Finding Margo

by Susanne O'Leary

  FINDING MARGO

  By Susanne O’Leary

  ****

  Copyright © 2010 by Susanne O’Leary

  www.susanne-oleary.co.uk

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Finding Margo

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  EPILOGUE

  Also By Susanne O'Leary

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

  Description:

  When Margo misreads a roadmap while travelling by car through France, her husband Alan flies into one of his habitual rages. Tired of his constant bad moods, Margo slips away from him at a motorway café. She hitches a lift with a woman truck driver and escapes into the French countryside. What follows is adventure and romance far beyond her wildest dreams. Will Alan find her before she finds herself?

  CHAPTER 1

  The silver BMW travelled smoothly along the motorway. The soft purring of the engine was barely audible over the Beethoven sonata that wafted from the CD player. The music and the gentle movement of the car made Margo drowsy as she looked idly at the French countryside gliding past the windows. She glanced at her husband to make sure he wasn’t falling asleep too but he looked reasonably alert and drove the big car expertly, as always.

  They had arrived in Calais by ferry in the early morning and headed south straightaway to avoid the worst of the heat and traffic. It was late afternoon now and Margo was tired of concentrating on the map and directing Alan through the maze of motorways. She leaned her head against the soft leather of the headrest and closed her eyes. The road map and guidebook slid off her knees. As her head lolled forward, she realised falling asleep would be a bad idea. She opened her eyes, fighting to stay awake.

  “Could we change the music?” she asked drowsily. “Or put the news on or something? I’m beginning to nod off here.”

  Alan frowned without taking his eyes off the road. “You’d better not, or we’ll end up going the wrong way.”

  “And that wouldn’t do, would it?” Margo said, imagining what would happen if they missed even one minute of the medical conference in Cannes.

  “It certainly wouldn’t.”

  “Maybe we can get the news on the BBC?” Margo put her hand out to switch the CD player to the radio setting.

  “No, I like this,” Alan said in a voice that didn’t allow argument. “I find it relaxing while I drive.”

  “OK.” Margo settled back into her seat again. Maybe I’ll feel less sleepy if I talk to him, she thought, trying to think of a topic of conversation. “Do you realise,” she said after a while, “that we haven’t been on a trip like this for over three years?”

  “Three years?” Alan asked incredulously. “It couldn’t be that long.”

  “It is.” Margo nodded. “The last time we went anywhere together was,” she thought for a minute, “America. We went to New York for that meeting. Don’t you remember that lovely weekend in the Fall?” she said with an exaggerated American accent. “We drove to Vermont and stayed in that cute little country inn and—”

  “I got terrible backache from that horrible bed,” Alan grunted.

  “That wasn’t from the bed. It was from making love in the bath,” Margo said with a little smile. “You got such cramp, remember?”

  “God, yes. I had to go to hospital.”

  “And we had to explain to that elderly nurse what you had been doing to be in such pain,” Margo laughed.

  “I don’t know why we found it so funny,” Alan said.

  Margo’s smile died on her lips as her thoughts went back to those happy days. We don’t laugh together like that anymore, she thought. She turned to look at Alan, admiring his profile. Still handsome, still the same tall frame, broad shoulders, and gleaming blond hair. He looks almost exactly as he did when we got married. It’s my fault, she thought. I haven’t managed to keep him interested. I haven’t made the effort to be fascinating and sexy and feminine and whatever else men want you to be. But I will, she promised herself. I’ll change my hair and buy some really sexy underwear. And now I have the chance. After all, this is France, what better place to get something really fabulous? We’re still young, she thought. Not even forty – we should be able to rekindle that burning flame. She felt a stir of excitement at the thought of surprising Alan.

  “We should be there soon.” Alan’s voice dragged Margo out of her reverie.

  “Mmm.”

  “About twenty minutes, would you say?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Great.” Alan smiled and shifted his body in his seat. “I’m beginning to feel a little stiff.”

  “But you’ll be able to have a swim in the hotel pool soon,” Margo said. “We’ll have plenty of time before dinner.”

  “I know. I can’t wait. My back is really beginning to get to me. Maybe we shouldn’t have driven so far in one day.”

  “That was your idea,” Margo reminded him. “I would have been quite prepared to stop much earlier.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, giving her a sideways glance. “I told you so? OK. I admit that it probably would have made more sense to have stopped earlier, but I’m not that bad. No worse than usual in any case.”

  “If you took some exercise and tried to cut down on your workload—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know,” he interrupted. “But you know I can’t work less at the moment. This break was only possible because of those cancellations and the fact that the conference is being held in Cannes this year. Which also gave us the opportunity to stay in this fantastic place on the way. And as you might have noticed, the traffic wasn’t as bad as you thought. We seem to have managed to get ahead of the posse. You did a good job of directing me.”

