Transplanting Holly Oakwood (24 page)

After the girls left he pottered in the kitchen, clearing up the empty bottles and remnants of the meal. He stacked dirty dishes with clean ones, put rubbish in the kitchen cupboards, and threw out food that should have been refrigerated. Eventually he gave up, uncorked a virgin bottle of red, lit a ciggie, and moved to the balcony.

It was a clear night, with a dense web of stars woven across the sky, but its beauty was lost on him. He dragged on his ciggie, and tapped his foot impatiently, his thoughts racing. Exhaustion gnawed at his bones, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. What would life be like once Holly had left him and Tessa? Get real sunshine, he said to himself, it was time to be completely honest. He wasn’t the slightest concerned about Holly leaving Tessa. This was all about him. This girl he hadn’t even kissed had burrowed her way into his affections, and he couldn’t imagine life without her.

In the cooling air his skin grew clammy, his pulse beat erratically and the food he’d eaten sat like a festering lump in his abdomen. He paced back and forth, back and forth over the smooth terracotta tiles, feeling confined in the small space. He wasn’t sure what to do but one thing was certain. He wouldn’t sit by idly and wait for the woman he loved to be sent back to England in disgrace.

Feeling light-headed from the wine, he staggered back into the apartment where he stripped off, dropping his clothes in a heap at the end of the bed.

He lay in the cool sheets with thoughts of Holly’s predicament spiralling in his brain, until groggy from shock, tiredness, and too much Cabernet, he fell into an uneasy sleep.

In his dream the air was icy and his fingers were parchment white, his nails blue. He clapped his palms together to warm them and the sound reverberated in the stillness. As the sound died he heard a soft moan, but in the howling wind he couldn’t discern which direction it came from. He moved over the bracken to where the ground gave way, and heard it again, a soft, low, plaintive whimper. It was a human voice, and it compelled him to move to the edge of the cliff.

He looked down at the sea, crashing against onyx rocks silvered with ice. The whimpering grew louder, and as he peered over the precipice he saw a woman clinging to the twisted mass of a tree root. Terror was etched into her features, but at the sight of him relief flooded her face. He reached out to her, but as he did the root moved with a loud groan.

If he grasped her hand he’d be pulled to his own death. Adrenaline surged through his body and his chest pounded. Time stood still and with great clarity he could see his past and future. The wind roared and as he extended his hand to enfold her smooth one, the root slid from its anchor. Her scream filled his ears as she pulled him down, rushing faster, faster, faster towards the rocks and the sea and the spray. Before they hit the bottom she squeezed his hand, and his heart exploded in pain, love and recognition.

He woke late, muzzy from the after-effects of too much alcohol, too many cigarettes, and too little sleep. His throat was parched, his tongue tasted like bitumen, and as he tried to get out of bed the room spun.

“Shit, I’ve overslept,” he muttered, collapsing back into bed and shutting his eyes. He lay there for a moment, then sat up straight. “Holly,” he said out loud, tasting her name on his tongue. He lay back on the pillows, clutching his sore head as he considered her dilemma.

Odd that the police had no record of the accident, but no point in contacting them again. The Consulate had already gone down that route with little success.

Could he intercede with the Consular staff? Was it worth talking to Brittany? Probably not, given she’d fired Holly. What about Guy? He cast his mind back to the good looking man at the benefit, sure of himself and aloof. What would Guy do if he went to see him and pleaded Holly’s case? Tell him to sod off and mind his own business no doubt, and the last thing he wanted was that tosser in a penguin suit talking to him like that. Anyway, it would only make things worse.

But how much worse could things get? They were firing Holly, and she’d be sent back to England. Nothing could be worse than that. Maybe she could stay as a visitor if her visa was revoked? He struggled upright and picked up his cell phone.

“A couple of months back,” he said to his acquaintance, “you told me your friend had to go back to England because of visa problems. How did it pan out?”

Ten minutes later, he hung up, a thoughtful expression masking his hangover.

As an idea took root, he examined it from all sides, the way a child examines a shiny new penny; and in the same way a shiny new penny appeals to a child, this idea appealed to him. He’d spent tons of time with Holly, and enjoyed her and cared for her. He knew she felt the same about him. They shared the same sense of humour, and since she’d moved in with Tessa, the same friends. Their lives were interwoven. They were soul mates. She wanted to stay in LA, and he didn’t want to lose her. His mind made up, he lay back on the pillows, a foolish grin wreathing his face.

THIRTY-SIX

Holly

The doorbell rang at seven, and Holly opened the door to a dapper looking Charlie, dressed in a dark suit and striped button-down shirt. “Are we going somewhere special?” she asked, gesturing to her sundress. “I’m not dressed for it.”

“You look gorgeous,” he said, and a warm glow settled over her. Charlie was a sweet, dear friend, who made life brighter each time she saw him.

They strolled down Montana to her favourite bistro, a busy French café on a prominent corner. Couples queued outside, but the maitre d’ rushed over and greeted them effusively, then escorted them to a quiet table. Within minutes they had drinks in hand and were scanning the menu.

“How are you today, love?” Charlie asked in a considerate tone. “I’ve been worried about you.”

She considered for a moment before answering. “I feel as if I’m the middle of a nightmare and can’t wake up. Everyone’s looking at me sideways.”

“I’m sure they’re not,” he said.

