The reunion
"...and of course, like all startups, it is funding that will determine just how much further we get with our prototype, which is of course why I am here, and thankyou again for your time."
The "shark tank" address closed on his underwhelming pitch for reworked, over hyped AI farm software - just before my eyes rolled to the back of my head and I began to dribble with boredom.
Some mandatory half-hearted hand clapping saw him off the stage, only just before we moved to the next fund seeker at our annual agri-tech startup conference. But it was not before I exchanged glances with Zara across the aisle, receiving a warm empathetic smile as a fellow boredom victim.
It crossed my mind as I basked in her generous smile that I really needed to keep friends close, and enemies closer in her case. Her South Island startup was aiming firmly for the same ground that had made my own company so successful over the years, delivering innovative software systems to make dairy farmers' lives a lot easier amongst the muck, milk and dark that often made up much of the dairying day.
Our careers had intercepted and looped around each other over the years. Starting back at university, hanging out in the same crowd, random drunken Friday encounters at the pub- even the occasional flirty kiss that had never gone any further, both reserved despite the inevitable surges of early twenties hormones.
Time, distance, and relationships had meant we'd gone our own way for over two decades, so it was a welcome addition to our annual get-together to chance upon her at one of these gatherings three years ago.
But then it had only been a fleeting, distant glimpse.
I had been wrestling with the reality of a recent divorce after 15 years of marriage, preoccupied and juggling finances to keep my infant startup business afloat and growing. Zara had appeared pale, distant and a bit lost in the crowded event, and not to be found after it was over.
But tonight, the same infectious burst of laughter that would roll through a crowded university pub greeted me at the post-conference happy hour. I knew whose it was before we had even made eye contact, her head tossed back, all brunette curls and white teeth, her face aglow as she gripped a colleague's arm in a fit of laughter.
If her laughter hinted her presence, then her body radiated it. Her firm, slim frame had matured with time, her almost boyish figure now deliciously curved, still trim, well maintained and as attractive as ever, and one its owner was clearly comfortable in, and happy to reveal.
Her smart black skirt-jacket combo lent her a professional air, an expensive silk blouse discreetly and tastefully highlighted her lovely firm breasts. Her fit looking calves were accentuated with a nice pair of heels. It was indeed the Zara that had been the subject of many unrealised late night university fantasies.
"Twenty-five years Zara Smith! It's good to see you again after all this time -you look....good," I said, hoping I wasn't lingering too long on a "good" to be overly creepy.
She just took a step back, running her eye north to south over me, with a wicked grin on her face.
"Roger Davies, look at you, my God - what happened, where did those years go? And how come you didn't get fat like everyone else around here?"
Maybe it was the buzz of the one post-presentation beer I had had, but I felt I'd flown back across those 20-plus years, landed back in that uni pub again.
Just like it usually was then, it was a Friday. But this time I was going to finally be able to have the confidence to do more than offer her another drink. The only thing was the woman before me looked even better, if that was even possible, than she did all that time ago- curvier, less angular, more, well...womanly.
"Holy shit this place is boring the tits off me - let's get out and get a decent drink somewhere else, what do you say?" she asked me in her direct fashion.
What could I not say, and so we stepped out into the southern winter's night, the cool air prompting us to inadvertently move closer together.
Without even considering it, I put my hand around her waist drawing her closer, savouring the definitive curve of her hip, enjoying the outline of her firm, fit thigh against mine, and her lack of protest.
"So, what's good in this place? I can't say I have spent much time in this part of the world for the last few decades...and on that note, what the hell have you been up to all these years? We have a lot to catch up on - I think."
"That we do", I granted as I opened the door for her to a small wine bar.
Tucked in a side street, it was a sharp contrast to the industrial grade conference bar we'd just fled. Cosy and intimate, the air filled with Snow Patrol and the quiet murmur of couples in earnest conversation.
As I returned to our table with a couple of glasses of pinot, Zara unabashedly assessed me - a sly grin that would have made me blush 25 years ago injected a slight buzz to the bar's understated atmosphere.
"You know, I have often wondered where you have been, what you have been up to, how come we don't seem to have stayed in touch?" she said, her glass of pinot poised at those lovely, full lips as she re-crossed her stockinged legs.
