Quick, Quick, Slow

Copyright © 2013 by R. Mark Hayhurst.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 04/30/2013

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Contents

1    Sandra

2    Ibiza

3    Back Home

4    Odd phone Calls

5    The Ferry Boat

6    Sunday Evening and the Week Ahead

7    Tapas

8    Lunch

9    Friday

10  The Morning After and Beyond

11  Departure

12  The City of Romance

13  Flying Again

14  Home

15  Preparations

16  Thursday and the Weekend

17  The First Plastic Scientists

18  More of London

19  Out of This World

20  Sandra and Others the Next Day

21  The Carstairs Plus

22  Reflections

23  Working Out

24  The Solo Act

25  Christmas

26  Truth

27  The Unravelling

28  Decisions

29  The Meal

30  Change or Chance

1

Sandra

S andra Brooke was a confident young woman. She worked as an advertising assistant in a West End promotion agency, Hargreaves and Walsh, and was happy and settled. As she was sitting during her lunch break with a coffee and a tuna mayonnaise sandwich, the phone rang.

Sandra’s boss was on the line. Toni was very domineering and determined in her approach. ‘Sandra, I need to see you this afternoon.’ Toni was on a professional development course in central London. ‘Can I see you in my office at four o’clock?’

‘Why?’ Sandra sounded unnerved.

‘Sandra, honestly, there’s nothing to be worried about,’ Toni said reassuringly.

‘OK, that’s fine. I’ll see you at four. I hope your course has been helpful.’

‘Thank you, it’s been…’ Toni’s mobile phone battery went flat and cut off.

Sandra had a quick nibble of her lunch and finished her coffee. Nervously, she put the remains of her sandwich in the bin, and the phone rang again. This time, it was an agent, a Mr Carstairs, asking for news about publicity for a music group who were due to begin a UK tour in roughly four weeks’ time. Knowing that the leaflet was not terribly close to completion, and that online publicity was well short of a deadline, she lied quite blatantly to Mr Carstairs, saying that everything was well in hand.

He was reassured and told her that he was happy. Sandra set back to work on her laptop, and after two hours, she had finalised both posters and flyers for the band. She was satisfied with her work, although she was not a great fan of the band. Hargreaves and Walsh were a respected firm, so as a company, it was circumspect about whom it represented, so it must have been cleared.

Toni returned to the office, and Sandra made her a coffee. Back in Toni’s office, business began. ‘Look, Sandra, I know you’ve been really busy, and work has been hectic. You are really effective and efficient, and I wanted to offer you a promotion. How about being Senior Advertising Assistant?’

‘That would be great. Thank you, Toni—I need to make adjustments to Mr Carstairs’s DVD promotion, though, especially as I’m on annual leave until next week—going to Ibiza with my friend, Megan.’

‘I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourselves.’

Toni thanked Sandra. ‘Good, I’ll let you get on. I’m getting home early as Kelvin, my partner, hasn’t been well in the last week or two.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Sandra was genuinely sensitive, and as Toni was leaving, the office phone rang.

As Toni slipped away, Sandra answered the telephone. ‘Hello, I spoke to a young lady earlier and didn’t catch her name. I’m Alex Carstairs.’

‘Oh, Mr Carstairs, I’m sorry, I’ve had a busy day. It was me, Sandra. Your DVD is almost ready, but I could really use some extra photos.’

‘No problem, I’ll email some more photos and captions.’

‘I’ll give you an additional email address, and I have your mobile number,’ she replied, reading out before spelling out the address.

Sandra hung up, having made a careful note that she had multiple copies of his email address and phone number. She cleared her desk and shut down her PC with every intention of finishing his DVD as she left, laptop under her arm, with a longing and inexplicable desire to continue work on his disc. On reflection, she kept hearing how smooth his voice sounded. That’s all he was—an amazing voice.

At home, she was too tired to start on the discs and so curled up, dreaming of him and hoping he would call. She thought about what he might look like. His voice was too much, and she drifted into sleep, imagining meeting him.

