How disappointing.
“Paul, what’s the time over there?”
Paul Googled it again, and realized Athens was 10 hours ahead of L A time.
“OK, that makes it perfect time when we return from dinner tonight at midnight. We’ll call them then”.
Copyright (c) Petros Markou 2008
Keep those comments coming...
“I didn’t realise that Anywheres had become retro dress as well,” Kate commented dryly.
“I don’t think it has but since it’s my birthday I really wanted to get into the swing of things. So are you ready? Are you coming now?”
“No, Nat. I’m not ready. Do I look ready?” Kate grinned, pointing down at her sombre navy suit.
“No, you need some glitter and a bit of cleavage on display.” Kate laughed at her and said she’d meet her in reception after going to fix herself up in the Ladies. As she reapplied her very un-80s lipstick, she tried to calm herself and stop thinking of the possibility of seeing Tom every five seconds. She had no idea when or even if he would call so in the meantime she was going to enjoy herself.
Anywheres was absolutely appalling, in fact so appalling that it was kind of fun. It was not so much retro as a genuine hang over from the 80s. Kate ordered a round of drinks, including a colourful cocktail with an umbrella and fruit on a stick for Natalie - after all it was her birthday. They all sat and had several rounds of drinks before the DJ started to play all the old music they all secretly (and in some cases not so secretly) still loved. This led to an intense discussion about whether 80s music really was that good or whether it was just nostalgia for when they were all young and in the prime of their lives. Kate thought back to the last years of high school. They were great and she did look back on them fondly but the idea that they were ‘the best years of her life’ quite frankly was depressing. The conversation ended when the DJ began to play Funky Town. There was a squeal from all the ALG girls who then jumped up to dance together. They were joined by Matthew when Wham Rap came on. Kate was twirling around and laughing with him when she felt the mobile phone in her trouser pocket begin to vibrate.
She pulled it out and clicked it open. “Hello” she shouted into the phone. She could hear absolutely nothing but the fact that the caller id said that the number was withheld made her think it must be Tom. She shouted into the phone again “Hang on I will just go somewhere quieter.” She muscled her way through the dance floor and into the Ladies. It was fractionally quieter. By the time she got there the caller had disconnected. Kate looked at the phone in disappointment. Just as she was contemplating what her next move should be, it rang again.
“Hello.”
“Hi Kate, it’s me. My god, where are you? It’s so noisy.”
“I’m having drinks to celebrate my secretary’s birthday.”
“That’s what was so important that you couldn’t skip it?”
Tom clearly had no idea about lawyers and secretaries. “It’s like a vicious circle but in reverse. I keep her happy so that she will, in turn, keep me happy. Her happiness is one of my top priorities. I’m not senior enough or important enough to piss my secretary off.”
“Anyway, where are you now?”
“I’m in the loo,” she said with a giggle. It was just ludicrous that she was talking on the phone to someone famous (someone famous with whom she had been naked) whilst she was in the toilets of a very dodgy nightclub.
“Kate, I meant in more of a geographical sense,” he pointed out with the infinite patience required to talk to someone who has been drinking while you are stone cold sober.
“Oh, yes. I see. I’m around the corner from my office at a nightclub called Anywheres – it’s on Brent Street.”
“Ok, I’m on my way in from the airport.” Tom broke off to talk to someone else and then resumed talking to Kate. “We can be there in 15 minutes.”
“Ok, I’ll be waiting outside.”
She had contemplated asking him to come in and join Nat’s party. But she wasn’t sure he was ready for yet another social function with drunk lawyers. And she didn’t want to share him. She fixed her hair, reapplied her lipstick and gave herself a wink in the mirror. She found Natalie and made her excuses (Australian friend, just flew in, stopover tonight only, really wanted to catch up). She hugged Nat and waved goodbye to the others.
Matthew, on his way back from the bar, intercepted her as she was heading for the door with a definite spring in her step. She nabbed one of the bottles of water off the tray he was carrying and drank it quickly. She repeated the escape story to him but waggled her eyebrows a lot so he would understand. He insisted on accompanying her outside and waiting with her. Kate smirked at his attentiveness and commented that it would come in handy on the nights she worked late. He just snorted as they both knew the only reason he was there was to check out Tom Benson for himself.
A dark blue Mercedes drew up to the curb. Kate glimpsed Tom sitting in the back seat. She skipped down the stairs, opened the door and hopped in with a casual wave to Matthew. She then turned to Tom Benson.
He was sitting in the semidarkness, smiling at her, “Were you in a hurry to get away from your colleague or just keen to see me?”
“Without a doubt the latter,” she said softly as he leant in to kiss her. Kate wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him closer still.
