The Worst Year

This year is not even half-way through and it is already the worst year that I can ever remember.

It began well enough, I have a good job, a good life, the stars had aligned and all was well with my world, until the wheels fell off. "Darling. . . " The very way that he said it should have prepared me for the bad news to come, The 'he' in question was Philip Freeman, the love of my life. "I shan't be home this evening. In fact I will not be home again."

"Come again." Don't ask me why I wanted to hear this a second time, once was surely enough.

"I'm leaving you. I have found someone else and I want to be with her." As an afterthought he rubbed salt into my already bleeding wounds. "While I love you, I am no longer in love with you."

Where had I heard this before? That's right, the very words I had used three years ago when I told my husband Bevan that I was leaving him. "Don't you think that we should discuss this?" I asked.

"There's nothing to discuss. I'm leaving you."

"What ever happened to the promises that you made three years ago? You know. The ones about loving me forever and wanting to spend the rest of your life with me, and that I 'completed you' whatever that meant."

"What can I say, life changes things, and I have changed." A statement that, to me, had never sounded so callous.

"I suppose that you want me to find a place to live and to move out. How much time do I have?"

"No, no. The apartment is yours, consider it an uncoupling gift from me, from us."

"Would it surprise you to hear that this uncoupling gift does not make me feel any better?"

"Look, I don't have time to discuss this with you, I have to get to work." He grabbed his attaché case and headed for the door.

"Coward! Bastard!" I yelled at the closed door before collapsing in tears.

Half an hour later I rang work to tell them that I would not be in.

That was a month ago and my life was heading on a downhill spiral that was at last showing some signs of slowing. The people at work were very supportive, allowing me some 'me time' when I needed it, and encouraging me to move on with my life, but it was too slow in getting better.

"Francie." Jill, the receptionist called as I strode into the office. "This package arrived for you after you had left last night." She handed me a plain wrapped package.

At my desk I opened it. There was a typed sheet of instructions clipped to a plane ticket. 'Reservations have been made for you to fly to Adelaide on Saturday.' I looked, it was a first class ticket for a flight scheduled for take-off at 5:00pm. 'A car will pick you up from your home at 3:30pm and take you to the airport. When you reach Adelaide a car will take you to your hotel. Dinner reservations have been made for 7:30pm. Further instructions have been left for you in your suite.'

This is very mysterious. Who would have done this for me? Certainly not my parents, they do not have that kind of money, and they haven't yet forgiven me for my treatment of Bevan. I couldn't think of any of my friends who would do this. All very mysterious.

"Spencer." I had timed my break to catch him in the tea room. "I've just received a strange package, and I don't know what to do about it." I showed him the instructions.

He skimmed through them. "You have no option. Follow them."

"But I don't know how long I'll be away. There's no return flight booked."

"Take whatever time that you need, and enjoy yourself. God knows you need a pick-me-up."

"But this is so weird, I feel as if I could be walking into a trap."

"But if it isn't it's an opportunity missed. Look, when you get to where you are going, and have had your free dinner, possibly with the anonymous benefactor, possibly not, and before you go to your room, call me and fill me in. If it's at all dodgy we can call the police to check it out."

"Shouldn't I do that before I get on the plane?"

"If it'll put your mind at rest, by all means."

"I'm afraid that we can't be of much help." The police woman that I had spoken with said when she rang. "The flight was booked directly with the airline and paid for in cash. A woman made the booking, but she did mention that her boss arranged it. The same for the hotel, the booking was made through the chain's local booking service, and also paid for in cash."

"How long is the booking for?" I asked.

"A minimum of four days, but open ended."

Weirder and weirder. I thought as I cleared my desk on Friday afternoon.

"Have a good time." Spencer poked his head through the door as he left.

"Sure, thanks." I was still uncertain.

Saturday was spent doing Saturday things, the laundromat and supermarket took up much of the morning, pleasant meal at a bistro in the centre and then home. I had a bag packed with essentials for at least four days, and was as ready as I'd ever be. I watched some inane show on TV until the intercom buzzed me into reality. "Yes?"

"Miss Wilson, I have a car for you."

