Maria lay in the bath, her head back as she closed her eyes. She tried to both relax and concentrate intently, searching for a way back into that someone else. It was no good however, the memory was nothing more than that and she could not be another person today. Not on her own. She tried to let her mind drift and enjoy the memory for what it was, but her thoughts were insistent.  ‘You have to go back Maria. You have to find out if it’s always so exhilarating. It’s not like you can’t afford it, is it?’ The bath ceased to be relaxing now and she felt an anxiety, as though she was late for something. ‘You are late.’ Maria thought. ‘You’re late for a date you haven’t made yet.’

            Maria had an old head on her twenty-three-year-old shoulders, though she was not immune to the foolish mistakes of youth or the situations that might arise from them. Slim and strikingly pretty, she could easily have modelled had she been taller, but then again it’s unlikely that this would have been enough for her. No, she was studious and inquisitive and she had worked from an early age, moving from insurance to banking to event management. Success for her wasn’t easy, but she made it look that way as she moved onwards and upwards, a role-model for female success. But though it swelled her bank account, it didn’t satisfy her, so her career changes were frequent and unexpected. It was a hobby that finally became her focus.

            Art, in the form of painting and ceramics, was a passion borne from her childhood in Bucharest. She had moved away as a young girl, but she remembered the days spent with her grandmother, painting at the kitchen table. It might have been her mother who instilled the work ethic, but it was grandma who inspired her creativity and joy. What she had not considered was the extent of her talent or others’ appreciation of it. A friend’s insistence on exhibiting her work led to offers beyond her belief or wildest expectations. The money was modest initially, but a decision was made and soon her hobby was her life. With extra time devoted, came extra remuneration and a serene satisfaction with life. All she needed was someone to share it with, or at least the excitement involved in finding them.

            Dried and dressed, she fixed a bowl of pasta and tomato sauce, too distracted to concentrate on cooking anything substantial. As she ate, she had the Hôtel de Rêves pamphlet open in front of her. Her eyes skimming over the words, too eager to get to the phone number again. She shook her head, frustrated at herself and her weakness. At least give it a day, you might be desperate but don’t look it.

            Her mind made up, she tidied the plates and put on some music. Moving to her easel, she tied her hair back in a ponytail as she sang along with the band. Taking her brush, she glided across the canvas, tracing out shapes with ease. It was almost unthinking, as she continued to fill in colour between the black outlines, surprising herself as the picture took shape. Then there it was. A pair of strong, defined legs, encased in blue denim. The perspective was from above, as though viewing one’s own legs when sitting in a chair. These thick, muscled thighs were definitely not hers, they were Andy’s. A perfect illustration. Maria stood back and closed her eyes tightly as though pained. ‘It’s no good’ she thought. Putting down the brush she reached for the phone.

Next Chapter: CHAPTER FIVE - A HISTORY