Several minutes later, she became aware of the fact that the car was not moving. The driver cleared his throat, “Excuse me, sir. Would you like to go to your hotel or somewhere else?”
Tom looked down at her, amused by the embarrassment etched on her face. “Don’t worry. John always drives me when I’m in London. Trust me, he’s seen it all before. Haven’t you, John?”
John gave a warm chuckle.
“I really don’t think that makes me feel any better!” She smiled at John, “Hi John, I’m Kate.”
“Pleased to meet you, miss.”
“So, where should we go?” Tom asked.
Her only thought was that they should go somewhere private, preferably with a bed, possibly some champagne, if she was being fussy, and quite frankly, the bed was not all that necessary either. She shook her head slightly to encourage herself to think with her brain rather than the other parts of her body that were making their opinions well and truly known.
“Have you eaten? We could go to my place and I could whip something up for you?” she suggested tentatively.
“Sure,” he replied swiftly. He was curious to see where and how Kate lived, not to mention her cooking. She gave John her address and some directions. They sat in silence, holding hands on the short drive to Kate’s flat.
She lived on the third floor of an old mansion block. The flat wasn’t huge but each of the rooms was large and airy with high ceilings and plenty of windows. The highlight was the tiny terrace off her kitchen. Kate took Tom straight out there to admire the view over the rooftops, which was infinitely more attractive at night than during the day when it was a bit grim. She sat him down in one of the two chairs that just squashed on to the terrace.
“Would you like a drink? I’ve got beer, white wine, red too, or gin and tonic, whisky, cointreau. Or I have tea or coffee, if you’d prefer.”
“What kind of tea do you have?” he asked teasingly.
“English breakfast, Earl Grey, Lady Grey, jasmine and lemongrass.”
He shook his head at the array of choices, “No mint tea?” She grimaced, “No, I think it tastes so much like toothpaste that I always feel like I am brushing my teeth with hot water, urrgh.” He laughed at her extreme reaction to a humble tea flavour.
“You certainly have a well stocked kitchen.”
She laughed as she opened the fridge door and peered inside. “I think the drinks are probably more impressive than the food stocks. So what would you like?” Before he could answer, she crowed with triumph, “I have champagne!” He no longer had a choice.
Kate fussed around pulling out champagne flutes and taking off the foil. Tom came back inside to look around the small but well-equipped kitchen. He noticed a group of framed black and white photos lined up down the slim wall separating the kitchen from the open plan living and dining area.
“Is this lots of different kids or the same kid lots of times?” he asked.
“Same kid. At zero, 1, 2, 3 and 4.” She explained pointing to the photos from a dark haired newborn baby with a tiny fist in her mouth to a little girl with masses of blonde curly hair, large green eyes and a cheeky grin.
“Who is she?” he asked, noting the loving smile that had spread over Kate’s face, softening her features.
“That’s Emily. She’s my goddaughter. Her mother is my best friend from university. And I adore her.”
“Who – the mother or the child?”
“Well, both but Emily is so cute I just love her to bits. She’s so bright and funny. She called me at work the other day to ask me about the Tower of London and had I seen the ravens when I was there. And then she just says ‘thanks, bye’ and that’s it. Her mum, Sally, and I went through law school together and then we worked for the same firm in Sydney but then Sal got married and had babies and I ran away to London. It’s like Sal is living the life I could have had if I had made different decisions,” she said with a lopsided grin as she waved the champagne bottle around still in the process of getting the cage off.
“Do you envy her?”
“Sal? No, not really. I guess Emily is the only part that I wish I had or rather hope to have eventually.” She shook her head as if to dismiss the thoughts.
“So what did you run away from?” he asked unable to resist prying.
“What?” she asked a bit confused.
“You said Sally got married and you ran away to London.”
“Ha – you listen too carefully.”
The conversation was brought to a natural close as the cork eased from the bottle with a resounding pop. “Oh, I love that sound,” Kate grinned happily as she poured the glasses. She handed him one and made a toasting gesture. She nearly said “To us” but stopped herself at the last moment and resorted to the family favourite “To tomorrow.” Tom looked put upon and asked if he should be offended that she was toasting to tomorrow when he would be gone. She kissed his pouting lips to make him feel better. “Not at all,” she replied as best she could as he started to kiss her back. Between kisses she explained, “It’s a family joke. My grandmother opens a bottle of champagne every Sunday afternoon, has done for years and toasts to the next day because you never know. Bit morbid really.” He gave her a stern look. She realised it sounded pathetic – perhaps it was one of those ‘you had to be there’ jokes.
“Not your average granny then.”