  “I hope I can keep it up,” Margo said, leaning her head on the headrest again.

  “So do I.” Alan paused and shot her another glance. “You weren’t thinking of taking a nap?” he asked, a hint of irritation in his voice. “You know I need you to keep an eye on the map.”

  “I am,” Margo assured him, picking the books off the floor. “I have both the map and the guidebook right here.”

  “Great. Just make sure you
don’t miss the exit. It should be coming up shortly. As far as I can remember, we go up a hill and through a roundabout. Then I think there’s a right turn over a bridge, and we should be on the road straight to the hotel.”

  “Mmm.” Margo stifled a yawn. “Sorry,” she laughed, “it’s the sun and the motion of the car. Makes me sleepy.”

  “We’ll have dinner as soon as we arrive and then a swim and an early night,” Alan said.

  “Good idea,” Margo agreed, beginning to look forward to the evening. And the next day, they would arrive in Cannes, and she would be able to relax, have some time on her own while he attended the conference. She would laze on the beach, swim, read, and maybe do some shopping. There was that nice lingerie shop just off the Croisette, where they had the most amazing things. She would buy that sexy underwear. Maybe I should go a bit kinky, she thought. That might do the trick...

  “Exit 22,” Alan suddenly said as a road sign whizzed past. “Is that the one I should take?”

  “Mmm? What? Exit 22?” Startled, Margo picked up the map. “No, it should say exit 8. Hold on, I’ll have a look.”

  “Wake up!’ Alan shouted. “Tell me quick! What should I do? We’re coming up to the exit now!’

  “No! Don’t take that one!’ Margo yelled. “It’s wrong. Keep going until I find out.” She studied the map with a feeling of dread as the car swept past the exit. “Oh God, I don’t believe it.”

  “What?” Alan demanded.

  “Well, there shouldn’t be an exit 22 here.” Her mouth suddenly felt dry and her hands clammy. “Unless...”

  “Unless you’ve made a mistake again?”

  “Yeah, well.” She swallowed nervously, staring at the map, trying to figure out how she could have got it so horribly wrong. “Oh God. I must have made a mistake back there at the spaghetti junction. It was so difficult to figure out...” Margo bit her lip, her stomach churning, ready for the stream of abuse she knew would come now.

  “We’re on the wrong motorway?” Alan asked, his voice dangerously silky. “Are you telling me we’re going in the direction of Grenoble?”

  “Uh, I’m afraid we are.”

  Alan’s hands gripped the wheels, his knuckles white. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Fuck,” he muttered.

  “Sorry,” Margo whispered.

  “That junction you’re talking about, was that the one we went through just after Dijon? A fucking hour ago?”

  “Yes,” she stammered. “Oh Alan, I’m really sorry.”

  “Moron.”

  “I know. It was really silly of me, but it was so confusing. And there were no proper signs and—”

  “You stupid bitch! We have lost a full hour, do you realise that? And we’re nearly out of petrol as well. Shit! We’ll have to stop at the next petrol station. And then we’ll have to figure out how to get to where we’re supposed to be. We won’t be at the hotel until at least ten o’clock at this rate. Do you understand what you’ve done?”

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “I can’t hear you.”

  “Yes,” Margo murmured, “I do understand. But I did say I was sorry.”

  “Sorry? You think you can fix what you’ve done by just saying sorry?”

  “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “It was a mistake,” Margo whispered, her chin trembling.

  “Mistake?” There was a pause and a sharp intake of breath. “A fucking mistake that has cost us half a day’s driving and God knows how much money in petrol. My back is killing me as well. You’re useless, do you know that? I should have known better than ask you to read a bloody map. You couldn’t direct a child on a tricycle to playschool!’

  “I know. It was really stupid.”

  “You bet it was.”

  “Sorry,” Margo said again, even though she knew she sounded as stupid as he thought she was. Oh, how I hate this, she thought. How I hate his temper and his swearing and shouting. It always comes out of the blue like a bolt of lightning. One minute he’s so charming and sweet, and the next...

  “How long have we been we married?” Alan suddenly demanded.

  “What?”

  “You heard. How long have we been married?”

  “Ten years.”

  Alan shook his head and sighed. “Ten years,” he snarled. “Ten fucking years. I can’t believe I’ve been stuck with such a halfwit for ten fucking years.”

  Margo suddenly felt trapped. She wanted to open the car door and throw herself into the road, so strong was her urge to get away from him, from the venom in his voice, and the horrible insults. “Stop the car,” she said.

  “Stop the car? What the fuck do you mean? I can’t stop in the middle of a three-lane motorway. I’m in the fast lane, can’t you see that?”

  “I don’t care. I want to get out. I can’t stand sitting here while you go berserk.”

