heard the love songs, but nothing had prepared her for the incredible reality. She had always thought that romantic lyrics were sentimental nonsense, wishful dreaming. She knew better now. The world suddenly seemed brighter, more beautiful. Everything was touched with magic, and the magic was Oliver Russell.
One Saturday morning, Oliver and Leslie were hiking in the Breaks Interstate Park, enjoying the spectacular scenery that surrounded them.
‘I’ve never been on this trail before,’ Leslie said.
‘I think you’re going to enjoy it.’
They were approaching a sharp curve in the path. As they rounded it, Leslie stopped, stunned. In the middle of the path was a hand-painted wooden sign: LESLIE, WILL YOU MARRY ME?
Leslie’s heart began to beat faster. She turned to Oliver, speechless.
He took her in his arms. ‘Will you?’
How did I get so lucky? Leslie wondered. She hugged him tightly and whispered, ‘Yes, darling. Of course I will.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t promise you that you’re going to marry a governor, but I’m a pretty good attorney.’
She snuggled up to him and whispered, ‘That will do nicely.’
A few nights later, Leslie was getting dressed to meet Oliver for dinner when he telephoned.
‘Darling, I’m terribly sorry, but I’ve bad news. I have to go to a meeting tonight, and I’ll have to cancel our dinner. Will you forgive me?’
Leslie smiled and said softly, ‘You’re forgiven.’
The following day, Leslie picked up a copy of the State Journal. The headline read: WOMAN’S BODY FOUND IN KENTUCKY RIVER. The story went on: ‘Early this morning, the body of a nude woman who appeared to be in her early twenties was found by police in the Kentucky River ten miles east of Lexington. An autopsy is being performed to determine the cause of death …’
Leslie shuddered as she read the story. To die so young. Did she have a lover? A husband? How thankful I am to be alive and so happy and so loved.
It seemed that all of Lexington was talking about the forthcoming wedding. Lexington was a small town, and Oliver Russell was a popular figure. They were a spectacular-looking couple, Oliver dark and handsome, and Leslie with her lovely face and figure and honey-blond hair. The news had spread like wildfire.
‘I hope he knows how lucky he is,’ Jim Bailey said.
Leslie smiled. ‘We’re both lucky.’
‘Are you going to elope?’
‘No. Oliver wants to have a formal wedding. We’re getting married at the Calvary Chapel church.’
‘When does the happy event take place?’
‘In six weeks.’
A few days later, a story on the front page of the State Journal read: ‘An autopsy has revealed that the woman found in the Kentucky River, identified as Lisa Burnette, a legal secretary, died of an overdose of a dangerous illegal drug known on the streets as liquid Ecstasy …’
Liquid Ecstasy. Leslie recalled the evening with Oliver. And she thought, How lucky it was that he threw that bottle away.
The next few weeks were filled with frantic preparations for the wedding. There was so much to do. Invitations went out to two hundred people. Leslie chose a maid of honor and selected her outfit, a ballerina-length dress with matching shoes and gloves to complement the length of the sleeves. For herself, Leslie shopped at Fayette Mall on Nicholasville Road and selected a floor-length gown with a full skirt and a sweep train, shoes to match the gown, and long gloves.
Oliver ordered a black cutaway coat with striped trousers, gray waistcoat, a wing-collared white shirt, and a striped ascot. His best man was a lawyer in his firm.
‘Everything is set,’ Oliver told Leslie. ‘I’ve made all the arrangements for the reception afterward. Almost everyone has accepted.’
Leslie felt a small shiver go through her. ‘I can’t wait, my darling.’
On a Thursday night one week before the wedding, Oliver came to Leslie’s apartment.
‘I’m afraid something has come up, Leslie. A client of mine is in trouble. I’m going to have to fly to Paris to straighten things out.’
‘Paris? How long will you be gone?’
‘It shouldn’t take more than two or three days, four days at the most. I’ll be back in plenty of time.’
‘Tell the pilot to fly safely.’
‘I promise.’
When Oliver left, Leslie picked up the newspaper on the table. Idly, she turned to the horoscope by Zoltaire. It read:
FOR LEO (JULY 23RD TO AUGUST 22ND). THIS IS NOT A GOOD DAY TO CHANGE PLANS. TAKING RISKS CAN LEAD TO SERIOUS PROBLEMS.
Leslie read the horoscope again, disturbed. She was almost tempted to telephone Oliver and tell him not to leave. But that’s ridiculous, she thought. It’s just a stupid horoscope.
By Monday, Leslie had not heard from Oliver. She telephoned his office, but the staff had no information. There was no word from him Tuesday. Leslie was beginning to panic. At four o’clock on Wednesday morning, she was awakened by the insistent ringing of the telephone. She sat up in bed and thought: It’s Oliver! Thank God. She knew that she should be angry with him for not calling her sooner, but that was unimportant now.
She picked up the receiver. ‘Oliver …’
A male voice said, ‘Is this Leslie Stewart?’
She felt a sudden cold chill. ‘Who – who is this?’
‘Al Towers, Associated Press. We have a story going out on our wires, Miss Stewart, and we wanted to get your reaction.’
Something terrible had happened. Oliver was dead.
‘Miss Stewart?’
‘Yes.’ Her voice was a strangled whisper.
‘Could we get a quote from you?’
‘A quote?’
‘About Oliver Russell marrying Senator Todd Davis’s daughter in Paris.’
For an instant the room seemed to spin.
‘You and Mr Russell were engaged, weren’t you? If we could get a quote …’
She sat there, frozen.
‘Miss Stewart.’
She found her voice. ‘Yes. I – I wish them both well.’ She replaced the receiver, numb. It was a nightmare. She would awaken in a few minutes and find that she had been dreaming.
But
