Dark Oasis

by Dulcie M. Stone

  Philip took his place at her side. “Pleased to …”

  “The pleasure’s all yours.” Alison bared perfect white teeth. “Hi.” Angus shook the young man’s hand.

  “Philip’s been looking forward to meeting you both.” She patted her escort’s hand. “Haven’t you, dear.”

  “I’ve heard a lot.”

  “Of course you have,” Alison interrupted. “Our mother talks of nothing but her children. Don’t you, Mother.”

  Alison’s phrasing, manner of speech, intonation and cheerful sarcasm were a perfect imitation of her mother’s.

  “Well done, dear,” she laughed. “Don’t you think so, Philip? Alison’s such a …”

  “We’ve ordered.” Angus quickly interposed. “We hope you don’t mind, Mum. We have to leave soon. We’ve cut a late lecture as it is.”

  “No problem.” She turned her full attention to the menu, ordered salmon salad, waited for her escort to order his medium rare steak, and lazily inspected the room. “Not many in tonight.”

  “What do you mean – no problem?” Alison’s dark eyes fired. “I thought there was a particular reason you wanted us here tonight.”

  “Did I say so?”

  “It’s a bit of a hassle, Mum.” Angus anxiously headed off his sister. “We really should be at a lecture. We only came because we thought it had to be important.”

  “I’ll tell your father you went out of your way,” she smiled and patted his hand. So like Rick. He wasn’t her favourite, how could he be? But his gentleness and his blonde good looks would always move her. “When I see him, I’ll be sure to tell him.”

  “There is a particular reason,” Philip was surprisingly serious. “Your mother and I plan to …”

  “So you aren’t going back, Mum!” Alison’s sarcasm was biting. She’d heard this, too, before. “There’s a first time for everything.”

  “Cut it out, Alison.” Angus begged.

  “Cut it out, Alison,” she softly echoed. “Not in front of strangers.” “This stranger might be interested,” Alison retorted. “Are you interested, Philip? It is Philip? Or would you prefer Phil?” The young man was uncomfortable.

  “Actually, Alison,” she answered. “He prefers Philip. So do I. As for me going back, Philip could be interested. He’s not a stranger. It’s a fair question.”

  “Always has been,” Alison sneered. “One day you’ll really get around to leaving him.”

  “Agreed, Alison. It’s always been on the cards. One day I’ll leave the golden goose.”

  “Who lays lots of golden eggs,” Alison smirked.

  “It’s not the money, is it, Mum?” Angus glared at his sister. “It can’t be. Even though you hate everything about home. Except … except …”

  “Do I stay for Jess? You shouldn’t be embarrassed, dear. That’s what you were about to say.”

  “It’s not us you dote on,” Alison was very bitter. “One thing you can be bloody sure of – we’re not going back. Neither of us.”

  “I’ve never been there.” Philip attempted intervention. “They tell me …”

  “You do what you want, Mum.” Alison interrupted. “You will anyway. I’m damned if I know why you brought us out for this.”

  “That will be enough, Alison,” she warned. “Say goodnight before you really make a fool of yourself.”

  “There’s nothing different here.” Alison threw her napkin across the table, and left.

  “Sorry, Mum.” Kissing her, Angus followed.

  “Poor dears,” she theatrically grimaced. “At least I try.”

  “They’re not very nice to you, Gail.” Philip refilled her wine glass.

  “Of course not.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “It’s a game we all play. You should see us on our home ground.”

  “I reckon I’ll pass.”

  “Wise fellow.”

  The meal arrived. They ate without conversation until, pushing his empty plate away, Philip asked, “Why did you bring me here with you?”

  “You didn’t appreciate hearing us row in public?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think my children rattled you.”

  “Of course they did. You wanted them to. When will you get it into your head that I’m no gigolo? I want a stable relationship with you.”

  “With me? Or with my money? Correction – Jake’s money.”

