Transplanting Holly Oakwood (15 page)

“Hello, can I interest you in one of our brochures?” he asked Holly, extending one to her. “We import a large range of sporting goods from Asia,” he continued, waving his arm around him at the professional looking displays of indoor and outdoor sports goods. “Are you a local retailer, or are you from another part of the country?”

“Neither,” Holly replied, and coughed. She held out her hand. “I’m Holly Oakwood, and I work for the New Zealand Trade Office here in LA. Actually I’m wondering if I can interest you in something. I have a New Zealand client who makes sleeping bags for extreme conditions. I’m trying to place them here in the States.”

“We don’t handle that sort of line,” he said. “You really need to try a specialty camping or outdoor store like REI, or one of the big department stores.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that.” She was relieved she didn’t need to continue the conversation with this nice man. Showing him the brochure would be too embarrassing.

“I’d be interested to see what it is you’re selling,” he said. “May I?” he asked, reaching for the brochure which she was now trying to hide behind her back.

“It’s okay, I won’t trouble you to look at it.”

“Please, I’d like to. I’m into outdoor pursuits myself.”

She handed him the brochure reluctantly, and winced when a moment later the corners of his mouth twitched. His eyebrows raised, and then he laughed out loud.

“This is a scam, right?”

“No, no it’s not,” she said earnestly. “They’re for real.”

He looked at her sceptically, and she pulled out a card from her wallet, and handed it to him.

“My God, you really do work for the New Zealand Trade Office. I would’ve sworn this was some sort of joke. Good luck,” he said kindly, “you’re going to need it.”

As she hurried away, she could hear him chuckling to himself, and embarrassed, walked past the next stand, not wanting to repeat the encounter with him watching on.

She continued through the building and after several more floors came across the antique stores. In an elegant shop on the eleventh level she noticed an oak four poster bed with matching bedside cabinets. The suite looked expensive but she was earning good money and could afford to splash out.

She raised a friendly hand to attract the saleswoman’s attention, but the over-coiffed blonde ignored her pointedly. She searched for a price tag, but the only number on the ticket was a stock number. She waved to the sales assistant a second time, but the woman was checking her bouffant hairstyle in an antique French mirror, oblivious to the fact that a customer needed help.

“Excuse me,” called Holly, walking over to stand beside her, “could you tell me the price of the bedroom suite over there?”

The woman paused mid-preen and twisted around to regard her with an unfriendly stare. She looked back in the mirror before replying. “It’s on the ticket.”

She went back to the bed and checked again, but the stock number was the only thing she could see. If she didn’t adore the suite she’d tell Madame Pompadour to stuff her bed, but because she loved it, she kept her voice level. “I’m sorry, but I’ve checked twice and there isn’t a price on it.”

Madame Pompadour tutted impatiently and patted her wig one last time before gliding over, pulling herself up to her full height and regarding Holly down the length of her aquiline noise. She extended her manicured fingers in slow motion and turned the ticket over, finally saying coldly, “Here’s the price.”

Holly looked over the woman’s shoulder in surprise. Pompadour tapped the stock number imperiously and the silence stretched out between them. At last the woman drew her hand back to touch her wig again, and asked, “You like the suite?”

“I like the bed, but not the cabinets.” A giggle was bubbling in the back of her throat, threatening to spill into sound.

“The suite can be purchased without the bedside cabinets if they’re not to Madam’s taste.” Pompadour nodded her head enthusiastically, but her hair didn’t move an inch. “Yes,” she continued, punching figures into a calculator. “If we deduct the two bedside cabinets the bed’s only…,” she pushed the keys furiously, then scribbled on a piece of paper which she handed to Holly with a flourish, “…forty two thousand dollars.”

The giggle escaped. Was it likely, from her appearance, she could afford a forty two thousand dollar bed? “I can’t afford the cabinets, let alone the bed,” she said, trying not to get hysterical. The saleswoman’s chin sagged in disappointment. “But they’re beautiful. Good luck selling them.”

Madame Pompadour pouted, then glided back to the mirror and fiddled with her over-sprayed tresses.

She was struggling up the stairs of the apartment building with her shopping when Charlie’s door opened.

“Wow, looks like you’ve been enjoying yourself,” he said eyeing her booty. “Let me help you with all that.”

“Thanks. For the first time in my life, I’m all shopped out, and bonus, without having spent too much money. Wish I could buy wholesale all the time.”

“Don’t we all. When we’ve dumped your stuff, come up to the roof. Tessa and I have decided to throw a party and we’ll plan it out while we eat. Like barbecue?”

“Yum, sounds great. What can I bring?”

“It’s all done. Get changed, and we’ll see you upstairs.”

Ten minutes later she was sitting in the hot tub on the roof, admiring the panorama below her. It was sunset, and the sky over the Pacific was shot with cranberry-juice-crimson. The lights of Santa Monica twinkled as the curtain of night descended, and the sounds of diners from Third Street Promenade carried in the cool air. She sipped a glass of crisp Californian Chardonnay, while Charlie flipped sizzling steaks over hot, smoky coals.

Life couldn’t get better. She was starting to settle in Los Angeles, had a nice apartment, good friends, and two parties to go to. Not to mention a job. It wasn’t the best job in the world, but it paid the bills, unless she wanted to buy an antique oak bed for forty two thousand dollars.

