Finding Margo (3 page)

“Here we go,” Gráinne yelled as she put her foot on the accelerator. “Next stop, Paris.”

***

T
he truck shook and rattled as it made its way through the dark woods. They had left the motorway nearly an hour earlier, and Gráinne had explained that they would spend the night near a farm where they could let the horses out in a field, and Gráinne and Margo would sleep in the truck. Margo held onto the handle of the door, trying to keep herself steady, having absolutely no idea where they were. She had been trying to make polite conversation with Gráinne for a while, but now the CD player was on full blast, playing country and western music. Gráinne had smoked at least five cigarettes since the beginning of the journey, and the heat and the twisting motion of the truck combined with the smoke were beginning to make Margo feel queasy.

“Are we there yet?” she asked like a child when there was a lull in the music.

“Nope,” Gráinne said.

“Maybe we could stop for a moment?”

“What for?” Gráinne asked, the cigarette in the corner of her mouth, her eyes squinting through the smoke.

“I don’t know. Fresh air? Those cigarettes are making me sick.”

“You don’t say,” Gráinne muttered, but the cigarette stayed stuck in her mouth.

“Smoking is very bad for you,” Margo stated. “But I’m sure you’re well aware of that.”

“Yeah, right.”

“And passive smoking is just as bad.”

“Is that supposed to be a hint?”

“Maybe.” Margo shrugged and looked out the window, staring into the gathering dusk.

“You some kind of nurse?” Gráinne grunted.

“I’m a physiotherapist,” Margo replied. “I mean, I was. Before I got married.”

“I see. A fucking health freak.” Gráinne stubbed her cigarette out in the overflowing ashtray. “So you’re married, then?”

“Not anymore. And I don’t want to talk about it.”

“OK.” They drove in silence for a while. “He bought you that ring?” Gráinne asked after a few minutes.

“Who?”

“Your husband. Did he buy you that rock you have on your finger? Must be two carats at least.”

“Four,” Margo said and turned the ring around.

“Jesus. So what is he, some kind of millionaire?”

“Plastic surgeon.”

“No shit?”

“I don’t want to talk about him,” Margo snapped.

“OK. Sorry.”

“Never mind.”

“Right.”

They were silent again while the truck bounced on the uneven road.

“He’s dead,” Margo suddenly said into the darkness.

“What? Who? Who’s dead?”

“My husband.”

“That’s a pisser. When did he die?”

“Oh, a long time ago.”

“I’m sorry.” Gráinne took another cigarette out of the packet on the dashboard and lit it.

“Do you really have to do that?” Margo asked with a sigh.

“What?” Gráinne blew out a plume of smoke.

“Never mind. I suppose you’re going to smoke no matter what I say.”

“You bet.”

“But don’t you realise,” Margo insisted, “that you’re hooked on something highly addictive? A drug that will eventually kill you? Not to mention what it’s doing to your skin and your teeth. You have no idea how much better you would feel if you stopped. And if you changed your lifestyle just a little, cut down on fat and sugar, maybe did a little exercise, you could look—”

“Shut up!’ Gráinne shouted suddenly.

“What? You don’t want me to talk to you?”

“I don’t care about fucking lifestyles!’

“Yes, but—”

“If you don’t fucking well close your mouth, I will throw you out!’

“OK, don’t get excited,” Margo said. “I just thought I’d tell you—”

“Just shut the fuck up.”

“Charming,” Margo muttered to herself. “Lovely manners.”

Gráinne glared at her.

“OK. I won’t say another thing,” Margo promised.

“Good.”

The truck rattled on while they both stared out the window The potholes were becoming more frequent, making the truck bounce and lurch and Gráinne swear even louder.

“You know, you remind me of someone,” Margo said despite herself a little later.

“Who?” Gráinne demanded.

“My husband.”

“The one who died?”

“That’s right. You use exactly the same vocabulary. Amazing.”

“I talk like a fucking plastic surgeon, now?”

Margo smiled. “That’s right. Exactly like him.”

“Shit, that’s f—” Gráinne glanced at Margo. “OK, I get it.”

Margo leaned her back against the seat and closed her eyes. It’s a nightmare, she thought. I’m not in this horse truck with this weird woman. I’m in the hotel, I went to sleep, and had a really strange dream. There’ll be a knock on the door, and the waiter will bring us breakfast: coffee, orange juice, fresh croissants...