After breakfast, she grabbed the laptop and headed back to work. On the way, traffic was heavy, and she had time to think about Alex each time she paused. She kept checking herself, resigned to the fact that he would never contact her again unless it was about his DVD.

She finally made it to the office and logged on to an email from Alex.

Hi, Sandra, photos attached. Hope to hear from you soon with the disc. Alex.

She noticed that the message had been sent at 7.40 that morning.

Sandra sped off to the staff kitchen and made a coffee as she contemplated a response. As the kettle boiled, she ran back to the PC and downloaded her other new emails. She ignored three for the time being and reread Alex’s.

She didn’t bother with the coffee and began downloading his photos and worked them into the work-in-progress, adding appropriate text to complete the DVD. The kettle had gone cold during her determination to finish a DVD for a man she had irrationally decided could be her newfound, albeit potential, suitor.

She cleared her desk, dealt with emails, and phoned Alex Carstairs. ‘Alex, it’s Sandra from Hargreaves and Walsh,’ she glowed as she addressed him on first-name terms. ‘Your work is ready, if you’d like to have a look at it. I’ll leave it ready for you to view in our office and make arrangements for someone to go through it with you. I’m out of the office until next week on leave.’

‘Are you going anywhere warm?’

Sandra was warmed by his interest in her on a personal basis.

‘Ibiza,’ she replied coolly. He wished her an enjoyable break before she returned to her work.

The office was busy, and Sandra was prioritising tasks before she left. Her mobile rang; it was Megan. ‘Hi, have you booked our cab yet?’

‘Yes, eleven-thirty from your place. I haven’t packed yet, but I shall before midnight!’

‘I’m sure you will. Make sure you bring three or four bikinis.’

Megan had been a friend since primary school, and they had kept in touch even though they attended different secondary schools.

Toni had been late for work as her hypochondriac partner, Kelvin, was recuperating again, so Sandra barely had a chance to speak with her. She made a list of unfinished tasks, telling Toni and colleagues that she had to leave. ‘See you next week… Bye.’

Sandra managed to get to a department store and, within thirty minutes, had found four bikinis and a sarong as well as a new suitcase. She was off home and couldn’t wait to pack. A couple of nights sleeping poorly had left her feeling off colour. Sandra bundled everything needed into her case and crawled into bed.

She woke at half past six, showered, finished packing, and headed off for Megan’s home with everything organised by half past ten. She had a suitcase and hand luggage which contained two low-fat yogurts and a small bottle of water. Megan lived only three or four miles away in a studio flat in Richmond on Thames, a splendid and historic part of the world. Megan was ready and appeared at the door in a skimpy top and cropped jeans.

The cab arrived, taking them to the tube station, and they arrived at the airport an hour later. Megan was excited as they checked in. Sandra, on the other hand, was in turmoil because she felt that she was so unlikely to ever meet Alex.

Ibiza beckoned, and after buying a book each, they boarded the plane. Sandra pulled out her novel and started reading before take-off. Megan, meanwhile, turned on her music player through headphones. Sandra stopped reading as soon as the aircraft started taxiing for take-off.

‘Megan!’ she screamed as she pulled Megan’s headphones away. ‘I don’t like flying—we might crash!’

‘Don’t be silly. We’ll be fine. The stewardess will give you a boiled sweet in a minute to take your mind off your stress.’

The plane took to the skies safely, and Sandra calmed down, putting her complementary sweet in her pocket. She stopped reading and dreamed of Alex Carstairs, instead.

2

Ibiza

M egan and Sandra arrived safely and unpacked before collapsing on to their beds, exhausted. Sandra woke around six o’clock. She wakened Megan, suggesting something to eat. They set off to a local bistro and enjoyed chorizo and patatas bravas.

Revived after a rest and a meal, Megan suggested coffee before changing for a night out. The coffee was exceptionally strong, and Sandra hadn’t finished hers.

They went back to their room and showered. Megan read more of her novel for a little while. Sandra did her make-up with Mr Carstairs, or Alex, still praying on her mind.

