Chapter 1

Fiona clattered into the garage, Slim thought, 'like a Spanish galleon under full sail.' She immediately strode to her car, a neat little Alfa, and stared in the window before opening the driver's door.

Slim watched bemused as his two apprentice mechanics scattered to the back of the workshop to find something to occupy themselves. 'No-one wanted to deal with this bitch, ' he grinned to himself.

"Mr Hochstetter!" Fiona growled. "I hope your staff haven't left any grease?"

"No, madam," he replied. "I serviced this myself."

He was lying, of course, but if she was to find anything amiss he wasn't going to let her take it out on his boys.

"Very good!" she told him, unsmiling. "You take credit cards?"

"Sure - Amex, Visa?"

"Amex," she snorted back, as if the thought of having anything as lowly as a Visa was insulting.

She followed Slim to the counter and presented her card - a Gold one.

"Declined!" he told her, concerned. It was a genuine shock. He knew the lady was high class - worked for a big company as a legal eagle.

"Bugger!" she swore with conviction. "Clearly there's been some sort of screw up. What's the bill?"

"$464."

"Good grief, man, what did you do with it?"

"Standard service, madam. They're an expensive make of car. If you'd like to check the service sheet?"

Fiona sighed heavily. She opened her purse with a snap and plunged her hand in. "I don't usually carry that amount of cash. Try this one," she said, brandishing a Diner's Club.

"No good!" Slim told her. He was now worried. The lady looked to be hard up. On the other hand, she was a good customer with a good job. He'd no doubt she'd be good for the bill - he just didn't want the hassle.

"I'll have to go to the bank," she declared.

"No problem," Slim told her. "Take your car and drop the bill in later. I know I can trust you."

He managed a weak smile. In fact, he wasn't that comfortable with the idea, but didn't want to lose her business by quibbling over some temporary hiccup.

"That's very kind of you." Fiona briefly smiled before taking the offered keys. Slim watched her as she clattered to the Alfa and got in. She was a little less haughty, now, he mused, but still kept her dignity.

When Fiona pulled up her drive she was shaking - shaking with embarrassment - shaking with apprehension. She stormed inside and went straight to the phone. It was silent - the dial tone ominously absent.

She retrieved the mobile from her bag - it was a company one - and quickly called her ex husband. It went straight to his answer-phone.

"Listen, you arsehole, you can't do this to me. We have an agreement. Pay my credit cards and phone bill or I'll have you back in court." She slammed the phone down on the counter and threw herself into the arm chair. She thought about calling her lawyer, but decided against it. She'd had enough for the day and just wanted to rest.

It had been over a year since her husband had walked out on her - left her for a Russian girl he'd met on the Internet. Nine months of legal wrangling had left her with the house, and the mortgage, although he kept his half interest. In return, he was to pay her insurance, credit cards and phone.

Robert had started his own real estate business and Fiona knew he was strapped for cash. Almost at once, he began to renege on their agreement and she'd had to take him back to court a couple of times' more.

The lavish old villa was worth at least a million dollars, maybe more. If Fiona sold, she'd be over three hundred grand the richer. But, that meant giving Robert his 50% and that she wasn't prepared to do.

It wasn't that she was particularly attached to the house. It had always been Robert's choice. He'd commanded the alterations and renovations and made most of the decisions about it. It was because it was Robert's house she was determined he wasn't getting one cent out of it. She knew it wounded him, financially and spiritually - it was her stick with which to beat him.

She looked around the lounge at the empty walls then out the window to the garden, Robert's pride. His pictures and prints were gone and his flower beds overgrown. She'd thought about getting a gardener in, but had changed her mind. She preferred it the way it was, choked with weeds.

Fiona rose from the chair and went into the kitchen. If there was one passion left to her it was cooking.

She used to enjoy the dinner parties Robert organised. She took pride in the pastries and dishes she turned out. She often mused it was her meals Robert's guests came for rather than his dry, boring chit chat. Now, no guests came to sample her cuisine, but she cooked anyway.