"Well, seems we are now as much on the same side of the industry, if not opposites when it comes to doing business in it. But hey, you are hardly the worst looking opponent I could wish for, I teased.
"But seriously, I saw you across the same conference hall, it must have been about three years ago. You looked -,"
"Blood awful" she interjected.
"Well, I was going to be kinder and say 'a bit drawn and stressed', but your words, not mine. I tried to find you after but seems you had shot through already."
"No, I was in no space to be staying any longer than I had to. My husband had died only two months before, the business we were in was proving tougher than I had expected, and I just felt completely, well...disconnected really, from everything. I was finding it particularly hard to see the point of anything at that stage."
She caught the look on my face of sad surprise to learn about her husband, a man I had never met.
"What-"
"Cancer - short and sharp, which is a small mercy, for him as much as me if I am honest. But at 45, it's hard to find the upside in that, it really is," she said, a distant look in her eye as she sipped her pinot.
In that moment she had that same sad, lost look I had seen across the crowded conference room three years ago. Without considering it I leant over, giving her a strong comforting hug.
"I'm so, so sorry, he was a very lucky man while he was here," I whispered in her ear.
"Thankyou, that means a lot," and she kissed me on the cheek, pulled back, looking me in the eye with a smile like the sun coming from behind a dark cloud.
"Anyway, Mr Davies, that's my tragedy, what's yours? You know most of us have had at least one by 50!"
"Hmm, you know, the usual -divorced, trying to keep the boat afloat and stay sane, that sort of thing," I offered.
"Divorced! I never thought you would have that in you- did you play away?"
"No, no, it was nothing like that, well, not really, but it might have become that.
"We were never able to have kids, my fault, not hers, and we thought we had dealt with that. God knows, it was not through lack of trying and we'd even considered adoption. But we got to that point where it was just looking too late- she really,
really
wanted them, and it seems, she found someone who would make that possible.
"But if I am honest, that's a good front story for a failure, but there was more. I think once we knew it was definitively not going to happen for us, those cracks really started to show.
"Kerry, my wife, she did the maths, and she figured another 20-30 years with me was not the best use of
her
years. It was all reasonably amicable, and ironically, easier without kids involved."
In the course of my recounting, Zara had leant closer, sipping her wine, and fully engaged. I could not but help appreciate the dark cleavage her silk blouse captured so artfully, hoping my glance was slight, as I effortfully pulled my gaze to her dark, enquiring eyes.
"Wow, that really sucks, it's a tough one not being able to have kids. We grow up thinking it's almost a right to have them. As women we often wait longer than we probably should to really start trying, thinking they are just like that bit of duty free you pick up on your next trip away- until it's not."
She put her hand on my knee, gently grabbing it as she leant towards me.
"She really didn't appreciate what she let get away you know Roger."
"You are too kind, as always Zara- my tragedy is mild compared to yours, and you seem to have coped remarkably well in the circumstances."
She leant back in her chair with a sigh.
"You do not know half of it. The saving grace has been our two daughters- they got to enjoy, and experience a father who really was everything a good Dad should be, and it shows in what they are like as grownups - they are kind, smart, funny, just like he was.
"So, I see a lot of him every time I see them, which is quite a bit these days, they both work here and not in another hemisphere like most of my colleagues' kids at this stage of their life."
"I think we could both do with another drink after all this confessing," I said, taking deep breath as I made my way to the bar, absorbing Zara's news and, guiltily, considering her relatively newfound widowed, status.
Setting the glasses and myself back down in the cosy bar chairs, the flames of the nearby fire shimmering against our glasses full of southern hospitality, it struck me fortune may have given me a second chance with this wonderful woman.
"Not going to lie, I have always really regretted all we did not do when we knew each other all that time ago Zara- it's always stalked the back of my mind, we were good company for each other,it just seemed we never really moved to the next stage."
She gave me a slow, knowing smile, stretched, and then sat up placing one hand gently on my thigh.
"It is really not too late Roger, you know that don't you? We are both grownups and have a rare freedom many grownups don't get.
"We should celebrate that, you know.
