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
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 18th 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
“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
