by Suzy Shearer
Okay, maybe he’d got the last two digits back to front. I tried a few dozen different combinations with absolutely no luck. I screamed—loudly with frustration. The temptation to throw my phone into the surf was enormous, but somehow I managed to resist. Instead, I sat on a rock and cried. I had no way of contacting him and he couldn’t contact me.
Think, woman.
I couldn’t even remember what he’d told me his last name was, plus there was that little fact he’d only recently arrived in Australia. I stumbled back to the villa eventually, tears blinding my eyes, and spent the rest of the day in abject misery. I tried hard to remember where he’d said he’d bought his house. I vaguely remembered it was the same as a character name in a book. Sitting on the top step of the patio, I went through all the character names I could think of that were place names—Wellington, Simpson, Evans. I even added Old Macdonald and Doctor Foster who went to Gloucester, but nothing rang a bell.
I only had one more day here myself and then I was leaving. Right at this moment, I wished I was back in my own home, curled up and having the largest pity party I could throw for myself. I dragged myself into bed that night and howled. At some point during the night, I woke thinking of Philip Marlowe—that was it! That was the place John had said, Marlow, but of course that left me none the wiser, I’d never heard of it. I’d have to wait until I got home and look it up.
The next day, I wandered around aimlessly, trying to come up with ideas of how I could find John. Then I wondered if he’d intentionally given me the wrong number.
No, he didn’t seem the type, but then who knew. The letter seemed to be genuine. He wanted a relationship. Would he have written that if he wanted to forget me?
Actually, logic said he would have left without writing anything, but logic flew out of the window when all I could think of was I’d lost something wonderful.
I was glad when Sunday arrived and I could go home. When I handed in the key, I tried to wrangle John’s full name and number from the receptionist to absolutely no avail. It was the same woman who chastised me when I asked if he’d left. I explained the letter that he left, asking me to ring him. I pleaded with her but all I got was a blank glare and a “humph”.
My drive home was bleak. Even the weather seemed to fit my mood. It was cold, miserable, and wet. When I got home, I dragged my suitcase upstairs to my apartment, left it in the spare bedroom, and threw myself on my bed in tears.
I’d finally met a man who punched every button I had. Handsome, funny, interesting. He seemed to honestly enjoy my company and if his kisses and our making-out were anything to go by, we excited each other. And now I’d lost him. I lay on the bed, bawling like a teenager.
When I finally stopped crying, my eyes sore and my throat burning, I fired up my laptop and typed in an inquiry for Marlow—there was one near me! It was on the Hawkesbury River. That had to be it!
Then I spied the entry underneath it, Marlo. It was in Victoria and also on a river—the Snowy River. Damn, which one was it? They both fitted the description. Not that either helped. Bit hard to find a person only by their first name, and especially a common name like John. It wasn’t as if I could drive to Marlow or Marlo and cruise the streets searching for him.
Becky and Cass commiserated with me. I’d been going to dinner with them once a week for years, as well as a fortnightly luncheon with Charlie and Justin. Becky had rung me Monday night, demanding to know all about my holiday. I tried to get enthusiastic because it really was wonderful, but I knew she saw right through me.
“Come to dinner tomorrow night. There’s more to this than you’re telling, Belle. I expect you here at six.”
I promised I’d be there and I didn’t think I’d even put my keys and handbag down before I burst into tears. Then I told them my sorry tale and even showed them the note I’d carried around and stared at a dozen times a day.
“Do you think he did it on purpose, Becky? Wrote the number wrong?”
I could hear the sadness in my voice as Becky reread the note.
“I don’t think so. I mean, it sounds as if he certainly wants to see you again. What do you think, Cass?”
“I agree. If he didn’t want to see you, he wouldn’t have bothered to leave a message. You said you tried moving a few numbers around?”
“Yep, but there’s thousands of combinations. I’d have more luck winning the lotto than hitting on the right combination.”
