Hendrix was having a pisser of a morning that continued from the night before and it had nothing at all to do with a wild night spent in a woman’s bed, something he hasn’t done in over two decades, or from a hangover after a late one with the guys, something he did once a while. Nope, it was none of the above; he was dealing with a prickly, and rightfully, pissed off customer whose dozen of beautifully bottled finest whisky was sitting in customs because someone on his staff had forgotten to fill out one fucking paper to go with the shipment and now they are threatening to confiscate it or turn it back which means he would have to chatter a private special goods plane to deliver it today since his private jet was out for service. Woe betide the bastard who was responsible for this and if it was one of the older guys, they will get fired because they ought to know better.
His iPhone pinged with a notification, and he glanced at it briefly, prepared to dismiss what breaking news there could be, but then he saw the name and his world inverted on its axis making him lightheaded for a split second. He immediately picked up the phone to read the headline of the news story that broke.
Tristan Walden III affair. All the details here.
‘What the fuck?’ Hendrix whispered to himself as there was no one else around. Could it be true or just tabloid rumours? He clicks on the story to read and for ten minutes his eyes flew across words on the screen. It took him twice as long as the normal person would have taken to read the salacious article on the website because of his dyslexia, words still trip him up and with a small screen they were sometimes scrambled, but he persevered to the end. He reread the line where they wrote that, nothing had been heard from Ife since the story broke which was four days ago, when he last had his phone on. Seeing her name on the screen knocked him for a dozen, and it does not take a genius for him to know those feelings never abated. And now that random visit from Rellie, Zainab, and Jacob six months ago, made sense, when his divorce was finalised. Faces he hadn’t seen in over twenty years. There was a time when they’d been very nearly regulars at the Church, Ife introduced them to his pub, Saint Mary locally known as the Church; it is housed in an old abandoned church, after she’d become something of a regular herself, driving down from St Andrews most every weekend. It wasn’t for the drink.
When they showed up six months ago, they asked him questions about his divorce and his feelings for the woman he’d always loved, their best friend, and as quickly as they came, they left. He remembered thinking at the time what the hell it was all about, and even now it makes little sense. What the hell is going on?
As if by kismet, his phone rings, Rellie flashing on the caller ID.
‘What is going on?’
‘Is she okay?’ Rellie bypassed the question.
‘I don’t know.’ Hendrix did not need to ask who she inquired about, because only one person connecs them.
‘What do you mean you don’t know?’
‘I mean I don’t know. How am I supposed to know about a woman I have not seen in over twenty years.’
‘She’s not with you?’
‘No, she is not. Where is she?’
‘What do you mean she’s not with you?’ Rellie screeched on the phone, panic in her voice now.
‘I mean she is not with me Rellie. Why would she be?’
‘Have you seen the news?’
‘I’ve just seen it my phone’s been off.’
‘Fuck!’ Rellie cursed to herself before saying to someone on the other end, ‘she is not with him.’
‘Rellie what is going on? Did you sleep with her husband?’
‘It’s not what you think it is.’
‘Really? The pictures are doctored?’
‘Hendrix, it’s not what you think it is. Call me the second she shows up because she will.’
‘You don’t know where she is? Have you spoken to her?’
‘No on both fronts.’ Heartbreak settled in with the panic that had taken root and Rellie was beginning to think that this plan of theirs was not well thought out, especially if Ife is not in the one place she ought to be. ‘I have to go, but please call me.’
Before Hendrix can ask any questions Rellie hangs up the phone.
He buries his head in his hands, suddenly a delayed case of the finest ever created whisky was the least of his problem. The love of his life is missing.
The love of his life…