Page 106 - SpontaneousSuccessMatos

and exotic, yes. Spain? Right next door and exciting, yes.
Canada! You must be joking. But he was right.
A week later, on a whirlwind trip to London to break
the news to my mother about my move to Canada, fate
took a mischievous turn. Stepping off the sidewalk, I
collided with a man on a folding bike, clad in a sharp
three-piece suit topped with a classic bowler hat.
"Good grief! Nick Boothman. What the hell are you
doing in London? I thought you'd disappeared with the
drunken hoards in Portugal." Ross always spoke as if he
was addressing a thousand people. He'd been my boss in
the advertising department at Woman Magazine seven
years earlier.
"Actually, I spent two years in Portugal singing in a
band, then two years in Cape Town, plus another three
years back in Portugal as a fashion photographer,” I told
him. “But Portugal’s gone through a revolution, so I’m
moving to Canada to make a fresh start." I squashed the
last seven years into a few minutes.
"Well," he said, still straddling his fold-up bicycle,
"you must come and meet Cousin Bernard. He's over
from Canada, and he's coming to dinner tonight. Mad
character, but lots of fun.” He reached into his vest
pocket and handed me his card. "Office at home these
days."
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