She finished getting dressed. Sandra was 5 ft eight inches tall, pretty, and slender with long auburn hair, high cheekbones, and deep brown eyes, topped with a knockout smile. She wore smart black trousers but was a little taken aback when Megan appeared from the bathroom, wearing a particularly short skirt in shocking pink and a top which left her cleavage well revealed.

‘Are we going out then?’ asked Megan as she put her jacket on.

They found Napoleon’s bar and enjoyed a couple of drinks. Sandra noticed that two men, Diego and Manuel, were glancing at them before heading for the club they’d chosen.

Oddly enough, Diego and Manuel were swift to follow. Diego was first to approach the girls, and they both accepted a drink. Megan was very drawn towards Diego and he was making no secret that he was drawn to her. Sandra was less interested and declined an offer to dance, while Megan jived away with Diego.

The evening progressed and Manuel’s language began to deteriorate and Sandra grew impatient. Eventually, she danced with him twice, and after Megan had her last slow dance with Diego, Sandra made her apologies, kissed Manuel politely on the cheek and went back to her and Megan’s hotel room.

Megan arrived back half an hour later giggling a little as she crawled into bed. Sandra still had Alex Carstairs on her mind and could barely sleep.

The next morning, Megan was awake remarkably early, woke Sandra, and went straight for breakfast. Sandra followed lazily, and both had frugal breakfasts.

‘Come on, let’s get to the beach.’ Megan led the way, and having put her bikini on, Sandra put hers on as well as a modest sarong. The beach was quite lively for nine in the morning, but they both put suntan lotion on before the sun became too intense. As they settled down to tan, Sandra put her sarong to one side.

A hectic day before had taken its toll. After a while, Sandra suggested a light lunch and put her sarong back on. A stone’s throw from the beach was a small café, and they sat under a parasol outside. Megan decided that she needed a sarong too and went across the street, draped in a towel to buy her own sarong in more garish colours. As they were about to eat, she arrived back, and they pored over the menu. They each chose a cold seafood salad.

Megan thought that the crab meat tasted a little sour, but Sandra soldiered on and devoured everything in sight, pausing only to pick at the remains of Megan’s salad. After going back to the hotel, both decided to shower and prepare for an evening out.

They dressed—Sandra in an ankle-length skirt, Megan in a miniskirt, this time in a floral orange pattern. La Vista was a popular club, but the pair needed to eat first. La Costa had a good reputation, and they both enjoyed their paella before clubbing. ‘Megan, I need to tell you about someone I’ve never met.’

‘What? Who?’ she retorted.

‘Well, I haven’t really dated him. I just did a little work for him. I emailed him, and he gave me his email address and number. It took a little time to finish a disc, but eventually, he told me not to call him Mr Carstairs but Alex.’

‘So what are you going to do? You say that you haven’t met him. Do you intend to?’

Megan was intrigued by the whole scenario and started quizzing her more. ‘You must be a little taken by him. I know you well enough, Sandra. If you have his number, why not phone him?’

‘I can’t. He’ll think I’m tarty.’

‘Well, you could try it.’

‘I’ll think about it.’

‘What does he look like?’ Megan was intrigued.

‘I don’t know.’ Megan was even more perplexed and simply shrugged.

Off they went to the La Vista club. Sandra was approached by four men to dance, but she declined each time. They returned to their hotel, with Megan bemused that Sandra had been so quiet after leaving the restaurant. She didn’t mention it, and they both settled down, although Sandra didn’t sleep well at all.

For Sandra, the holiday she was looking forward to was all but over. She simply wanted to meet Alex but didn’t want to phone him when she got back. Essentially, she was confused, and although she still ate with Megan, she even missed one night at La Vista.

Fed up with being propositioned on the beach, she bought a bathing costume better suited to the middle-aged and some earplugs because of the noise from a nearby bar next to their hotel room. Her new beach outfit didn’t stop men from propositioning her, but for Sandra, all she could do was try visualising Alex.

3

Back Home

S andra found the journey home terrible with none of her novel left to read. Megan was barely speaking after their trip for the fact that Sandra had ruined a girly holiday. She only wore a bikini twice, preferring to read fiction in her new bathing costume.

