Read Online One Way or Another: A Novel by Elizabeth Adler - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Adler
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driving her crazy—well Lucy, anyhow—and she really enjoyed her husband: his company, his smile, his caring demeanor. How lovely her life was.
Until, quite suddenly, on a small twisting mountain road driving over the Pyrenees back from Spain to France, it wasn’t. One mistake, on her part, one tiny turn too wide. And it was all over.
Martha was fourteen at the time, and she made herself believe her mother was still with her, always there, invisible but protective. It was years before she could bring herself to face the truth and simply get on with her own life, something she found she was, quite suddenly, enjoying again. It was correct, the old saying, life must go on.
The girls continued to live at Patrons. Her father’s sister moved in, along with her husband and a positive tribe of children, aged four to sixteen. They took over the orphaned girls’ lives; saw them through schools, first dates, arguments, and illnesses, and somehow they all muddled through, successfully, as it turned out.
Sarah, Martha’s eldest sister, was studious. From playing childhood doctors and nurses she’d gone on to become a well-respected pediatrician, putting her love and knowledge into helping other people’s children while having none of her own. She claimed to be too busy for marriage, and perhaps she was right.
Martha was puzzled about what to do when she left school. The university degree didn’t seem to help much in the arts, to which she was inclined, so she got a job in an interior design store catering to wealthy clients, where she was the coffee girl/errand runner/folder of bolts of fabric and dropper-off of stuff in taxis, learning on the job.
Three years and three different boyfriends later, she was asked by a friend’s mother to redesign her bathroom, make it larger, grander. She was able to do that and she did it well. “So now let’s do over the kitchen,” the friend said. It had taken off from there with recommendations from friends, until she made the time for a proper design course and became a professional. Martha wanted to call her company Patrons Pleasure but was warned it sounded like a sex shop. She thought about Martha Designs but realized there was already a famous Martha in the same field. Finally she ended up, simply, as Patrons.
She was young, connected, attractive, and in demand. Life was good to her. And eventually, she met Marco in the antique store. It was the old hook, line, and sinker.
Martha was no one-night-stand woman but the sexual attraction was mutual, and high octane. When Marco sat next to her in that coffee shop, Martha had to stop herself from reaching out to touch him, to run her fingers over his sexy mouth, to put her arms round his neck, to be close to him.
Half an hour later they left together. Forty minutes later they were in bed—well, that is, lying together on the mattress on the floor of his messy studio, naked, skin on skin, body on body, mouth on mouth. She wished it would never end. And it had not. For which both she, and he, thanked God.
Now, back in New York, she wanted to get the next flight out back to Turkey, to be with Marco anywhere in the world. She knew he wouldn’t be coming home any time soon. He was too obsessed with the girl he believed he had seen drown. She hoped he was wrong.
Her phone beeped. It was her friend at Cartier in Paris. He told her the necklace with the initials had been bought by an Argentinian oil company. It had been picked up from the store by a documented messenger and delivered to a suite at the Plaza Athenée hotel, and signed for by a young woman employed as an assistant by that company.
The company’s records were brief: headquarters a PO address in Cairo, a second in Buenos Aires. But there were no company records filed and no one knew who the directors or owners of the company might be. It was a mystery, as was the necklace.
14
When he wasn’t at his English house, Ahmet Ghulbian lived mostly on his yacht, the MV Lady
Until, quite suddenly, on a small twisting mountain road driving over the Pyrenees back from Spain to France, it wasn’t. One mistake, on her part, one tiny turn too wide. And it was all over.
Martha was fourteen at the time, and she made herself believe her mother was still with her, always there, invisible but protective. It was years before she could bring herself to face the truth and simply get on with her own life, something she found she was, quite suddenly, enjoying again. It was correct, the old saying, life must go on.
The girls continued to live at Patrons. Her father’s sister moved in, along with her husband and a positive tribe of children, aged four to sixteen. They took over the orphaned girls’ lives; saw them through schools, first dates, arguments, and illnesses, and somehow they all muddled through, successfully, as it turned out.
Sarah, Martha’s eldest sister, was studious. From playing childhood doctors and nurses she’d gone on to become a well-respected pediatrician, putting her love and knowledge into helping other people’s children while having none of her own. She claimed to be too busy for marriage, and perhaps she was right.
Martha was puzzled about what to do when she left school. The university degree didn’t seem to help much in the arts, to which she was inclined, so she got a job in an interior design store catering to wealthy clients, where she was the coffee girl/errand runner/folder of bolts of fabric and dropper-off of stuff in taxis, learning on the job.
Three years and three different boyfriends later, she was asked by a friend’s mother to redesign her bathroom, make it larger, grander. She was able to do that and she did it well. “So now let’s do over the kitchen,” the friend said. It had taken off from there with recommendations from friends, until she made the time for a proper design course and became a professional. Martha wanted to call her company Patrons Pleasure but was warned it sounded like a sex shop. She thought about Martha Designs but realized there was already a famous Martha in the same field. Finally she ended up, simply, as Patrons.
She was young, connected, attractive, and in demand. Life was good to her. And eventually, she met Marco in the antique store. It was the old hook, line, and sinker.
Martha was no one-night-stand woman but the sexual attraction was mutual, and high octane. When Marco sat next to her in that coffee shop, Martha had to stop herself from reaching out to touch him, to run her fingers over his sexy mouth, to put her arms round his neck, to be close to him.
Half an hour later they left together. Forty minutes later they were in bed—well, that is, lying together on the mattress on the floor of his messy studio, naked, skin on skin, body on body, mouth on mouth. She wished it would never end. And it had not. For which both she, and he, thanked God.
Now, back in New York, she wanted to get the next flight out back to Turkey, to be with Marco anywhere in the world. She knew he wouldn’t be coming home any time soon. He was too obsessed with the girl he believed he had seen drown. She hoped he was wrong.
Her phone beeped. It was her friend at Cartier in Paris. He told her the necklace with the initials had been bought by an Argentinian oil company. It had been picked up from the store by a documented messenger and delivered to a suite at the Plaza Athenée hotel, and signed for by a young woman employed as an assistant by that company.
The company’s records were brief: headquarters a PO address in Cairo, a second in Buenos Aires. But there were no company records filed and no one knew who the directors or owners of the company might be. It was a mystery, as was the necklace.
14
When he wasn’t at his English house, Ahmet Ghulbian lived mostly on his yacht, the MV Lady
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