Finding Margo
Authors: Susanne O'Leary
FINDING MARGO
By Susanne O’Leary
****
Copyright © 2010 by Susanne O’Leary
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Description:
When Margo misreads a roadmap while travelling by car through France, her husband Alan flies into one of his habitual rages. Tired of his constant bad moods, Margo slips away from him at a motorway café. She hitches a lift with a woman truck driver and escapes into the French countryside. What follows is adventure and romance far beyond her wildest dreams. Will Alan find her before she finds herself?
T
he silver BMW travelled smoothly along the motorway. The soft purring of the engine was barely audible over the Beethoven sonata that wafted from the CD player. The music and the gentle movement of the car made Margo drowsy as she looked idly at the French countryside gliding past the windows. She glanced at her husband to make sure he wasn’t falling asleep too but he looked reasonably alert and drove the big car expertly, as always.
They had arrived in Calais by ferry in the early morning and headed south straightaway to avoid the worst of the heat and traffic. It was late afternoon now and Margo was tired of concentrating on the map and directing Alan through the maze of motorways. She leaned her head against the soft leather of the headrest and closed her eyes. The road map and guidebook slid off her knees. As her head lolled forward, she realised falling asleep would be a bad idea. She opened her eyes, fighting to stay awake.
“Could we change the music?” she asked drowsily. “Or put the news on or something? I’m beginning to nod off here.”
Alan frowned without taking his eyes off the road. “You’d better not, or we’ll end up going the wrong way.”
“And that wouldn’t do, would it?” Margo said, imagining what would happen if they missed even one minute of the medical conference in Cannes.
“It certainly wouldn’t.”
“Maybe we can get the news on the BBC?” Margo put her hand out to switch the CD player to the radio setting.
“No, I like this,” Alan said in a voice that didn’t allow argument. “I find it relaxing while I drive.”
“OK.” Margo settled back into her seat again. Maybe I’ll feel less sleepy if I talk to him, she thought, trying to think of a topic of conversation. “Do you realise,” she said after a while, “that we haven’t been on a trip like this for over three years?”
“Three years?” Alan asked incredulously. “It couldn’t be that long.”
“It is.” Margo nodded. “The last time we went anywhere together was,” she thought for a minute, “America. We went to New York for that meeting. Don’t you remember that lovely weekend in the
Fall
?” she said with an exaggerated American accent. “We drove to Vermont and stayed in that cute little country inn and—”
“I got terrible backache from that horrible bed,” Alan grunted.
“That wasn’t from the bed. It was from making love in the bath,” Margo said with a little smile. “You got such cramp, remember?”
“God, yes. I had to go to hospital.”
“And we had to explain to that elderly nurse what you had been doing to be in such pain,” Margo laughed.
“I don’t know why we found it so funny,” Alan said.
Margo’s smile died on her lips as her thoughts went back to those happy days. We don’t laugh together like that anymore, she thought. She turned to look at Alan, admiring his profile. Still handsome, still the same tall frame, broad shoulders, and gleaming blond hair. He looks almost exactly as he did when we got married. It’s my fault, she thought. I haven’t managed to keep him interested. I haven’t made the effort to be fascinating and sexy and feminine and whatever else men want you to be. But I will, she promised herself. I’ll change my hair and buy some really sexy underwear. And now I have the chance. After all, this is France, what better place to get something really fabulous? We’re still young, she thought. Not even forty – we should be able to rekindle that burning flame. She felt a stir of excitement at the thought of surprising Alan.
“We should be there soon.” Alan’s voice dragged Margo out of her reverie.
“Mmm.”
“About twenty minutes, would you say?”
“Something like that.”
“Great.” Alan smiled and shifted his body in his seat. “I’m beginning to feel a little stiff.”
“But you’ll be able to have a swim in the hotel pool soon,” Margo said. “We’ll have plenty of time before dinner.”
“I know. I can’t wait. My back is really beginning to get to me. Maybe we shouldn’t have driven so far in one day.”
“That was your idea,” Margo reminded him. “I would have been quite prepared to stop much earlier.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, giving her a sideways glance. “I told you so? OK. I admit that it probably would have made more sense to have stopped earlier, but I’m not that bad. No worse than usual in any case.”
“If you took some exercise and tried to cut down on your workload—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he interrupted. “But you know I can’t work less at the moment. This break was only possible because of those cancellations and the fact that the conference is being held in Cannes this year. Which also gave us the opportunity to stay in this fantastic place on the way. And as you might have noticed, the traffic wasn’t as bad as you thought. We seem to have managed to get ahead of the posse. You did a good job of directing me.”
“I hope I can keep it up,” Margo said, leaning her head on the headrest again.
“So do I.” Alan paused and shot her another glance. “You weren’t thinking of taking a nap?” he asked, a hint of irritation in his voice. “You know I need you to keep an eye on the map.”
“I am,” Margo assured him, picking the books off the floor. “I have both the map and the guidebook right here.”
“Great. Just make sure you don’t miss the exit. It should be coming up shortly. As far as I can remember, we go up a hill and through a roundabout. Then I think there’s a right turn over a bridge, and we should be on the road straight to the hotel.”
