Chapter Twenty-Four
Isobel left the freeway at Dana Point, telling herself that the longer way offered an opportunity to enjoy the more scenic Pacific Coast Highway, knowing in her heart she just wanted to delay her arrival. The meeting with Burnham had crushed her enthusiasm for the weekend and she had thought about cancelling the trip. Only the prospect of the self- satisfied Lance springing one of his unannounced visits dissuaded her. Besides, she had determined that while she would not play the stooge for Burnham, neither would she be Ryan’s protector. The man had some explaining to do.
From Dana Point, one Californian coastal tourist spot merged with the next, the shoreline one side of the highway and the bustling beach communities the other. As she arrived in Newport Beach the sidewalk cafés that lined the road were busy with their lunchtime trade and she found herself impulsively pulling into a parking bay. She stopped to buy postcards and, attracted by the racy cover, grabbed a paperback at the checkout. After the shock of Burnham’s visit she had no appetite for casual company or idle conversation; a book would make her less approachable. She settled at a café, ordered coffee, and began writing out the cards, more as a duty than a pleasure, now and again lifting her head to enjoy the view. In the water she could make out the line of surfers in their black wet suits, rubber clinging to perfect beach bodies soaring across the foam.
After coffee she meandered out to the shoreline and slipped off her shoes, walking along the edge of the ocean as the waves lapped back and forth up to her ankles and the wet sand seeped between her toes. When she tired of her stroll she headed back to dry land and stopped at the Armani store, buying Ryan a classic black shirt with a high, regency-type collar before seeking out a jeweller and buying a matching pair of silver cufflinks.
Although still not hungry she took a seat in the sun at a French bistro with wrought iron tables, and opened her book. When she ordered a Caesar salad and iced tea she attracted the attention of the customer on the next table. He wore baggy shorts and a denim shirt, and his weathered face and grey ponytail gave him a somewhat bohemian look. A brown and white cocker spaniel nestled against his ankles. In coastal California, Isobel had already learnt, first impressions could be deceptive.
“I guess I’d be right in saying you’re not from around these parts?”
Though she had thought herself content to be alone with her thoughts, a feeling of renewed homesickness had been taking hold of her, and now she welcomed the distraction.
“Is it that obvious?”
“Sure is. I’m guessing Louisiana, Baton Rouge maybe?”
Isobel laughed. “You noticed the Bible?” she said, unashamedly holding up the paperback. “But I’m from England.”
“Always wanted to go there, but never had a horse that could ride that far.” He spoke in a slow southern way, and it reminded her of the police officer who first stopped her on the border. She quickly pushed the memory from her mind,
“And you?” she said.
“My folks are from southern Texas, place called Galveston.”
“The town named after the song?”
“You got it. Now I keep a few steak restaurants in Phoenix, but I’ve got good people who look after them. Gets hot as hell in Arizona, so I’m here in Newport every chance I get.”
“It’s a smart place. I can see why you like it.”
“I’m Hank, by the way,” said the man, extending his hand.
“Isobel,” she said, accepting it gracefully.
“I’ve been coming here for ten years, me and Lassie here,” he said, reaching down and stroking the dog. “You in Newport Beach for a vacation? Maybe me and Lassie might show you around?”
“Thanks,” she said, genuinely grateful, “but I’m just passing through on my way to LA.”
“Now there’s a place. Newport Beach is about as close as I ever want to be to LA.”
“What don’t you like about it?” asked Isobel, with a good idea of why that might be.
“Nothing ‘cept the plastic people. Back in Texas it can take a season or two to make a friend, but when you do, you’ve got one for life.”
“And in LA?” said Isobel, resisting the temptation to reinforce Hank’s perceptions.
“It’s full of phonies. No one’s who or what you think they are. You can make a living out of lying in LA, and there’s plenty who do.”
“There’s good and bad everywhere, I suppose,” said Isobel weakly, now thumbing the pages of her book, having decided she didn’t need another discourse on the fickleness of LA; she had enough of those from Ryan.
Her magnanimity failed to deter Hank. “Everyone wants to be your friend up there. Five minutes after you meet ‘em and they’ve told you their life story. But wait till you need a helping hand and you won’t see ‘em for exhaust fumes.” A poodle wearing a designer wrap passed by and Hank’s cocker spaniel sprang up, pulling hard on the lead. “Anyway, if you’re sure I can’t show you around, I’d better be moving. Lassie here is getting kinda restless.” Hank got to his feet and threw a five-dollar bill on the table. “And if ever you’re in Phoenix and want a great steak, the Sizzling Steer is the place to go.” He placed a card decorated with a bull's head next to her plate.
She fingered the card. “Thanks, I will. Nice to have met you.”
“You take care now,” he said as Lassie strained on the lead.
Isobel pondered Hank’s philosophy on the nature of friendship. How many of her friends had stayed in close touch since the split from Peter? She pulled the six postcards from her bag, all penned to girlfriends who had not called her in months. She had written bland “Wish you were here” type messages on each. She stood up from the table and dropped the cards into the trashcan. “Not just in LA,” she whispered.
Rather than immediately get back on the road, she went looking for a lingerie store. She had more than enough underwear with her but nothing that Ryan had not already seen fall at his feet. She soon discovered that Newport boasted more than a fine beachfront. Behind the tourist façade upscale shops lined the streets, and she stumbled across a store specialising in attire to provoke and delight in the bedroom. A hip sales assistant, decked out in skin-hugging black leather pants and a pink halter top, welcomed her. Isobel told the girl she needed something for a special occasion, and then let the young woman guide her. The process resulted in a choice between two decadent outfits, either of which might have had her arrested if she wore them in public.
“I could do you a small discount if you took both,” said the woman, as Isobel considered her choices. “We girls should never be caught without enough underwear—unless that’s the intention,” she added, giving a wink that suggested they might be kindred spirits.
“I think I’ll just go with the white garter dress, thanks.”
“Are you sure? If you take both I can also throw in a vibrator, just to get things warmed up.”
“Nice idea, but I don’t use them.”
“Me neither. But I was thinking about the guy.”