Sandra indulged in a boiled sweet on take-off and slept through the flight, dreaming. As they sat on the tube, Sandra began to settle and spoke to Megan.

‘Sorry, Megan, I’ve been grumpy for the last four days. It’s my fault, and I hope I didn’t ruin your break.’

‘No, don’t be silly. Come back for coffee at mine. We can talk a little more.’ In reality, she was a tad disappointed at their holiday break.

‘Well, it will be late.’ Sandra was keen to see if Alex had left a message, but she was persuaded. ‘Yes, all right.’

Megan prodded a little harder. ‘Have you thought any more about Alex?’ It was an ironic comment, given that Sandra had thought about little else. ‘Are you going to contact him?’

‘Oh, I have thought about him, but I’m resigned to the fact that he’s unlikely to phone,’ Sandra sounded despondent.

‘Give him a call if he’s dropping hints!’

Megan took a cab back to her flat. She boiled the kettle and then listened to her answering machine: two work-related calls. Conversation over coffee leaned towards the next week and a return to work. ‘I must go home,’ Sandra said. She was tired, and even at half past eight, she was beginning to be drawn to the idea of contacting Alex.

‘I’ll be in touch during the week.’ Megan showed Sandra to the door.

Back at home, Sandra’s first job was to check her messages. The first was an anonymous call from a financial company, which she deleted almost instantly. The second was from Toni, asking her to attend an evening dinner and discussion of a possible promotion with a cosmetics company the following day. She immediately returned the call. ‘Toni, it’s Sandra. Are you well? I’ve just got back. How’s Kelvin? Is he keeping better?’

‘Yes, he’s much better, thank you.’ Toni outlined the idea of the following evening’s dinner.

‘Tomorrow evening is fine,’ agreed Sandra, having heard the details; they briefly discussed arrangements. ‘Well, I’d better get on. I’ve lots to do, but I enjoyed the break,’ she added.

Sandra checked her third message. To her delight, it was Alex. She almost screamed with joy and returned his call.

‘Alex, err… it’s Sandra.’ Despite her usually confident manner, she had a habit of hesitating when she was nervous.

‘Oh, Sandra, how was your break in Ibiza?’

‘Brilliant. Lots of partying and sunshine. I’ve a real tan now.’ At least, the comment about the tan was close to the truth.

‘Excellent,’ he replied. ‘Listen. I hope this isn’t too forward, but I’ve booked tickets for a new play at a small independent theatre in Chiswick. It’s an adaptation of a Chekhov play, The Three Sisters. I wondered if you’d care to join me?’

Excitedly, she replied that she’d read lots of Chekhov as part of her studies and said, ‘Thank you for asking me out for an evening. When?’

‘Tomorrow evening,’ he replied. ‘I thought we could meet at six o’clock for a coffee beforehand.’

‘I’m really flattered, Alex, but there’s a bit of a difficulty in as much as I’ve just agreed to attend an event for work tomorrow evening. I don’t think I can make it. Can you reschedule? I’m free on Tuesday.’

‘Sorry, not sure I can make it.’ They chatted for two or three minutes before he had to go. ‘Look, we’ll catch up soon. Bye for now,’ he added.

‘Bye,’ a weary Sandra uttered as she set off to bed to sob. Her make-up ran down her face as she tried to cry herself to sleep. Sleep came slowly as she started to wonder whether she’d made the right choice when she decided to go to a work promotion instead of a date with a man she’d dreamt about throughout most of her holiday.

It was a hard day ahead—a poor breakfast made for a bad start to her day. She rushed to her wardrobe and found a smart dark suit for the promotional event. Washing her face, she tried to compose herself for a busy day, followed by the dinner in the evening. On her journey to work, all she could do was dream of seeing the Chekhov production with Alex, but it was too late to worry about that now.

At work, Sandra put the finishing touches to a presentation for the following day with graphics all in place. Her in-tray was full, and she started sifting. Seven phone calls later, she had managed to fill her desk with new potential projects and but had to leave work, earlier than she had hoped, in time to get ready for the promotional dinner.

The dinner seemed to be fairly successful with a range