she’d opted for a new beginning in a different locale from Sydney, the city in which she’d been born, educated and employed.
Another state—Queensland, with its sub-tropical climate, beautiful beaches and Australia’s tourist mecca—had beckoned, and now, almost three years later, it felt like home.
Raúl had cared for her, this much she knew. So what if it hadn’t been love? Care was enough…and who could predict what the future might hold?
Bittersweet words, Gianna reflected, given she’d suffered a miscarriage within seven weeks of becoming Gianna Velez-Saldaña.
It had been a time when she’d desperately wanted, needed his comfort. At night she had lain awake, long after he slept, craving his touch. More, so much more, than simply being pulled close and held securely in his arms.
Grief, sorrow…dammit, hormones, had succeeded in providing an altered reasoning. Together with the sweetly delivered but nonetheless heartless words from Sierra, one of Raúl’s ex-lovers, who had essayed it might have been prudent to wait until closer to the child’s birth before rushing into marriage.
From there, it had been downhill all the way, with Raúl spending more time in his city office, caught up with meetings, leaving before she woke most mornings and frequently missing dinner for some seemingly valid reason or another, occasionally arriving home long after she’d retired to bed.
Communication between them had become reduced to the perfunctory. Polite exchanges in private, while maintaining the required image in public.
The explosive meltdown had come when she had called his cellphone one evening while he was on a business trip in Argentina and Sierra had answered, almost purring with delight as she’d revealed that ‘now is not a good time…comprende?’ As if the implication might be misunderstood, Sierra had sharpened the verbal barb with unvarnished clarity. ‘Raúl is filling the spa-bath. Need I say I’m about to join him?’ And cut the connection.
After the numbness had come anger, followed by a crying jag…then she’d calmly packed her bags and called a taxi to take her to the airport, where she’d caught the first available flight home.
Old news, she remonstrated in self-castigation.
She’d moved on, sought solace in the familiar, ensured a new life for herself…a successful one…and rebuilt her confidence and self-respect.
The cry of a lonely seagull rent the early morning quietness, providing a distraction, and Gianna watched the bird’s graceful glide to settle at the water’s edge. Its red beak dug into the wet sand and emerged with a tidbit…a baby sandcrab, perhaps? Then, apparently delighted with its find, it sent up a shrill, keening cry which soon brought several gulls to the scene.
Apartment towers lined the Esplanade—tall concrete sentinels of varying architectural design bearing exotic names.
Already the incoming tide was beginning to swell with white-crested waves that broke and rolled gently into shore…a precursor of bigger waves ideal for surfing.
Within minutes she changed direction and headed up the slight sandy incline to the boardwalk, where she crossed the road to a pavement café and ordered a latte to go.
Already several tables were occupied, as holidaymakers sought an early breakfast beneath colourful shade umbrellas.
It was almost seven-thirty when Gianna entered her apartment, and she stripped off her clothes, showered, dressed, ate fresh fruit and yoghurt, then caught up her laptop and bag, filched her keys from the side-table adjacent to the front door, and took the lift down to the basement car park.
A short drive brought her to an upmarket complex, unique in design, with its arched sails reaching skywards, housing various boutiques of which Bellisima was one, and a faint smile softened her mouth as she took a moment to check the window display.
Visually attractive, she conceded as she bent low to unlock the front doors. Perhaps she could replace the pewter vase with the crystal conch-shell, add a collection of silk flowers. Exchange the stunning beaten silver platter with the pair of multi-coloured glass birds.
The gift boutique was so much hers, with the art of display reflecting her excellent taste, her instinctive knack of placing unusual items together to draw maximum attention to the mirrored walls with their glass shelving.
Each item gleamed beneath the fluorescent lighting, the colours like fine jewels in their brilliance, and she allowed herself a moment of pride before crossing to the service desk, where she prepared for the start of a new business day.
Morning trade was fairly brisk, with purchases made and those chosen as gifts wrapped with exquisite care, earning delighted gratitude from each customer.
Gianna derived immense pleasure in providing warm and friendly service. Something which had earned her a loyal and select client base.
She’d made the boutique her life, constantly searching for unusual items to attract her customers. She also provided a comprehensive catalogue, and maintained a constantly updated Web page to showcase upcoming imports and deliveries.
The fact she’d achieved it on her own, with loan funds from the bank, was a source of pride. Monthly amounts paid by Raúl directly into a separate bank account remained untouched.
Work had become all-involving, filling her waking hours. Her focus was now, and the immediate future.
There were a few good friends, but, while she occasionally socialised, she didn’t date. Dinner and pleasant conversation didn’t include an automatic agreement for consensual sex at evening’s end. At least not in her book.
She tried…she really did. Her friends meant well. They wanted to see her happy, content, with a regular man in her life who cared.
‘He’s wonderful—a real gentleman’ didn’t hold true, she had discovered to her cost.
‘You’ll adore him, he’s so charming…’ Uh-huh—if you enjoyed the obsequious type.
No matter how well-intentioned, their efforts failed. Or perhaps she failed…for moving on from Raúl wasn’t happening.
He was there, his physical image so easily summoned to mind she almost expected to see him, and occasionally felt the breath catch in her throat whenever she sighted a tall, broad-shouldered male whose stance at first glance seemed achingly familiar. Followed by a heart-lurching few seconds when everything within her peripheral vision froze into a fixed tableau…until she glimpsed his profile and saw the face of a stranger, and her personal world returned to its normal kilter.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, she chastised in self-castigation. There was work to do. Stock to arrange. Deliveries to check. And her clientele. A business to run.
Busy was good. A steady flow of people wanting assistance ensured there was little time in which to think or reflect, and Gianna welcomed Annaliese, the part-time assistant who helped out in the boutique from ten-thirty to four, seven days a week.
It was an employment arrangement that worked well, and had done so for the past two years.
Attractive, intelligent, sunny-tempered, with a droll sense of humour, Annaliese was a superb salesperson and, importantly, dedicated.
‘Hi. One double-shot skim latte for madame.’
Delivering coffee, hot and strong, had become a welcome habit Annaliese had initiated during the first week of her employment.
‘Thanks.’ Gianna’s gratitude was genuine, and Annaliese offered a warm smile as she took the capped takeaway cup to the small back room. ‘Busy morning?’
The day brought several customers into the boutique. There were the serious buyers, and those who merely browsed, as well as a few regulars.
It was almost five when Gianna checked