The Quilt (44 page)

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“I beg your pardon?  What gives you the right to talk to me like that?”

He ignored her childish outburst.

“You scared the hell out of me.  Your clothes are lying on the beach and there is an outgoing tide.  Do you know how I would feel if I found you lifeless on the beach like...”

His words trailed off.

“Like Sandy?”

“Not just
like Sandy.”

He shook his head.

“Joanne, that was irresponsible.”

“So you’
ve said.  Now just shut up will you.”

Paul ran his hand through his hair and scowled.

“Stay here while I swim back and get a kayak and some lifejackets.  I mean it Joanne, stay here.”

Joanne
pushed away from the safety of the buoy and began to slowly claw her way back to the beach.  She glanced at Paul swimming beside her; his strokes were carefully measured and effortless.  He was watching her progress carefully and smiled encouragement when he caught her eye.

“When you get tired turn over on your back and rest
.”

Unlikely
. She glared at him.  That answers the question.  No, we can’t go a day without arguing!  How much further?  Joanne’s breathing sounded laboured and the cramps had started again.  She met Paul’s concerned eyes.

“Oh
, piss off!”

Her
voice sounded like a petulant child.

Th
e gritty sand finally touched her feet and she slumped with exhaustion.  Her treacherous body began to shake in waves, her legs felt like jelly. Paul wrapped his arms around Joanne and pulled her close against his body.

“Please
, don’t ever do something like that again.”

I can’t look up. I can hear his fear.  I feel foolish.  I rest against his chest savouring and drawing from his reassuring strength.  Safety and security envelope me.  I feel him gently kissing my hair; his breath is warm and travels across my cheek. 

“Like an
injured kitten.”

I speak but my voice is a stranger
’s.

“
No, not at all like an injured kitten.”

His lips brush
mine and then unexpectedly he pulls away.  His eyes search my face.  It will change everything.    I feel I am on the edge of a cliff and my body is willing me to jump.  I run my hands through the short coarse hairs on his chest, allowing my fingers to linger on the sculptured muscles that form bands across his flat stomach.  He watches my progress as I trace slowly across the broad shoulders and explore his muscular arms.  I linger on the numerous scars following their edges and raising my eyes to look at him from underneath my lashes.  His skin feels soft, forbidden and contoured without the leather barrier that has protected me throughout the day.  A delicious tightness knots under my ribs and travels like electricity through my spine.

“Are you sure?”

He looks wary.

“Yes
, I am sure.  Yes, I am stone cold sober and yes, I am on the pill.”

On the pill?  Why did I feel the need to reassure him? For a moment I wonder if he will pull away but he finds my lips and this time there is urgency.
  The syrupy tepid water tugs at my legs as it flows hungrily across the sand and then, as if defeated, retreats. It feels erotic.  It feels sensual.  It over sensitises every nerve in my body.  His hands run up my naked back causing me to arch with longing.  He pauses and kisses me again, his tongue exploring the depths of my mouth, demanding, sculpturing, controlling.  He moves to my breasts teasing, seeking, caressing until the awakened stranger inside utters a primal groan. 

Unnoticed
, he has guided me back to the sun warmed sand.  I sink into the folds of a soft lavender scented towel and he lowers himself down beside me.  In the soft light of the moon I stare at his face.  It is tense with longing.  His eyes are deep shadows in the weak light and his damp ruffled hair fails across his features.  The stranger reaches up and pulls him towards me.

A puffy white cloud chases across the bright disk of the moon above me.  I am nestled in the crook of Paul’s strong arm.  He has circled me and we lie in silence.  I wonder what he is thinking.  I trace the deepest scar edge with my finger and wonder how any woman could mark a body as beautiful as this.  I feel cherished, I feel like I have never felt before.  I pull playfully at the hairs on his chest and he rolls over resting his head on his arm.  His eyes search mine.

“I have
to be the luckiest man on earth.”

He stands and holds out his hand to help me up.  My legs protest.  I wonder if it was caused by the swim or making love to the man standing in front of me.  We
walk slowly back up the track and find Jess and Critter looking guilt ridden on the large sheepskin that sits in front of the fireplace.  What would it be like to make love to Paul in the soft fibres of that rug?  I imagine a fire blazing in the huge hearth.  I giggle and feel ridiculous.  I wonder where my panties are. 

I wonder
what happened to Joanne.

We shower and he rubs soft suds over my body.  The driving jets of
hot water sear my body and his gentle hands caress me until I groan, reawakened with longing.  I explore the contours of his muscle and sinew.  I watch the white lavender foam as it runs down his long body and pools at his feet. 

Where to from here?
  I close my eyes, blocking out that cold reality, as we slide between crisp white sheets.

I know I woke during the night.  I know I saw Paul’s handsome face watching me.  I remember a ridiculous conversation and that he told me h
e wanted to imprint my features in his memory.

Now I wake alone.  The soft weak rays of morning sun filter through the window.  I reach across and find the bed is still warm from his body.  I sniff at his pillow and smell salt, lavender and sandalwood.  What have I done?  My naked arm falls across my eyes and I find the stranger is vanishing.

