A reporter for the county newspaper asked, "Could life be any better for you at the moment, Mr Harton?"
Eric, still a little bemused by the rapid events of the past few months, admitted that he could not have wished for a better outcome. Yet, only he knew he carried a patch of lost wonder that steered him away from total satisfaction. A gap deep inside that he could not lose, no matter how hard he tried.
Still, recent events had been an unexpected form of consolation, even if they had been caused, in a remote sense, by that very lost wonder.
After leaving university with a first class honours degree, he had been lucky enough to be accepted by a London newspaper, for a trial period. After covering minor stories, doing what the mass of pressmen he had met over recent days were doing, he had been offered a full time contract. Bigger stories came his way, big court cases, upper crust scandals, and the like. So, he progressed steadily for the next three years. Always, inside him, something cried out for what was lost.
One weekend, after an abortive attempt at filling the gap, and having an unusually clear schedule, he began tapping out on his laptop, something, he hoped, might become a novel. More importantly it might clear the troubled corner of his mind.. He had little plan, a loose set of characters, some very special scenes, but no real idea of where it would go.
However, once he started writing, the whole thing just took off. His imagination caught fire, and he was guilty of stealing time from his actual work, because he just could not stop. The thing practically wrote itself. He was writing of murder, cruelty, intrigue, vengeance with some vivid----
The reporter broke into his thoughts, "Would you admit that the very graphic sexual scenes are what sold the book?"
Eric had to smile, "You'd need to ask my readers, that one."
"Personal experience, Mr Harton? Or wishful thinking?"
Before Eric could frame an answer, his agent Harry Benton broke in, "I think that a highly impertinent question. And since, as has been well reported, the book has attracted the attention of Harvey Stilling, the Oscar winning Hollywood director, it is hardly just the sex"
Being in Bristol was the fourth stop on this promotional book signing tour. "Exceptional for a first time author," Harry had told him.
Eric just could not come to terms with the speed of things once the book had been completed. Through the newspaper, he had been recommended Harry Benton, as a reliable agent, and he had certainly proved his worth. In next to no time he had several editors clamouring with offers. The book had only just been published, and already was tipped for the best seller list. So, at twenty five, Eric was looking at an amazing turn around in his circumstances, and the possibility that he was set-up for life. Consequently, he had resigned his post with the newspaper and start a second book.
A best selling author at just twenty five. It was beyond his wildest dreams. He lay back against the leather of the limousine that was driving them to their hotel.
"Where are we tomorrow, Harry?" Eric asked, his eyes closed.
"Tomorrow, it's a trip to the seaside. Torquay, Devon."
The last word drove like an arrow into that hollow place Eric held inside. Images formed behind his eyelids as though a magic slide show had been switched on. A curvaceous, naked Paula, lying back like a presentation. A .naked back, starkly sensuous. Blue eyes turned up to him as the mouth worked----
No! No! No!
He sat up quickly, rubbing at his eyes. The book was meant to kill off those visions. Yet they persisted. When memory became too much, hadn't he toured around Devon three years ago, looking in phone books, contacting local authorities. But with no firm location to follow, the search had been fruitless. Paula could be anywhere in Devon. If she was, in fact, still in Devon. She could be anywhere.
Eric had become desperate to know whether the rapture of that time had just been a one-off. If it was just the sex, why, after a goodly number of sexual encounters since, did he still see her face when he closed his eyes and opened his heart. Why had she taken root inside him? Trying to convince himself that he had probably passed out of her thoughts didn't help. She would have a totally new life by now. Dejected by that futile Devon search, he had returned to London, where, out of all his uncertainty, he had started the book..
"Something wrong, Eric?"
"No, nothing. Overwhelming circumstances, I guess."
Harry laughed, "Not surprising. I tell you this is going the places. How's the new book going?"
In truth, it wasn't going well. Too much had happened lately.
That night his sleep was invaded by erotic dreams of fingers touching, lips exploring, and when he awoke he was soaked in sweat.
The drive to Torquay seemed to take an age. I am in Devon once again, was Eric's dominating thought. Even though he was forcing himself to bury the significance of that, it kept returning, as the traitor in his head whispered, "Somewhere in Devon there is a certain bungalow." Oh, yes, not many bungalows in Devon, are there? Just a little scout around would trace it. That had been his thinking three years ago. He kept telling himself that he was being absolutely stupid.
In Torquay, the sun was shining, as it should on a July day, and they had a quick lunch before taking a short walk to a large bookshop. As they arrived, Eric could see there were several people already queuing. That was how it had been in London, Nottingham and ---well everywhere.
Inside the shop, Eric was subject to the, now familiar, handshakes, congratulations, and good wishes from management and staff. Soon he was seated behind a white table laden with copies of his book. The garish red cover screamed at him , and, too late, he had thought the title 'Exorcising Brian' could have been better,
The customers, mostly ladies, but with a smattering of men, either asked for a book from the pile or already had a copy which they placed in front of him. Eric had developed a technique in which he kept his eyes down until he had signed a book, and he always asked the name to which he should address his greeting. Then after signing he would hand the book over, and treat the recipient to what, he hoped, was a genuine smile.
After two hours or so, the genuineness of the smile was feeling a bit strained, but, as he signed a book to a 'Roberta,' he vaguely recognised that there were only three ladies left in the queue.
The next lady placed a book in front of him, already open at the inside cover,. "Who shall I make it out to?" he asked, pen poised.
"Sienna." Came the reply.
The name had Eric's hand freeze over the book Something inside him seemed to lurch, as he raised his eyes over a slender figure in a pink button up dress, to a face that had him all but leaping to his feet. Blue eyes, high cheek bones, full mouth, and the hair, that tawny hair, shorter now, but neatly styled. Sheer beauty, so long lost.
"Hello, Eric." Her face broke into a ready smile. "Have I surprised you?"
Eric's mind was churning. This was what he had longed for, wasn't it? Yet now, he was almost speechless with the shock of it. "Paula! Surprise doesn't cover it."
