Abbey was always daydreaming. Her mind left the office and slipped away from the grey English skies. It escaped to hot, sunny places where palm trees grew and there were no folders full of papers to analyse. She used to paint beach scenes when she was younger, fantasy-like sunsets reflected in gentle seas whose waves kissed the golden sand. Relax, you’re in Spain now. Half an hour is nothing. Abbey remembered Lewis’ words. Ah, Lewis. She had thought of little else since she got back to England. Imprinted upon her vision, his face haunted her. Like the fragrance of his drifting cigar smoke he was always there, following her, teasing her. Yet she knew so little about him. Abbey sighed. She had not had the presence of mind even to find out his surname, even less his telephone number or address. He was gone now, a lost dream.
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