I get up and shower.  There is a smell of pancakes and fresh coffee coming from
the kitchen.   He is standing naked from the waist up.   My treacherous eyes admire the now familiar man in front of me.  His eyes look startling.  He watches me and clouds form in their depths.

“No Joanne, not now.  Don’t lock me out
.”

A look of disappointment
passes over his face.  I stand, clutching my back pack and feeling foolish.   I want to tell him it will work.  But I know better.  I am of no use to anyone else until I am of use to myself.  I have to re-establish a ruined career; I have to work through the grief of losing Sandy, the trauma of watching the cancer eat away at her and the guilt of not being able to prevent her suicide.  I have to learn to trust after the betrayal of my fiancé.    How could I bring an already damaged man into my life, into my mess? 

“I’m sorry
.”

That i
s all I can manage.  He turns off the stove.

“You’re sorry?  I think we need to talk
.”

I struggle to find the words.

“I studied for years to enable me to help people navigate their way through their relationship breakdowns.”

He is listening and I know he is trying to understand
.

“In many cases the failed relationship started with the expectation that
being in it would make one of the partner’s whole.  It never works.  You have to be complete before you ask someone else to invest in you.”

Stop looking at me like that!

“I have things I need to work through, by myself, and before I add any other complication.”

I fail to find the right words.  His eyes spark with anger.

“A complication?  Is that how you see this?”

“I don’t know how I see this.  But I do know it is not the time
for me to consider involving someone else in my life.  I already have more than enough challenges dealing with both my past and my own future.”

His mou
th has formed into that familiar thin line and his eyes reveal a strange mix of hurt and anger.  I try again.

“Can you understand?”

“Joanne, no I really can’t understand.  Is there anything I can say to make you feel differently?”

I shake my head
hoping to convey certainty but fail and have to look down.  I don’t want to see those blue eyes that probe me for answers.

“No
.”

“This is what you want?”

“This is what I need.”

He nods slowly.

“I’ll drive you to the terminal.”

His voice sounds
resigned.  We drive to the ferry in silence.  I am out of my depth and I know it.  When we arrive the unreasonable stranger surfaces and unleashes her fury. I stalk out of the SUV slamming the door and dragging my bag and Critter with me.  I know it is totally irrational but the only other alternative is to give way to the tears that pool in my eyes.  I need to distance myself from this man.

On any other day Joanne would have enjoyed the short trip back to the city.  The sun was reflecting off the oily surface and a gentle sea breeze laden with salt kissed against her skin.  It went unnoticed.  She moved uncomfortably on the plastic chair acutely aware her panties lay discarded on an isolated beach on Waiheke Island. 

She
reached for her phone and disturbed Critter who was lying on the deck regarding her with accusing eyes.  Paul was trying to contact her.  She looked at the screen and slowly shook her head.  I can’t do this.  Joanne walked to the railing and let the phone drop from her hand.  She stood watching it as it was snatched away by the turbulent water.  She was vaguely intrigued that it didn’t sink immediately and then, suddenly, it was gone.  New home, new job, new telephone and along the way she hoped she would find the old Joanne.

Chapter 38

“Summer Is Ending”

The flat was
small but clean.  Unlike the villa it didn’t have the feeling of cancer permeating from the walls and it smelt of new paint and lemon-scented cleaners not detergent and ammonia.  There was a low maintenance rock garden in the front lawn and a small well fenced grassed area at the rear.  The kindly landlady had a soft round face and bright red cheeks and nose that indicated more than a passing interest in liquor.  She enthusiastically reached for the bond money and handed Joanne the key. 

“When would you like to move in?”

“Today.  I haven’t got much to bring over.”

The soft round face
blinked rapidly.

“Very well then.  Ask if there is anything else you need
.”

The woman retreated
leaving Joanne to move in with her two suitcases, small dog and one large cardboard box.

I stand in the doorway.  I feel scared, really scared.  I try to look into the cold glass but tears mist my vision.  Oh God help me.  I stare at the handle, how can it look so threatening?  I know once I reach for it there will be no going back.  The rain is driving in.  It hammers on the door like the fists that hammered me this evening.  My hand travels across my features and I wince.  I know my nose is broken.  I explore the painful unfamiliar surface that lies flat and damaged on my bruised face.  I am really scared and I hesitate.  I go through my options once more.  Please, there must be an answer that will keep us all safe?  There is no answer.  I have no telephone. I have no car. I have no money. I have no access to mail. I cannot involve my son until I know we will be protected.

I look back in
to the dim stinking interior of the Shearers Cottage.  I imagine my son’s face as he looks horrified at the features of his mother tomorrow.  I imagine his rage, a possible fight, a gun.  I imagine him lying stone cold dead.  Dead like his father.  Another life ruined by Allan Clarke.  James, please forgive me.  I can’t keep our son safe any longer if I stay.  Please keep us safe.  I will get help.  This afternoon I will take our son from school.  I will take us both from the hell that is our life. 

