Mango Kisses (28 page)

Miles stared out across the ocean. A group of surfers paddled beyond the line of breakers, a few brown bodies sunbathed, fewer swam. This was the same rolling Pacific he loved but he was looking at it from the other side — the eastern side. The same sun shone down on this coastline but it would be hot at home now, stinking hot, whereas here the temperature was Los Angeles winter cool.

The twanging vowels and brash Californian accent had begun to grate on his Australian ears but he smiled and said, ‘Thank you,’ when the waiter left his account on the table.

Miles was sick of smiling. Money bought obsequious service and any amount of false friendliness, he’d discovered. He could afford the best hotels and the best in food and wine but it didn’t make travelling alone more enjoyable, just more comfortable.

Nobody said ‘Have a nice day’ in Birrigai. That nauseating plague hadn’t struck yet. People talked to each other properly and meant what they said. And they didn’t rush about as though they had bull ants up their pants either. The whole world seemed to be in a tearing hurry and Miles couldn’t figure out why.

Two months he’d been away. He was tired of travelling. He was lonely, and the urge to escape had dwindled to nothing. Yang had swung too far and become yin.

When Tiffany had left so abruptly that weekend, he’d been livid. Miss High and Mighty couldn’t wait to breathe city fumes again. Imagine telling her he loved her. She must have choked on laughter all the way back to Sydney.

Fuelled by that anger and a growing desire to prove that contrary to her opinion and low expectations of his ability to manage a fortune, he was a capable, well-educated, intelligent man, Miles had departed for Brisbane. He’d visited all his properties, met all his agents and discussed business with his bank manager.

In between these meetings, Miles had attempted to learn more about his enigmatic father. He’d queried the manager of the rundown hotel where his father had lived for so long and he’d asked the agents, but to them Grant Davidson was a voice on the phone. The second wife proved untraceable.

Now he sat in a Los Angeles restaurant overlooking the beach and wished he was back home on his verandah nursing a beer, feet up on the railing, with Tiffany lounging beside him, the way she’d done that last morning having breakfast. He didn’t think he’d ever been happier in his life. He certainly hadn’t been since.

She strolled constantly through his mind. What was she doing right now? Sleeping most likely. He pictured her face just before he kissed her and told her he loved her. He’d been so positive she felt the same way. Why had she nodded when he asked her but disappeared without saying goodbye? How could he be so wrong about something he’d felt deep down was so absolutely right.

As his initial angry humiliation burned away and he moved about the world being a tourist, the realisation had slowly dawned on him that part of him was missing and that part was Tiffany. He wanted to share his experiences with her.

He wanted to share the information, or lack thereof, in his search for his father. She’d been in on the story from the beginning. She understood exactly what he was going through. She was the only person who really knew, who sympathised, whom he could confide in. He’d nearly called her several times but at the last moment couldn’t face hearing a note of condescension or boredom as she listened politely then tactfully told him she was very busy at the moment, sorry.

But the feeling of loss and the loneliness that threatened to last the rest of his solitary, moneyed existence increased until he reached this point, teetering on the edge of a continent, staring longingly over the ocean at the phantasm of that other, sunburnt, dry, brown land, which held his love and his life.

He wanted to go home. He wanted one last try for happiness.

He’d stroll in to her office and confront her. For the first time Miles felt the liberating power of his money. If Tiffany was impressed by the trappings of wealth he was damn well going to pull out all the stops. And if it meant he had to live in Sydney to seduce her, well he was prepared to give that a go too. He’d compromise his preferred lifestyle to be with her.

The question was, what did she feel for him? Was it true love as his was, or was it a holiday infatuation she wanted to forget? Was he an aberration in her otherwise calculated and controlled existence? He had to find out once and for all and he would stay and insist and persist until he had his answer.

The receptionist smiled broadly when Miles entered the reception area of Songstrom and Associates. The recognition of money shone in her eyes. He’d seen it all over the world and it repelled him. He desperately didn’t want to see the same look in Tiffany’s eyes.

