THE PAJARA

A Heart-Stirring Story of Unrelenting Love

By Harry Harris

Copyright 2015 Harry Harris

Published by HERCULES-APOLLO MYSTERIES

at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

#prologue

#Chapter1

#Chapter2

#Chapter3

#Chapter4

#Chapter5

#Chapter6

#Chapter7

#Chapter8

#Chapter9

#Chapter10

#Chapter11

#Chapter12

#Chapter13

#Chapter14

#AboutAuthor

#Otherbooks

Prologue

The Flea Market in Barcelona, Spain has always intrigued me. I never fail to spend an afternoon there whenever I visit that lovely country. I enjoy finding some obsolete thing and haggling over its price with the vendor. Last year, when I was there, I found an old discarded diary that was ready for the scrap pile. The notations in it were made by a young sensuous woman over the period of two years: 1950—1952. I felt like a voyeur reading it but her day-to-day notations in it were so fascinatingly lustful that I was compelled to write a story about her. This then, -- using her notes in the diary as a guideline -- is the tragic love story of that very passionate young woman. Harry Harris

Chapter One

CURACAO – 1950:

The ride from Boca where we live to the airport in Curacao took twenty minutes; yet, not my parents, my sister, Tineka, or I, said a word to one another during the entire trip. The silence and the gloomy atmosphere in the car was uncharacteristic of us but it was because I was leaving the island. It was the first time there was to be a split in our family circle and we didn't know how to cope with it.

I was leaving Curacao to go to the university in Groningen, Holland. Curacao is without an institution for higher education and the students who wish to further their studies after graduating High School must go elsewhere.

Curacao, a tropical island is always hot and unbearably humid, which didn't help the depressive atmosphere in the car: My sister, a sentimentalist, kept staring out of the window but, when on occasion she looked at me she began to cry. My mother, a frail woman, kept wiping her brow and fanning herself as if the weather was the only thing on her mind, but the tears in her eyes gave her away. My father, who was driving, tried to appear as if his only concern was to get us safely to the airport, but the nervous spasmodic twitch of his left eye belied his attempt to appear stoic.

My studies in Holland were to begin in September; nevertheless, my father insisted I leave the island in June, right after my graduation from High School. He wouldn't permit me to remain on the island a day longer because someone told him that I made love to one of the natives, a black, in a bar in Willemstad - the capital of Curacao - and he feared that undesired complications would ensue between that man and me if I remained on the island.

My father is a religious man and a member of the strict order of the Christian Reform Church. He is also a martinet and a strict disciplinarian. He always admonished Tineka and me, with severe punishment if we disobeyed, to stay away from the natives on the island and only associate with Whites; Dutch, Christian Reform Whites!

When my father upbraided me for being with a native, I, at first, denied it:

What were you doing in that bar downtown? he said angrily. I heard all about it!

What do you mean what was I doing? I said, trying to sound coy. I knew immediately to what he was referring but I feigned innocence. I thought I was adept at changing stories and telling little white lies so I felt I could get away with it.

I went downtown with Mama and we got separated, I said, which was true. I was thirsty and I went into a snack bar for a coke. Most of the bars in Willemstad are native so where else could I go? I crossed my fingers hoping my father would stop harping on with his questions, but I should have known better.

Do you always dance and kiss natives with your cokes?

I don't know what you mean? I said and I began to squirm.

Yes you do, and you should know better! How many times must I tell you...associate only with Dutch! White, Christian Reform Dutch! You ought to be ashamed of yourself kissing a black! Well, I’m sending you to Holland as soon as you finish High School so there won’t be any more of that nonsense!

All right! I shouted. I did kiss a black but I'm not ashamed! I'm no longer a child! You never let us go out with anybody! I'll be glad to leave this horrid little island. I ran out of the room, happy to be away from my father's piercing eyes and his obtrusive accusation.

