Stephanie was taking her morning coffee. Maddie was going to be an hour or so late, thanks to a dental appointment, but at that hour of the morning she didn’t expect the phone to be busy.
She had powered up her laptop and was online, glancing through a global news website. The article took up little more than an inch of text space. Had she not scrolled to the bottom of the page, she might never have seen it.
An international advisory group had been set up to gather views and opinions on humanitarian coherence and effectiveness. The appointment of Initiative Coordinator was announced, followed by a notice that the first focus group discussion was to take place next month.
Putting down her coffee, Stephanie stared at one line. Giancarlo’s name stood out as if it had been typed in bold letters.
The position had to be important if it merited publicity. He would be good at it, she thought, warmth radiating throughout her body. He had not only the passion, but also the strength and determination to effect positive change. At least that had been the case some ten years earlier, when full of outrageous indignation at man’s inhumanity to man, he had been driven to at least try.
Did he still feel the same way? Or had years of reality taken their toll?
She closed her laptop and sat back. Regardless, he was going to be in London.
She doubted it would be the first time since that day, so many years ago. Would he remember, though? She did. As clearly as if it were yesterday. A warm summer’s afternoon in Hyde Park and later the crowded pub in Soho, where she’d suggested he spend the night with her. It was the first—perhaps the only—time she had been in love. And then it was over. God, it was all so long ago.
She looked up, her thoughts far beyond the four walls of the drawing room and the rain lashing down outside.
Surely it wouldn’t be that difficult to find out where the conference was being held. She might even discover the hotel he was booked into.
After all these years it would be wonderful to see him again. They might bump into each other in the street. He would be stunned and then thrilled to see her. He would declare it the most amazing coincidence and insist they meet later for dinner. There was so much to catch up on.
She’d once searched Google images and found a recent photograph, so she knew he hadn’t changed a great deal. A little older of course, but then like most Italian men, maturity had made him more distinguished looking.
She caught herself and sighed.
What was the point? He was married. She might even be there with him. Sharing the limelight.
And if not?
Suppose they did meet. Then what? It was inevitable he would ask about her life—where she had been, what she had been doing during their years apart. What could she say?
While he had been out there making a positive impact on the lives of millions of people, she had become wealthy providing beautiful women to satisfy the desires of those who could afford her rates.
She could already see the emotions flashing across his face. First, wordless shock. Then horror, and finally disgust.
She looked around at the expensive office fittings. The expertly restored period furniture.
The reality was, she and Giancarlo had their chance a decade ago, and regardless of how she might feel, life rarely offered second chances.