Catch of the Year (19 page)

Steve picked up the other half of the club sandwich and took a good bite. “No.” He chewed some more and swallowed. “The weird thing is, I always sensed something odd with Jade Jellicoe. Wondered why she wore a wig.”

“A wig! Of course! But how did you know?”

“Come on, Paul; get real. She never had a bad-hair day; she never had it dyed or cut; the length never changed … .”

Paul pulled the plate toward him. Steve had done a good demolition job. The large pile of fries was reduced to a small heap. He picked up one and popped it in his mouth.

“Does she know you know?”

“Nah. And that question? Right back at ya.”

“Yeah. She realized.” Paul drew his beer toward him again, and explained how that had come about.

“Anyhow,” Steve went on, his fingers stretching forward, gradually creeping across to snag another chip. “I saw her leave the agency in a very uncharacteristic, flustered state. Ever since I fielded a phone call of hers and discovered she'd been at Lake Lauzon over the long weekend, I had a suspicion Jade might be Serendipity. I mean, what are the odds? So I cornered Suzy. Asked her if Jade had a twin sister. She said no. Ergo.”

Paul snorted. “She told me she worked at a courier company. Courier business, my foot.”

Steve reached for the plate and pulled it closer to him again. He picked up another couple of chips. “Talking of feet, how's the dick doing?”

“Steve, you are so crude.” Paul grabbed the last, lonely fry. “Telling you would be like handing over classified information.”

“Guess that means your problems in that direction are over.”

“Only to be replaced by something else.”

The fries were all gone. Steve considered the empty plate.

“Hunger, I know.” He got to his feet. “Guess we could do with refills. Same again?”

“Sure. I'll get it this time. Then maybe I'll get a look in at the sandwich.”

“No. You relax. I need the exercise. After your walking marathon, you don't.”

Paul stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. Ankles — who'd have thought an ankle would play such a significant role in his day?

When Steve returned with another two beers and a new plate of food, Paul asked, “I told you about the tattoo?”

Steve shook his head, and Paul explained.

“So our straight-laced Jade has an alter ego.” His friend shook his head. “Any other secrets I should know about?” He waggled his eyebrows.

Paul ignored that. He lifted his beer mug, took a good slurp, and set it down again.

“I tell you, Steve, that moment when I saw the dark ink revealed … shit.” He hit the unyielding table with his fist, making the beer mugs teeter and the liquid spill. “I was feeling so damn good. Had it all planned out, thinking I'd call Serendipity tonight, that this was the start of something big.” He took another long swallow of his drink, ignoring the way Steve's eyes bugged. “And now I don't know if the woman I was falling in love with even exists.”

Almost expecting to see the lake, Paul looked out across the patio. Instead, he saw hot, dusty, city streets and traffic. “I can't work it out or reconcile the two personalities. It's kind of like she's a confused muddle. All I want to do is get far, far away from this mess.” He pushed his chair back. The wrought-iron legs made a screeching noise on the paving.

“Looks like we need refills.” Standing, he held on to the back of the chair. “Same again?”

Steve nodded. “But no food, thanks. I'm stuffed.”

“After one-and-a-half club sandwiches and two helpings of fries, why am I not surprised?”

Paul returned, sat down, and drank another long swig of beer. He was starting to feel pleasantly fuzzy.

“Any idea what you're going to do now?” Steve asked.

Paul was thinking of Serendipity, not his career. “Guess I'm going to join Sergeant Pepper.”

“You're going to
enlist
? That would be too much to swallow.”

“Nah.” Paul took another swig, considering Steve's words. There was something important going on here, but he wasn't completely clear as to what it was. Oh yeah, Sergeant Pepper. He shook his head in disbelief. “I forget you're not a Beatles aficionado, but even so, how anyone can be so incredibly pop ignorant, I don't know.”

“Hey wait! I was given a serious, classical education.”

“Right.” Leaning forward, he looked Steve in the eye. “Get this.” He spoke slowly, emphasizing every word. “
Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band
was a very famous, culture-changing record album made by John, Paul, Ringo, and George.”