“Everyone’s questioning my integrity, wondering if I’m lying. Back home people know me, know I’m honest, and support me. Most of them,” she added glumly.

“You have support here too,” he replied, touching her hand.

“Thanks, I know,” she said gratefully, squeezing his in return.

The waiter brought their orders, and Charlie ate for awhile in silence. Holly pushed her meal around her plate, then took a bite of the fish, the lemon pepper flavour piquant on her tongue.

“Has Guy said anything to you?” Charlie asked.

She put down her cutlery and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Bastard,” Charlie said, spearing a sautéed potato with his fork.

“Maybe he doesn’t know,” she said. She appreciated Charlie’s zealous support but his anger at Guy rankled.

“He should know. He’s the bloody man in charge.”

“Yes,” she said, crossing her legs under the table and turning her head to avoid eye contact. “But he’s been away.”

“Surely he’s kept in the loop while he’s travelling?”

“I suppose Brittany wouldn’t fire me without him knowing.” She fiddled with her napkin. “Anyway I’ll be glad when he’s back,” she said defensively, “I’ve got to talk to him.”

“Wouldn’t waste your breath.” He put his fork down with a clatter.

“What do you mean?”

“He obviously didn’t stand up for you, did he?” He pulled his cigarettes from his pocket, put one in his mouth and lit it. The acrid smoke filled the air but before one of the horrified diners could object, the waiter hurried over with an ashtray and took away the smouldering stub.

She twisted her napkin in her hands. “I don’t understand it,” she said, her eyes pleading for sympathy. “He seemed to care for me.”

“Hate to say it, but that’s men for you. I should know.”

“I know. I’ve been involved with bastards before.” She flushed, and put her hand to her mouth. “Charlie, I’m sorry, I’m not talking about you.”

He ignored her apology. “You’re not involved as far as he’s concerned. Don’t waste your time.”

“I’ve come to care for him. A lot.” Tears pricked at her eyelids but she was determined not to cry in the restaurant. She picked up her glass, and took long, long gulps of her wine.

“Really? Or were you flattered by the attention?”

“I don’t know, Charlie,” she said sharply. “Yes, he’s attractive, and it is flattering. After what happened with Tom I’m probably fair game for anyone halfway decent at the moment.”

“You’re too smart for that, Holly. I think you’re over Tom and ready for something new.”

“I don’t know.” A long sigh whistled between her teeth. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Guy was a distraction, a fantasy. You need a real relationship with someone who’ll commit to you.”

“You’re right. Everything here is pie in the sky, glamorous, exciting, but with no substance.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that.”

“Doesn’t it? Maybe it was inevitable I’d end up going home.”

He shook his head emphatically. “No, that’s not the answer. I think you should find a nice bloke and settle down. It’s what you need.”

“You sound like my mother.” A lump formed in her throat and her voice caught. “I know you’re right but I don’t want to leave LA. I love it here.”

“I know, and I don’t want you to go either.” In one fluid movement he got up from the chair, pushed it back and slid down onto one knee. “That’s why I’m asking you to stay and marry me.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

Charlie

Charlie was on his second espresso when Tessa rushed into the café forty five minutes late.

“Sorry, Charlie, have you been waiting long?”

“Not too long,” he lied. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Didn’t you get my text?”

“No.” He patted his pockets. “I must have left my cell phone at the salon.”

“That’s not like you to be without your phone. Can I get you another coffee?” She gestured towards his empty cup.

“I’ll get them.” He lifted a hand, and the waitress ambled over.

“What’s wrong?” Tessa asked. “You look terrible.”

He hesitated, groping for the right words. “I proposed to Holly last night,” he said finally.

“What?” she exclaimed. “What did she say?”

He squirmed with embarrassment, but tried to look nonchalant. “She said no. So now she’ll have to leave LA.”

“Is that why you proposed? So she could stay?”

“Sort of,” he said.

“Oh, Charlie, that’s lovely of you. She would’ve appreciated it.”

“Afriend told me if I married her she could get a green card and stay.”

As the waitress put the coffees down he stared straight ahead, his face wooden. It was hard enough having this conversation with Tessa but he didn’t want anyone else hearing, even a stranger. “If she marries someone with a green card,” he repeated after the waitress left, “she can stay.”

“It’s a great idea but I can’t imagine Holly going for it. She’d be worried there’d be long-term implications for you.”

He nodded miserably. “She said she couldn’t let me be that selfless. Said she wouldn’t use me. Ironic, isn’t it, after all the times I’ve used women?”

Tessa’s eyes shone with sympathy. “Don’t be hard on yourself. Holly’s got a lot of integrity, and she wouldn’t want to put you in an awkward position. The only reason she’d get married is for love.”

He heaped three teaspoons of sugar into the bitter espresso. “That’s the problem, Tessa,” he said, stirring it furiously. “I do love her.”

“You love her?” Her jaw dropped in a comical fashion but he didn’t laugh. “Oh my God, I didn’t realise.”

“Neither did she apparently.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “You know, I felt something special for her the first time I met her.”

“I can’t believe you’ve never said anything.”

“I didn’t want to admit it to myself.” His laugh was self-conscious. “And I certainly didn’t want to admit it to anyone else. When I did acknowledge it, I was too scared to make a move.”

“I’m stunned. I thought I knew you well but I never guessed.”

“Well yeah, love, that’s me, international man of mystery.”