“I’m not going to make it,” Chloe Flynt moaned
into the phone, each word dripping with despair and drama. “I’m
so bored.”
She was supposed to be in her oil painting class, but she couldn’t
summon the enthusiasm. Apart from Nude Study of the Male, she
wasn’t having nearly the fun she’d hoped. She glanced
out the window of her bedroom in the villa. The golden Umbrian
hills reclined under the sun as though they were enjoying a siesta.
That was the trouble with this place. It was too relaxed. Slow
meals, slow pace of life. No decent shopping for miles. Oh, the
sixteenth century villa was certainly lovely, but she rather fancied
that when she bolted from London and her broken engagement, she’d
have been better off heading to Milan or Rome. Or better yet,
Paris. Somewhere where there was some life.
Apart from the rather dishy Tuscan chef who loved nothing more
than to tempt her fickle palate, she wasn’t really enjoying
her newly chosen career as a painter.
“Of course you’re bored,” her friend Nicky
said in the nasal drawl that made her sound like Kiera Knightly
with a head cold, “Perhaps it was a little soon after breaking
off your engagement to be deciding on a career.”
“I haven’t any talent for painting, anyway,”
she said, staring dismally out of her window to the garden overlooking
the vineyard where eight easels were set up and seven painters
were dabbing at canvases with various levels of success. Her own
abandoned effort was shockingly bad, even from here she could
see that the ochre had been a mistake.
Hearing from Nicky about all the fun that was going on at home
in London, without her, only worsened her boredom.
“I can’t stand it,” she said suddenly, “I’m
going to have to quit.”
There was annoying laughter at the other end, “Of course
you are, silly. We’ve had bets on how long you’d last.
I lost my ten quid last Thursday. If you make it through the end
of the week, Gerald Barton-Hinks wins the pool.”
They were placing bets on how soon she’d quit? Really it
ought to inspire her to stay through to the end of the course,
four weeks from now, just to show them all she could do it.
She contemplated this option for a minute, then thought, sod
it, I’m not staying here another month for anything. Besides,
it was cheering to know that everyone at home missed her so much
they were making book on when she’d return. “Who wins
the pool if I quit today?” she asked.
“I think it’s Jack.”
Her older and extremely annoying brother who was extremely annoyingly
happy with his American chef girlfriend. “Perfect. Maybe
if he makes a profit he won’t be so shirty with me for throwing
more of daddy’s money down the drain.”
“Are we talking about the same Jack? Your brother Jack?
He adores you.”
“He’s horrible,” she said, pouting. How unkind
he’d been when she had to cancel her wedding at the last
minute.
“He’s not horrible. He thinks you should settle down
and stop acting irrationally, that’s all.”
“My engagement was recently broken,” she reminded
Nicky. “I think I’m entitled to act irrationally.”
Another laugh answered her. “That might have worked the
first time. You even managed it pretty well the second time, but
Chlo, three broken engagements in a row, well, it’s getting
to be a bad habit.”
She sighed, twisting the bracelet with the intertwining Cs around
her wrist. “I know. It’s just that I’ve got
such awful taste in men. Anyway, I’ve done with men. I’m
going to have a career instead. But what am I going to do? If
I don’t become a painter, which I can tell you isn’t
bloody likely, what sort of job would I like? Because I’m
going to have to work, you know. Daddy says that’s it. This
is my last chance.”
“Ouch. Nasty. But then you can always bring your dad around,
you know you can.” It was true enough, but lately, Daddy
had been very glum and had taken to turning out all the lights
at home to save on the electric. “Still, couldn’t
you manage four more weeks?”
Chloe glanced out the window again. She saw that the painters
were taking a break, stretching their pleasantly tired painting
arms no doubt. She noted that they all gathered around her easel
and Georgio, their teacher, was pointing with his brush at her
canvas, which elicited a riotous burst of laughter from the group.
She shook her head violently and said, “No. I can’t
stay another minute.” To emphasize her decision, she dragged
out the matched set of Louis Vuitton luggage that her first almost
husband had bought her and, holding the phone against her ear
with her shoulder, managed to wrestle the larger of the cases
onto the bed.
“Right then,” said Nicky, who was her best friend
for a reason. “If you can’t stay, you can’t.”
“It’s lovely having someone who truly understands
me. I tell you what, call in half a dozen of our friends -- the
ones with posh jobs. We’ll have an emergency summit meeting
when I get back.” She was beginning to feel excited. She
missed her friends, and someone was bound to know of some glamorous,
high-paying job she could do.
“An emergency summit meeting? Like at the U.N.?”
“With better food, better drink, and much better looking
delegates.”
Nicky was obviously flicking through her appointment diary, Chloe
could hear the pages turning. “I’ll see what I can
do.”
“Great. We can have the emergency summit right after my
surprise welcome home party.”
Happiness began to well inside Chloe like tears. She grabbed
her own appointment book. “I’ll get a flight out tomorrow.
Let’s say Friday for the surprise party. And Saturday morning
… no, that won’t work. Not after Friday night…better
make it Sunday brunch. We’ll meet for my career planning
emergency session then.”
