Three Weeks in Paris

The deepest of blues, glittering brilliantly in the afternoon sunlight, it was dazzling to the eye as it stretched into infinity.

Her gaze remained on the ocean as she fell down into her thoughts, asking herself what her life was all about, where she was heading and where she would end up.

In the last twenty-four hours she had felt extremely depressed about her relationship with Gary, which she now believed was doomed to failure. The end was coming, of that she was sure; she could only hope it would not be too messy.

It was Monday afternoon, and Jessica was sitting in the small, antique gazebo which she had shipped from a stately home in England. It now stood at the tip of Mark Sylvester’s property in Santa Monica.

On a bluff facing the sea, the gazebo was a peaceful spot, a place for reflection and tranquillity, as she had known it would be. Mark loved it, just as he loved the new house. She had been quite certain he would approve, but it was a relief, nonetheless, to know he was actually thrilled with it. He was moving in next weekend, and today she had walked him through for the first time since the furnishings had been installed.

Everything’s gone right with the house; everything’s gone wrong in my personal life, she thought, her mind settling on Gary. She had called him yesterday, wanting to be conciliatory, to make amends, but he had not picked up. Nor had he returned his messages. At least, not hers.

So be it, she suddenly thought. I must get on with my life; move on. I have to, in order to save myself. Instinctively, Jessica felt that Gary Stennis would only drag her down with him. She paused in her thoughts, frowning to herself. There it was again, the frightening idea that Gary was on a downward spiral.