'Puzzled'

Episode 39 - A Figment of Imagination

Episode 39 - A Figment of ImaginationYacht ‘Rosalinda’, Saint-Tropez, France, 29 December

Acting confident, I take the first puff on my cigar and feeling the bitterish taste of smoke in my mouth delight at knowing that my ‘first date’ has finally taken place. An image of my first-ever cigarette, smoked in the lobby of the ‘Swiss Hotel’, springs to mind. I couldn't have imagined that smoking a cigarette and smoking a cigar would differ so much. Seemingly both made of tobacco leaves but their tastes are virtually incomparable.

Proud at my achievement, I take some more puffs, each time inhaling deeply, and get mouthfuls of smoke into my lungs. My head starts spinning. Placing my cigar in the ashtray, I lean back and close my eyes.

'Monsieur Luke, are you all-right?' I hear the worried voice of Monsieur Moreau.

'Yes, very much so, heavenly actually, but my head just spins a bit ... ' I reply.

'In this case, that's quite enough for the time being,' he says, putting a cushion under my head.

I nod.

'Have a rest. I'll pop out to the shop to get some snack for us.'

He takes Domino with him and goes out.

I stretch out on the sofa and try to relax. But my every thought turns to her again. It seems since her arrival to Nice I cannot not think of her, literally every second feeling her everlasting presence. Maybe, this is it, the very thing that's called love? Although, what do I really know about it? I don't recall having similar kind of attraction to anyone before. In fact, I don't think I have ever been in love either ...

Feeling a sudden spasm in my chest, I decide to take some fresh air. I get up, come to the glass doors of the salon and slide them open. Stepping out onto the deck, I take a deep breath and freeze in astonishment. On the deck of the yacht moored opposite the ‘Rosalinda’ I see her.

I go weak at my knees and have to lean against the door of the salon. Not quite believing what I'm seeing, I close my eyes then open them again. But the ‘figment of my imagination’ is still there, on the deck, ever persisting, outlined with even more clarity and precision. She brings a cigarette to her mouth, takes a short puff, and turning away, stares at something on the roof of her yacht.