‘Good morning. I’d like to see Tiffany Holland.’

‘I’m sorry, she’s no longer with us. Is there someone else who could help?’ The red lip-sticked mouth remained partly open in anticipation, eager to help.

‘No, I need to see Tiffany.’ Poise and confidence shot to the four winds.
No longer there? ‘Where is she?’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t know.’ She sounded as dismayed as he was. ‘She left before Christmas.’

‘Where did she go? To another firm?’ Miles leaned forward in desperation.

‘I’m really sorry. I have no idea.’ The red mouth sagged. ‘I started work here in January. She’d already left. We have no contact details.’

Tiffany must have moved onward and upward. He could telephone but he wanted to see her face. He wanted to judge by that instant, spontaneous reaction what she really felt. Surprise was the key, leaving her no time to prepare a mask.

In his luxury room in the Hyatt Hotel overlooking Sydney Harbour Miles stared at the mobile number on the business card she’d given him. He really had no choice.

‘The number you have dialled is no longer in service.’

One other number to call, the home one. He glanced at his watch. Nearly five. She wouldn’t be home yet. He could leave a message. Make it casual.

‘I’m in Sydney for a few days, like to have dinner or a drink?’ That would work. He dialled with a finger he refused to admit was shaking.

‘The number you have reached is no longer in service. Please check Directory Assistance.’

What did that mean? Neither number was in service. She’d lost her mobile phone? She hadn’t paid her bill? Not Tiffany the Efficient. The other one he had was the work phone number and she’d left her job. Miles sat down heavily on the bed. He’d never considered the possibility she wouldn’t be here.

He tried the number again. Carefully. Same result. Tiffany was uncontactable. Tiffany had effectively disappeared. She could be anywhere.

Directory Assistance couldn’t help. ‘No listing for that name.’

Marianne! Marianne would know. But what was her last name? Miles hadn’t a clue. If he’d ever been told he’d forgotten. Stumped.

The parents! He grabbed the white pages. Nearly a full page of Hollands — hundreds of them. Considering he didn’t know the father’s first initial this would take all night. Stymied, stonewalled and straight-jacketed.

He rang room service for coffee to keep his brain alive. Jetlag had caught him at last. He’d powered along strongly since arriving this morning convinced that Tiffany would be there in her office, at best miserable and in despair at never seeing him again, at worst surprised but polite.

He scanned the columns and found three T Hollands. Two weren’t her, the third, in Glebe, was disconnected. Start at the beginning. By the time Miles’s coffee had arrived he’d ascertained none of the A Hollands knew Tiffany although one helpful elderly lady told him which other Holland’s she was related to and wouldn’t be the right family so he was able to cross another five names from the list.

‘Thank you very much,’ he said with a resigned sigh.

‘Is she your lady-love?’ she asked. ‘Tiffany is such a pretty name. I remember I went to Tiffany’s in New York once. That’s where they made that movie with that lovely Audrey Hepburn. Have you seen it?’

‘
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
, yes,’ said Miles. ‘And I’ve read the book, too. Truman Capote.’

‘Have you? You must be a well-read young man, knowing that.’

‘I like reading.’ Especially sitting on his verandah at Birrigai with that view and the soft sea breeze wafting the smell of salt and eucalyptus across his nostrils.

‘So do I. I read a lot. I don’t have much else to do these days. The television shows such rubbish. I can’t move about as I used to. They bring my meals in, you know, Meals on Wheels. They’re wonderful ladies although sometimes the cooking isn’t up to much. But you can’t complain, can you? If I do they’ll ship me off to some old folks home and feed me mush.’

Miles grimaced in sympathy. ‘My mother spent her last year in a hospice. They were very good to her but she was ill and I couldn’t care for her. She was like you, never would have gone into a home while she could manage on her own.’

