When I finished, I turned to him. “Ready, son?”He hadn’t shown so much interest in me since he was a youngster. “Yes, Dad. We’ll be off then.”“Good Day, Madam,” I said, as I tipped my hat. “Thank you for your assistance.”Her goodbye was uncertain as Tom held open the door for my exit.I slid into the passenger seat of my Bentley. From the time I was diagnosed with a heart problem, my doctor will neither accept bribes nor coercion to allow me to drive. Blasted man! He’s in far worse condition than me, yet he still runs around in his Jaguar.Tom started the engine. “Home?”Fatuous question. He would never consider taking me anywhere else. He can’t be rid of my burden quick enough. I grunted my assent.Tom pulled into the stream of High Street traffic and casually remarked, “Clarissa Cavendish?”“Yes,” I stabbed at him, “what of her?”“I wasn’t aware you knew her.” His voice was quiet, my pretend deafness ignored. For years, my supposed hearing problem allowed us to travel in silence, a. But one thought keeps eating at the back of your mind.Melissa. The girl from your high school English class, the one you sat behind and fantasized about day after day. A petite blond with brains and a body to die for. Oh, she'd been nice enough to you, always smiling that pleasant little smile that told you she was too good for you. Always dressed so conservatively, so stuffy. You wanted so badly to grab that perfectly-styled hair and shove her over her desk, throw that skirt over her head and show her just what she was missing.You hadn't seen her since you both graduated years ago, and of course the infatuation had faded into the background. Until that day, a couple of months before you bought the winning lottery ticket, when you bumped into her at the mall. She didn't recognize you at first, so you introduced yourself, only to get that familiar condescending smile. She was in a hurry, she said, but it was so good to see you again. Sure, it was. You watched her walk away with her.
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