“Er, no.” She really did not want to discuss her grandmother right now. She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him slowly and softly, a kiss full of promise. He ran his hands up and down her back before sliding one underneath her shirt. She squirmed with pleasure at the feel of his hand on her bare skin, granny well and truly out of the picture. She nibbled gently on his bottom lip before standing up on tiptoes to hug him tightly to her and press the full length of her body against his. The only problem was that she was so engrossed in what she was doing that she forgot all about the glass of champagne in her hand. Consequently she tipped the contents of the glass over them both. She gasped as the cold bubbles flowed down over her chest and then started giggling as she realised what she had done.
“Ah, well, now we’ll just have to take our clothes off,” Tom murmured as he began to pull her shirt over her head and she rushed to undo the buttons of his shirt. They fell in a messy heap on the oversized red velvet couch, any thoughts of actually drinking the champagne long gone.
Afterwards, Kate peered at Tom worriedly. “Are you hungry? I completely forgot that I offered you something to eat. I’m so sorry.” He chuckled at her solicitude. “I’m fine. Perfectly satisfied, in fact.” She flashed him a cat that ate the canary smile. He pulled a cushion off the couch and put it under his head and held out his arms for her to lie down beside him with her head on his chest. She did so, after pulling the throw rug from the armchair to cover them. Now perfectly comfortable, she sighed happily, thinking how convenient it was that her cleaning lady had come that day so she knew the carpet was clean. Her stupid thoughts were interrupted by Tom, prodding her, literally and figuratively, “A boyfriend?”
“Do I have one now? God, what do you think of me that you are asking that?”
“No, I meant, was a boyfriend the reason that you ran away to London.”
“Hmmm,” she said noncommittally as she stroked a hand across his chest. She buried her face in his chest and muttered, “I think you’ve done enough prying into my personal life for one evening.”
He picked up her hand and laced his fingers through hers. “Kate, all I’ve found out is that you have a large selection of beverages on offer, no food and a goddaughter you love very much.”
Kate laughed at his summary of the evening’s events. “Ok, your turn,” she said as she flipped over on to her stomach to examine him more closely. “How did you become a professional golfer?” she asked pretending to be an ace sports reporter. Hopefully Tom did not have too much experience in these kinds of interviews.
“I literally grew up on the golf course. My mother is a golf pro so we were always on the course with her. Her father was a professional golfer too. He won the British Open in 1953. My dad is an accountant but he’s also a pretty keen golfer. So golf was always just part of our lives.”
“Did you always want to play professionally?”
“I never really thought about doing anything else,” he said with a shrug. “I mean – it’s far better than actually working for a living.”
She returned his cheeky grin. “I bet you actually work bloody hard.”
“Yes but it involves spending hours and hours playing golf so it’s not exactly a hardship.”
“Do you really love it?” she asked more seriously, obviously expecting a proper answer rather the flippant answers he had given so far.
“Yes, I do. I miss it when I don’t play. It’s such a cliché but I can honestly say that I don’t do it for the money. I just love to play golf and, of course, to win.” She was surprised at the glimpse of an iron will beneath his casual surface but went on glibly, “So the money is just a nice by-product?”
“Exactly. I’m so glad that you understand me, Kate. So many people misjudge me,” he said in a deadly serious tone. “I think that concludes this interview.” He pulled her down towards him to kiss her. Some time later, he looked at his watch.
“Kate, as much as I would love to stay here and delve further into your private…life, I have to go. I’m on a 10am flight to Barcelona tomorrow.”
She stretched luxuriously against him. “Are you sure you have to go? 10 o’clock is still a long way away.” He smiled at her, “I really need to go. I have to practice tomorrow and on Thursday be ready to play full on competitive golf, which is not unlike brain surgery in its seriousness and magnitude.”
Kate giggled but continued to kiss him whilst running her hands down his back.
“Stop it or I will never leave,” he groaned.
“That was the general idea,” she said pouting, as he stood up to go. She followed him to the door, still wrapped in the throw. He turned to her and said in all seriousness, “Thank you. I had a lovely time.” Kate thumped him and shoving him out the door, said “Get out, you bastard.” She could his laughter echoing up the stairs as he made his way out.
She went back inside and lay down on the couch. She thought about Tom’s question. Had she really run away to London because of her boyfriend?
She had met Andrew when she started university. The first time she had seen him had been during Orientation week. He swanned into the communal dining room of the college she had just moved into wearing an impeccably cut navy suit with a crisp white shirt and a colourful tie. This was in sharp contrast to all the other boys (there was no other way to describe them after seeing Andrew) who were slobbing around in shorts and official O-week T-shirts. He was tall and slim, with the face of an angel and masses of dark curly hair. Kate thought he was beautiful and she was infatuated before he had even opened his mouth.
Luckily it turned out that Andrew was incredibly intelligent, charming and witty, which was a devastating combination in Kate’s eighteen year old opinion. It also turned out that, like her he was studying law but was several years ahead of her. He was completing a term as a summer clerk in a city law firm, which explained his unusual O-week attire.