  “It’s a miracle your children still talk to you,” he snapped. “You really are a bitch.”

  “But good in bed.”

  He relented. “You know it’s more than that.”

  “I’m sorry, Phil,” she raised her glass. “Apologies. I don’t deserve you.”

  “So why do you go out of your way to alienate me?”

  She frowned, not answering.

  “You don’t like being serious.”

  She shrugged. “Who does?”

  “Not you. So don’t be serious,” he taunted. “I’m beginning to wonder if you know how.”

  “Oh my dear! You wouldn’t want to know the serious me.”

  “Try me.”

  She emptied her wine glass.

  The young man raised his hand to beckon the waiter.

  “Don’t …” She arrested his hand.

  The waiter moved on.

  “My dear Philip,” she capitulated. “You know why I go out of my way to alienate you. I’m afraid of commitment. Are you satisfied?”

  “You’re learning.”

  “I’m learning more about myself than I want to know. Why did I ever take up with you? If I’d known you were a psych freak.”

  “But you didn’t. And I am. That being the case, I have no intention of allowing your insults to blind me to your pain. Whatever that pain is.”

  She turned away.

  “Gail – let me help.”

  “There’s nothing to help.”

  “So – do as your children suggest. Don’t go back. Forget the golden goose. You can survive. A woman like you.”

  “You don’t even know what kind of woman I am.”

  “I’m good at my job, you know.”

  “Which means?”

  “Which means I just learned a lot about you.”

  “Which you think I regret?” She smiled easily, apparently unmoved.

  “Exactly.”

  Carefully, the smile still in place, she folded her napkin, set it on the plate, and collected her handbag. “I think this has to be goodbye, Philip. Don’t you?”

  “No long-term commitment?”

  “Not to you.”

  He leaned across to take her reluctant hand in his. “But that wasn’t your intention when you invited your children here to meet me, was it?”

  She hesitated.

  “Gail?”

  Her response was indirect, “Do you mind if we finish our dinner?”

  Her partner beckoned the waiter, ordered dessert, another bottle of wine, maintained innocuous conversation until the meal was ended, the bill presented, and the tip in place with the fee on the plate.

  By unspoken consent, they exited the restaurant and walked to the waiting car – a battered Ford; neither new nor grand. After settling her in the passenger seat, the young man took his place behind the wheel. He made no attempt to start the car.

  “Damn it, Phil,” she secured the seat belt. “Why don’t you just let well alone?”

  “I thought I’d made myself clear.”

  “You even sound like a bloody professor.” She was immediately contrite. “Sorry, you’re right. I’m a bitch. You’re no gigolo. I’m good in bed. So are you. You want commitment. I don’t.”

  “True. All of the above.” Still, he was not smiling. “All of the above. But I will not and I cannot keep this up.”

  How could she blame him? Or even wish otherwise? It was what was what made him the man he was.

  “You have to understand, Gail. I don’t expect full commitment. But I will not play this game any more. I will not go
on as we are. It’s dishonest. Either you be square with me and leave him. Or if you seriously want this to be goodbye – get out of the car.”

  “In my own good time.” She did not move.

  “Then I would appreciate an answer.”

  “To what? Specifically?”

  “Specifically? What changed tonight?”

  “Not a damned thing.”

  “You’re the best liar I know,” he conceded. “The question stands. You invited your kids to meet me because you wanted them to meet me.”

  “And they did. So?”

  “So then, suddenly, you’re on your way. End of the road for us.”

  “You’re the psychologist. You tell me.”

  “Why? Are you afraid to say the words?”

  “I’ll tell you what,” she retorted. “I’ll get Jake to send you a cheque for this consultation. How about that?”

  He was not offended. “You could stay. You could bring Jess down here. You’ve got grounds for divorce. As for finance, it shouldn’t matter one way or the other. You’d be free.”

  “You’re not proposing marriage?” She teased.

  “I’m proposing nothing that has anything to do with me. This is about you – and your kids. Give them a break. Free them too.”