It wasn't that she was totally without friends, she thought. She got on tolerably well with her work mates, but she was a tough act, even she realised. Few she could claim to have a close relationship with, however. She was far too opinionated - intolerant of idiots and those too slow on their feet.

About the only person who was a fair match of wits was Rebecca, a fellow board member at the company she worked for. Rebecca was at least as clever, but they didn't get along. Perhaps they were too near in style, she thought, and clung too tightly to their respective positions in debate. In any case, she could hardly call her 'friend.'

Some of the other board members were affable enough, but she found it hard to develop respect for those she could easily best in free debate. Sam, for instance, was a nice guy but he gave in too easily. The Chairman was a doddering old aristocrat and she could run rings around him.

At least Sam and the Chairman had stayed with the same wives they first married. A few of the others had no sooner reached their positions than they ditched their partners for younger women. That kind of behaviour Fiona despised most of all. To dump someone who'd supported you throughout your career and then reward her by spurning her devotion - unforgivable!

Rebecca had taken herself a younger lover and she thought it a hoot. Bradley was an engineer in the company - recently taken on - and Rebecca had wasted little time in picking him up. It had surprised them all, because, she'd betrayed scant interest in dating before.

She guessed it just goes to show that love can strike when you least expect it - to others, perhaps, but not to her.

Fiona was in her fifties - she was always deliberately vague about her exact age - and no Spring chicken. She figured for someone to be interested it would be for her bank balance rather than her looks. Now, even that seemed unlikely. She was, after all, broke, in most ways that counted.

'Asset rich and cash poor, ' to be precise. She was living on a gold mine, but her determination to make Robert's life as miserable and penniless as she could ensured she had little money to throw around herself. It was an irony that even she could appreciate.

Fiona liked to retire to bed early and get up with the dawn chorus. There was something about the morning - the stillness and quiet - where she could truly feel untroubled. No-one rang her at 6am and the only arguments were the sparrows arguing over stale bread outside.

She liked the frosts and the steam rising from the roof as the first rays of sun struck. She liked the drive down from the hills as the blanket of fog lifted from the city. She liked the empty roads and the hum of the Alfa's heater. Most of all, she liked the solitude.

Nights, on the other hand, made her feel lonely. Robert and her would always sit and chat, or rather, Robert would talk about his plans while she listened. Strangely, she missed that part of their relationship.

Later on, he'd spend long hours in his office and she'd no idea that he was chatting, or cybering, or whatever, with his woman from Russia. His betrayal of her had come completely out of the blue and she'd remember that as long as she lived.

"We'd never had that good a marriage," he'd declared. "Physical, I mean, in the bedroom."

Well, she'd never complained - never once thought the 'spark had gone' - never once refused him.

"I think it best if we went our separate ways, you know."

'Best for who?' Best for him, of course, because his Russian was already on the plane over. No, it wouldn't do for her to show up on his doorstep with a suitcase. He'd already rented them an apartment. Robert always had things well planned.

Fiona could never compete with her on a physical level, of course. She was not young and tight with long legs and dark eyes. She hadn't that promise of passionate nights and silk lingerie.

The Russian woman would be high maintenance, she reasoned. Why else would she travel all this way for a boring old man like Robert if it wasn't for his money? It didn't make any sense, otherwise. Robert was foolish - she'd empty him out then leave him for someone younger. It was plain to see and she waited with anticipation for that wonderful day.

Robert had some kind of fetish about things Russian ever since they'd met, she recalled. The walls of their home had been studded with old Russian warships - from the days of the Tsar. His office had been a shrine for Russian maritime memorabilia. Ships in bottles or assembled from resin kitsets used to grace the cabinets in the lounge. Now all that stuff had been hauled off to clutter his little love nest with his child bride.

"Russia," she spat. She didn't care if she never heard that country ever mentioned again.