“What was his last name?”
I almost burst into tears again. “I can’t remember,” I wailed.
Becky hugged me at that point. They both knew my love life was non-existent, and if I was acting this way, then it must have been pretty serious.
“All I know is he lives in Marlow or Marlo.”
They both stared at me as if I was insane.
“I know the two places sound the same, but they’re spelled differently. Either of them could be the right one. He told me his house was on the river and the two places are both on rivers. One’s local and the other’s in Victoria.”
“Maybe he’ll find you.”
I shrugged. “I never told him my last name. All he knows is I design wedding gowns and live a four hours’ drive from the holiday villa. Now he probably thinks I don’t want to take things any further because I haven’t rung him.”
On Wednesday, I went back to work, thinking at least the days would pass quickly but of course they just seemed to drag. I tried to get out of my blue funk, but it was hard. That first week back was horrendous. I had to force myself not to burst into tears every five minutes. I’d taken some pictures of him with my phone and now I’d sit and stare at them all day, my fingers tracing the contours of his handsome face.
The weeks slowly went by and I gradually accepted the fact I’d lost something precious and would never get it back. Becky and Cass tried to help me. They tried hard to make me get him from my mind, but it was impossible.
I felt as if my lips were stained by his kisses, the imprint of his hands burned into my breasts. If I closed my eyes, I swore I could smell him. If I ran my hand over my skin I could almost believe the sensations were his touches on my body. I fell asleep at night with his name on my lips, and when I woke, his name was still locked on them.
I couldn’t think properly. He was continually in my thoughts, overriding my senses. In a moment of sheer madness, I booked in for laser treatment for my nether regions. I had no idea why, maybe subconsciously I thought John may one day find me again or I’d find him.
Anyway, the laser place I usually used was a couple of doors up from the boutique. Following their instructions, I shaved down and went in thinking it would be like having my legs and underarms done—shit, it wasn’t!
It was going okay until she said, “I’m about to do the labia area now.”
“Fine,” I answered blithely as she smiled knowingly.
My God, it burned, big time!
Time for the other side. I held my breath, bit down on my lip, and held onto the sides of the table with a grip that hurt as well. If I thought that was bad, then she did that little point right above my clit. I was one hundred percent certain she had to scrape me off the ceiling. Blithely, she rubbed on some sort of gel and told me I was all done for a few weeks. So when she left the room, I wiped my tears of pain then pulled up my panties—they stuck to the gel. Still, I managed to walk outside. I hobbled down to the boutique like some weird cowboy, my legs apart.
I imagined it appeared as if I’d had a serious bowel accident. Somehow, I waddled in with my pussy stinging painfully as if it had been irreparably burned. Sucking in my breath, and the horrid ache, I tried to walk as normally as possible through the salon and back to my office. I gingerly sat on the edge of my chair and wondered why the hell I’d been so stupid to think this would bring back John. Instead, all it had done was cause me more agony. But the pain slowly subsided and I made it through the day. By that night it was only a little tender but rather bright red from all the punishment my
region had been put through.
At least for a few hours, my thoughts of John had lessened. Still, it was as if I were hollow inside. Obviously I still had a heart but it was in so many pieces I was amazed it still worked. Thank goodness I had the boutique. I immersed myself so deep in work that only the top of my hair was visible. My staff must have noticed because one day Charlie came into the office with a cup of tea for me and sat down opposite.
“What’s wrong, Anabelle?”
“What do you mean?”
“Ever since you’ve come back from your holiday you’ve been a different person. You’re so sad. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t give me that, this is Charlie. I can smell a lie a mile away.” He regarded me seriously then put a hand over his mouth. “Oh no, you’re sick! Justin said that must be the reason.”
“What?” I looked at him, completely baffled.
“What is it? Cancer? Heart?”
“Oh, for goodness sake, Charlie, I’m fine,” I answered gruffly.