"I'll be right down." I was met at the entrance by a uniformed Chauffeur holding the door of a, gleaming in the sunlight, Jaguar. He took my bag from me and closed the door behind me. After stowing my bag in the boot he climbed behind the wheel and fired it up.

"We'll be in plenty of time for your flight, so just sit back and relax."

"You know what flight I'm on?"

"When the booking was made with us they told us the flight number, just to make certain that we get you there on time. You don't realise how many people we have to nudge to get them in the car on time."

He expertly manoeuvred his way through the traffic and soon had me at the departures drop—off point. "Have a nice trip, I'll be picking you up on your return."

"So you know when that will be, because I don't."

"No I don't know. My instructions are that I will be contacted as soon as you have boarded your flight from Adelaide. That will give me plenty of time to get here to meet you."

"I guess that I'll see you then, whenever that is. . . " I looked at his name badge. "Ryan." And walked into the terminal.

A driver (Simon) from the same company was waiting for me when I exited the terminal in Adelaide. It was only a short drive into the CBD and the hotel that I was to stay in. This was when this whole thing was getting weirder. I had stayed here once before, and to make matters even worse, I had stayed in the same suite. And it didn't stop there. One thing that was missing was the promised instructions.

My meal had been ordered for me, the same meal as the first night of my previous visit.

When I returned to my room I looked around and burst into tears. The house-person, or whoever, had turned down the bed and on the sheet was a single long stemmed red rose. There was a scented candle in a holder beside the bed and next to it was a framed photo, of me, in the nightdress that I wore on the first night of my honeymoon, the same nightdress that was laid out at the foot of the bed.

Under the photo was an envelope with my further instructions, but there was nothing to identify who the mystery person was that had arranged all of this.

I was not prepared for the memories that came flooding back. Memories of the most wonderful time in my life, memories of me throwing all that away on the promise of a better life, a life that had not lived up to that promise.

Could it be? I thought. No, that was impossible. The last that I heard of Bevan was that he had a new partner, and was living in London. It seems that he had moved on quickly, it was little over a year after our separation that he had begun his new life, and my new life was all that I had been led to believe it would be, with the exception of my chilled relationship with my parents, who had loved him as a member of the family. It was Mother who had passed on the good news of his new status.

I waited, and waited. I don't know what made me think, hope even, that the door would open and Bevan would come in and take me in his arms, his strong but gentle arms, and kiss me. And while he was kissing me his fingers would slip the thin straps over my shoulders and his hands would cup my breasts. I would reach for him and caress his already hard penis, first through his trousers, and then without the hindrance of clothes. I felt the tingle of anticipation that unfortunately did not become reality. Disappointed I fell asleep.

I was woken by a knock on the door, and the Room Service Attendant entered and placed my breakfast on the table by the window, it was the same breakfast as I had shared with Bevan.

At 9:30 the front desk called to tell me that a car was waiting outside for me. Luckily I was dressed and preened, so I told them that I was on my way down.

It was the same driver that had brought me in from the airport. Simon told me that he was to be my driver for my entire stay in Adelaide, and that the itinerary was set out in advance. "Today we are going to McLaren Vale, we have two wineries this morning, then lunch followed by two more this afternoon, the last being Serafino. You will dine in the restaurant and you have a room booked for this evening. I will pick you up in the morning for the next day of your stay and in the evening you will be back at your hotel.

The first winery we called at was Coriole, the very same as the first that Bevan and I had called on last time. The winemaker was at the cellar door when we arrived and he looked at me for a few minutes. "Francie isn't it?"

"Yes." Surely he could not possibly have remembered me from all those years ago.

He looked around. "Where's Kevin, isn't he with you?"

"It was Bevan and no, he isn't with me. We are no longer together."

"Impossible, if there was ever a couple that was designed to be together for life it was you two. I'm sorry to hear that."

We discussed his latest vintage as he took me through the list, and I ordered a dozen Shiraz to be delivered to my address.

The next stop was d'Arenberg. They have a much larger selection of traditional and boutique wines. Again I was taken through the latest vintage plus some specials that had been ageing and were just reaching their full potential. Lunch was a degustation on dArry's Veranda overlooking the vast expanse of vineyards.

