Congreve walked Alex through the house and out to the porte-cochere, where he’d parked his motorcycle.
“I can’t tell you what this means to me, Alex. And to Diana. You’ve made us both so very happy.”
“See you soon, I hope,” Hawke said, climbing aboard the Norton and firing it up.
HE RODE OUT of the light and into the darkness of the trees, rain dripping from the heavy leaves.
He stopped at the coast road, debating which way to turn.
Left was home.
Right was someplace hot, smoky, and loud, where a man could drink in peace.
A diamond is forever, he said aloud, his words lost in the wind as he whipped his machine hard to the right, roaring along the coast beside the moonlit gun-metal sea, twisting the throttle hard, accelerating brutally up the hill.
No.
Nothing is forever.
Nothing.
Ted Bell