“Honestly?”
“Yes, honestly. I’m as healthy as any other fifty-five year old.”
“In that case, I’ll yell at Justin for even suggesting it. Okay, well then it must be a man.”
“Oh, and why is that?”
“Because you have never been like this in all the years I’ve worked for you. Now you go away and when you come back, you’re all sad and mopey. Ergo, you met a man and now it’s over.”
I stared at him, my eyes filling with tears, and I gestured for him to leave. I was thankful he only gave me a look of pity and walked out.
Bugger.
I thought I’d been excellent the last two days and hadn’t thought about John every waking moment, only every half-hour, which was a vast improvement. Stupid me. I kept staring at his pictures and rereading the note he left me. I’d even taken to sniffing it, convinced I could smell his aroma, that spicy, oriental scent of his aftershave, the musky male smell when we made out. The note was now so heavily crumpled I worried it would fall to pieces. I literally had it bad. Time to move on—really this time. I pushed the note into my desk drawer, determined never to read it again. I couldn’t bring myself to throw it in the bin yet. Maybe another day.
I hoped I was turning a corner and getting back into living. I wasn’t able to get the strength to delete the photos I had of him. Instead, I transferred them to my personal laptop at home and scrubbed them off the phone. At least it meant I couldn’t spend my time mooning over them at work. I’d had a couple more laser appointments and was now all smooth like a baby’s bum. But sadly nothing had helped me find John. The days passed and turned into weeks, which in turn became months.
Next Saturday, it would be two months since my world came crashing down.
****
The weather had been miserable since I’d come home almost eight weeks ago, but today, the sun actually shone. Today was Saturday. I had a couple of appointments for fittings and one for a design. On Wednesday, I had an appointment in the morning with an importer who was promising me a very good deal on Chantilly, Alençon, and Guipure laces. Then in the afternoon, one with a prospective client who wanted to talk about designs and fabrics.
I pulled out the designs I’d drawn for the afternoon meeting and then went downstairs to wait on the two fitting appointments. Carina had everything organized as I made another cup of tea. By lunchtime, both fittings had gone perfectly. Both women expressed delight. One gown needed a couple of minor alterations while the other was ready to go. She paid the final amount and left happily.
My design meeting on Saturday seemed to drag on. I showed the prospective bride all the designs with suggested fabric swatches. She wanted fabrics from one design put onto another, then decided she didn’t want the sleeves that she’d insisted on all along. I slapped a smile on my face and nodded. Finally, close to four, we’d come to some sort of agreement. I’d draw up this new idea and she could inspect it next week. When she left, I wanted to scream in frustration with her. The final staff had already left as Charlie and I locked up. I reminded him of my meeting the Wednesday morning.
“I should be in around eleven, Charlie, and I only have that meeting at midday. You enjoy the break. Say hi to Justin for me.”
We air-kissed and went our separate ways. Despite my promise to myself to move on and get back into life, when I was at home I would dissolved into despair. Today was no different.
When I got home, I stood at the open fridge, trying to decide what to eat. What I’d truly love to do was binge, but sadly, that wasn’t going to happen. I’d run out of chocolate from my last binge two days ago. There was no ice-cream in the freezer and no biscuits left in the pantry. I didn’t have the energy to go out. I ended up cutting up some cheese and a Nashi pear and then added some dried apricots to a plate. I took my unexciting feast into the family room and spent a boring night watching something mindless on the television.
Tomorrow was another day. I’d put one foot in front of the other and get through it.
I honestly knew that somehow I had to move past my blue funk and get back to normal, but I had no idea how. I missed John that much, it was visceral. I actually was crushed with grief. At times, I couldn’t breathe properly. I was on the verge of tears all the time. I tried to act normal around everyone when in fact all I wanted to do was curl into a ball and scream and howl.
