An Unlikely Romance

FOUR

At least the evil hour arrived. Waiting to board the aircraft, Kissma had passed through the crying stage but Philip was still brushing inspects from his eyes, although the truth was there were no inspects because of an effective pest control program carried out by island management.

"I forgot to ask," she said. "Are you married?"

"No longer; divorced and my wife and child now live in Singapore."

"Oh, that's so sad."

"Right now it makes my so bloody happy," he said, no longer making the pretence of wiping away insects; the soggy sniffs had given him away.

"And you?"

"Good lord no, I have my career. What will you do when you go home; find another woman now that I have managed to reintroduce you to six?"

"I'm never short of women – I feed them that line about no woman being interested in having six with me; feeling sorry for me they can't resist offering the greatest thing that has to offer a man."

"You're a cad."

"That's a rather English-English word for you to use."

"Well, because of you and your sex o'clock, my American English has taken a downgrade. Oh, it is true that your mom is Australian.?"

"No, she's Kiwi."

Kissma beat his chest with her fists, gently. She frowned, saying, "Is this how to say it?... Your rotten bugger."

"That's it; you can go back to New York and tell your friends you can saw rude words and phrases in Kiwi English."

"I shall also tell my closest friends that I've had the best fucking time ever. They will know what I mean because New Yorkers can be very sophisticated."

"Is that right?"

"Yes, and you used that expression constantly, don't you?"

"Is that right?"

"Come on you wankers, time for our lovely shelia to come aboard," called one of the Australian tourists. "We've all been watching, expecting you to get a leg over for the last time, Phil. What's wrong – you prefer ewes."

"At least ewes have a better breath than your camels that your guys hump," retorted Philip, drawing a "You men are disgusting" rebuke from one of the women in the aircraft.

"What was that all about?" Kissma asked.

"Oh, just TransTasman rivalry – the Tasman is the sea between New Zealand and Australia. A bit like the North and South baiting that you get in America."

"I've never heard of that?"

"No, being a cocooned Manhattan babe you wouldn't. But it doesn't matter. I'll try to act in a more sophisticated manner now that I've met you."

"Oh darling, come and see me in New York – and soon!"

"Okay, in the meantime just keep that pussy of yours warm for me."

"You naughty boy, you said you were becoming more sophisticated."

"Oh, yeah. I guess you didn't realize that starts tomorrow."

They kissed and the people looking out of the aircraft windows cheered.

As the aircraft faded into a speck Philip stood on the beach, still watching; he realized he'd lost his heart.

FIVE

Eleven months later Philip received a radio call from his day housekeeper, Mrs Bates.

"There's this woman with an American accent on the phone from Christchurch Airport. She wants you to come and pick her up. I told her we don't run a taxi service but she says you'll make an exception for her. She said she's your mate Ella Simpson."

Philip's excitement nosedived. His immediate reaction was he didn't know any Ella Simpson.

"I don't know any Ella? Did she say anything else?"

"She's still on the phone; I'll ask her why she thinks she knows you."

Philip whistled his dogs to bring the mob of sheep closer to the gate.

"Really, these brash American's. I can't tell you what she said, Philip – I'm a respectable married woman."

"But she must have said something else?" said Philip, watching the dogs work.

"Yes, she said her professional name is Kissma. Is she a prostitute?"

Philip's heart thumped his ribs.

"Tell her to have a bite then wait in the main lounge; I'll be with her in three hours – I can't leave this mob as it's taken two days for us to get them down this far. Then phone Peter and ask him if I can borrow the Cessna – it's an emergency."

"Humph, she must be a high-class prostitute to warrant that status."

"For gawd's sake don't tell him that, Mrs Bates. Tell her she's got the most fabulous legs in the world."

"You never say that about my legs."

"Your legs are best kept under long dresses and thick stockings, Mrs Bates. Tell, er, Ella I love her. No, call her Kissma and tell her I love her."

"Make up you mind, and you don't love anything other than being up in that blasted high country."

"Goodbye, Mrs Bates – tell her three hours and he said tell Kissma he loves her."

Mrs Bates had not told Kissma that Philip would be flying in.

Kissma had been watching small aircraft movements, but after landing this one came over and parked near the international terminal, but well clear of the big jets. As soon as the pilot jumped to the ground, ignoring the foot rests, she knew it was Philip because he waved, and the wave was for her; who else would wave at an airport terminal building unless he were an excited lover!

Kissma raced towards the escalators, heart still in a flutter ever since that woman on the phone had said he insisted calling her Kissma. Now she'd seen him in the distance she'd changed her plans. This 7-day visit was going to be and extended stay – just how long she didn't have a clue.

"Fuck my career," she burbled in happiness, starling an elderly couple approaching the escalator beside her.

"I beg your pardon," said the woman frostily.

"I said fuck my career; I'm in love!"

"Well, that's different," smiled the woman. "Through you go, then. Men don't like being kept waiting."

THE END