She continued to admire him from afar, never thinking that someone so sophisticated and down right worldly would be interested in her. This all changed once the internal college tutorials started and Andrew was designated as the tutor for first year law subjects. Kate, who had not been in the least bit concerned about her studies, suddenly became terrified at the prospect of sitting actual university law exams and told herself that she needed all the help she could get. She managed to convince herself that that was why she was attending tutorials and not that it was merely a pretext for getting to know Andrew better.
The tutorials ended up being private one on one classes as none of the other first years could be bothered to turn up to anything that wasn’t compulsory. Private one on one classes that got more and more private as the semester wore on to the point where they were largely conducted in Andrew’s bed, with only passing reference to the subject at hand.
They cruised through university together and once they had both finished, it seemed like a logical step for them to move in together. Andrew never quite relinquished his role as Kate’s tutor. He took great pleasure in introducing her to new things, particularly the finer things in life. He took an avid interest in art, poetry and theatre. Whilst Kate shared these interests, she was nowhere near as passionate about them as he was. Andrew’s ideal night out was to attend an opening of a new art exhibition and have dinner with a few friends. Kate was firmly in the more the merrier camp, which was sometimes at odds with his more introverted style.
The only time there had ever been any real tension between them was early in their relationship when Kate had taken him to her parents’ cattle station. From the moment he had stepped out of the car after the 10 hour drive, it was obvious that he hated it and would never fit in or even make any effort to fit in. It was the fact that he wasn’t even willing to try that really riled Kate. When she asked him if he wanted to come out to watch the cattle being mustered, he refused and stayed in the house, reading John Donne. She had been livid. She really couldn’t see why he’d bothered to come if all he was going to do was sit inside and read, after all he could have done that at home in Sydney just as easily.
Needless to say part of the reason she was so upset was the impression he made with her family. When Kate had asked her brother what he thought of Andrew, Ben had replied succinctly that he was a wanker. She felt sure this opinion was shared by her father but at least he was unlikely to say it to her face. The fact that he had absolutely no interest in any sport, let alone the cricket test that was on at the time, did him no favours. Her mother agreed with Kate that he was indeed very handsome but didn’t say anything else about him, which was damning in itself. At the end of a seemingly endless week, they had returned to Sydney and the normal routines of their relationship. She never invited him to the property again and he never asked to accompany her on any of her frequent visits.
Once Andrew started working as a lawyer, he became more and more conservative. He was busy saving for a deposit on a house and was quite obsessed with making partner by the time he was thirty. In contrast, Kate was restless and wanted to travel before even thinking about serious matters like an investment in property. Andrew vetoed it, without discussion, on the basis that it would slow down his progress towards being made a partner. She came up with what she thought was the ideal solution when she was offered the chance to go and work in London for ALG. It was perfect as they could continue working, gaining experience and earning money to fund all the travelling she wanted to do whilst based in London. He again refused to be diverted from his course. Even when Kate tried to explain that it might be good for his career to get some experience outside of Australia, he rejected the idea out of hand - after all, everyone knew that overseas experience counted for nothing in Australia.
Dispirited, Kate decided that she would tell him that she was going to go anyway and that he could join her if he wanted to. She was upset but not devastated when he told her that she was more than welcome to go but he was staying put. She felt that the worst part was that he clearly loved his work more than he loved her. But there was a niggling voice in the back of her head that kept reminding her that she herself felt it was more important to broaden her horizons by going to London than to stay with Andrew.
So they continued on their way, still living together and doing stuff together as they always had until the actual date of her departure. They talked about it casually as if it were no big deal. They even agreed in a very civilised manner that they would break up when she went away as it was not fair to either of them to have the relationship hanging over them when they had no idea what the future had in store for them.
This in no way prepared Kate for the emotional impact of actually saying goodbye to Andrew. After all she was effectively saying goodbye to eight years of her life. They had hugged each other tight and said goodbye several times but Kate still clung on to him. She eventually let go of him and turned to walk through into the passport control area. She squared her shoulders as she did and took a deep breath, determined not to look back for one last glance at him. As she wiped away a tear that slid down her cheek, she reminded herself sternly that this was her choice, this was the start of her big adventure. She just hadn’t expected the start of her big adventure to be so desperately sad.
Kate sighed and dragged herself off the couch. There was no point wallowing in misery about Andrew. It wasn’t so much that she missed Andrew per se. It was more that she missed the familiarity of him, the fact that he knew everything about her and that so much of her past was tied up with him and he remembered what she remembered. She missed that feeling of being comfortable with someone so you could let your guard down and not have to be on your best behaviour all the time to impress them.
