3 yellow roses


Not the Way to Swim

© Barbara Good

"Just on my way, darling. . . .shouldn't take long. . . .see yer soon. . . .remember we'll be together for ever when I finish this last assignment. . . . .what? - you don't trust Celia. . . .she's okay. . . .just another employer, darling. . . .you're the one. . . . bye" - "Bye."

Max slipped the mobile into his inner pocket and sat to watch the jetty disappear into a sunset sky. He settled comfortably on deck. The steamer cut through placid waters. He would have liked to be immersed in the waters as in many past competitions he had tried for marathon swims. The assignment shouldn't take long - then back to his beloved Audrey.

Celia appeared from behind a stack of deckchairs. She was in a good mood - hair flying loose in the wind - skimpy low cut blouse. Unfortunately there was an empty chair right next to him. She sat down with the panache of a ballet dancer.

"You haven't got a cabin," she said with soothing friendliness. Her arm went round his shoulder. It's not a long trip, you can share mine."

"No thanks. . . .I love to watch the sea swirl past."

Her grip tightened, "You owe me something, you know. Remember I employ you."

He got the message. "Go ahead, I'll follow you." He knew Celia's iron will.

The splash which followed made the purser remark, "another brainless one overboard!" He didn't report it. "Not far now to the Island of Paradiso, he can swim for it - if that's his game." It was rumoured that only one person owned a holiday home on that island - a very rich person. "Sounds like a good move."

It was a longer distance than he had expected, islands look closer in the failing light of evening. Max lay for a long time face down on the warm sand breathing heavily with an occasional glimpse at the beach house which seemed to be illuminated. When I can walk upright I'll call at the house and borrow a phone, he thought to himself. It was a while before he lifted his head to the scrunch of footsteps in the course sand.

Without turning his head he blurted out, "you must be the lady of the house."

"I sure am," came a familiar voice, "darling, you did this all for me to show me your wonderful physique and now I have a lovely surprise for you." He looked up with a groan. Celia stood over him in a silk wedding gown. The garden of the house burst into Hawaiian song.

"You're getting married," he said with great relief.

"Yes, darling, I booked the Celebrant - for us!"

<<*>>

About the Author: Ruth Marlene Friesen is a novelist, web designer and friend with more imagination that she can use up! You'll find her touch and words all over Ruthe's Secret Roses, and about half a dozen other sites. Ruth tends to get involved if you become her friend! She takes mentoring seriously.


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Ruth Marlene Friesen

Ruth Marlene Friesen
The Responsible One



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