On a roll and feeling unusually daring, I headed out to the country club. I knew Sebastian had taken a double shift. He hadn’t been happy at not seeing me in the morning, but when I said I was having a doctor’s check-up, he’d acquiesced at once and said he’d work to take his mind off ‘things’. He promised to text me on his break but now I was hoping to see him before that: a surprise.
The country club was located at the end of a long, private drive, fringed by an avenue of mature palm trees. The single story was old Spanish-style: white with tall arches, and a wide, cool veranda running around three sides, and frothing with bougainvillea in rich magenta. Broad steps led up to an impressive frontage, and green lawns flowed down towards an 18 hole golf course. Behind the building, I could see the ocean stretching towards the horizon, breakers rumbling in the background. Whoever had picked the location had done half the job of selling memberships.
My old Ford looked so out of place I dumped it in the rear parking lot, deftly avoiding the valet service as I walked towards the entrance.
It was clear that the dress code was more than advisory: men wore polo shirts with collars and women’s skirts were of a decent length. I couldn’t spot an un-tucked shirt anywhere. A handsome young man in uniform smiled at me as I walked up the steps. Sebastian had hinted at the way staff were selected: those I could see were young and attractive, wearing Navy blue shorts and plain, white T-shirts with the club’s logo discreetly positioned.
I was glad I’d dressed up for my abortive hospital appointment, otherwise I’d have felt even more intimidated by the grand surroundings.
“May I help you, ma’am?” said the well-dressed young woman at the reception desk.
“Yes, I’d like a membership form, please.”
“Certainly, ma’am. Would that be an individual membership, associate member, executive or junior executive member, non-resident membership or social membership?”
“I… I…”
“The individual membership starts at $1,000 per month, with an initial fee of $4,000 or for a social membership, if you don’t wish to play golf…”
“I believe Mrs. Wilson is entitled to the Active Duty Military Membership.”
The voice made me jump.
“Of course, Mrs. Vordstadt,” said the receptionist, rummaging through her files, then passing over a thick sheaf of paper.
I turned to find Donna standing behind me, smiling at my surprise.
“I didn’t figure you for a country club type, Caroline. Or perhaps this is more David’s thing?”
I tried to wipe the shock off my face but I don’t think I was entirely successful.
“Donna, how… how nice to see you. Yes, I, um, just came to pick up a membership form: I had no idea there were so many different types.” Or that it would be so expensive.
“One of the few benefits of military service – and it puts the fee down to a more manageable $500 a month,” she whispered conspiratorially.
She took my elbow and led me out to a seating area at the rear. Several women were sipping cocktails, even at this early hour. The view of the ocean was stunning and the club had a large pool area, peppered with sun loungers and fringed umbrellas. I was far from enjoying it though: foolishly, it hadn’t occurred to me that I’d bump into anyone I knew here. And now Donna was ordering coffee for the two of us.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Caroline. We haven’t had a chance to chat and I did so want to thank you for inviting us to your home on Saturday. I really should have called before now.”
“Oh, no, that’s fine…”
There was an awkward pause: perhaps we were both remembering how the evening had ended – or our different versions of that.
“Is David a golfer?” she said at last.
“A bit, in Florida,” I said, flustered. He’d played a couple of times that I could recall.
“And you?”
“No, I prefer the beach,” I said truthfully. “Swimming, sailing: anything like that.”
“Have you tried surfing?”
I’m sure I blushed beet red: I was thankful that my tan covered it up a little.
“No, I’ve never tried.”
“You should get the boys to teach you,” she suggested.
I nearly choked on my coffee.