  “What? Me? Berserk? What are you going on about now?”

  “You know very well. You’re ranting and raving like a lunatic just because of one little—”

  “Little?” he snapped. “You call that little? You had the map. You knew where we were going. Why the fuck couldn’t you manage to do the one thing that was required of you instead of going to sleep?”

  “But I—” Margo stopped. She clamped her mouth shut, deciding not to talk to him until he had calmed down. What was the point? Arguing only made him worse. He’s so mean, she thought, hot tears stinging her eyes. So cruel and unforgiving. I know I was a little absentminded, but why can’t he be more easy going, more willing to forgive? Why can’t he understand how difficult it was to figure out that complicated mess on the map? Why couldn’t we laugh about it and try to solve the problem together? But no, that would be too much to expect. There was a brooding stillness in the car as the last bars of the piano sonata died away and the heavy trucks roared past them outside.

  “There’s a petrol station a few miles ahead,” Alan said, sounding marginally calmer as they passed a large sign. “We’ll stop there and fill up.”

  Margo didn’t reply.

  “And I’ll have a look at the map and try to find out where the fuck we are,” he continued.

  Margo turned her head away and stared blindly out the window, trying to block the sound of his voice from her mind.

  “Sulking now are we?” Alan’s voice dripped contempt. “Feeling sorry for ourselves?”

  Margo laughed bitterly to herself as she was tempted to ask him what his patients would say if they saw him now: all those women who found him so caring and wonderful, the best plastic surgeon in London with the wonderful bedside manner.

  Alan shook his head. “Jesus. Women,” he muttered. “Can’t read a fucking map.”

  Margo rummaged in her bag.

  “What are you doing now?” Alan demanded.

  “Nothing. Just looking for a hanky.”

  “You’re going to turn on the tears now, I suppose. Jesus Christ, you really are pathetic.” He tightened his hands on the steering wheel, and the car suddenly surged forward.

  Margo closed her eyes, humming a little tune to herself. Alan said something she didn’t hear, his voice only a distant murmur as the car swept around the next bend.

  ***

  “Here we are,” Alan said as he slowed the car and turned into the entrance to the motorway station. “But look at that queue. Shit! I should have known it would be like this at this time of year. Why does everybody go on holiday in July? We’ll have to wait at least half an hour now.”

  Margo looked around. It was one of those huge stations with about twenty petrol pumps, a picnic area, a playground for children, a cafeteria, restaurant, and a shop in a separate building. She took her handbag and started to get out of the car.

  “I’m going to the loo,” she announced, taking her black leather tote bag as well, thinking she could change her sweaty T-shirt for a fresh one.

  “Yeah, sure,” Alan muttered, staring ahead, drumming his fingers on the das
hboard.

  “I’ll see you in the cafeteria when you’ve finished filling the car,” Margo said as she left.

  Alan just glared at her without replying. She shrugged and hurried away from the car, across the hot tarmac baking in the afternoon sun, and into the coolness of the restaurant.

  ***

  Margo looked at herself in the mirror as she dried her hands on the paper towel in the surprisingly clean ladies’ toilet. God, I look a mess, she thought. Her face was pale, and there were traces of mascara under her eyes. She pulled out the scrunchie that held up her hair, and the dark blonde curls tumbled onto her shoulders. She dampened a tissue to wipe away the smudges under her eyes, to no avail. She still looked tired and dishevelled despite having changed into a fresh blue T-shirt. Her white linen trousers were more wrinkled than fashionably creased. She sighed and took a comb from her bag and then tried to fluff up her hair. I’ll have to wash it as soon as we get to the hotel, she thought, tying it up again. She put away the comb, took out a lipstick, and quickly touched up the colour on her mouth, which made her look only slightly better. A good night’s sleep, she thought. That’s what I need. I can’t wait to get to the hotel. Alan will have calmed down, and we’ll have a nice dinner, some wine, and then I’ll do my best to cheer him up. And tomorrow we’ll be in Cannes. The conference will keep him occupied and maybe improve his mood.

  Margo wandered out of the ladies’ toilet into the shopping area and started to walk around the aisles. There was an amazing amount of luxury goods for sale: perfumes, soaps, expensive chocolates, even bottles of wine and champagne. She chose a small box of Belgian chocolates and a tray of tiny soaps, not because she needed them but because it cheered her up to buy something.

  “That’s forty-four euros and fifty cents,” the girl at the checkout said.

  Margo handed her a fifty from the euro notes Alan had given her early that morning, when they had gone to the cash machine at the ferry port. He had told her to keep the European ‘funny money’ in her purse for emergencies, as you never knew when you might need to pay for something in cash. She didn’t have a credit card. Alan wouldn’t permit it. Not that he was stingy, but he didn’t want her to buy things he hadn’t approved of first.