With Conversations out of the frame, I'm spreading my wings a little. Here's a romantic flash story that I practised on. Thanks to The Aardvark Aficionados for their invaluable input and support.
PRESENT PERFECT
I settled into the aeroplane seat, tipped it back until it lay flat, kicked off my shoes and prepared to sleep.
Sleep would be a nice change, I thought. My eyes were shut, but the memories played out on the back of my eyelids, repeating over and over like a film stuck on a never-ending loop: the boardroom, the hotel suite, the restaurant -- the three places that had made up my prison over the last month and a half.
It had taken six weeks to work through the deal, battling the Stockard board and their lawyers every step of the way, as we negotiated each minute point of the sale: the licences, the premises, the stock, the staff and, of course, the process itself. On many occasions I'd been so tired during those twenty-hour working days, that there were times when I was more than ready to call everything off, go home, hold my wife and sleep for a year. The hell with the money and the dream future. It wasn't worth it.
But it was. My team had developed a new manufacturing process that would reduce costs and provide millions of dollars in additional profits over my lifetime. But for Stockard, which was so much bigger, it would be worth billions over the years. They wanted the process, and I wanted out, so I offered to sell my company to them.
The details had been limitless. But at last, they were done. The contracts were signed, initial payments made, and stacks of documents processed, initialled and put away safely.
I could go home.
A thought crossed my mind, as the engines and the gentle lurching of the plane lulled me to sleep. My wife had been Penelope to my Odysseus, faithfully waiting at home until I returned from the wars. I just hoped that hundreds of suitors weren't living in my lounge, ready to kill me and make off with the wife and my new fortune.
The last thought before I drifted into dreamless sleep was that it was her birthday in a month, and I could now give her whatever she wanted. It would be perfect!
The lounge had been suitably clear of strange men when I arrived, and Helga and I had spent the weekend in each other's arms, me attempting vigorously to make up for my long absence.
She'd been pleased with the confirmation of our new affluence, but not as excited as I'd thought she might.
"Helga," I said as we lay cooling off after yet another happy session of lovemaking. I twiddled her nipple thoughtfully. "What would you like for your birthday?"
She stroked my shoulder and kissed me. "Oh, whatever you want to give me. It's the thought that counts."
I propped myself up on one elbow and looked down into her exquisitely serene face. "Well, help me out here. You know how much we're worth now, and I want to spoil you to make up for all the time I was away. What about a new car?"
She pulled me down and kissed me again. "Nice thought, but no. I'm happy with the one you gave me last year. I like that little car. It's very nippy, and it's easy to park."
It was a Mini. I was thinking more along the lines of a limo, with a chauffeur.
When I suggested it, she laughed. "Don't be silly. I'd feel stupid, sitting there like Miss Daisy, while someone drove me to the shops."
I took a day to think about it.
"What about jewellery?" I asked. "You've always loved jewellery."