Then she laughed at herself. She was hardly the embodiment of misery. After two years in London, she was getting on perfectly well without Andrew, her job was great and she was getting far more of an adventure than she had bargained for. With that pleasing thought, she flicked off the light switch and headed off to bed.
Copyright (c) Sandra Pruim 2008
150+ readers and counting...
Happy Easter! 
She had smiled lazily at him through her post coital haze, as he rolled on to his side to face her. “So do you so this often?” he asked in a deadpan voice. She gave a little snort and then answered with matching seriousness, “No, never.” She watched a smug satisfied look pass across his face.
“But you,” she said, rolling on to her side to face him and propping herself up on one elbow, “I imagine must be the master of meaningless sex.”
“I wouldn’t say it was necessarily meaningless,” he replied as he smoothed hair her out of her face and over her bare shoulder. She raised an eyebrow, “But you are the master?”
“I didn’t say that but I’m not going to complain if you do.”
“Do you opt for the sailor’s model – a girl in every port? A girl at every tournament?”
“You know, that’s not a bad idea. But perhaps if I just stuck to a girl in each country it would be less meaningless and I could maintain some semblance of self-respect.”
“It would actually bother you to have meaningless sex all around the world?” She sounded absolutely disbelieving.
“Contrary to what you might think from this,” he waved a hand to encompass the two of them entwined on the rumpled bed, “I’m a romantic at heart. Sex is good, very good but I’d like to think that there is something more to it than just a physical thing. I want to fall in love. To be with that person all the time. To have a proper relationship. To share things with someone who loves me and cares what happens to me, to us.” He shrugged in acknowledgement of how pathetic such a statement was in light of his current position.
“How sweet.” Kate said this with the requisite degree of worldly cynicism but she really did think it was cute.
“What about you? You didn’t answer my question. You’ve really never done this before? You’ve never jumped into bed with someone you’ve just met that afternoon before?” He sounded rather touched by the idea that he might be special in some way.
It was true, she had never done anything like this before. She agreed with Tom wholeheartedly that sex was an excellent pastime to be enjoyed as much as possible. But she had still never had a one night stand. She didn’t think there was anything wrong with it in principle. It was just not something she’d ever done. She’d never really had much opportunity as she had always been in some relationship or other. She never quite understood how you could separate the physical and the emotional aspects of it. But now she was going to find out just how it worked when you had casual sex with someone you hardly knew. No doubt it would be an interesting learning experience. Besides, she didn’t want Tom to get the wrong idea – either that she did this all the time with just anybody or that there was something so special about him that she couldn’t help herself. Whichever way he might take it, she didn’t want to admit that this was the first time.
“No, you are my first,” she paused significantly, before continuing, “professional golfer.” Tom collapsed against her laughing and tickling her. Through her giggles she managed to say, “But I don’t think you’ll be the last. Golfers might be my new thing.”
“Really, why?” he asked as he stopped his attack on her.
“When you think about it golf is the prefect preparation for sex.” He motioned that he was keen for her to continue in this vein. She rolled on to her back getting comfy for a lengthy discussion and started ticking points off on her fingers. “One. You have to be patient, after all a game of golf takes five hours.”
“And a tournament is played over four days,” added Tom, obviously enjoying this novel analysis of the merits of golf.
“Two, you have to walk a long way so you obviously have stamina. Three, golf is a varied game. You have to drive, chip, putt. So you have to be able to vary your tempo, strength and finesse are both important.” Tom nodded knowingly as if this was perfectly reasonable and everyone knew it.
“And finally, the objective of the game is to get in the hole, 18 times a day, four days in a row.” By this stage they were both laughing uproariously. Tom rose up, leaning on one elbow over her. He looked suddenly thoughtful and said, “You’ve evidently given this some thought. But you didn’t mention that we have to pay attention to details - spend time examining contours,” as he said this he slid a hand over her curves, from her collarbone, down to her breast, along the curve of her waist and around to cup her bottom and raised an eyebrow at her. “The impact a breeze may have.” He leant in close and blew softly in her ear, giving her goose bumps. Then he looked into her eyes and murmured softly, “And, of course, the most important thing is that we believe practice makes perfect.”
By this stage, Kate was completely sold on the idea of the advantages of a golfer as a lover and Tom was keen to demonstrate just how well his golfing skills translated into other areas. So practice they did. He demonstrated his patience, his stamina, the variation in his game and his attention to detail, which culminated in reaching the final objective – although possibly not 18 times in five hours.
Much later, she had leant over and kissed him, “I have to go.”
“Can’t you stay?”
“What and traipse out of here in all my black tie glory, saying good morning to my colleagues on their way down to breakfast as I go? I don’t think so.” She moved around the room unselfconsciously collecting up her clothes before slipping into the bathroom to get changed and make sure she looked reasonably decent for a quick stroll down the corridor to her own room.