NINETEEN

Holly

The apartment in Santa Monica was a small but cleverly formed two bedder in an elegant Spanish Mission building, the exterior rendered with creamy plaster and crowned with a clay tiled roof. Eight apartments were wrapped around a perfectly manicured courtyard complete with heated swimming pool. Holly stood in the living room and looked around approvingly, pleased that circumstances had brought her here. The interior was as charming as the exterior, comfortable and homely with the furniture and art Tessa had collected. The room was so clean it glowed in the fading light of the sun, and bowls of fresh flowers scented the air. Her new home was alive with the chatter of the guests Tessa and Charlie had invited to the party, and they spilled into the tiny dining nook, the kitchen, and out onto the balcony.

“Penny for your thoughts,” said Charlie, appearing at her shoulder.

“This reminds me of the parties Tom and I used to have at home. It’s good to be in a place of my own again.”

“Your own place, huh? Sounds like you’re settling, apart from the reference to Tom.”

“Baby steps. LA still feels strange, but I’m getting there, and I’m grateful for everything you’ve done,” she said, giving him a quick hug.

“Charlie, that’s where you got to,” said a voice behind them and as she turned an exotic brunette took Charlie’s arm with a proprietary air. “I’m Candace,” the girl said. “Are you a friend of Tessa’s?”

“I’m Holly, her new flatmate.”

“Flatmate?”

“Room-mate. She’s sort of British, like me,” Charlie clarified.

“Born in Auckland but consider myself–”

“Nice to meet you. Charlie, can I steal you away?” Candace asked, pulling his arm insistently. “I want to introduce you to someone.”

“She’s been after him for ages,” said Tessa, shaking her head disparagingly. “She doesn’t know what she’s letting herself in for. But she deserves whatever she gets.”

“That’s not like you,” Holly said, surprised at Tessa’s tone. “Charlie’s lovely. It’ll be a lucky girl to pin him down.”

“Extremely lucky,” said Tessa. “He’s been avoiding commitment ever since I’ve known him and I don’t think he’ll change. There’s still several thousand girls in LA he hasn’t dated yet.” She looked into the distance, then concurred, “But you’re right. It would be a lucky lady to pin him down.”

“Doesn’t he want to find someone special?”

“Doesn’t act like he does. I asked him once why he only dates women once or twice, but he gave me a flippant reply.” She shook her head. “It’s impossible to get any kind of straight answer from him.”

They were joined by a group of guests, and Tessa made the introductions. The evening passed quickly, and by midnight Holly was trying to stifle her yawns.

“Tessa, I’ve had a lovely night but I need my bed. Hope you don’t mind if I slope off.”

“You okay? You look down.”

“Homesick and tired.”

“But you enjoyed the party? I noticed you have an admirer.” Tessa nodded towards a thick-set man, who’d been hovering by her side for hours.

“Romance isn’t on my agenda, and even if it was he wouldn’t make the shortlist. Goodnight, Tessa, see you tomorrow.”

She closed her bedroom door and sighed with satisfaction at the sight of the new thousand dollar bed from Sears. It was invitingly dressed in pristine white linen, and she slid into the cool, crisp sheets and pulled the eiderdown up to her chin, settling against the mounded feather pillows and drinking in the serenity of the room. She’d come a long way since arriving in LA nearly three months ago. Everything was perfect, or as perfect as it could be without Tom in her life. She closed her eyes and drifted, fragments of their life playing in her mind.

The summer before last they’d gone camping with friends, enjoying a sweltering day on the beach, laughing and playing in the surf. When dusk fell they’d built a campfire and sat round it drinking beer, toasting marshmallows, telling tall stories and singing songs from childhood. The flames roared and glossy red embers floated into the velvet night sky. Her skin was hot and toasted dry from the crackling fire, and her eyes were drooping with the effort of staying awake. She looked at Tom through mellow eyes, anticipating the moment they’d be snuggled up in the sleeping bag inside their small tent.

The door opened and she sighed with longing. Tom’s clothes rustled softly as he undressed, then he slipped in beside her, his warm body cradling her back. She turned to meet him, twined her legs around his and burrowed into his chest, breathing in his masculinity. She ran her hand down the length of his smooth and muscled body, to his growing erection. His hand traced the outline of her breast and she gasped in anticipation. Fire was moving down her belly and she parted her legs as his hand slid down to meet the wetness that was welling inside her.

Something was stirring in her consciousness.

A door closing?

Tents don’t have doors.

She tried to sit upright, but a weight held her down and she struggled to free herself from it, then flicked on the bedside lamp to take stock of what was happening.

She wasn’t in a tent in England, but in Tessa’s apartment in LA. She’d slipped away from the party to enjoy a quiet night’s sleep in her new bed. Only one problem.

She wasn’t alone.

TWENTY

Holly

Her eyes focused on the burly man who had been following her around the party. He squinted in the lamplight, and held a hand across his face. That was all she needed to leap out of bed, her hand still wrapped around the lamp.

“What in the hell are you doing?” she screamed at him, backing to the door in terror.

“Come back to bed,” he replied, lunging out of the bed towards her. “I know you want it from the way you’ve been teasing me all night.”

“Teasing you? I’ve been avoiding you more like, because you give me the creeps.”

“No need to talk to me like that. I know your type.”

“My type? My type?” She could hear her voice growing higher and shrill, but the music was still pumping from the party, and she guessed no one would hear her. “You don’t know anything about me. How dare you? Get out of here. Right now.”