***

T
hey had met at work. Margo had been twenty-two, just qualified as a physiotherapist, and had started working at the orthopaedic ward in one of London’s biggest hospitals. She had been feeling very lost at first. When Ted, the registrar on her ward, asked her to join him at his table in the cafeteria on her second day, she was delighted. She took her tray and walked over to the table.

“Here,” Ted said and pulled out a chair, “sit down.”

“Thanks.” Margo sat down and smiled at him. “I hate eating on my own.”

“It’s always tough when you’re new,” he replied. “But I’m sure you’ll make friends very soon.”

“I hope so.”

“Of course you will.” He looked at her with admiration in his eyes. “I have to say you’re the best looking physio we’ve had for a long time.”

“Oh, that’s... I mean, thank you.”

“How about you and me—”

“Well, well, well,” a voice interrupted him. “What have we here?”

Margo looked up at the tall man standing by their table.

“Oh hello, Alan,” Ted murmured, sounding deflated. “Margo, this is Dr Hunter. He’s on Mr Major’s team.”

“Mr Major?” Margo asked, shaking the man’s hand. “The plastic surgeon?”

“That’s right,” Alan replied, sitting down beside Margo. “What’s your speciality, Margo?”

“I’m a physiotherapist. I’ve just started working in orthopaedics.”

“How nice,” Alan said and draped his arm across the back of her chair. “I’m very pleased to meet you. You have livened up an otherwise rather dull day. I love blondes with...” He looked into her eyes. “Dark green eyes.”

Suddenly a shrill bleep could be heard. “Damn.” Ted took out a pager from his pocket and got up from his seat. “Have to go. A patient in recovery kicking up a fuss. But I’ll see you later? Maybe we could go for a coffee or a drink or a pizza or...” He looked somewhat sheepishly at Margo. “Think about it. I’ll be in touch.”

Margo looked at Ted as he sprinted out of the cafeteria, his white coat flapping around his tall, skinny body. She turned back to find that Alan was still looking at her intently. There was an air of arrogance about his bearing and a hint of conceit in his slightly protruding pale blue eyes. Margo looked back at him levelly.

“So.” A little smile played on Alan’s lips. “Margo.”

“Yes?”

“Lovely name. Margo,” he said again, propping his chin in his hand. “You’re going to have dinner with me tonight.”

“What? I mean I don’t know if I’m—”

“Free?” He took her hand. “Of course you are.”

His touch made her feel both hot and cold at the same time. His eyes were hypnotic.

“All right,” she heard herself say. “I am free. I mean I will. Have dinner, I mean.”

He patted her hand and then let go of it. “Good girl.” He rose, put his stethoscope around his neck and buttoned his white coat. “Champagne at the Ritz?”

She laughed out loud, thinking he was joking.

He looked at her without smiling. “You do know where that is, don’t you?”

“The Ritz?” she stammered, feeling suddenly very stupid. “Of course, but—”

“Good. See you there at eight?”

“fine.”

“And we’ll have dinner somewhere nice and then go to a club. Wear something slinky.” He flashed her his practised smile, which was to become so familiar, and strode out of the cafeteria.

***

T
he truck bumped across cobblestones on the road that had suddenly become very narrow.

“We’re here,” Gráinne announced as they drove through a set of gates into a yard with an old barn and another gate that led to a field. “Finally.” She pulled up the truck and switched off the ignition. “Great. Now all we have to do is let out the horses and make sure they have hay and water, and then we can turn in for the night.” She stretched her arms above her head and yawned. “I sure am tired. What about you?”

“Exhausted,” Margo replied, leaning her head against the back of her seat.

“You look half dead,” Gráinne said with a little laugh. “But never mind, we’ll soon be able to nod off.” She opened the door and started to get out. “Give me a hand with the horses, will you? There is a pair of wellies behind your seat. Stick them on. I can’t see you going far in those bits of string you’re wearing.”

Margo glanced down at her Prada sandals. “You’re right. Not very practical. But I didn’t think I would be doing farm work when I put them on.”

“I suppose you thought you’d be swanning around Cannes.”

“Yes. Something like that.” Margo suddenly realised how different the evening would be if... “So what do you want me to do?” she asked, sliding off her seat onto the cobblestones.

“Put those wellies on like I told you, and come around the back of the truck,” Gráinne ordered. “I’ll take Daisy. She’s a bit of a bitch when she’s been tied up for a long time. Then you can lead Stan. He’s a darling. No problem at all. We’ll turn them out into this field here, see? And there’s hay in the barn, and I’ll check the water. Won’t take a minute.”