‘I’m sorry about your mother. At least I have my health. The quack tells me my heart is still strong. It’s just the rest of me that’s cracking up, arthritis in the joints.’ She chuckled. ‘I’m going rusty.’

‘Painful,’ Miles murmured.

‘Can be at times but at 87 I’m not doing too badly.’

‘87!’

‘Yes and I still only need glasses to read.’

‘Amazing.’

‘I hope you find your Tiffany,’ she said. ‘You’re a very kind young man chatting to an old duck like me. I’m sure you’ve far better things to be doing. People are so busy these days, no time for anything.’

‘I come from Birrigai, up on the north coast,’ said Miles, ‘and we always have time to chat. That’s what I love about it.’

‘It used to be that way in the city too. When Frank and I moved into this house 66 years ago we knew everyone up and down the street. Of course it was war time soon after that and we all pulled together. Nowadays all those folks have moved on or passed away. I’m the only one left and I tell them they’ll have to carry me out feet first in a box.’

‘I suppose everything has to change eventually.’

‘Yes.’ She sighed. ‘Now I must let you get on with finding your girl. How did you happen to lose her?’

‘I’ve been overseas and she’s changed her job and moved house.’

He heard a sharp intake of breath. ‘That doesn’t sound as though she wants you to find her. Why didn’t she tell you? You’re not one of those dreadful stalkers, are you?’

‘No! No,’ cried Miles although it occurred to him he was hardly likely to say, ‘Yes, I am as a matter of fact’ if he was. ‘It’s just that I think she thinks I don’t love her and I do. But when I last saw her I’d had a few beers and she was, well she must have thought I just wanted, you know.’

‘To get her into your bed,’ she said. ‘I’m 87, I was a nurse and I’ve had five children. You can’t shock me. Why didn’t she hop into your bed? Most girls would these days from what I can gather.’

‘We haven’t known each other long. She’s very...’ Miles hesitated, searching for the right word. ‘Restrained. Reserved. Shy, maybe. I just want to find her and find out how she feels about me.’

‘Love at first sight. How romantic.’

‘It was for me but for her...’ Miles paused. ‘I think she loves me but I’m not sure.’

‘If she doesn’t she’s a fool,’ said his new admirer.

‘Tiffany’s certainly no fool. She’s a very smart woman.’

‘You’ve nothing to worry about then. True love always finds a way.’

‘Love conquers all?’ he suggested.

‘Absolutely and don’t you give up on your quest.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ he said. A ringing noise sounded faintly from her end.

‘Oh, there’s the door bell. My meal’s arrived on its wheels. Now please call me and let me know what happens, won’t you? What’s your name, dear?’

‘Miles Frobisher. And I will, I promise.’

‘I’m Ada. Ada Holland. Goodbye and good luck,’ she said.

‘Goodbye Ada and thank you.’

Smiling, encouraged, Miles made a note of her address and phone number in his diary and called the hotel florist. Then he poured more coffee and dialled the next number on the list after Ada’s.

By the bottom of his coffee pot, Miles had called 83 Holland’s. Some of them didn’t answer and some had answering machines upon which he left messages. His voice was rasping, his eyes were almost crossing with tiredness and he was hungry.

He had just enough energy to call room service again for a bowl of soup. Tomorrow there would be more Hollands to call. Someone must be related to her. There must be grandparents, cousins, aunts or uncles floating about somewhere.

Miles woke abruptly from a deep sleep at four-thirty in the morning. One minute he was dreaming a confused mess of images and the next he was wide awake and wondering where he was. He rolled over and spotted faint light seeping in around the edges of the curtain. A siren wailed outside. The sound of car engines and a garbage truck filtered through.

Sydney. He was in Sydney. Searching for Tiffany. What would he do next? Put an ad in the paper?

Tiffany, I love you. Miles.

Then what? Wait around until she rang? How long? He should head back to Birrigai. It wasn’t fair to Jerry having him run his business and cope with Boris even if he did insist he’d enjoy it. He should have employed a proper manager. He could afford it.