The next day there was a board meeting. Fiona was burning when she arrived - Robert had blown her off once again and she decided she had to call her solicitor. In the meantime, she was broke and her bank had refused to extend her any more credit.

She thought about asking the Chairman to sign off an advance of her fee, but she couldn't bear the humiliation. Most of these guys were loaded, she knew, but there was no-one she could ask to help her out while maintaining her dignity.

There was Rebecca, and there was little doubt she would be amenable. She observed her out of her eye - smugly grinning to herself over her recent marriage to Bradley. Rebecca aggravated her with her contentment, but, her options weren't extensive at the moment.

"Rebecca, may I have a word?" she hailed her after the meeting. She spied a brief expression of annoyance flash over the other woman's face. It didn't surprise her - she'd pulled few punches with Rebecca over the years. "I won't keep you," she told her. "I was just wondering, well, I'm a little short of liquidity at the moment, and..."

"I see," Rebecca nodded. "Robert being awkward?" The question was without insinuation and she passed it off.

"Yes," she answered. "Another solicitor's letter, I'm afraid."

"Come to my office, Fiona. I'll be glad to help out."

Fiona followed her down the hall wondering at people like Rebecca. If their positions were reversed, she wasn't sure she'd be that generous.

"How much do you need?" Rebecca asked, logging on to her computer. "I can transfer funds straight into your account. Don't be shy?" she added, when she saw Fiona's hesitation.

"Um, let's see..."

"5000? More?"

"There's no need..."

"Pay me back when you're ready... 10,000?" Fiona looked at her with her jaw hanging open. "Ten grand, then, no arguments. I know I'll see it back."

"I'll pay interest." Fiona said, floundering.

"Whatever you like. Come over for dinner, Saturday. We won't accept a refusal. You've been out of circulation too long."

Fiona found herself nodding, awestruck. She didn't imagine Rebecca would be prepared to help her out that much. She didn't know what to say. "Bring a date?" Rebecca added.

"I, I don't have anybody..."

"There's a few bars around here." Rebecca smiled.

"I don't think so, Rebecca."

"Don't have to keep him," Rebecca called after her fleeing back. She was laughing and Fiona wanted to escape.

Fiona spent the afternoon paying the accounts Robert, by rights, should have taken care of. She got the phone put back on and the electricity, she discovered, that was due for disconnection the next day. Last on the list was the garage where she had her car serviced.

She was thinking about Saturday night and growing apprehensive. She would like to bring a date if, for no other reason, than to wipe the smile of Rebecca's face. She was no charity case and was damned if she was going to be treated as one.

But, who could she ask at such short notice? She wasn't that close to many men, and certainly no unattached ones. In any case, what man would want to accompany her anyway? He'd have to be hard up or expecting some reward. A paid escort, she thought, wasn't part of her style.

Slim was pleased to see her and smiled a lot. Maybe he was in some doubt about seeing his money? In any case, he guided her to the counter and ploughed into the drawer to extract the account.

"Sorted everything out?" he asked her. "With the bank, I mean?"

"Oh, yes, the bank. Yes, everything's fine now."

"Banks, eh?" he tutted. "Screwed me around over the years," he continued. "Worse than the ex."

"Quite," she agreed, uncomfortably. "I have it in cash."

"Yep, good idea!" he smiled. "Can't go wrong with good, honest banknotes."

"It wasn't the bank's fault, you know," she felt compelled to add. "My ex husband was supposed to pay the credit card. We'd agreed!"

"I so know what you mean," he replied. "I've had my battles with the ex over the years. Cost me a fortune in legal bills."

"I see. You're divorced?"

"Three years this Summer."

"If you don't mind me asking," Fiona said, "but did you leave her for another woman?"

"Huh!" Slim looked put out. Fiona reckoned he was about 55, with sandy hair flecked with silver. He was quite good looking in that man's man, grease stained way. "Oh, uh, no," he said, embarrassed. "She, ah, left me for someone else."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry." Fiona suddenly felt contrite. It was a personal question and she regretted it the moment it left her lips. She had a reputation of speaking first before thinking.

