Authors: Jean Grainger
Anastasia looked confused. ‘So, is that a yes or a no? If you worried about my family, my parents are nice. Also, my father is twenty years older than my mother and they are very happy. So, I don’t think they would mind,’ she said with a sigh and looking at him with hope in her eyes.
She stood up, walked towards the window, gazed out over the Irish countryside which was now enveloped in the late evening twilight. Conor remained at the table, gradually understanding that this might be his chance, his one and only hope of long-term happiness. He allowed himself to visualise life with Anastasia by his side. Living together, going on holidays, spending Christmas together, perhaps even having a family. Maybe it wasn’t too late, maybe he wasn’t destined to spend his life alone.
He looked across at Anastasia, her silhouette framed in the fading evening light, and he felt a huge rush of affection and a need to protect her – an emotion he hadn’t experienced in many, many years. Not since Sinead.
He walked around the table to where she sat and put his arms around her. Gently, he turned her around to face him. Using his thumbs, he wiped the tears which by now were coursing down her cheeks.
‘I want you too…’ he began, ‘but I’m afraid Anastasia, for loads of reasons…as I said, you’re much braver than me, but I do have feelings for you. I suppose I never even realised it because it would have been like imagining a white blackbird or a steaming hot Christmas Day in Connemara or something equally ridiculous. But, if you’re serious, and I’m what you want, then I’d love to try. I don’t know where this is going to take us, and I’ll need time to get my head around the fact that this amazingly beautiful, smart, funny woman wants me in her life. But, if you’re willing to give it a go, then so am I.’
Anastasia’s face lit up like a child who had just received the best birthday present ever. She jumped up, put her arms around Conor’s neck and drew his face towards hers. He held her as tightly as he dared, terrified that his enormous bulk would crush her diminutive frame. As they kissed, Conor felt as if he had finally come home.
As he opened his eyes next morning, the events of the night before came flooding back to him. He rolled over to the other side of the bed but there was no sign of Anastasia. Panic gripped him momentarily but then he heard the sound of rattling cups and plates emanating from the kitchen. He sat up just as Anastasia appeared in the doorway carrying a tray and wearing his shirt which completely swamped her.
‘Good morning,’ she said shyly, ‘I make you some breakfast.’
Conor glanced at his phone on the bedside table. Luckily, he had told the group they wouldn’t be hitting the road until 10.30am. It was still only 8.30am, he noted with relief.
‘Am I dreaming?’ he asked her as she placed the tray on the locker and cuddled up to him.
‘No,’ she smiled enigmatically, ‘not dreaming. Is all real.’ She leaned in on one elbow and looked directly into his eyes. ‘No regrets I hope?’
‘Em now, let me see…I wake up to the sexiest communist on earth, who claims to love me, though for what reason I can’t imagine. The same communist is attending to my every need and all it’s costing me is the rent of my shirt. I’d have to say now…in all fairness…eh…no regrets.’
He pulled her into his arms.
‘Your coffee is getting cold’ she whispered.
‘True,’ he smiled, ‘but I can have coffee anytime…’ ‘God, I’d better get going,’ he said an hour later.
‘Though I would much rather stay here with you.’
Anastasia’s head nestled on his chest. ‘I must also go. If I’m late, Mr Manner will probably make me cut grass with nail scissors or something.’
‘Listen,
you
are gorgeous,
he
on the other hand is not. That’s his problem. Now I really,
really
, wish I didn’t have to work tonight but I do. I know I’ll see you in the hotel during the day, but can we meet up after dinner?’
Anastasia just looked at him.
‘Sorry, am I coming on a bit strong?’ he said, looking worried. ‘Maybe you have plans.’
‘No I’m just so happy. I felt like it was all me and now for you to want to see me, well it’s…my dream come true. Of course I will see you after work.’
As was getting dressed he had an idea. ‘Anastasia, have you got some holidays that you could take?’
‘Yes, I was going to go home for a week soon, but flights in summer are very expensive so probably I will wait until September when children go back in school and flights are cheaper. Why?’
‘It’s just that when I drop this tour tomorrow I have a few days off. I don’t pick up again until Friday, so I was thinking maybe we could go off somewhere. The two of us like? What d’ya think? I have a small little place in Spain…we could go there.’