When I was alone in my room I thought about the incident: My mother and I had gone shopping in Willemstad, which was a treat for me; those excursions pleased me immensely. I enjoyed mingling with the shoppers from the other districts of the island, and I found it gratifying to look at all the beautiful items in the store windows, especially at the sparkling jewelry at Spritzer and Fuhrman, Curacao's most fashionable shop. Also, those trips delighted me because they gave me the opportunity to dress up for a change instead of always being in blue jeans. My mother and I were accidentally separated and I went into a snack bar for a coke. While I was there, a handsome young black fellow put a coin in the juke box and selected music with a syncopated beat, which I adore. He began dancing alone in the middle of the bar, showing off. I watched him, fascinated by his movements. When he danced by me, I guess because I was smiling at him, he put out his hand and I impulsively joined him and we danced around the room. When the record came to an end another number started, its tempo slower, and we automatically continued to dance. As we did, he subtly pulled me closer and then gently leaned his head against mine and just before the music stopped he kissed me. It wasn't a passionate kiss, just a quick peck on the mouth. I stared at him a moment and then I quickly ran out of the bar. However, I was pleased. It was a simple anecdote; nevertheless, it was one I could never mention to my parents, especially not to my father, not with a black involved. In my entire eighteen years that handsome young black man was only the third person who kissed me, and that was a memorial I resented. Most of the girls in my class at school used to regale me with stories of their love affairs, and whether their recitals were true or not it didn't matter, their tales were captivating and they excited me. Most of the girls I knew were permitted to date when they reached sixteen, but that was a pleasure Tineka and I were forbidden to experience. However, even if my father were more lenient, there weren't many white boys our age available for us to date. Only fifteen percent of the people on the island are Caucasian, and, of those, only a few are teenagers as well as Christian Reform Dutch. So, if there were any young men who might have been considered eligible by my father for us to date we never met them.

As we drove to the airport, thoughts of my callow youth raced through my mind: At thirteen I was as tall as I am today and endowed with a woman's body. My breasts developed early and I had long, well-formed legs. Until my thirteenth birthday I was a tomboy. I played baseball, soccer, and football with all the boys at school, black and white alike. But my father put a stop to it saying the boys tackled me wrongly in football, tagged me offensively in baseball, and tripped and fell on me too many times in soccer. The only thing left for me to do, that my father condoned, was swim, water-ski, chase the stupid goats that roamed free on the island, and occasionally, when Tineka and I caught them, ride the wild donkeys. I went to school from seven-thirty in the morning until twelve noon, the intolerable heat made it impossible for the schools to remain open later than that. Afterwards, I went home, had lunch, did some homework, and then raced off to the beaches. The swimming and water-skiing kept my body firm; the sun bleached my hair white and tanned my skin, the contrast startling, and at thirteen I felt that I was beautiful. But there was no one to confirm it, and I longed to hear it; the desire for someone to acknowledge it growing within me with each passing year.

I went regularly to the movies; my favorite actress was Elizabeth Taylor. I vicariously enjoyed her film romances, and, when I thought about them at nights, I pleased myself. It not only gave me physical pleasure but it made me feel grown-up and sophisticated.

My first compliment came second-hand, from my parents. It was just after we celebrated my sixteenth birthday. We had a little party with a small gathering of friends, and, after everyone left, my parents, thinking I had gone to bed, began talking about me:

Did you notice that lecherous Mr. Schmidt ogling Regina throughout the evening? my father said.

Yes, I heard my mother answer, he kept staring at her even while talking to me, unashamed. He couldn't take his eyes off her! However, although I thought it was disgusting, you can’t really blame him…after all, he’s a widower and only forty.

Only forty? Why that's old enough to be her father!

That's true, my mother said, but we shouldn’t forget that Regina is quite big for her age; she’s a whole head taller than I am and endowed with a woman’s figure. Our little girl is no longer a child but a beautiful young woman, so we’d better not forget it and start being more careful with her. There are too many men looking at her these days and none of them are eligible. Either they’re too old, like Mr. Schmidt, they’re married, or they’re black.

I'm beautiful! I'm beautiful' I said to myself. I went to bed deliriously happy that evening and I thought of Mr. Schmidt, who was the first man to kiss me: He was my English teacher. He saw me walking home from school one afternoon and offered me a ride. Instead of taking me home, he parked in a secluded area and kissed me passionately several times. I guess he then felt remorseful and drove me home. He asked me not to tell anyone, especially not to mention it to my parents, but he shouldn't have worried; I didn't intend to; I thoroughly enjoyed his kisses. I walked home alone after that hoping he would pick me up again, but he never did. Consequently, a few months later he left the island.

The second man to kiss me was an American, and until that kissing episode I had never met an American. I only knew of them from the Hollywood movies that we saw on the island. But I adored them and for good reason: The American movie stars were always handsome and they always succeeded in overcoming calamitous situations, and what endeared me most to them was that they always kissed their leading ladies at the end of the movie. That was not always the case in the foreign films we saw on the island.

