A message from her mother popped onto her iPhone, letting her know they were back in Sydney and loved her very much. Megan held back a tear she knew could easily spring forth. She’d spent as much time with them as possible while they’d been in London. She’d felt cocooned in their love and support this last week and was so glad of their understanding.

But now, after teary goodbyes at Heathrow, they were on the other side of the world—again.

She stood and went to the lead-paned window. Across the cobbled street, nestled between a private home and a discreet and very exclusive spa retreat, was Frank’s Bar. The dark curtains were permanently shut and the paintwork on the door and window frames a glossy black. Two stone planters held twisted topiary trees either side of the entrance step.

It wasn’t a very inviting bar from the outside, but Megan knew that once within its warm depths, she could relax for an hour or so. Each evening live musicians performed, nothing crazy or loud, just gentle jazz or a pianist with a few melodic songs. She knew the waiters to look at if not by name, and had a favourite seat in the far left corner, in the shadows. She’d sat there often before going home to Dylan, enjoying a glass of wine in peace before jumping on the Tube and coping with the rat race.

Maybe she’d go there tonight, have a cold sauvignon and enjoy the ambience. Perhaps Hot Guy would be there. He always made for nice scenery. No, what was the point in thinking that? As Brendon had said, snooze you lose, and as she’d been planning a wedding that was never to be, Hot Guy had nabbed himself a young hottie to hang off his arm.

She sighed and returned to her laptop. Pulling a muesli bar and a banana from her bag, she got back to work. There was so much to do. Samples to look through and decisions to make about her spring collection. Orders to chase up, manufacturers to pay, and an advertising slogan to decide upon. Brendon was helping her more and more with advertising—being in marketing, it was a definite skill he had and was unendingly generous with. But she knew she’d kept him waiting for a while now, and she needed to stop stalling and get on with publicity, keep up with production and do that ‘push’ he kept talking about.

The day rolled past quickly, each hour surprising her with the speed in which it slipped away. The estate agents went home—she saw Ted walk past her window with his head down against a light drizzle that filled the evening air.