Steve waved his beer mug, almost pouring an earful into the nearby occupant of the next table. “Sorry to rain on your parade, but having been subjected to your musical efforts, I'd say you haven't a hope in hell of making it in the world of pop music.”

“Nah nah. That's not the direction I want to go. Truth is, I've decided I don't want to stay in the city.”

“No?”

“Country life suits me better.”

“Where would you like to live, then?”

Paul shrugged. “There's always the old hometown, but since Mom moved out west I don't quite feel the same about being back there.”

Steve swirled his beer, then looked up. “Go back to the fishing shack. You're welcome to stay as long as you like.”

This brought to mind the very thing he was trying to forget, the dreadful discovery he'd made that afternoon.

“Thanks for the offer, but I don't know if I could handle it. All those memories. Plus I don't want to see Jade or bump into her by chance.”

“She wouldn't know you were there. Most of the time she's in the city.”

“I suppose.”

“Think about it. From my point of view, I'd say it'd be okay, provided you had something there to keep you busy. Take your mind off things.”

“What kind of things?”

For answer, Steve wiggled his eyebrows.

“Like sex, you mean.”

“Yeah.” He leaned his weight back, so the front two legs of the chair rose off the paving. “Remember, there are always other women.”

“Other women? I don't think so. Not at the moment, anyhow.” Paul pushed the empty beer mug away and folded his arms. “Crazy, isn't it? Here I was, worrying about my loss of libido, and now it's come back with a vengeance, and I have the opposite problem.”

Steve's blue eyes regarded him. “Fishing in the lake might not be enough to keep you occupied. Also, you know, at some stage you'll need to decide on what you really want to do with yourself.”

Thoughts of Serendipity brought the sculpture to mind.

“There
is
something else, an idea I've been playing around with.”

“Oh yeah? What? Tell me about it. Myself, I'm in dire need of a detoxification drug, get me off this unhealthy, going-nowhere fixation with Maryanne.”

“It's called artistic creativity. I'd have thought you could use your writing to the same purpose. Anyhow, when Serendipity — er, Jade — took me out fishing, that was the second night when … .” His voice trailed off.

“Go on,” Steve urged.

“Well, I found this fascinating, ancient piece of driftwood.”

“Ah. Now I understand about the sculpting tools. I was a leet-tle worried you were going to get fancy with my kitchen cabinets.”

“They
are
a tad rough, but I don't think curlicues would do much to improve them. Would go against the rustic theme.”

“So, have you been working on this piece of wood already? How's it shaping? What's it gonna be?”

Paul didn't want to tell him that. “I made a start. Mainly the possibilities are still simmering around in my subconscious.”

“Sounds like a stew pot.”

“Very possibly. There's a ton of potential there. If I got back to that chunk of bird's-eye maple I'd maybe end up with something worthwhile.”

“Okay. But how are you going to make a piece of wood turn into bread and butter, or bruschetta and wine, if you prefer?”

He thought again about his recent offer of a commission. As outlandish as that idea had seemed to him two weeks ago, it had now taken on merit.

“You remember I've mentioned Eleanor a few times?”

“Eleanor? No. Give me a refresher.”

Paul swayed to his feet.

“Not beer. Eleanor. Who is she?”

“A really eccentric, fabulously wealthy woman. We were at art school together.”

“So?”

“So she was interested in me. Said if ever I decided to take up sculpture in a serious way to let her know. I'm considering this now.”

“How would you find her?”

“We keep in touch. Facebook, the occasional phone call, email whenever we've seen an interesting movie or exhibition, that kind of thing.”

“Sounds great. What are you waiting for? Get hold of her. Meantime, let your lawyer handle the severance package. Take the money and run up to Tobermory and points north.”

The idea appealed. “I think I will. Also, I'll start looking around for a place of my own. Property's cheaper in the country and I've probably got enough saved up.”