If only I’d given him my address or let him drive me back to the salon. If only when he’d told me his name I remembered it. And why the hell didn’t I ask where Marlow was? Everything was “if only”, and I kept thinking of “might have beens”—we could have been together these past eight weeks instead of me living in deepest sorrow and pain. I wondered how he was. Did he miss me like I missed him? Or had he written it off as a holiday fling and moved on to someone new?
I’d never thought anyone could fall in love at first sight, but that was what had happened. Maybe it was because it was a holiday romance. Maybe it was something I needed, but whatever the reason I’d fallen hook, line, and sinker. John was my soul mate and I’d lost him. His touch had ignited a flame that could never be quenched. My heart had shattered into a million pieces, never to be put back together.
Somehow, I made it through the next three days. They were always the hardest without the salon to take my mind off my misery. Wednesday morning, after showering, I dressed in the salon uniform of a black dress, grabbed a warm jacket, and headed out.
I pushed aside my melancholy, slapped my usual fake smile on my face, and went to my meeting with the importer. We drank coffee, discussed prices, and reached a mutually acceptable agreement on costs. After shaking hands and signing on the deal, I headed back to the salon. This arrangement on the lace would save me thousands. Some of the laces I used cost close to three thousand dollars a meter. By importing direct from the manufacturer through the importer, rather than through a wholesale outlet, that figure could drop by as much as five or six hundred dollars a meter. It was worth the commission I’d be paying the importer.
There was no doubt, after my sadness of the past few months, I was pretty upbeat as I entered the salon. Charlie greeted me at the door, with a rather strange look on his face, and I wondered what had happened now.
Chapter Ten
John
I’d faced down people holding guns on me, stared at those threatening to hack out my guts, but at the moment my stomach was in knots. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
When I’d read that piece in the local rag about Anabelle and saw her business was in Hornsby, I knew I had to see her again. I hadn’t been able to get her out of my mind these past eight weeks. Okay, she didn’t ring me. But did that mean she didn’t want to continue what we started while away?
Yeah, of course it did, but I was a glutton for punishment.
I wanted to hear it from those luscious lips. Now here I was inside a very feminine place—a bridal boutique. And boy was it classy. Plush cream carpets dampene
d the sound of feet moving. Voices in whispers and this big ferocious guy in a well-made suit bearing down on me like a bulldozer. He was probably thinking what the hell was another male doing in here? He looked tough, like he’d take no prisoners. In other times, he’d be someone I’d want by my side in a fight.
“Hello. May I be of assistance?”
The terse sentence may have been innocent but it held all the promise of the Spanish Inquisition. One wrong answer and I’d be out the door before I knew it.
“Good morning, I wonder if I could speak with Ana, er … Anabelle?”
He raked his eyes up and down, taking in every part of me from my white t-shirt to my black loafers. I wasn’t sure if he liked what he saw or not because his face wore a mask of indifference.
“I’m sorry, she’s at a meeting at the moment.” He paused as if deciding whether I was dangerous or merely something that could be thrown into the garbage. “Perhaps I could help you?”
“No, not really.”
His eyes narrowed at that. Obviously not the answer he wanted to hear.
“Did you have an appointment?”
Ooh, spiteful. He already knew the answer to that, I could tell by the smirk. It said, “No appointment, Johnny, so get going.”
“No. Can you tell me when she’ll be back?”
The guy glanced casually at his watch then gave me a look, kind of like he was sizing me up or trying to decide if he should throw me out. I had about six centimeters on him, although we were close as far as the muscle went, so it would be an even fight. He raised an eyebrow. I could see the smirk widen.
“Are you enquiring about a gown?”
A new tactic, sneaky. I swore I heard laughter in that question. This guy played dirty and I gained a new respect for him.
“No, it’s personal. I need to speak with her, it’s important.”
“I see.”
Wow, how much can you say with only two words?
It sounded as if he was questioning my parentage, my honesty, my masculinity, and my financial capabilities. Still, he finally gave me something positive.
