Free Mango Kisses by Elisabeth Rose

dropped to their feet. Nothing registered except the touch of his lips on hers, the magical tingling and the absolute rightness of his kiss.
    He didn’t press deeper, didn’t ask for more. He kissed her with the reverence and tenderness of love.
    Her world stood still.
    He drew away.
    Her eyes which had closed to savour this treasure, fluttered open. Rain spattered their faces. He picked up the umbrella and held it over their heads.
    ‘Thank you,’ he said softly.
    ‘You’re welcome,’ she replied.
    ‘Goodbye, Marianne.’
    He grinned suddenly and turned abruptly to stride away down The Esplanade. The gulls rose in a screeching wave of white and grey.
    ‘My name’s Tiffany,’ she called. But he mustn’t have heard her over the crying birds and the crashing waves because he didn’t turn around.

Chapter Four
    Tiffany lay in bed listening to the rain dripping mournfully from the eaves and gurgling down the gutter. What had he meant by that? Anything? Nothing? Everything?
    The end. He’d meant it as a farewell. He kissed her goodbye and that was that. He hadn’t even looked back to wave. He was part of her Birrigai adventure and it was over now. Her holiday affair had gone the way of all such non-events; it was stupid to think it meant more. It was a cursory and superficial attraction of opposites in a situation of heightened physical awareness brought on by kissing lessons. What could anyone expect after a day spent occupied that way?
    Tomorrow she’d leave for Surfer’s Paradise. First though, was the nuisance of having to find Miles Frobisher. When she’d rung to make contact last week he hadn’t answered the phone so she left a message saying she’d be there on Monday. Should have asked Fiorella about him, she’d know everyone. She’d have to take back the umbrella. On her way out of town would do.
    She’d checked before going to bed and the address Erik had given her was number nine The Esplanade. She assumed it was a house but earlier she noticed that the real estate office two doors from the surf shop was number thirteen.
    Was the surf shop number nine? If it was, she’d be forced to see Boris. She’d be cool and professional in her dealings with him. Don’t even think about fruit.
    Miles Frobisher was a pain already and she hadn’t met him yet. Perhaps she could pretend to Erik she hadn’t found him or he’d died, but lying wasn’t in her nature. A few questions, a quick interview and she’d leave with a clear conscience.
    Tiffany ran the next morning, early. The sand was wet from the rain; the air smelled fresh and clear in the sparkling new sunlight. A few clouds wisped about the sky as if reluctant to depart but the day would be hot again.
    Boris wasn’t swimming yet. Not that she looked. He could be out beyond the breakers. A head would be hard to see in the expanse of troughs and swells and the foam capped waves. Or perhaps he’d slept in.
    After her run, she showered, ate fruit and yoghurt and drank teabag tea in her room then set off to walk into town in search of Miles Frobisher. Kevin was in reception frowning at the newspaper.
    ‘Hello.’
    Two pink spots appeared in his cheeks but he managed a smile of sorts. ‘Morning,’ he muttered.
    ‘Do you know Miles Frobisher?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Where can I find him?’
    ‘Surf shop usually.’
    ‘Oh. Really?’ She was right about the number.
    ‘He owns it,’ said Kevin.
    ‘I see.’ She must have missed him the time she’d been in. ‘By the way I picked up that lipstick, the pink one.’
    Tiffany dived into her handbag and pulled out the small white paper bag she’d been carrying about since Saturday afternoon. She looked up as she found it but the look on his face made her hand freeze in mid-air. Her mind went into overdrive.
    ‘Perhaps you’d give it to Fleur for me,’ she suggested. ‘If you see her. Tell her I think it will go really well with the white dress, the cotton and lace one.’
    Kevin grudgingly extended his