"I guess this is what it feels like when you hate yourself in the morning", Holly thought as she dragged herself out of bed. "I can't even blame it on the alcohol, damn it".

She went straight to the shower, where she could do some serious self-scolding. As if the situation wasn't confusing enough, she had to go and sleep with her husband. The irony was almost killing her. She stood under the water for a while, not even pretending to wash herself. Her mind wandered to Ross, which in a weird way made her feel guilty, until she thought about Blake, which made her feel like throwing up. She made a note to forget about those two until she got her memory back, if such a thing ever was to happen. She was done yearning for a man who had chosen her daughter over her.

Besides, she had a bigger fish to fry, and his name was Roger. It had become plain to her in the last few days that her husband was not the same man that she had married the first time around. He was gentler, calmer and much more grounded than she ever dreamed he could become. And he obviously cared about her a great deal. She, on the other hand, had lost the last six years of her life; and whatever trust or love that she had begun to feel for him had disappeared with them. The only thing remaining for her was lust, and you can't build a marriage based on lust, she reminded herself when her mind started to wander towards the night before. No matter how she looked at it, she would never be able to go back to him unless she recollected her past.

Though she was wary of rekindling that particular romance, the idea of being in a healthy relationship with Roger Thorpe was becoming so intriguing that she felt compelled to investigate it.

She might be sorry for it later, but she decided that it was time to see a doctor.

She was almost ready to leave when there was a knock at the door, and an usher came in, carrying two larges suitcases.

"Your luggage, Señora Thorpe."

"Oh, right. You can put them on the bed, thank you."

She gave him a tip and waited until he left to examine the content of the suitcases. She remembered that Roger had arranged for them to be shipped from Acapulco and she was strangely excited at what she would find inside. If not a clue to her new life, at least a few good dresses and a decent bikini, she hoped as she unzipped the first suitcase.

It turned out, like the second one, to contain mostly clothes and beauty products. She was relieved to discover that her taste had remained the same; her clothes were still classic and understated, with a bold piece here and there. She picked up a mossy green summer silk dress and put in on, belting it with a slender golden belt.

She turned toward the mirror and examined herself. "Well, that looks like me enough."

Rummaging some more to find jewellery that would complete her outfit, she came across a framed picture which made her stare in amazement. Not that there was anything so extraordinary about it: it simply was a wedding picture. Except that in this particular case she was the bride, and Roger the groom. Holly sat down, her heart beating slightly faster. Her fingers slowly traced the contours of Roger's face. He was staring right at the camera, bright-eyed and smiling, proudly holding his new wife against him. Her eyes then went to her own face, which was facing her husband's. There was no mistaking the way she was looking at Roger; it was a look of love.

She put down the picture on the bed and spent several more minutes staring at it thoughtfully, then went down to the lobby.

"I would really like to accommodate you, Señora Thorpe, but I'm afraid this will not be possible this week."

Holly gave her most engaging smile to the concierge. "I know this is a tall order, but surely, with your connections, you would be able to get me an appointment with a specialist within a few days? This is rather urgent."

The concierge shook his head, politely but firmly. There was nothing to be done unless she was willing to wait for a week or more. Holly sighed and asked him to make the appointment for as soon as he could, then went to sit despondently in one of leather sofas scattered in the lobby. Now that she had decided to get examined, she hated to think that she would have to wait several days.

She was about to go in search of Roger when a man of about her age approached her and asked if he could sit down. Taken by surprise, she agreed.

He began, looking eager. "I hope you will not think it impolite of me, but I couldn't help but overhearing that you need to see a doctor as soon as possible?"

"That's right." Holly replied. "Are you a doctor, yourself?"

The man laughed, displaying an engaging smile and well-aligned teeth. "Me? No! I am not smart enough to be a doctor. I'm a business man, from Panama. I gather from your accent that you are American?"

Holly smiled in spite of herself and replied that he had guessed correctly. She usually had no patience for small talk with strangers, but the man was so polite and charming that she felt herself thawing towards him. He was also strikingly handsome, with dark hair and liquid golden brown eyes, and perfectly groomed, which didn't hurt.

"However, I'm pretty well connected in this town, and if you'd like, I'm sure that I could get an appointment for you as soon as today. I hope it is nothing serious," the man added with the singing tones typical of his Panamanian accent.

She coloured as she heard his words. "The problem is that I don't need to see just any doctor. I have to see a neurosurgeon."

The man looked intrigued but to her relief, didn't ask questions. "Let me make a few phone calls. I'll be right back." He got up and walked away with his cell phone in hand.

Holly observed him from afar, noticing his expensive clothes and the sparkle of his gold watch. She wouldn't be surprised if he succeeded in getting her an appointment; he looked like the kind of man who was used to getting what he wanted.

He came back a couple of minutes later, and she could tell from his expression that she would be seeing a doctor that very day. He wrote the name and address of the specialist on a slip of paper which he handed to her. "She's the best in the country, and she's waiting for you now."

Holly took the piece of paper, suddenly embarrassed. "This is very kind of you, thank you."

The man shook her extended hand. "Helping a beautiful woman such as you is always my pleasure. I hope all goes well at your appointment."

Relieved that he didn't seem to be expecting anything in return for his favour, she spontaneously asked for his name.

He smiled and his whole face seemed illuminated by it. "I'm Diego Garcia Marquez".

"Garcia Marquez, like the writer?"

"Exactly, but we're not related, unfortunately. He is one of my favourite authors."

"Me too, I've read all of his books."

They had been walking toward the entrance and were now standing next to the taxi line.

"I guess I should go or else I'll be late," she said, getting into the first cab.

"Good luck," he replied as he closed the door for her.

She fought the temptation to look back once the taxi left. What an intriguing man, she thought, and obviously walking in the highest spheres of society. She only realized a few minutes later that she had not giving him her name, and that he had not asked for it.