I met the American who kissed me, on the beach in front of the Hilton Hotel. I never swam there before because my father forbade it. Stay away from the Hilton, he often admonished. It's full of American tourists who have nothing better to do than hang around the pool drinking all day and spend all their nights at Campo Alegro. The mere mention of Campo Elegro always elicited giggles from Tineka and me because we knew that was the popular house of assignation on the island. I don't know if it was in defiance of my father's warning or simply out of curiosity, but I swam there one day and when I reached the beach there was only one man in the ocean in front of the hotel. He was an attractive American, about forty, and he appeared puzzled when he saw me.

Where on earth did you come from? he said. Yes, I know…you're a mermaid with legs! I didn't understand what he meant until he added, I've been alone here in the ocean all morning, yet, lo and behold, and I’d love to, here you are now coming out of the deep' And after staring at my figure, he said, You're the loveliest mermaid with legs I've ever seen. Come on, let's have a drink on it! He smiled and held out his hand. I laughed nervously but I was delighted. It was my first direct compliment and it came from a tall, handsome American.

I'm not staying here, I said, and gestured toward the hotel.

That doesn't matter, you can be my guest. Come on! He kept his hand extended. I impulsively joined him and he escorted me to a table near a large swimming pool filled with tourists, obviously American. He motioned to an attendant for towels and when we got them we patted ourselves dry. As he helped me into a beach chair he said, Now, what about a drink? Gin and Tonic, right?

I don't drink, I said and smiled at him, delighted with the attention I was getting which was new to me.

You mean you don't drink gin and tonic. Ah, then you must be a Vodka girl! And he motioned to the waiter nearby.

1 didn't know what a Vodka girl was and 1 began to feel uncomfortable. You don't understand, 1 said. I don't drink anything with whiskey in it!

Smiling wryly, he stared at me a moment and then he said, You know, that's really very funny. When the waiter arrived, he ordered a gin and tonic for himself and a coke for me. And when the waiter left, he moved his chair closer to mine and offered me a cigarette.

I also don't smoke, I said.

Well, two out of three ain't bad! he said and smiled mischievously at me.

I didn't understand what he meant, Engl1sh not be1ng my mother-tongue, but I felt it was something clever from the way he looked at me when he said it. He moved his chair still closer and put his arm around my shoulder. You're the most beaut1ful girl I've ever seen...and that figure of yours…

The waiter arrived at that moment, which interrupted what he was going to say to me and served us the drinks. As I accepted the coke, I noticed the waiter's watch and I realized I had to leave or I would be late getting home and my parents would worry about me. I quickly gulped down the coke and then I jumped up and raced toward the ocean.

My abrupt movements startled the American. Hey, wait a minute, Mermaid, he shouted, where are you going? I don't even know your name! He got up and started running after me. I ran to the beach and dove into the ocean but he was right behind me and tackled me around the waist as I came up for air. He held me firmly in his arms and wouldn't let me go. He smiled and said, You just can't drink and run; it's not polite'

I'm sorry, but I've got to go. I tried to get loose but he held me still tighter and then he kissed me passionately. I didn't resist but relaxed and enjoyed the moment. However, before he could kiss me a second time I struggled free and swam away. When I looked back he was wading in the water and shouting something to me, but I didn’t hear what it was. On my way home I thought of that handsome American and I wondered what his name was. He made me feel divine and he was the first man to tell me I was beautiful.

That evening I told Tineka about the American and I made her promise not to tell our parents. But she did. -- She never could keep a secret. However, when my parents questioned me about it, I denied it. I told them I made up the story just to make Tineka jealous. That night I pleased myself thinking of the American and wondered if I would ever see him again.

Thoughts of my innocent existence on Curacao and of the three men who kissed me were still on my mind when we reached the airport. As I got out of the car I wondered if my next eighteen years would be as insipid.

I was only taking a small suitcase with me; most of the clothing I owned was tropical and of no use to me in Holland; however, the letter that I was to give to my aunt in Groningen with whom I was to live, had money and instructions for her to buy me a completely new winter wardrobe.

As we entered the air terminal our despondency still kept us aloof, and while my father went to arrange the passage for me, my mother, sister and I found a seat by the window overlooking the airfield and sat there moping. When my flight was called, after a tearful farewell especially with Tineka, I boarded the plane for Holland.