  “They’re doing fine.”

  “It doesn’t sound like it.”

  “God, Phil! That’s going to be one hell of a big cheque. Analysing all the bloody family. What about taking on Jake?”

  He turned the key in the ignition, the motor turned over. He reached for the gears.

  “Turn it off,” she begged. “The trapped animal attacks. Is that what I’m doing?”

  He turned the motor off. “You’re attacking the wrong person. I’m not the trapper.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Agreed.”

  He let the silence stand.

  Around the stationary car, mid-evening traffic went about its mid-evening business. Until the unnatural silence inside the car was broken by the surreptitious sound of sobbing.

  “Let it out, Gail,” he held her. “You’re permitted to cry.”

  She dabbed furiously at the tears.

  “I hate to see you hurting so much,” he consoled. “Talk to me.”

  “I can’t …”

  “You can’t keep this up, Gail. You shouldn’t go back.”

  “I have to.”

  “I don’t understand. Why do you keep going back?”

  “You want the truth?”

  “What else?”

  “You know better, Philip. The truth and I are happy strangers.”

  “Try. I’m listening. I won’t hurt you.”

  “The truth – as a parting gift? Why not?”

  “Perhaps it will be your gift to yourself.”

  Angry, she pushed him away. “That’s you, Phil. Forever on the bloody job.”

  “Which is why …”

  “It’s why this is goodbye. So why not a parting gift? For both of us?”

  “I wish you’d reconsider,” he protested.

  “You want the truth?” she taunted. “I’m damned if I know the truth. I’m damned if I know why I keep going back. I can’t help it. I try to get away. I honestly try.”

  “Now that,” he gently acknowledged, “I do believe.”

  “Silly you.”

  “I know,” he admitted. “This much I do get – you’d like to get away.”

  “But …”

  “But I’d analyse you for years before either of us would even begin to get at your truth. Isn’t that so?”

  “Well done, sir.”

  “Now you’re doing what I believe you always do. You’re finding an excuse not to get too close. This time your excuse is my profession.” He restarted the motor. “I’ll drop you off.”

  They didn’t talk during short drive through the city. There was nothing to say. Exiting the car at the hotel, she watched the glow of the tail-light merge with the traffic. What had she done? Don’t think, Gail …

  Passing the reception desk, where her key waited, she went to the deserted mid-evening lounge.

  Immediately Luca was at her side. “Mrs Campbell? Can I get you something?”

  “Whisky. On ice. No frills. Thank you Luca.”

  Surprised, he asked, “Are you all right?”

  “No, old friend.” Pretence was not needed. In all the years she’d been coming here, Luca was the single certainty. Ownership had changed hands several times, the building had been redecorated ad infinitum, the staff had been coming and going as erratically as wind-ravaged leaves in a dust storm. But Luca remained. No one, it seemed, dared retrench Luca. Which was precisely why she kept coming to the hotel that had long ago lost its glamorous reputation.

  As always, he was attentive but unobtrusive. When she ordered her third whisky, it wasn’t his frown but the merest hint of hesitance that caused her to look up. “You’re right,” she smiled. “No more whisky.”

  “Perhaps one of my special coffees, Mrs Campbell?”

  “With acres of cream. What a good idea. Thank you, Luca.” She paused, before adding, “Again.”

  His answering smile was grandfatherly. So like her father. Gentle, thoughtful, perceptive, caring. So like Philip wanted to be. There was still time, time to telephone Philip, to apologise, to change course, to travel a happier road.

  Within a few minutes the coffee, whipped cream piled high, was at her side; and Luca not in sight. Nor anyone else. No one to advise to counsel to manipulate to cajole to intimidate. What better place to decide her life than here in an empty hotel lounge? Whatever happened from this moment on would be on her own head.