"Water under the bridge," he shrugged. "Don't matter anymore. He's welcome to her."

"Yes. My husband did the same thing to me - with someone he met on the internet."

"Ah," he clicked his tongue. "And he's still doing you over? Got a good lawyer?"

"Yes, and expensive."

"I know what you mean," he agreed. "First it's one thing, then another. Never stops demanding. What's that slob of a husband's doing, I don't know? I think I'm keeping both of them, y'know."

"It doesn't seem fair, does it? You can't even sue them for desertion these days. Once upon a time, if they left you for someone else, you could take them to the cleaners."

"Exactly! She came into the marriage with nothing and she leaves with half of everything. Something's wrong with the system."

"How long were you married?"

"Two bloody years - that's all!"

Slim appeared to be getting upset so Fiona decided to drop the subject. The transaction concluded, she turned to go.

"Hey!" he called after her. "D'yer fancy going out for a drink sometime?"

Fiona was stunned. Uncharacteristically, she was struck dumb. Slim looked abashed, and it looked to Fiona he was about to apologise. "Look, I'm..." he stammered.

"No, I'm sorry," Fiona told him. "I don't usually have men ask me out."

"No?" he raised his eyebrows. "Pretty older lady such as yourself? One, with a shrewd taste in cars, I might add."

"My Alfa Romeo?"

"Their best model, that," he explained. "A mighty machine!"

"Really? I just bought it because I was told it was a good investment. They hold their value well, I believe."

"That model, yes!"

"You asking me out because you admire my taste in cars?" She smiled at Slim to demonstrate she was teasing.

"No, not at all," he said. "I just thought we could both do with a night out. That's all. If you're offended..."

"Not at all," she hastened to say. "As a matter of fact I have a dinner date with friends on Saturday and I was asked to bring a date. Perhaps you could help me out of a jam?"

"Be glad to," he smiled. "Only too glad to help out a lady."

"I bet! I'll pick you up, shall I?"

"Actually, madam, do you mind if I pick you up? I guess I'm a little old fashioned about these things."

"Ok, then," she agreed, bemused. "You have my address? Shall we say about seven?"

"Seven, then, madam."

"I think you should call me Fiona, ah, Mr Hochstetter, or are you old fashioned about that too?"

"Not at all, Fiona," he laughed. "And my name's Slim."

"Slim? Very Western, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he grinned. "I belong to the Western riding club. They've always called me Slim."

"Riding! As in a stetson, stirrups and lasso?"

"Yep."

"And country music?"

"The whole package!"

"Oh, good grief, a cowboy!" she laughed. "Just don't pick me up on a mustang."

"Actually, Fiona, it is a Mustang - a '69 Ford Mustang."

"Oh, my goodness! Wait till Rebecca sees this! A cowboy with a mustang and country music blaring on the stereo. She'll go absolutely nuts!"

"I could wear denim and chaps - riding boots..." he started to say, a little peevishly. Slim felt he was being made a fool of.

"Just whatever," Fiona told him as she swept out.

Slim wondered afterwards what he'd let himself in for. He'd only meant a little drink in a bar downtown - he wasn't sure why - but the lady interested him. Now, it felt he was going on display - some points scoring session with one of her snooty friends. It wasn't what he intended and he shivered at the thought.

Fiona, on the other hand, was bouyant. She could now demonstrate to everyone she could find a date anytime and anywhere she wanted. Slim was just the ticket - about as far away from Robert as you could get - and he'd blow Rebecca and Bradley away, she was sure he would.

As Saturday neared she began to have misgivings, however. Was it fair putting Slim into this position? Rebecca was sharp and witty - Bradley well travelled and a good talker. Slim would likely be out of his element - slumped in a sofa, lost and forlorn, perhaps, while she and Rebecca sparred. They would think she was dumbing down, maybe, with Slim and his cowboy pretensions and country music.