“That's fighting talk. Way to go, bud.” Steve sent him a silly grin and scrambled to his feet. “I'm whacked, not to mention pissed. Let's go call a cab.”

• • •

Jade had spent her evening in solitude. After she'd gotten home, she'd kicked off her shoes, stripped off her clothes, and wrapped herself in a loose caftan Marigold had made for her years before. She needed something cool to drink. There was no white wine in the fridge, only a carton of grapefruit juice. That would have to do. She poured some into a tall glass and wandered through to the living room. The television stared blankly at her. She turned it on. For a while she sat there, blind and deaf to the moving, talking images. Instead, she fretted over the little house and tried to forget the terrible minutes in her office when she'd told Paul the news. And what he'd said after.

The heavy ache in the region of her heart would not be banished.

She finished her drink, the bitter taste of the juice lingering in her mouth. What now? She had to get some advice, and the person to talk to was Marigold.

She told her mother about having to terminate Paul, but didn't say anything about those startling last words of his. Marigold was sympathetic as always.

When her mother heard the house news, she said, “Dipity, that's wonderful. Everything you've always wanted.”

“Yeah. But it's a big commitment. To buy a house. Just for me.”

“Just for you? Do you mean you're always going to be single?”

“I guess.” She swallowed, unable to imagine another man than Paul in her life. “It's crazy. First my head tells me this is a good idea; I should go for it. And then my heart says, ‘No, this is not the right thing.' And then the two switch around.”

“Hmm. I see. So that's depending on whether or not you're thinking of Paul.”

Marigold could certainly be insightful.

“Yes. I can't shake the feeling things are not over between us.”

“Why don't you contact him?”

The very idea made her breath freeze in her throat.

“I couldn't. Imagine what he must think of me.”

If she got in touch, he'd probably tell her he despised her, hated her, disdained her. The worst of it was, he'd be justified.

“Dipity. Dear. If it's over, you would know it. If it's not, and you really have feelings for him, perhaps you need to seriously consider how you'd feel if you weren't brave enough to do something about salvaging your relationship. To be together, that takes work — work on yourself as well as on the relationship. But you've never been afraid of work. Maybe you just need time for some self-examination … and while you're about it, don't forget to take your emotions into account.”

“I'll try.”

“The only real advice I can give you is to sleep on it. Sometimes, if there's something in my life I have to make a decision on, I wake in the morning and know exactly what I need to do. Listen to your heart. Take careful note of what you're feeling, what your sense is. Will you do that?”

Jade felt the wetness of tears on her cheeks. Her next words came out on a half sob. “Yes, I will. Thanks.”

“You're welcome, Dipity. And remember, we love you. You're strong. You'll find the courage to do whatever you need to.”

Jade hung up the phone. If only it were her weekend to go back home. But she'd have to wait. She simply couldn't afford another flight up north, especially if she was going to buy a house.

Aimlessly, she wandered through to the kitchen corner of the basement living room, thinking she should have gone back to the agency after all. What was there to do, here in this small, two-roomed apartment? It felt like some kind of cage. She had to get out.

Back in the small bedroom with its one, high, narrow window, she began to dress. On went her leather pants. Next she cast off her wig, exchanging it for her helmet. Her keys waited on a special hook in the main room. She grabbed them and went to get the Harley.

The evening was warm, perfectly suited for a long ride. She'd head out into the country. That would make her feel better.

Slow-moving traffic demanded patience and self-restraint, but Jade finally hit the open road. Built-up city streets gave way to farmland and then to uncultivated countryside. The feeling of oppressive doom, which had been hovering over her like a monstrous bat with outstretched wings, at last released her. She threw off all her thoughts, all her turmoil, all the pressing events of the last days. Nothing existed except the wind, the road ahead, the rumbling motor, and the wide expanse of sky. Wisps of cloud created an abstract canvas of color and light. She was free. She could be anyone she liked. Or she could leave the road entirely, just take off and rise into the air, never to return to work, to responsibilities, to lonely evenings by herself.