I had mixed emotions about leaving the island. I felt wretched that my family and I were being separated, but at the same time, I was exhilarated that I was going to be on my own and not have to answer to anyone.

Chapter Two

Although I was booked to fly on KLM, a Dutch airline, I did not have a direct flight to Holland. I was scheduled to make a brief stopover in Puerto Rico, and then change planes in New York City.

I was delighted with the stopover in Puerto Rico because it was simple: I waited in the terminal an hour and then I boarded the same plane. However, when we landed in New York City I began to fret. I not only had to change planes there but terminals as well, and it presented me with a problem: I didn’t know how to get to the right terminal and I was running short on time. The airport in New York City is so immense that it overwhelmed me; also, the people scurrying by were too busy with their own problems to be of any assistance to me. Fortunately, a kindly old gentleman noticed my plight and approached me.

You look kinda lost, young lady, he said. Is there anything I can do for you?

Yes, I said relieved. I’m trying to get to the KLM terminal and I not only don’t know how to get there but I’m also running out of time. I looked at my watch, worried.

You can’t be an American, the man said, not with that lovely accent. He smiled benignly at me and added, But don’t you worry none, little lady, just follow me.

The man was kind, he not only accompanied me on the bus to the right terminal but escorted me directly to the KLM counter. When we were there, he said, There you are, Honey, and you’re right on time.

Dankie, Dankie, I said, pleased that he had helped me.

Grinning, the man said, I beg your pardon, Miss, but I don’t think I’m a donkey just because I helped you.

I immediately realized my mistake. Blushing, I said hastily, Oh, forgive me, sir. Dankie means thank you in Papiamiento; I’m Dutch from Curacao. I regained my composure and added seriously, Thank you very much, sir, I certainly appreciate all you’ve done for me. I wouldn’t have made it without your help.

You’re most welcome. However, I was only kidding, I knew it was something like that. Smiling benignly, he added, Let me tell you something, young lady; it was a real pleasure helping you…for you’re the prettiest Dutch girl I’ve ever seen. And after an awkward pause, he added, Well, take care of yourself and have a nice trip.

Thank you again, I said to him, and then I handed my flight ticket to the man behind the KLM counter. No sooner was the transaction completed than my flight was called and I went immediately to the departure gate. As I handed the attendant my boarding pass, I happened to see that the kindly old gentleman had followed me. He waved to me and I waved back. Americans are wonderful, I said to myself, and with the American that I met at the Hilton beach in Curacao also crossing my mind, I boarded the plane for the rest of my journey. ----

My flight to Holland was uneventful. I read five movie magazines which I thoroughly enjoyed -- the love lives of the Hollywood stars intrigue me -- I saw a film in English that I didn't quite understand, and I slept. Early the following morning, exactly on schedule, the plane landed at the Schiphol airport in Amsterdam.

Before I left Curacao my father said, You won't have a thing to worry about when you get to Holland. Your aunt and uncle will meet your plane in Amsterdam and the three of you will drive to Groningen. Regardless, in Holland you'll be with your own kind. However, should you have any trouble, you'll find that the Dutch people are very helpful.

I thought of my father's commentary when my aunt and uncle were not at the airport to meet me. However, there was a message from them: My aunt had suddenly taken ill and my uncle had to remain with her. I was instructed to take a plane to Groningen and then a train to their home, which was in the outskirts of the city. The fact that no one was there to meet me was not disappointing; on the contrary, I was elated. It presented me with the propitious opportunity of seeing Amsterdam on my own a few hours. I quickly booked a flight to Groningen for six o'clock that evening, checked my bag at the terminal, and took the bus to Amsterdam.

Amsterdam was like a beautiful dream. I couldn't compare it with any other metropolis because I had never been to a big city before; nevertheless, I felt that it had to be the most exciting place in the world: Intriguing canals seemed to be everywhere; I enjoyed watching the boats that were loaded with tourists snaking their way throughout the city; I was fascinated by the Heren Huizen, the picturesque houses by the banks of the canals, that had their foundations re-enforced with gigantic wooden planks, each with its own unique style, yet all of them, collectively, boasting an attractive Dutch identity.

As I walked about in Amsterdam I was amused by the clever displays I saw in the store windows, and excited by the number of unusual articles and fashionable clothing that was available for purchase; truly a sight for my sore eyes. I was also amazed at the number of quaint little coffee houses strewn throughout the city that offered a coziness that was hard to resist.