Bradley could talk to him about cars, she supposed, but then she remembered Rebecca's husband didn't own one nor showed much interest. Sure, he was an engineer, but not that kind. She feared the evening would be a disaster, but, she'd come too far to back out.

She was ready well before seven and waited impatiently like a girl going to a high school dance. She dressed casually, as befitting an evening with friends, and hoped Slim had dressed the same. God, she hoped he hadn't hired a tuxedo or something equally stupid.

Dead on time she heard the rumble of his colossal American Ford roll up the quiet street. Christ, she hoped it wasn't some damned hot rod. He steered into her drive and she waited for him to ring the bell. She remembered enough about dating not to appear too anxious.

Opening the door, she found him dressed in a set of faded denims. He wore a red shirt opened at the collar and a silver pendant on a chain. Not quite what she wished for but nothing like what she feared. It would do.

"Is this all right?" he asked, indicating his attire.

"Fine!" she told him. "I'm glad you didn't go to too much trouble."

Slim seethed, because he had gone to a lot of trouble in choosing his wardrobe. Nevertheless, he swung the flowers and the bottle of wine from behind his back and was pleased to see her taken aback. He watched her scuttle away to find a vase - telling him what a lovely spray it was.

"Is the wine all right?" he asked.

"Let's see," she considered, reading the label. "Hmm, Sauvignan blanc? Yes, it's a nice drop, this. You know about wine?"

"Not really," he confessed. "I asked at the local wine shop and they recommended that one. The guy said it would be suitable for all occasions."

Fiona had to hand it to Slim. He wasn't one for pretentiousness. He was honest, and she liked that in a person - even if it was a rare quality these days.

"What do you usually drink, Slim?"

"Beer, mostly. Now and again I'll have a bourbon, but it plays havoc with me."

"Would you like a quick one before we go? I believe I have a Molson's in the fridge?"

Slim nodded and she fetched him the beer. She sat nervously on the sofa and offered him a chair opposite. He sat, taking in the surroundings.

"Fine house," he declared. "Must cost you a packet?"

"Yes," she agreed. "There's a big mortgage and you've no idea how much it takes to heat a house this size."

"Maybe you should get a smaller place?"

Fiona grimaced at the thought. She'd wish she had a dollar for every time someone had told her that.

"Where do you live? Do you have a nice house?" she asked, choosing to ignore his comment.

"Bought myself a farmhouse with thirty acres just out of town," he told her. "Plenty of room for the horses."

"You have horses? Why, of course you have," she replied. "You ride!"

"Four. Two bay mares, a quarter horse and a part Arab gelding. He's my favourite - I call him 'Bey.'

"'Bey', an Arab called 'Bey?' As in the 'Bey of Morocco?"

"'Bey' is a Turkish word," he told her. "And, no, I didn't name her. The guy I bought him from named him. I just thought it fitted so I kept it."

"Quite!" she replied. Fiona felt chastened -she'd just received a linguistic lesson from a mechanic and she wasn't pleased. "It's time we left, don't you think?" He nodded and rose.

The car was a left hand drive, red convertible with a cream top. Slim kept it gleaming and it was clearly his pride and joy. Fiona was less than thrilled, however, because it made a little too much noise.

Nevertheless, she tried to ignore her discomfort and the stares the vehicle attracted as they drove though town. Sitting on the right, she garnered rather more interest from other road users than she liked. The novelty of turning up to Rebecca and Bradley's in this American monster car had worn off by the time they arrived.

At least the couple's hillside home had a car deck above house level. They couldn't see them arrive and that suited her. Slim opened the door for her and they went downstairs to be greeted by Rebecca.

Rebecca grinned slyly at her in a manner she didn't feel she deserved. Slim was, after all, the mechanic who fixed her car, not some hot shot businessman. They all sat in the lounge in an effort to get acquainted. Slim was a little shy at first, despite Bradley's attempt to engage him in conversation. All Fiona's worst fears about the evening seemed to be coming to fruition.