‘Oh Conor, that would be so lovely, like a real couple but…’ she hesitated, ‘I am kind of broke at the moment. I had big phone bill after calling home so much when my mother was sick so I can’t really afford to go anywhere right now…maybe in a few weeks…I know you will say, no you will pay but I can’t have relationship with you like that, I must pay my part also…’
Conor looked at her. ‘I know what you’re thinking, and it stops now OK? I love you, and you and me are going to work out just fine. I know it and so what I have I will share with you with an open heart. What else is money for?’
Anastasia whispered, ‘You love me? Really?’
‘Sure isn’t that what I’ve been trying to tell you for months?’ he said with a big laugh. Anastasia punched him on the shoulder.
‘I’ll book you a ticket today OK? Just pack your bikini, or, better still, don’t bother,’ he said giving her a big wink.
‘I’ll drop the tour to the airport in the morning. Park up the coach and all that, and we leave tomorrow lunchtime.’
She looked doubtful. ‘Don’t worry about Carlos. I’ll sort that now when I go in alright?’
‘OK boss,’ she said with a giggle.
Chapter 33
While the group shopped till they dropped, Conor spent the day sitting in the coach doing his paperwork. He attacked this chore somewhat more enthusiastically than usual because getting it over and done with now meant that he could buy extra time with Anastasia before the next tour group landed in on top of him.
As the day wore on, he almost had to pinch himself several times to believe his luck. He knew he’d be in for a right slagging from everyone once the word got out. In the meantime, he didn’t care: he felt like a teenager. In between sorting out petrol receipts and other tour expenses, he mused about some of the challenges that lay ahead and would have to be met head on. On the plus side, it was reassuring that there was such a big age gap between her own parents. God it was strange the way life worked out sometimes. There he was, just a week ago, envisioning yet another winter on the Spanish coast, playing golf and reading. And now look at him, only a couple of days later, planning to go to a part of the world he could barely find on a map, much less somewhere he had ever planned to visit.
Conor was not so naïve as to think that every romance had a happy ending: he had enough personal experience to know that this wasn’t true but he had a good feeling about Anastasia and himself. She was honest, sincere and kind and he believed her when she said she loved him. For now, what they had was enough, and his instinct was to seize this chance of happiness while he had the opportunity.
In between checking invoices and receipts, he looked at his phone every few minutes, in case he had missed a text message from her. ‘Ah for God’s sake would you ever cop on,’ he berated himself. ‘What are you like?’
Almost on cue, his phone beeped. ‘I miss you xxx,’ the message read.
Conor felt ridiculously happy. He rang the travel agent he always used and booked two seats to Malaga for the following day. This task completed, he popped by Reception to see Katherine O’Brien and to tell her the good news. Simultaneously, he and the restaurant manager appeared out of nowhere. ‘Carlos! How are you?’ Conor said jovially.
Carlos Manner managed to look very put out at being interrupted on his inspection tour. ‘I am well, thank you Conor,’ he replied in his usual, clipped tone. ‘Busy’ he added pointedly.
‘I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to ask a favour. I was hoping to take Anastasia away for a few days, leaving tomorrow. Would that be OK, do you think?’
Carlos looked puzzled.
‘Do you mean Anastasia Petrenko?’
Conor’s cheerful tone did not betray his mounting irritation. ‘The very one. Is there more than one Anastasia working here?’
‘No, at least I don’t think so,’ Carlos replied. ‘But excuse me Conor, are you telling me she will not be covering her shifts as normal? Miss Petrenko knows the procedures regarding annual leave. All requests must be submitted in writing at least three weeks in advance and then I make a decision depending on what is going on in the hotel at the requested time. I’m afraid it is completely out of the question for any staff member to take leave at such short notice. Also…to ask someone else to approach me on her behalf, well I am shocked to be frank that she would…I’m sorry did you say
you
are taking Anastasia on a holiday…I don’t understand.’
Conor lowered his voice, almost to a whisper. ‘Carlos, Anastasia is my girlfriend. I want to take her away for a few days as a surprise. She’s had a tough few weeks, what with her mother being sick and everything…’
Carlos gave a disdainful snort. ‘Anastasia Petrenko is your
girlfriend
?’
‘Yes, Carlos she is.’