I was enchanted by the Changing of the Guard at the Royal Palace near the Dam in the very heart of the city that put me in another world. And, I was delighted to see so many foreigners walking about attired in their native trappings and speaking in their native tongues, giving Amsterdam a unique and glamorous international flavor.

Those were just some of the resplendent attractions which convinced me that there was no other city in the world like Amsterdam. I walked up one street and then down the other, and as I did, the perpetual smile on my face advertised my ecstasy.

I looked excitedly into every window I passed. I priced jewelry and other sundry items in the most expensive shops, and I tried on clothing in styles and materials unknown to me. Although I didn't buy a thing I enjoyed my tour of Amsterdam immensely.

It was two o'clock in the afternoon when I decided to have lunch. I was perusing a menu on a window outside a Chinese restaurant, when I heard someone behind me, say, See anything interesting? I turned and looked into the eyes of the most attractive man I had ever seen. He was tall and dark and his smile mesmerized me. I stared at him for such a long time without saying anything that I felt foolish; then not knowing what else to do, I abruptly turned and walked away.

I walked quickly past several shops and then I stopped and looked into the window of one of them pretending I was interested in an item on display; but it was only an excuse to slyly turn and take another look at the handsome stranger who had spoken to me. When I did, I was surprised to find him standing alongside me. When he spoke to me again I realized it was with a heavy American accent.

You're not Dutch, he said. You can't be; you’re much too attractive! He smiled and again I was dazzled.

I'm Dutch all right, I said, but you're not, not with that accent'

No, I'm an American. I've lived in Amsterdam on and off for years, and perhaps, I should speak Dutch better than I do, but I guess we Americans just can't seem to lose our accents, can we? He smiled at me again and then he added quickly, Look, I'm a businessman and my work takes me back and forth from New York City to Amsterdam constantly; yet, I don't know many people here, and since I simply loathe eating alone…what do you say you join me for lunch? He smiled again; he was beautiful.

It had been my intention to have lunch, and I did want to join him, but I didn't know how to handle the situation without giving him the wrong impression of me. Also, my father's words gnawed at me: Keep away from Americans; they can't be trusted! Although I didn’t want to, I intended to heed my father's warning. I said, I'd like to but I'm afraid…

Good' he said, interrupting me. He quickly took my arm and led me back to the front of the Chinese restaurant. Hmmmm, he mused, let's see what these Chinese have to offer.

I was pleased with the way he handled matters. He put me at ease and I felt comfortable joining him. However, when he read the menu he didn't like what he saw.

I have a better idea, he said. There's a much better restaurant where I know the food is good. Before I could express an opinion, he hailed a taxi and a few minutes later we were in an Indonesian restaurant called, Bali. The maitre'd and the entire restaurant staff were all attired in authentic Bali costumes. I was impressed; I knew it was expensive.

After we were comfortably seated, he smiled and said, May I order for both of us? I think I know just what this afternoon calls for. When I nodded, he ordered a special dish called, Ryst-tafel. When the waiter left, he said, Isn't it wonderful, here we sit like two old friends and we don't even know each other's name. Mine's 'Simon. Simon Hamilton. What's yours?

Mine's Regina.

Regina what?

I'm sorry, Regina van Vees.

The van Vees sounds Dutch all right, but where did the Regina come from? That sounds Italian.

I guess it's just what my parents christened me, I said and I felt stupid afterwards. A moment later, I said, And it’s Regina with an ‘a’ and not an ‘e’ like in German.

Well, tell me about yourself, Regina van Vees, he said stressing the ‘a’ in my name. The way he said it made me smile.

There isn't much to tell really. I'm from Curacao and I'm here to go to the University of Groningen. I arrived in Amsterdam only a few hours ago and I…

The waiter arrived at that moment and began setting the table, which interrupted me. However, when I saw the Ryst-tafel being served I was flabbergasted. My God! I said, I've never seen so many dishes at one setting in my life! Are you sure this is just for the two of us? My comment made Simon laugh but I was serious. As the waiter was arranging the plates in front of us, Simon asked me what I wanted to drink.

I don't drink, I said. He ordered a beer for himself and a coke for me. The food was delicious and I ate more than my share. When we were through, Simon said, Since you don't drink I'll just order a brandy for myself if you don't mind. He then offered me a cigarette.

