I turned my phone off quickly and introduced myself to the cheerful receptionist.
Carl Winters was much younger than I’d expected: in fact he was probably only a couple of years older than me. Here he was running a whole newspaper in a major city. It made me feel inadequate. But he was friendly and seemed to go out of his way to put me at my ease.
“It’s nice to meet you at last, Carolina,” he said shaking hands. “We’ve had some really good feedback already on the article. What else have you got for me?”
I opened my ancient laptop and while it was slowly cycling through its warm up, Carl started asking me questions about myself. I’d answered three or four before it occurred to me that I was being interviewed.
“How long have you been a military wife?”
“Eleven years.”
“Eleven! You must have been a child bride.”
“Well, not quite, but pretty young I suppose. I know that’s not in fashion these days, although you find it more amongst the military, I guess.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Rules!” I said, laughing lightly. “If you want to be able to follow your spouse around the country, you have to be married first. Or, if you want to live in sin, you have to live off base.”
“It’s quite different to civilian life, isn’t it,” he said thoughtfully.
“In all sorts of ways, big and small,” I agreed.
I showed him the article on the Base hospital and he nodded as he read through it, which I took to be a good sign. Then I showed him my photographs.
“These are really good,” he said, sounding surprised. “You didn’t say you were a photographer.”
“I’m not. I mean, I enjoy taking pictures, but I’ve no training. I just use my dad’s old SLR. It’s not even digital: I have to get the films processed at the drugstore.”
“Well, they’re really good: they definitely capture that sense of… organized chaos, I guess. Well, Carolina, if we’re going to use your photos, too, there’ll be an additional fee for you: $450 for an article and photo. How does that sound?”
“That sounds wonderful. Thank you.”
He glanced at his watch.
“I’m going to head out and get some lunch now. Maybe if you’re not busy I could buy you a sandwich and a coffee?”
“Oh! That’s very kind of you, Carl, but I’ve set up interviews with a couple of wives from the Base and, as I’m sure you’d guess, none of us do ‘late’.”
He laughed but looked a little disappointed. “Another time then?”
I smiled without answering, thanked him again, and left. He’d seemed very friendly: I hoped that’s all it was.
Despite that slight awkwardness, I was walking on air, thrilled with the response to my articles and with a new sense of purpose. For a few brief moments, I allowed myself to be happy and in love.
Driving out to the country club, I ran through the questions I wanted to ask of Donna and Shirley. Carl Daniel’s assessment of my work had given me confidence: newborn and weak, but it was confidence – of a sort.
I parked around the back, as before. It was only two o’clock and I hoped, really hoped, that I’d be able to snatch a few, private moments.
Am at cc
I sat for a minute but there was no reply. I didn’t even know if Sebastian was allowed to carry his phone while he was working. I’d just have to be patient.
At reception I handed in a completed membership form and a check, signed by David, for our first month’s membership. David had felt that last night’s dinner had gone well: he seemed to be oblivious to how much he’d annoyed Johan and Donna. Empathy was not one of my husband’s qualities. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
I changed into my bikini and headed out to the pool with my notebook, sketching out some more ideas and refining my questions. I was so absorbed in my work – my work, not my hobby – that it was several moments before I realized that someone was standing over me.
“Your mineral water, ma’am.”
I looked up to see Sebastian smiling down at me.