  Think carefully, Gail. On two whiskies and a coffee? Stop it! No excuses tonight. Whatever she decided, tonight there would be no external influence. Not even strong alcohol. Two whiskies, after all these years, were as impotent as a glass of coloured water. If ever there was a time and a place for this particular decision, it was here; and now.

  To Philip, she’d admitted her hatred of Belleville, her bewilderment at its compulsion, her inability to escape. It was the truth. But why was it the truth? Don’t think …

  She must. This was a night for choices. Introspection had been ruthlessly held at bay for too many years, for a life time. Following the first intense years in Belleville, when the goals had been as sharp and pure and clear as the valuable diamonds in her jewel box, she’d muddied the waters. Why? Easy. She’d found power. She’d embraced it. Not for what it bought, not for what it brought. Though it bought beautiful things and brought influence, she needed, really needed, neither.

  So why had she compromised the clarity of pursuing revenge by pursuing power? Because power would speed revenge? Maybe. Yet she hadn’t used it for revenge. She’d used power only to win more power. Was that why she was turning away from happiness? Was that why she kept returning to the life, the place, she hated?

  She loved power for itself! For the feel of it! For the thrill of conquering an adversary, neutering a threat, winning disciples. In the last decade she’d had chances to hurt Jake, many. She’d not used them.

  ‘I’d analyse you for years before either of us would even begin to get at your truth.’ Philip had been right. She didn’t even begin to understand herself. She’d never tried.

  Sitting alone in the second-rate lounge of the second-rate hotel, she resolutely reawakened memory, reignited rage, exhumed the reasons for revenge. She gave them free reign, looked into their depths. And then, because she was no longer young, no longer impotent, and no longer acutely sensitive, she slammed memory’s door.

  What sane woman would go back to there? To the hatred and rage that would destroy no one but herself. The Campbell influence permeated every corner of the community; she knew because she’d used it. She’d won power. But Jake’s power was supreme. There was no one who could not be cajoled, or bewitched, or frightened, or threatened into doing exactly what Jake wanted done.

  Why not admit it? Why n
ot let go? She had all she was ever going to get out of the Campbells – three beautiful children and, if she played her cards as efficiently as she’d learned to do, enough money to live comfortably. Philip, or someone like him, was not even a factor. Either she would, or she wouldn’t, tie herself to another man. The only option was to leave, to forget revenge, to forget the ugly past and to grab freedom with both hands.

  As for Rick, their brief time together was the best of the past. That truth lay in Jess’s gentleness; she was her father’s child. Clever Jake. He’d manipulated her as he did everyone. She’d been persuaded to doubt Rick only because of her own guilt. That, too, was a memory she’d run from. No more.

  She left the lounge. At the reception desk, coping with late home-comers also waiting for their room keys, were Luca and two assistants. Damn it! If she didn’t phone Jake or Philip soon, she’d have to leave it until tomorrow. Easing herself into the waiting line, she caught Luca’s eye.

  “Ah! Mrs Campbell!” His reaction was immediate. “Your key?”

  “If you please, Luca.”

  “Most certainly, Mrs Campbell.” Abandoning the young man he was attending, he turned to the key board.

  “Hang on!” The young man protested. “What about me?”

  Luca impassively selected the key.

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” The young man turned on her. “I’ve been waiting here ten minutes. Wait your turn like the rest of us!”

  “I am in a hurry.”

  “Your key, Mrs Campbell.” Luca placed the key on the desk.

  Thanking him, she smiled at the young man. “Please accept my apologies. I’m sorry to have upset you. I have to make an urgent phone call.”

  “Mrs Campbell!” Luca was aghast. “Apologies are not necessary.” “It’s all right, Luca …”

  “On the contrary, Mrs Campbell,” Luca benevolently chided, “it is by no means all right. The hotel regrets any inconvenience. Young man! You would be wise in the future to find other accommodation.”

  Moments later the young man joined her in the elevator. At the fourth floor, the site of low-budget rooms, the young man exited. She pressed the button to the upper floor. The door began to slide shut. The young man held it open.