I'm afraid I also don't smoke, and then remembering my conversation with the American at the Hilton beach in Curacao, I added quickly: And two out of three ain't bad! And I sat back smiling proudly thinking I had sounded sophisticated.

Frowning, Simon said, I beg your pardon. What did you say?

I didn't answer immediately. I didn't know what I said that made him frown and look at me the way he did. Hesitatingly, I said, I really don’t know. It’s something I heard someone say in Curaco and I was trying to be clever.

Simon looked at me as if he didn't know whether to believe me or not. You know something, young lady, you shouldn't try to be clever and say things you don't know anything about! Someone else might have misconstrued what you implied.

What do you mean?

Well, he said, lighting his cigarette, when you said you didn't smoke or drink and that two out of three ain't bad, you implied that your only vice was sex but I don't think that's really what you meant. Or is it?

What? I exclaimed, and I felt myself blush. Of course that's not what I meant!' I was annoyed that he would think such a thing. I didn't mean that at all! I could feel my blush fade and I frowned.

Look, Simon said, don't react that way with me. You're the one that said it, not I!

Well, I didn't mean it that way! I told you, it was .just something I heard. I looked away from him and reached into my purse for a handkerchief to wipe away the tears I felt forming in the corner of my eyes. Simon put his hand gently on my arm. Hey, let's not ruin this beautiful afternoon. I only mentioned it for your own good. Come on now, smile.

I felt better by his gesture and I slowly did as he asked. I'm sorry, I said, I honestly never realized what it meant.

I believe you. I honestly do. You have no idea how happy I am to know you weren't aware of what you said. He squeezed my hand gently again and then motioned the waiter into action. When the waiter arrived, he ordered a brandy for himself and coffee for both of us, and when the waiter left, he said softly, How old are you, Regina?

Eighteen. I was ready to add that I was going to be nineteen in January, but he interrupted me.

Before you ask and I know you’re getting ready to, I'm going to tell you how old I am so we can get that out of the way. I'm exactly twice your age, I'm thirty-six. I’m telling you that because I like you and I hope to see you again, so I’m hoping that my age doesn't matter to you.

No, it doesn't matter' I blurted out, and I hated myself for sounding childlike. Without looking at him, I said, I like you too, Simon.

Simon puffed on his cigarette. 'You're wonderful, he said, so natural and so uncomplicated; you're going to be great."

I was delighted with the compliment and I was pleased that he liked me. I was also fascinated by his smile and by his good looks, and his age didn't matter to me at all; however, it was strange but from the very first moment we met I had a premonition about him. A little voice from somewhere in the alcoves of my mind kept urging me to get away from him, that something about him didn't ring true, that I shouldn't get involved with him. Nevertheless, when I looked at him, especially when he smiled, the admonition slowly became inaudible until the little voice stopped talking to me altogether.

While sipping his brandy, Simon said, What does your father do, Regina?

He's in politics in Curacao. Well, not exactly in politics but involved in them sort of; you know, behind the scenes. He did a lot to promote tourism to the island and he helped set up the educational system for the natives there. Look at this. I took two photographs from my purse and showed them to Simon. See, that's my father there standing beside the Queen of Holland when she visited the island. Curacao is Dutch you know!

Simon smiled wryly. Yes, I know, he said, and as he studied the photographs, he added: Hmmm, with the Queen herself…your father must be very important; I'll bet you're very proud of him! As he returned the photographs to me, he said, Yes sir, you're going to be great!

I'm proud of both of my parents and I love them dearly. My sister too; her name's Tineka. I replaced the photographs in my purse, and as I sipped my coffee and talked about my family, reciting little anecdotes about them, the little warning voice returned and nudged me again advising me not to say too much to Simon, my earlier premonition about him becoming stronger. Abruptly I said, completely out of text with what I was saying, What do you mean I'm going to be great?

Simon laughed. I mean that from the moment we met earlier this afternoon, I not only found you attractive but also someone unique. He squeezed my arm. I've always been weak for blondes, especially a tall beautiful blonde like you. However, I never thought I'd be able to meet one so easily. He put his hand up to stop me from interrupting him. And before you say it, although you were easy to meet and you did say things like two out of three ain't bad, I've come to realize you're a truly nice person. The kind I've always wanted to meet. You're not only a warm and wonderful person, but when you told me about your father and I saw him standing by