There was suddenly a commotion inside the truck, and a horse neighed loudly, then a kind of screaming. “Shut up, you bitch!’ Gráinne shouted. She lowered the ramp at the back of the truck and walked in. “Stay back,” she ordered, “she might decide to charge.” She swung back the partition to reveal a big black horse trying its best to break loose. “There now,” Gráinne soothed, untying the rope that was attached to a ring in the wall. “Calm down.” The horse rose on its hind legs and kicked at Gráinne, who jumped back. “Shit! Will you stand, you bastard!’

Margo backed away as Gráinne led the frisky mare out of the truck and into the small paddock. The horse broke free just as they were inside the gate and, rearing and bucking, galloped into the paddock where it proceeded to roll in the dust.

“OK. I’ll just check the water trough,” Gráinne said. “Go get Stan, will you?”

“Oh but, I’m not sure if...” Margo felt more like hiding behind the barn than approaching the other horse.

“Don’t worry. He’s as good as gold,” Gráinne assured her. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Margo tiptoed into the truck and peeked over the edge of the other partition. A pair of big brown eyes met her gaze. She slowly opened the partition, ready to flee at the slightest hint of trouble. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and her sweaty hands slipped on the latch. The big chestnut stretched his head toward her and nuzzled her cheek. His gentle eyes met hers, and Margo knew he wouldn’t cause her any problems.

“Hello, Stan,” she murmured. “What a nice boy you are.” Stan’s warm breath on her face, and the velvet touch of his muzzle suddenly felt very comforting. As Margo put her hand on his silky neck and breathed in the horsy smell, she was instantly transported to pony camp when she was a child. She put both her arms around the horse’s neck and her face against his shoulder. “Oh, Stan,” she sighed. “You have no idea how nice it is to meet you.” Stan sighed, shifted his weight, and blew into her hair. Margo stood back. “I’ll take you outside now, darling,” she said, “and you’ll get some nice hay and some fresh water. Then you can sleep under the stars until tomorrow. How’s that?”

“Have you got a grip on that horse yet?” Gráinne yelled from the paddock. “Get him out of the truck before tomorrow, will ya?”

Margo untied the rope and led Stan down the ramp and into the paddock where Daisy was trotting around, rolling her eyes.

“Great,” Gráinne said when Margo had let Stan loose and closed the gate. “That’s them settled. Now we can have a bite to eat and then organise the sleeping arrangements.”

“Eat?” Margo said, suddenly realising she was very hungry. “Is there a village nearby? Maybe we can have dinner there, then?”

“Nah,” Gráinne shook her head. “The nearest village is miles away. And there’s no restaurant there, only a kind of bar. But I have some stuff I bought this morning. Sausages, cheese, a bit of bread and some apples. That do ya?”

“Well, if you’re sure there’s enough for both of us?” Margo said. “I wouldn’t want to—”

“No bother. There’s plenty.”

“Oh, good. But—”

“What?”

“Is there...” Margo hesitated. “Would there be a—bathroom around here?”

Gráinne laughed raucously. “Bathroom? Jesus, where do you think you are, the bloody Hilton? If you need to go for a pee, you have to go in the bushes. And there’s a stream down the hill, just behind those trees there. Very popular with the ducks and not bad if you want to wash.”

“Oh great.” Margo felt suddenly more alert at the thought of cool water against her hot, sticky skin. She took her bags and started to walk toward the trees.

“Don’t worry about stripping off,” Gráinne called after her. “There’s no one around, and the cows have seen everything by now.”

Margo stopped. “But who owns this place? Is there no farm house or people looking after the animals?”

“It belongs to the château. You can see it from the hill on the other side of the stream.”

***

A
s she walked toward the stream, Margo glimpsed the towers of the château against the darkening summer sky. A soft breeze lifted her hair and caressed her face. She enjoyed the coolness and the smell of flowers and grass. A few stars glinted in the sky, and the thin crescent of a new moon rose above the trees. The sound of water gurgling over a weir into the stream was enticing in the hot evening. Margo walked down to the edge of the water. She took off the wellies, pulled her T-shirt over her head, and stepped out of her trousers. Her bra was stuck to her skin; she took it off with a sigh of relief and dropped it onto the pile of clothes. She started to ease her knickers over her hips, but froze when she heard Gráinne coming down the path. In the cover of the near darkness, Margo quickly finished undressing and stepped into the black water. She sighed happily as she sank down into the weir and swam away from the edge. She turned onto her back and floated, her hair in the cool water, her face to the sky. “Heaven,” she murmured to herself. “This is truly heaven.”