Strangely, she felt more awkward now that she was fully dressed, so she became distant and terribly polite. “Thank you. I had a lovely time.” Then she paused aware that it sounded all wrong, as if she was six years old and had attended his birthday party. She cursed her mother for drilling manners into her so thoroughly. Then she smiled bravely and tried again, waving her hands around searching for inspiration. “It was very pleasurable, if meaningless.” She gave a slight shrug and was out of the door before he could say anything.
As she closed the door, she hung her head with shame at her completely ungracious departure. It was painfully obvious that she had no experience in extricating herself from this kind of situation with dignity. The dreadful words “Thank you. I had a lovely time,” echoed in her head as she made her way cautiously down the stairs to her own dark and lonely room. At least, she hadn’t said “Thank you for having me.”
As the bus reached her stop, she gave a small sigh and squirmed to rid herself of any residual embarrassment. She clambered off the bus and headed into her building, consoling herself with the thought of just how delectable Tom had looked in that huge, rumpled bed when she had left him. Consequently she entered the office with the hint of a very satisfied smile playing around her lips. She was quickly brought back to reality by Ravi, who was lurking outside her office as she arrived.
“Okay, tell me all,” she instructed, indicating he should sit down as she dumped her handbag and switched on her computer.
“Okay, company search first.” He passed her a sheaf of papers and sat quietly while she read through it. It all looked in order. Then she got to the list of shareholders – Clive Greenwood, Delia Greenwood, Carole Greenwood, Jane Greenwood, Alexander Greenwood, Jasmine Greenwood, James Greenwood and a host of other Greenwoods, for whom shares were held on trust by Clive Greenwood.
“Lots of Greenwoods. A real family business – assuming they are all family and it’s not just a coincidence that they all have the same name. We need to find out who they all are. Otherwise it looks fine. Can you please prepare a prospectus questionnaire from the precedents and incorporate this information into it?”
Ravi nodded. “And here are the results of my afternoon in the library.” He passed her another sheaf of papers. It was a memo on the question of restrictive covenants on shares traded on the open market. Kate flicked through it, “Nice, but what’s the answer?”
“No can do.”
“Excellent. We’ll go and talk to Hugh about Crazy Clive when he comes in. Thanks for your help, Ravi.”
She then began checking her email, but she was interrupted again. Kate looked up in annoyance at her morning routine (emails then Sydney Morning Herald on line before getting down to work) being disrupted again. Her irritation faded when she saw it was Matthew and that he was holding two cappuccinos. She smiled as he passed one over to her and made himself comfortable in the chair opposite her.
“So Kate did you enjoy the weekend?” he asked casually.
“Sure, you know client functions are my favourite way to spend a weekend,” she said sarcastically as she sipped at her coffee. He raised an eyebrow, “And how did you get on with the delectable pro golfer?”
“Ahh.” Kate couldn’t actually say anymore due to the goofy grin that had spread across her face.
“Okay, you do not need to say anymore. I get the picture.”
Kate looked at him in shock, “Matthew, do you mean to tell me that you are not going to pry?”
“No.”
“My God, don’t you feel well?”
“I’m appalled that’s how you see me,” he said with an injured expression and a hand on his chest to indicate his pain. He then switched gear, leaning forward intently “So tell me all – are you in ‘lerv’?”
She laughed, “I love you but you are the least discreet person I know.”
“Ouch! Okay, so no gory details. But was he good?” he shot at her as he stood up to leave.
“Matthew!”
Their conversation was interrupted by Gillian Martin. “What a surprise to find you two together!” she said in a bright voice, that failed to hide her real meaning – that they were complete slackers who never did anything useful. “I was hoping that you two could draft some letters to the clients that attended the golf weekend, thanking them for their attendance, blah, blah blah. I’d like to send them out today. Just to keep ALG top of mind. Thanks.”
This was obviously payback for Saturday night’s embarrassment. Kate glared at her retreating back. “Does she not realise that we’re here not as marketing slaves but that we actually do legal work and that’s what we get paid for? What the clients pay for?”
“I think she’s empire building and wants to suck us all into the black hole of marketing.”
Kate shuddered at the thought. “I have to see our esteemed boss now to prepare him for our new client, Crazy Clive. So you’ll just have to draft those suck up letters yourself. Thanks for the coffee.”
“Yeah, thanks for nothing, Kate,” Matthew grumbled. As she walked past him heading for Hugh’s office she whispered, “By the way, he was amazing.”
Following her chat with Hugh about Green Goods Ltd, Kate went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. She encountered several of her male colleagues conducting a post mortem of the weekend.