Following lunch we went to probably my favourite, Wirra Wirra. It is some time since 'Trotty' (Original owner Greg Trott) had passed on, but the winery still carries on with his ethos, excellent wines with just a touch of 'crazy'. I was not disappointed. While there I checked that my 'Bellringers' membership was still current and ordered a dozen each of 'RSW' and 'The Angelus'. Hell, I wasn't paying for this trip, so I might as well splash out a little, I might never get the chance again.

After Wirra Wirra, it was only a short drive to Serafino. I was surprised to be greeted by the owner, Steve Maglieri. I was even more surprised when he greeted me by name. "Francie, it's good to see you again. I hear that you are no longer with Bevan. I have to say that this news came as a surprise. I was sure that you two would last the distance."

"This day has been full of surprises for me. I have been greeted like a long lost friend wherever I have been, and everything has been so organized to emulate my last visit. . . . on my honeymoon." As I said it a little bell rang in my brain. Whoever organized this was deliberately duplicating that trip, but why? Was it to ram it down my throat what a stupid fucking fool I'd been casting Bevan aside for Philip? Or was it a precursor to something different, something better? I understood the first reason, but dare I hope for the second?

Again the meal was exactly as I had enjoyed in a previous existence, the wine equally brilliant, and I was bid a fond farewell by the staff as I headed for my room.

The next day I was ready for the day ahead. "Let me guess," I told Simon as we headed out of the Serafino complex. "Over to Aldinga, hang a left down the coast to Delamere, along the range to Victor Harbor for morning tea, then on to Goolwa where we will be going on a Coorong tour."

Note: The Coorong is a long lagoon that stretches 140Kms from the mouth of the River Murray towards the Limestone Coast. It is separated from the Southern Ocean by a narrow strip of sand dunes.

"You've worked that out have you?"

"What have you been told?"

"Not a lot, this is all very hush hush, and on a need to know basis. I don't need to know the ins and outs of this, but, looking at the booking sheets I figured that there must be a very good reason for whoever is doing this, to go to all of this trouble. Do you have any idea who's responsible?"

"None, although there is one person that I can hope is behind this, but that doesn't seem at all possible, so I will just sit back and enjoy the ride."

When we arrived at the wharf at Goolwa and I was about to board the 'Spirit of the Coorong' I noticed Simon hanging back. "Aren't you coming?"

"No."

"Look, won't you join me? If it's the fare you're worried about. I'll pay."

"I can't, company policy."

"Who will notice, I certainly won't tell. What else can you do?"

"There are plenty of places to see and things to do around here."

"Have you ever been on one of these trips?"

"No."

"Would you like to?"

"Yes."

"That's it then, gift horse, mouth, consider it an order."

There was plenty of time for looking at the variety of wildlife that existed in this pristine environment. The tour guide told us that during the summer months the place was crowded with birds, like oyster catchers and sandpipers who have travelled huge distances from the Northern Hemisphere to fatten up for the return journey.

"Are you married?" I asked Simon.

"No."

"Why not? You're passably good looking, and well mannered, surely you must have set some girl's heart a flutter."

"Unfortunately, it's the job that's the problem. It's not a nine to five job, and a certain flexibility is required by both the driver and his partner. I had one but she lacked the necessary flexibility, and I was not about to change jobs. I love this life, I meet a large disparate group of clients, most really great people, but there have been the rare client who I will not drive again, but that is a very small percentage of my clients."

"Have you ever had any women hit on you?"

"Yes, but none have succeeded."

"Until now that is."

He looked sharply at me. "No. It is not going to. . . ." He caught the grin on my face and realised that I had been teasing him.

This had set the tone for the rest of the day. We teased each other unmercifully until it almost felt like we had known each other for years instead of a couple of days. I even sat up front with him on the journey back to the hotel.

"Tomorrow is the last day that I know of, although that could change without notice. I will pick you up at nine, and we're heading for Hahndorf to start with, a trip around the Adelaide Hills district and dinner at Windy Point. In the absence of further instructions, I'm to collect you from here at nine the next day, and take you to the airport for your return to Sydney."

