The next day, Rachel arrived at the office later than usual. That’s the price you pay for working too late, she thought and sat down behind her desk. She pushed back in her chair, enjoying the comfort of the soft leather against her skin, and brought the cup to her nose, inhaling the rich aroma of the hot coffee. The muted sounds of ringing phones and expensive CAD/CAM equipment buzzing busily in the background bore testimony to the team of Swift & Simon’s staff, hard at work on one of the many architecture projects awarded to their firm.
She glanced with pride at the activities on the other side of her office’s thick glass panels, a soft satisfactory smile on her lips. Her career had finally taken flight again. She was happy again — happy for the first time in a long time. Her professional life was on track, and the fledgling business she and Peter started three years ago was finally beginning to pay off. The culture they had created of treating their clients as the single most important aspect of their business was showing results. The steady growth in business over the last eighteen months had made it possible for them to build a small but successful architecture firm right in the heart of London. Even after all these months, each morning as she stepped into their offices, her chest would swell with warm pride as she was greeted by the small group of happy people working together.
But it was the Léon project that made her heart pump faster. News of Swift & Simon winning the work had reached the streets, and a couple of the more established architecture firms in the city were quick to indicate a willingness to partner with Swift & Simon on future work. It was especially sweet for Peter, for they had won the contract from under the noses of MSC, his previous employer and the most prestigious architecture firm in London. The increased workload of the Léon project took up every spare minute of her day, but despite the long hours, she often caught herself smiling as she pondered a design or calculated important load-bearing points.
Then there is my personal life, she thought. She shifted in her chair. Not enjoying the coffee anymore, she pushed the cup aside, a small frown on her brow.
That side of her life would soon change for the better — especially with the news she’d received from her lawyer last week. The court date for the obligatory appearance was set for the week before she left for France.
Divorced — finally.
She mouthed the strange word, experimenting, remembering the mixed feelings that rushed through her mind when she first heard those words from her lawyer. At first, all she experienced was relief — relief it was finally over. Then came sadness. She and Stuart had created two beautiful children. But he didn’t see it that way. And she should have been more vigilant to the early warning signs.
Stuart first pursued a career as a professional tennis player, but a nasty back injury put an end to that. While Rachel worked hard at establishing her career as a new, young architect, he struggled to find direction after his injury, eventually setting his sights on photography. She achieved early success in her career, but he struggled in the tough world of professional photography.
Then Stuart lost both his parents when an Air France aircraft plunged into the Atlantic Ocean, hours after taking off from Brazil, killing all 216 passengers onboard. Ignoring her instincts and overwhelmed by sympathy, she married Stuart three months later on a hot, September afternoon.
She married out of sympathy. Sympathy — it felt almost alien to think that such an emotion could drive her into the arms of a man. How bizarre. Imagine feeling sympathy for someone like Alain.
“Alain,” she whispered his name. Rachel bit her lower lip in thought. She had tried her best to remove all memories of Alain from her mind. For months now, she had wrestled down any thoughts of Alain and banned them from her head. But they kept on coming back.
At first she tried to reason that it was purely her physical attraction to him. After all, the man had a lovely physique. A godlike face and an Olympian’s body — how unfair. The physical enjoyment and pleasure she enjoyed at his strong, gentle hands — the deep, hidden needs he coaxed from her body with his wicked, clever tongue — all those passions she could understand and explain to herself. It was all just physical. Three years of celibacy will do that to you, she thought wryly.
She was a young, healthy woman. Her body craved intimacy. But brushing that aside, she couldn’t deny the emotional connection they’d made and the immense pleasure she experienced in his company.
His wit — his intelligence. The love for art they shared. The long, easy conversations they’d had, and she smiled at the memory of one of the many fascinating discussions they shared during their brief relationship.
A feeling of deep loss spilled over her at the memory of how safe and protected Alain made her feel in those two short days. And she missed that so much in her life. Then the dark, painful memory of their last night together caused her to swallow hard.
Should I let him know about my divorce? Maybe that would change things?
No, he acted like a lunatic — there is no excuse for that kind of behavior. “What a Neanderthal.” Rachel voiced the angry words and clenched her jaw. How could any man do that to her? How dare he cast her aside like an old, broken toy, presumptuously assuming she’s immoral.
“Good riddance, Rach — ” She jumped at the phone ringing at her desk, interrupting her thoughts. Then, glancing at her watch, she smiled at the realization that her conference call with Eugene Léon was about to start.
“Bonjour, Eugene. Comment ça va? How is my favorite client today?” she sang into the speakerphone and flipped open her laptop, switching smartly to the electronic file containing the latest progress report.
“Oh, Rachel, you make an old man’s heart jump.”
In the span of an hour, Rachel stepped Eugene methodically through the three draft proposals they had prepared for his consideration. Eugene would have to decide on one of the schematic designs, and once agreed, the Swift & Simon team would shift into gear to create the blueprint designs. But Eugene wanted absolute clarity before making his decision, and he had several pertinent questions on the various aspects of the designs.
“I will give you my final answer by Monday,” he stated when their meeting finally started winding down. “When were you planning to be down here?”
“I’m moving into the house next Wednesday, Eugene — lock, stock, and barrel.”
“I will come over to welcome you personally,” he declared before ringing off.