Katherine O’Brien, having overheard most of the exchange between the two men, left the Reception desk and marched over. Standing beside Conor, she said in a tone that brooked no argument: ‘I’m sure we can organise that, can’t we Carlos? I mean after all, given the business that Conor brings to this hotel, it would be our pleasure to do something for Conor in return. Anastasia must be entitled to holidays by now anyway. I’m sure the other girls will be glad of the few extra shifts.’
Carlos knew better than to argue with the formidable Ms O’Brien. ‘I’m sure we can arrange something’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘Have a nice time.’
As he turned on his polished heels, Conor and Katherine exchanged a conspiratorial wink.
Cynthia knocked tentatively on Corlene’s door. Immediately, the other woman opened it. ‘Cynthia! Come in, come in. We don’t have much time.’
Cynthia crept into the room as if she was on some kind of a secret mission.
‘I’ve told Patrick I needed an hour to make some telephone calls about the stables, so he’s gone out for a walk. I’m meeting him in the bar at seven. I must say Corlene, this really is awfully good of you.’
‘It’s a pleasure honey, now what have you brought?’
She emptied the plastic bag Cynthia was carrying and laid out the contents on the bed. Each piece of clothing was worse than the next. Nothing matched. This was going to require ingenuity and improvisation on a grand scale. She weighed up the various options, mentally measuring Cynthia as she went. Hmm, she was taller than Corlene, no question, but in terms of dress size there probably wasn’t a whole lot between them.
‘Oh dear, it is rather hopeless isn’t it? I’m afraid I don’t usually worry too much about clothes you see,’ Cynthia said quietly, suddenly feeling very young and insecure.
‘Don’t worry Cynthia, I mean some of that stuff,’ she said, indicating the mish-mash of a pile on the bed, ‘would be nice out around a farm or something. But, for a dinner party I think we need to go for something a little more elegant. How about you borrow this?’ Corlene suggested, as she hauled a remarkably classy, black cocktail dress out of the wardrobe.
‘It’s too long for me, and it strains a bit on the bust but I think it will look amazing on you. Go try it on.’
Cynthia stroked the fine wool fabric. ‘Good God, I couldn’t possibly borrow this Corlene! Really you are
too kind
but…’
‘Well you sure as hell ain’t going out to dinner in anything you brought here, so less talk and more dressing…
now
!’ she ordered.
The dress was a triumph, flattering Cynthia’s figure beautifully. On Corlene’s instructions, she removed it and took herself off to the bathroom to wash her hair and shave her legs. She returned wrapped in one of the hotel bathrobes and sat in front of the mirror. Soundlessly and purposefully, Corlene began her reconstruction work, liberally applying hair straightening solution and dragging a comb through the wet, nest-like heap on top of Cynthia’s head. It took herculean effort, but Corlene finally managed to tame the mess and produce quite a good imitation of a sleek, blow-dried bob.
Cynthia’s ample facial hair was next on the list. Ignoring Cynthia’s yelps of protest, she began plucking stray hairs from her eyebrows, upper lip and chin. A thorough cleanse, tone and moisturise routine followed next, and after that, the application of foundation. Corlene expertly gave Cynthia’s eyes a smoky look and slicked on a coral lip gloss. Mostly, it was Corlene who did the talking, regaling Cynthia with the sordid details of her many marriages.
‘But why on earth do you keep getting married my dear? It clearly doesn’t suit you. Why not set up on your own instead. You are simply marvellous at all this sort of thing,’ she said, indicating in the direction of the cosmetics covering every inch of the dressing table. ‘Clothes, and hair and such,’ Cynthia continued, I know lots of ladies would love someone like you to come in and sort them out. Especially as one approaches a certain age, one needs to maintain standards in order to prevent the chaps straying too far from the home turf, if you know what I mean. Several of the gels in our set have had their rather silly old chaps
whipped
from under their noses by brash, busty types…’
Cynthia suddenly realised the implication of what she had just said and got totally flustered. ‘Of course, I’m not suggesting you were…I mean a totally different …’
Corlene laughed out loud. ‘You know Cynthia, I think you might be onto something there. I was “the other woman” for so long. Maybe I could teach wives a thing or two about holding onto their men when they get the urge to wander…hmm... interesting idea.’