“Mmm.” Margo stifled a yawn. “Sorry,” she laughed, “it’s the sun and the motion of the car. Makes me sleepy.”
“We’ll have dinner as soon as we arrive and then a swim and an early night,” Alan said.
“Good idea,” Margo agreed, beginning to look forward to the evening. And the next day, they would arrive in Cannes, and she would be able to relax, have some time on her own while he attended the conference. She would laze on the beach, swim, read, and maybe do some shopping. There was that nice lingerie shop just off the Croisette, where they had the most amazing things. She would buy that sexy underwear. Maybe I should go a bit kinky, she thought. That might do the trick...
“Exit 22,” Alan suddenly said as a road sign whizzed past. “Is that the one I should take?”
“Mmm? What? Exit 22?” Startled, Margo picked up the map. “No, it should say exit 8. Hold on, I’ll have a look.”
“Wake up!’ Alan shouted. “Tell me quick! What should I do? We’re coming up to the exit now!’
“No! Don’t take that one!’ Margo yelled. “It’s wrong. Keep going until I find out.” She studied the map with a feeling of dread as the car swept past the exit. “Oh God, I don’t believe it.”
“What?” Alan demanded.
“Well, there shouldn’t be an exit 22 here.” Her mouth suddenly felt dry and her hands clammy. “Unless...”
“Unless you’ve made a mistake again?”
“Yeah, well.” She swallowed nervously, staring at the map, trying to figure out how she could have got it so horribly wrong. “Oh God. I must have made a mistake back there at the spaghetti junction. It was so difficult to figure out...” Margo bit her lip, her stomach churning, ready for the stream of abuse she knew would come now.
“We’re on the wrong motorway?” Alan asked, his voice dangerously silky. “Are you telling me we’re going in the direction of Grenoble?”
“Uh, I’m afraid we are.”
Alan’s hands gripped the wheels, his knuckles white. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Fuck,” he muttered.
“Sorry,” Margo whispered.
“That junction you’re talking about, was that the one we went through just after Dijon? A fucking hour ago?”
“Yes,” she stammered. “Oh Alan, I’m really sorry.”
“Moron.”
“I know. It was really silly of me, but it was so confusing. And there were no proper signs and—”
“You stupid bitch! We have lost a full hour, do you realise that? And we’re nearly out of petrol as well. Shit! We’ll have to stop at the next petrol station. And then we’ll have to figure out how to get to where we’re supposed to be. We won’t be at the hotel until at least ten o’clock at this rate. Do you understand what you’ve done?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“I can’t hear you.”
“Yes,” Margo murmured, “I do understand. But I did say I was sorry.”
“Sorry? You think you can fix what you’ve done by just saying
sorry
?”
“I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“Yeah, right.”
“It was a
mistake
,” Margo whispered, her chin trembling.
“Mistake?” There was a pause and a sharp intake of breath. “A fucking mistake that has cost us half a day’s driving and God knows how much money in petrol. My back is killing me as well. You’re useless, do you know that? I should have known better than ask you to read a bloody map. You couldn’t direct a child on a tricycle to playschool!’
“I know. It was really stupid.”
“You bet it was.”
“Sorry,” Margo said again, even though she knew she sounded as stupid as he thought she was. Oh, how I hate this, she thought. How I hate his temper and his swearing and shouting. It always comes out of the blue like a bolt of lightning. One minute he’s so charming and sweet, and the next...
“How long have we been we married?” Alan suddenly demanded.
“What?”
“You heard. How long have we been married?”
“Ten years.”
Alan shook his head and sighed. “Ten years,” he snarled. “Ten
fucking
years. I can’t believe I’ve been stuck with such a halfwit for ten fucking years.”
Margo suddenly felt trapped. She wanted to open the car door and throw herself into the road, so strong was her urge to get away from him, from the venom in his voice, and the horrible insults. “Stop the car,” she said.
“Stop the car? What the fuck do you mean? I can’t stop in the middle of a three-lane motorway. I’m in the fast lane, can’t you see that?”
“I don’t care. I want to get out. I can’t stand sitting here while you go berserk.”
“What? Me? Berserk? What are you going on about now?”
“You know very well. You’re ranting and raving like a lunatic just because of one little—”
“Little?” he snapped. “You call that
little
? You had the map. You knew where we were going. Why the fuck couldn’t you manage to do the one thing that was required of you instead of going to sleep?”
“But I—” Margo stopped. She clamped her mouth shut, deciding not to talk to him until he had calmed down. What was the point? Arguing only made him worse. He’s so mean, she thought, hot tears stinging her eyes. So cruel and unforgiving. I know I was a little absentminded, but why can’t he be more easy going, more willing to forgive? Why can’t he understand how difficult it was to figure out that complicated mess on the map? Why couldn’t we laugh about it and try to solve the problem together? But no, that would be too much to expect. There was a brooding stillness in the car as the last bars of the piano sonata died away and the heavy trucks roared past them outside.