"Well then, we should make the most of tomorrow, I guess that it will be back to work for me in two days' time."

I was sort of sad to say good-bye to Simon at the airport, my short holiday had gone some way to revitalizing my spirits. He was somewhat surprised when I kissed him before heading into the terminal.

My raised spirits were short-lived. The last thing that I expected to find in my apartment when I let myself in was Philip. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean, what am I doing here, It's my apartment."

"Hullo, did you or did you not leave it to me when you walked out to be with the love of your life?"

"That didn't work out. Now I'm back."

"And you think that you can just waltz back into my life and I'll accept you?"

He stood there for a while, most likely wondering why I hadn't fallen on his neck and told him how wonderful it was to see him again. His expression changed, he was going to throw himself on my mercy. "I have made a total fool of myself, can you forgive me?"

"Why? What makes you think that you can toss me aside, and then come crawling back begging for my forgiveness? And where is your new love of your life?"

"I don't know. Samantha was filthy rich with titled parents living in some ancestral manor house in England, at least that was what she had led me to believe. Just after we got to London and our hotel, she told me that she was going to see her parents to prepare them for our meeting, and she didn't come back. I went to see her parents, at least that's what I thought I was doing, but when I got to the house that she told me was her parents' house, they were not the people in the photo that she had shown me of her parents, and they had never heard of her. When I got back to the hotel I was told to vacate the room as the card that she had used to pay for it had been dishonoured. I tried my card but that was rejected as well."

"And that affects me how?"

"That was when I found that she had taken my passport and visa. I was stuck there with the clothes I stood up in, no money or passport, and no way of getting home. I had been conned. I tried to call home to arrange a ticket to get back, only to find that my mobile phone sim card had been cancelled. I went to the Australian Embassy and they managed to contact my parents, who sent money across to pay for my fare. I have a temporary passport, but I'll have to apply for a new one."

"That's an interesting story, but quite frankly I don't give a shit." My language surprised him even more. "There is no way that I am about to forgive you for what you have done to me."

"But, I thought that you loved me."

"There was a time when I thought that as well. But no more. I have had a lot of time to think about things, and I have come to the realization that I made the biggest mistake of my life when I fell for your bullshit, and left Bevan to live with you. You talk about being conned, isn't that what you did to me? The only decent thing that came of that whole sorry affair is this apartment."

"Um, well, there's a problem there. The bank has foreclosed."

"Do you mean to tell me that, when you made that magnanimous gesture of giving me this apartment, I was going to get kicked out on my ear after a couple of months because you conveniently forgot to tell me that you owed money on it? I didn't think that anyone could sink that low." I couldn't believe that I could have been deceived, been that gullible, how could I have fallen for this?

"I suppose that I just wasn't thinking beyond my new life."

"And how has that gone for you?"

"Not well."

"If you expect any sympathy from me, you can forget it. You can get your sorry arse out of my apartment and out of my life."

"Can't I just stay here tonight?"

"Short answer, no. Now go, get your sorry arse the fuck out of here, I don't want to have to tell you for a third time." I was getting used to this swearing.

He went, leaving me to think over this latest development in my life.

My night was in three phases. At first I made a conscious effort to turn my thoughts to my four days away, to trying to figure out who had arranged it. My best guess was that, for some reason it was Bevan, but dismissed this for the very good reason that he had moved on with his life.

The second phase was me questioning what I had done to deserve all of this. I reached the conclusion that it was punishment for the way that I had treated Bevan. It didn't help because it came back to me thinking of him.

The third phase came out of the second. I began to relive my previous life, the one before I'd stuffed up. I remembered how much in love we were, and how lovingly we had expressed our love for each other, both in and out of bed, especially in. I could feel his touch on my body. I could feel his cock inside me, slowly moving in and out, bringing me slowly to my climax, and then the way that we held each other until he was ready to work his magic all over again. This phase led to my thoughts reliving that moment, and finding myself masturbating. Damn, I said to myself, I have been a stupid, selfish fuckwit who deserves every bit of misery that comes to her. This final phase did not help my mood at all. In the end I did not get much sleep.