might prove to be a political embarrassment to me.”
“I’m sure you’ll hear from her soon.”
Conley swiveled his chair back to face him. “Yes, I’m certain I will. She’s probably tied up with another good looking low-life. No matter; when the excitement runs down, she’ll do what she’s always done: return to ‘Daddy’.”
Anderson replied, reassuringly, “I have no doubt, Sir.”
“Then, that will be all for now.”
Anderson bowed as he replied, “As you wish.”
With that, the burly sovereign turned again to face the window.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It seemed like they had been together forever. Maybe it was the fact that she was older, maybe that she was more mature somehow. The past few weeks seemed to have blended into one tangled ball of physical and emotional love of a certain sort. He had divorced Carla emotionally years ago, now he was acting on the fact. Maybe his and Rita’s relationship would “upset the cosmos”; she was the one who should have gotten away.
The restaurant was quiet; the only sounds were the quiet conversations of lovers and the faint kitchen sounds of Chinese food preparation. C.J. was devouring “Hong Kong chicken.” Everywhere they went the surroundings were a movie set. Their romance was picture-perfect.
‘Seriously, C.J.; will we get married?” asked Rita, stabbing the chow mein with her fork.
‘Honey, I really don’t know. I’m sure not afraid of marriage...or commitments: God, I stuck it out with Carla for nearly eight years.”
“It’s just that, well, maybe I need the sense of security; that we’re real, all of this. I’ve never experienced this,” Rita continued. “Definitely not while I was in England. And now that I’m back in the States permanently, well, maybe it’s time for me to do something normal, like marriage.”
“What did happen, I mean in England?” C.J. asked. His curiosity demanded that he pry. He honestly wanted to possess every part of her: past, present and future.
“I’ve told you already, C.J. I just did a relatively unsuccessful stint as an assistant at the American consulate. I got bored; I came home.” She looked down at her plate, avoiding his searching eyes.
“That’s it...no...men?” C.J. was as uncomfortable asking as she was answering.
“One...one man,” she whispered, looking away to the kitchen. She looked back at him, stared sternly into his eyes. “It only lasted about a month; then it was over.” She burst into a smile. “And he was a lord or something. Can you believe it, C.J.? Me, with a member of ‘royalty?’”
He coughed, trying to disguise the hot flame of jealousy flashing through his stomach. “Wow, that is crazy,” he laughed. “You and a lord, of all things; crazy.” His smile faded.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Donald Brant, I still hate you!”
Harriet sat there in the middle of the floor, holding the paper in her hand, watching movies in her mind of her ex-husband’s “wilderness wanderings.”
“What’s in Kawanga, for God’s sake?”
She reached into the storehouse of her thoughts, straining her memory for even a small bit of input related to the outback town.
“Kawanga,” she repeated to herself. Her incredulity shook her head. She crumpled the paper and put her hands on her hips, poised, planning her next move. She sprung up and grabbed the phone.
“O’Hara agency,” the voice crackled on the other end of the line.
“Yes. I’d like you to arrange some travel for me please. I need a round trip ticket to Newcastle, then ground transport to and from Kawanga.” She scribbled the information on the empty envelope.
“If I’m still leaving tonight, then I’ve got to pack, and quick,” she ordered herself.
A flurry of activity followed: hands in and out of drawers, feet bounding up and down stairs, zippers zipping and buttons buttoning. The door slammed leaving the chain swinging, unemployed. The smell of a badly tuned Holden and the slipping of tires on gravel sent Harriet on her way.
Soon, she was looking out of the plane window, pensively considering what lay in front of her and remembering her past with Donald Brant. He mind went back to the time he was going through a “kata” by the bed while she busied herself folding clothes. She remembered picking up and sniffing one of his shirts, only to throw it down and then spin around and face him in exasperation at evidence at yet another of his sexual dalliances.
She shouted, “Donald, not again...not again! Why are you doing this to us?”
Weakly he’d responded, “Harri, what? Not ‘what’ again?”
She’d quickly countered with, “This is not my perfume!”
He’d sighed in defeat that time. “I’m sorry; it’s not like I plan these things. I was teaching the ladies’ class and...well....”
She’d cut him off. “Why explain? Another lady police officer needed private lessons, right? How many times does this have to happen?”
He’d turned her around to face him, embraced her and spoke over her shoulder. “Oh, Harri, I am sorry...really I am. Let’s take a few weeks off. We’ll go away...to Auckland, to anywhere. I’ll forget martial arts and....”
“What, I’ll forget about your lack of self-control?”
He shrugged, impishly. “I’m an athlete...I’m just a physically active guy. I was a champion for God’ sake, remember?” He flexed his arms as he squeezed her to him.
“I remember,” she purred as they kissed.
Misty-eyed at the memory, she came out of her reverie, pouted and folded her arms in a feeble attempt at “righteous indignation.” She resumed her gaze out the window.
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