Writing for Fun
'Monte Carlo' or Bust! - Jan Osborne
September 2014
It was two in the morning. Frank swiped his hotel pass and pushed open the door to his room. He made his way by moonlight to the desk, switched on the wall light above, and threw his keys onto the wooden surface. Sighing heavily, he pulled out the chair and slumped down heavily onto the hard seat. Although it was very late and he was tired to the bone, he could not go to bed and sleep the sleep that his whole being craved. In fact, although he had only just left her, he could not sleep without seeing her beautiful form yet one more time.
He pulled his laptop towards him and powered up the machine. Typing expertly, he opened a very familiar file. If it had been a book this picture would have been dog eared with the amount of times he had gazed at the content. As the computer worked its magic he dragged over a large, half empty bottle of whiskey and the sticky hotel glass and poured himself a generous measure.
Taking a large gulp of the smooth yet fiery liquid he stared unblinking at the screen. There, in all her glory, was the love of his life. To him her beauty eclipsed all others. He drank her in as if she was the very elixir of life, without which his body and his soul would wither and perish. In some ways this was not far from the truth. He had devoted the last fifteen years of his life to her existence, hardly eating or sleeping and spending most of his waking hours in her company. He had spared no expense and recklessly took money out of his business to buy her whatever she needed to thrive and flourish.
Such was his slavish devotion to this bright young thing that one morning ten years ago, his wife, sick at heart and knowing she had lost him for good, packed her bags and left. He had hardly noticed that she was gone.
With shaky hands Frank wiped away the tears and after swallowing large gulps of the Glenfiddich, flicked to the next file and studied the columns of numbers.
He was about six months away from bankruptcy. He and his Dad had worked side by side in the business. They had made a reasonable living but he had always wanted more. When the old man had died he vowed he would make his name and that of the business famous. Now fifteen years later he stood on the brink of fame or failure. This was his last throw of the dice. It was time for his beloved to repay his devotion. He had groomed her all her life for this one special day. Her beauty and charm was at its zenith and he hoped men would pay handsomely to own her.
Tomorrow was the day. He had spent nearly the whole of the last seventy two hours setting the scene for her debut. She was there, surrounded by others who, although very beautiful, would serve only as foils when set against her stunning good looks. The marquee was the stage and she the player. All eyes would be on her. He hoped the competition would fade in comparison. Last night the judges had seen, deliberated and made their collective decision. He would know when he went to the show tomorrow. He took another long swig from his glass; it was going to be a long night.
As he made his way to the Frank Fisher's Nursery stand in the Grand Pavilion at the RHS Chelsea Flower Show he could see his colleagues already there waiting patiently for his arrival. He could also see not one but two white envelopes placed at the base of his beloved. He gulped nervously and eyed his team. 'Come on Frank, for God's sake open them!' they shouted in unison. With no more ado he ripped open the first envelope. Unable to speak he passed the card to his nursery manager. She took it with some trepidation then beamed from ear to ear. 'Gold,' she said in a whisper. 'We have won a Gold medal for our nursery.' All the team cheered and clapped Frank on the back. He did not respond because he had just opened the second envelope. All it said was rosa 'Monte Carlo' has won RHS Chelsea Plant of the year. 'Monte Carlo' is from the Nursery of Frank Fisher of Dorset.
Frank cried with joy, pride and relief. This hybrid had been his life's work and he had named his beautiful creation 'Monte Carlo' because she offered golden buds that unfurled into warm and sunny blooms that deepened to scarlet and smelt of the Mediterranean. Larger than life, colourful and sensuous she had reminded him of the region of Monte Carlo and the casinos.
It really had been Monte Carlo or bust for him.
