It was no good. I just couldn't get her out of my mind.
I was back on the other side of the island where I lived in a small cottage over-looking the beach. I had my easel set up on a slight rise that gave me a perfect view of the sea and the beach and the rich green vegetation that covered the island from the edge of the beach to its central rocky outcrop which rose to about 20 metres above sea-level behind me.
I was trying to paint, but it was no use. The large rocks that gave the beach its character, round and smooth from thousands of years of tidal erosion, became soft round buttocks. The clouds that hung in a deep blue sky became milky white breasts. And the bushes became...well, bushes.
Could an alcoholic concentrate on his work if he knew that there was an ice cold beer in the lunch-room refridgerator? I rest my case.
There was nothing for it but to pay Vanessa a visit. Maybe if I saw enough of her I would get bored and be able to return to my work. Desensitization therapy I think they call it.
Now if you really think I believed this crap that I was telling myself then you're a bigger fool than I think you thought that I thought that I was. I think.
No, visiting Vanessa was not going to return my shattered peace of mind, but it would probably give me a hard-on and I was willing to accept that as second best.
The island was not a large one, so it only took about 20 minutes of trudging through the hot, white sand to reach Vanessa's place.
From the beach a cobble-stone path curved up through an unkempt cactus garden to Vanessa's front yard. As I got close to her house I heard the sound of softly splashing water and realised that she had turned the fountain back on. This fountain, which had been silent since Old Man Ramsey had become too infirm to visit his island retreat, was in the form of a statue which seemed to depict a naked woman holding a vomiting fish.
As I approached the front door I noticed that the curtains on the front windows were not drawn, so I decided to have a peak.
All right, I know, I was being a peeping Tom, invading Vanessa's privacy. But hadn't she invaded my island. All's fair in love and war, they say. Which one Vanessa and I would end up engaging in I was none too sure of at the moment, but it had to be one or the other.
So I crept over to the window on my left, very aware of the fact that, when it is easy to see in, it is also easy to see out. No luck there, just the kitchen/dining area. Moving stealthily to the other window, however, I found that I was in luck.
This appeared to be a lounge room, but Vanessa had set it up as a room to do her writing. And there she was sitting at her computer, her back, thankfully, towards me.