“Oh my God, I was so hung over yesterday I could barely stand up but I played like a legend.” Just the usual Monday banter in the office.
“Hi Kate.”
“Hi.”
“You left the party early on Saturday night. That’s not like you, Kate. You’re usually the life and soul of the party until the bitter end,” commented James, one of the banking team.
“I’m surprised you noticed, the way you were chugging back the vino.”
“Or perhaps Katie had a private party to attend?” One of the others commented, accompanied by guffaws.
She just smiled and willed the kettle to boil faster.
James continued as if there had been no interruption, “The weirdest thing was when I finally staggered off to bed around 5, I was sure I saw you skulking down the hallway in a hotel bathrobe.”
She turned to him boldly, leant back casually against the counter and said in an even voice, “You really did have a lot to drink. By the way, I never skulk.” With that she picked up her tea in shaking hands, tossed her hair over her shoulder and flounced off.
She shut the door to her office, having told her secretary she did not want to be disturbed. All she could think was “Shit, shit, shit.” She decided to call her best friend, Imogen, to make her feel better.
“Hi, Imogen, it’s me. Are we still on for dinner tonight?”
“Sure. I want to hear all about what crazy funster stuff you got up to on the golf course.”
“Imo, you have no idea.”
“My place, yours or somewhere out?”
“With the story I have to tell, I think it had better not be a public place.”
“Oooh.” Kate could feel that she suddenly had Imogen’s undivided attention rather than just the usual idle chat whilst continuing to work. It was not unusual for Imogen to swear at Kate and then apologise explaining that she had made a mistake in a spreadsheet or something. Kate was never sure whether she should be more offended about the swearing (which was pretty colourful) or the fact that Imogen didn’t really listen to her.
“So was it Richard from banking?” Imogen hazarded a guess.
“Eeeew. Why does everyone think that?”
“So I’m not the only one that sees the longing glances he casts in your direction.”
“He is so not attractive.”
“No, but that has never stopped you before.”
“Imogen!”
“Okay, tell me who.”
“I’m not telling you anything after how mean you have been to me,” Kate replied sulkily.
“Alright, I’ll wait until tonight then. I’ll be at your place by 9.”
Kate decided it was time to stop worrying about whether or not she had successfully bluffed the banking lads by checking Ravi’s draft questionnaire for the preparation of the Green Goods’ prospectus. The phone shrilled beside her. Her secretary’s number flashed on the screen.
“Natalie, I asked not to be disturbed. This had better be good,” she snapped irritably.
“Oh, it is. Can I come in?”
Kate sighed heavily, “Fine.”
There was a knock on the door. “Yes,” she called, trying to keep her annoyance in check. She started to tell Natalie that she didn’t need to knock on the door when she had just been told on the phone that it was okay to come in. She stopped when the door opened to reveal not Natalie but rather a massive bunch of roses. “Natalie, are you in there?” she asked faintly.
“Here I am.” Natalie poked her head around the bouquet, grinning. “I told you it was good.”
“You weren’t kidding. My God, they’re amazing.”
“Where do you want them?”
“Just put them here. Thanks, Nat.”
“Who are they from?”
The flowers were going to do nothing to quell the curiosity surrounding where and how Kate had spent Saturday night. She just smiled like the Mona Lisa and said, “Sorry, Nat, I’m really busy and unless you want to be here late tonight, I need to get on with it.” There was nothing like the threat of having to work late to get rid of the normally gregarious Natalie.
After she had left, shutting the door behind her, Kate looked for a card. There wasn’t one but she hardly needed one to know who they were from. After all, the roses were exactly the same colour as her underwear on Saturday night and tied with a black ribbon.
She was unsure of what to do. She felt that she should call Tom Benson to thank him for the flowers. It was only polite and Kate was terribly well brought up. The dilemma was she had no idea how to contact Tom. She was sure that Gillian Martin would know how to get in touch with him but she didn’t want to talk to the Lipstick Nazi unless it was absolutely essential. Especially not about anything connected with Tom Benson. Any other lines of approach, via Highbury Manor, the PGA or Tom Benson’s management company (he must have one), all seemed a little fraught. She sat at her desk dithering about what to do.
In the end none of her agonizing was necessary, as Tom phoned her himself.
Kate picked up the ringing telephone. “Hello Abercrombie, Lang & Gilchrist. Kate Shaw speaking.”
“Hi, Kate.” Her skin began to tingle just at the sound of his voice.
“Hi, how are you?”
“Good.”
“I’m so glad you called. I wanted to thank you for the flowers but wasn’t sure how to contact you. They were from you, weren’t they?” she asked suddenly anxious.
He gave a throaty laugh, “Have you been flashing your knickers at anyone else in the last few days?”
“Er, no.”
“Well, then you can be reasonable confident they’re from me.”
