in progress—the higher scent qualities of the
varieties—the depth variation of the petals—the longevity of the
blooms.
I wondered if,
in the background of his mind, he was regretting asking me to dine
with him. But I was looking forward to it more than ever. I was
used to awkward situations. People throwing acid at each other in
court. That was my arena.
* *
We finished and
signed the will and testament at 5:30 pm. and I packed away the
documents in my case.
As dinner
wouldn’t be served until six, this meant we had a half hour of
chilled, polite conversation ahead. I broke the ice and kicked off
the game early with a provocative question.
“ This is
a very big house to live in alone. Do you like your own
company?”
“ I like
to be able to please myself however and whenever I like, but I’d
also enjoy having someone to please myself with, now and then. It’s
a balancing act, a double-edged sword, if you like.”
“ Maybe
you should have your friends to stay more often,” I say with a touch of sarcasm. There
were friends and friends ...
He knew what I meant. “I never have my own space, so I wouldn’t
know how I’d feel living somewhere as large and empty as this. I
live with my father and younger sister.”
“ Aren’t
you tempted to move out, and find your own space?”
“ My home
is my home. However much I may wish for some privacy and solitude.
It’s unlikely to happen in the near future.”
“ That’s
your decision, I guess.”
“ Yes and
no. Decisions aren’t always of our choosing. Mine was made for
me.”
“ I’m
intrigued, why is that?”
“ It’s not
something I want to discuss.” I wished I’d never started this
conversation, or maybe I shouldn’t have been honest in my replies.
I’d pushed myself into a corner full of hurt. He must be able to
see the pain etched in my eyes because it felt like my head was
suddenly full of it. It was brimming over, emerging from every pore
like lava spewing from a volcano. It didn’t take much to bring it
to the surface, but it was so hard to stop the flow.
“ I guess
it’s a sore point?”
Anger welled up
within me.. Not at him, but at the whole situation I lived
with.
Sore
point?
I was
imprisoned with guilt and misery. My heart was laden down with more
pain than I could bear. And I wasn’t about to bare my soul to this
man. He wasn't interested in learning of my sorrows, he had but one
thing on his mind. Getting around my objections, physically.
He had a
very well-timed call and excused himself, to speak privately on his
cell, or so he said. He disappeared for twenty minutes. He could
well be having a respite from me. A rest in his master bedroom
suite. A rethink and a regroup of tactics, before he launched his
next wave of assault. Or maybe he was trying to work out how to
back out of our dinner. Perhaps he now saw me as a woman with
baggage? No longer so appealing to him. He hadn’t denied his friends either.
Should I simply
leave? No, I couldn't be that rude.
Bertrand would
be making our meal by now. I'd stay and see what happened. .
It was rather
warm so I made myself comfortable, taking off my jacket and shoes
and curling up in the large executive chair. I checked my cell and
feeling a little bored after that, I sprayed some perfume, applied
a little lip-gloss and rearranged my hair for something to do. Then
I daydreamed, closing my eyes, recharging my mental batteries and
prepared myself for whatever was to come.
Sebastian
I was in a
state of surprise. And my current state of mind had nothing to do
with my recent business call. Nor was it a result of my newly
drafted will. Although the person who drafted it was very much the
reason.
I'd never
met a more indignant, prickly and argumentative woman. She
had real thorns. She'd make an excellent rose. I may well name my
thorniest creation Amanda Preston.
Despite that, I
was captivated. The way she held her head high and so damn proud on
that long and
varieties—the depth variation of the petals—the longevity of the
blooms.
I wondered if,
in the background of his mind, he was regretting asking me to dine
with him. But I was looking forward to it more than ever. I was
used to awkward situations. People throwing acid at each other in
court. That was my arena.
* *
We finished and
signed the will and testament at 5:30 pm. and I packed away the
documents in my case.
As dinner
wouldn’t be served until six, this meant we had a half hour of
chilled, polite conversation ahead. I broke the ice and kicked off
the game early with a provocative question.
“ This is
a very big house to live in alone. Do you like your own
company?”
“ I like
to be able to please myself however and whenever I like, but I’d
also enjoy having someone to please myself with, now and then. It’s
a balancing act, a double-edged sword, if you like.”
“ Maybe
you should have your friends to stay more often,” I say with a touch of sarcasm. There
were friends and friends ...
He knew what I meant. “I never have my own space, so I wouldn’t
know how I’d feel living somewhere as large and empty as this. I
live with my father and younger sister.”
“ Aren’t
you tempted to move out, and find your own space?”
“ My home
is my home. However much I may wish for some privacy and solitude.
It’s unlikely to happen in the near future.”
“ That’s
your decision, I guess.”
“ Yes and
no. Decisions aren’t always of our choosing. Mine was made for
me.”
“ I’m
intrigued, why is that?”
“ It’s not
something I want to discuss.” I wished I’d never started this
conversation, or maybe I shouldn’t have been honest in my replies.
I’d pushed myself into a corner full of hurt. He must be able to
see the pain etched in my eyes because it felt like my head was
suddenly full of it. It was brimming over, emerging from every pore
like lava spewing from a volcano. It didn’t take much to bring it
to the surface, but it was so hard to stop the flow.
“ I guess
it’s a sore point?”
Anger welled up
within me.. Not at him, but at the whole situation I lived
with.
Sore
point?
I was
imprisoned with guilt and misery. My heart was laden down with more
pain than I could bear. And I wasn’t about to bare my soul to this
man. He wasn't interested in learning of my sorrows, he had but one
thing on his mind. Getting around my objections, physically.
He had a
very well-timed call and excused himself, to speak privately on his
cell, or so he said. He disappeared for twenty minutes. He could
well be having a respite from me. A rest in his master bedroom
suite. A rethink and a regroup of tactics, before he launched his
next wave of assault. Or maybe he was trying to work out how to
back out of our dinner. Perhaps he now saw me as a woman with
baggage? No longer so appealing to him. He hadn’t denied his friends either.
Should I simply
leave? No, I couldn't be that rude.
Bertrand would
be making our meal by now. I'd stay and see what happened. .
It was rather
warm so I made myself comfortable, taking off my jacket and shoes
and curling up in the large executive chair. I checked my cell and
feeling a little bored after that, I sprayed some perfume, applied
a little lip-gloss and rearranged my hair for something to do. Then
I daydreamed, closing my eyes, recharging my mental batteries and
prepared myself for whatever was to come.
Sebastian
I was in a
state of surprise. And my current state of mind had nothing to do
with my recent business call. Nor was it a result of my newly
drafted will. Although the person who drafted it was very much the
reason.
I'd never
met a more indignant, prickly and argumentative woman. She
had real thorns. She'd make an excellent rose. I may well name my
thorniest creation Amanda Preston.
Despite that, I
was captivated. The way she held her head high and so damn proud on
that long and
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