“Well, thank you. They’re absolutely beautiful. Even if they will cause a lot of raised eyebrows in the office.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing more than you can handle. Look, I might be in London next Tuesday on my way through to Spain for the first tournament of the season. Would you be able to meet up?”
Kate flicked the page in her diary. Natalie had written in big red letters that it was her birthday. After work drinks were planned at Anywheres, the retro 80s club around the corner from the office. Not something that Kate could miss - even for Tom Benson.
“I have something on that I can’t skip. Listen, call me when you’re available and I’ll see if I can get away.” She gave him her mobile number and hung up. She knew already that she would be out of there the moment he called but she hoped he wasn’t as aware of it as she was.
“So tell me all. Tell me, tell me, tell me. I’ve waited all day so it had better be bloody good.” Kate just gave her friend a Cheshire cat grin and asked what she would like to drink. Once she had poured them both a glass of red wine and they were settled on Kate’s tiny roof terrace, she told the whole story.
“Oh, my God,” breathed Imogen.
“So was it worth waiting for?”
“Yes, yes, it was actually. Good for you, Katie. It’s just what you need, a bit of no strings attached meaningless sex.”
“Well, thanks for putting it into perspective for me, Imo.”
“It’s most unlike you to just jump into bed with someone like that.”
“I know. There’s just something about him, I guess.”
“It’s not that he is famous, is it?”
“No, I don’t think so. I think it’s just that he is incredibly sexy.” She gave a nervous giggle.
“Really?”
“Really,” she replied with an emphatic nod.
“So what does he actually look like?”
“There’s a photo of him here in the programme from the golf extravaganza,” Kate said, wandering back into the kitchen to dig it out of her handbag.
“Bit of a souvenir, eh?”
“No, I needed it for the map on the back,” she retorted hotly.
“Yeah, yeah,” said Imogen as she examined the photo closely. “Not bad, not bad. And I guess since he’s a reasonably successful sportsman he has a fit body. Although he plays golf and that’s a game for fat bastards if ever there was one. That and darts.”
“He does not resemble a darts player, if that’s what you are worried about. He’s a perfect physical specimen,” she said with a smug smile as she remembered just how perfect he was.
“You said he was in the Top 10 in the world so he must be doing all right financially.”
“Imogen, I didn’t ask him what his bank balance was before I went to bed with him.” Imogen shook her head in disgust at Kate’s evident incompetence.
“But it should mean that he can afford to treat you like the princess you are and that’s always a bonus.”
“You’re assuming that this is going to be an ongoing thing.”
“Well, he sent you flowers, that does tend to indicate that he’ll be wanting something more from you.”
“You can be so commercial sometimes, Imogen.”
“But do you not think you’ll see him again?”
“Actually, I’m going to see him next Tuesday.”
Imogen hooted victoriously at this, “I told you, they never send flowers unless they think they’ll get a decent return on their investment. Hee, hee.”
“Imogen!”
“Oh, sweetheart, you should milk this one for all its worth. He sounds fabulous.”
“And what if I end up broken hearted and alone when he has finished his professional women phase and wants to go back to the preschool teacher types who ooh and aaah at his every utterance and think he’s a god?” This was a recurring theme between them as they often spent evenings lamenting the fact that intelligent men seemed to prefer women who looked up to them and fawned over them to women who were their equals, intellectually, financially and emotionally.
“I’m sorry,” Imogen said staunchly, “What about when you get sick of him and get over your professional jock phase and decide to revert to type and find yourself a nice doctor, lawyer or accountant?”
Kate laughed. “Perhaps a professional golfer is my equivalent of the preschool teacher.”
“Yes, but so much better paid!” They both giggled. And then Imogen proposed a toast, “To your new pro golfer toy boy.” Kate snorted and red wine spilled over her jeans as they clinked glasses with a bit too much enthusiasm.
“Just enjoy it while it lasts,” said Imogen, expansively, “I mean you’ll get to have dinner in nice restaurants, stay in ritzy hotels, receive flowers and most important of all, have sex with an actual man. What’s the downside?” Imogen saw the look of worry cross Kate’s face. She put out a hand to touch Kate’s arm.
“Don’t overanalyse this, Kate.” This was pretty rich coming from Imogen who was the queen of overanalysis.
“Okay,” said Kate, pointing a finger at Imogen, “As long as you promise that this was all your idea and you will be there to pick up the pieces when it all goes horribly wrong.”
“You can be such a drama queen. Yes, if the need arises, I’ll be here with a box of Kleenex in one hand and unlimited supplies of chocolate in the other.”
“Thank you, Imo, you are a true friend.”
Copyright (c) Sandra Pruim 2008
Remember to get your friends reading my blook as well! Thanks. Sandy