I look down at my twisted fingers.  Angry purple glares from under the broken ruined nails.  My swollen eyes focus on my white trousers.  A shudder travels the le
ngth of my spine, settling in a pool of acid deep in my gut.   “Don’t make yourself visible.” The words sit like lead in my head.  What was I thinking?  I glance around the shadows of the room.  No movement.  No noise.  No time to change.  I reach for the handle.  I know it is now or never.  Please protect me. 

I urge my unwilling limbs to run as the thin cruel torrent of icy rain la
shes against my ruined face. I am cold, I am so wet, why didn’t I think?  Because I am scared, so scared.  Run, please run!

“Chloe, for fuck’s sake, wake up!”  Geoff is shaking me.  His face is a mask of horror.  I blink rapidly trying to surface from the deep cold dread that grips at my body.  I am drenched.  My mouth is dry and I lie in a tangle of sheets.

“Please
, Chloe, wake up.  Please don’t do this again.” 

He is staring horrified.  He gr
abs my shaking body and holds me tight.

“Please don’t do this again, it scares me.”

W
hy did he wake me?  I look back at my husband and see his fear.  I want to tell him I am scared too.  I want to tell him these dark deep visions take me into someone else’s hell.   I want to tell him they also take those left behind by the violence out of the hell of the unknown they are living.  I can feel their fear.  I can live their answers. If only Geoff would let me.

Simon stood looking bewildered at the exit doors of the airport.  Passengers spewed out behind him but he was motionless.   He looked relaxed and tanned, his features softened by the three weeks of relaxation.  A handsome dark haired young man pushed past.  He then stopped and they exchanged an intimate smile.    Joanne watches them, feeling like the intruder.  Her friend, her support system has moved on. 

Simon scans the crowd.  His face sp
lit into a broad smile and he erupted enthusiastically through the rope barricade.

“Joanne
!”

He grabbed
her in an uncomfortable embrace, holding her back at arm’s length and then the smile fades.

“What the hell has happened to you?”

The small crowd that surrounds them move away uncomfortably.  The dark haired stranger stands embarrassed and waiting to be introduced.

“You slept with him
!”

Heat rushed
to Joanne’s cheeks and she scowled at Simon angrily.  Like ripples from a cast stone the small crowd moved even further away.

“
Here are your keys.  Find the car yourself!”

Joanne
wheeled away and stormed out of the airport.

The taxi pulled up o
utside the flat and Joanne handed the driver the fare.  He looked sympathetic; he had looked sympathetic every time she had met his eyes in the rear vision mirror.   She wondered how long it took Simon to find the car in the crowded parking area.  A small pang of guilt stabbed at her.

The fridg
e is virtually empty.  She scanned the shelf and her eyes settled on a bottle of Marinella, sauvignon blanc.  He is taunting her.  She poured a glass, took a sip and opened her laptop.  Nearly two weeks have passed since her visit to Waiheke Island and still he occupied her mind, intruding and teasing.

The information is sketchy and disappointingly normal.  He has competed in sports with success for most of his life.  She could have ascertained that by just looking at his body. 
Rugby, team captain, rowing, Joanne skimmed through his achievements.  Head Boy, Dux, manager at Twin Pines Station, involved in a search for a man by the name of Cliff Kean who was found deceased.  She clicked on an article that appeared in the International Farmer.

Iconic Twin Pines Station is rumoured to have been sold for an undisclosed figure to Shaw Properties Limited.  Twin Pines has been home to four generations of the Clarke family.  

In the 1950’s Twin Pines was the scene of several notorious
King Country tragedies.  These include the untimely death of James Clarke who perished on Twin Pines when land he was clearing subsided under his machinery and the mysterious and unsolved disappearance of Anne Clarke.  Extensive investigations have failed to find the remains of Anne Clarke although her disappearance is generally considered suspicious.  Her late husband, the reclusive Allan Clarke, has often been implicated in the unsolved disappearance.

The
youngest member of the Clarke family, Paul Clarke, has recently separated from his wife, Leslie Clarke (see picture below).  Family friends state the marriage failed due to irreconcilable differences.  Paul Clarke declined to be interviewed.

Married! 

Leslie Clarke stared back at
her with huge baby blue eyes.   She was a tiny, gorgeous blonde with hair that hung in waves over her shoulders.  A gorgeous, tiny blonde with a tendency to attack her husband. 

Towering beside her
and scowling unhappily into the lens was Paul. 

Joanne
took a long swig from her glass.

Mari looked steadily at Paul’s thunderous face.  Without looking across the table she knew Jean would be fiddling nervously with a napkin avoiding the unrelenting ice of her son’s eyes. Mari spoke without blinking.

“Paul
, you will be the one employing the staff.”

“But
you are the one training them and the one that ultimately has to work with them.”

He muttered something incomprehensible.

“Look, Mari, the last thing I want to do is interview the ten simpering females you have shortlisted.”

She ignored him and pushed a small pile of resumes towards him.

“These are my two favourite applicants.  We need a minimum of three on opening night in the restaurant, another two outside. We need to make a decision soon so that I can make sure they are up to speed when we need them.”

Paul glanced at the cover of the
top file.  An attractive teenager stared out from the page.  He scowled disagreeably and waited for Mari to speak.

“
Here is the menu.  If you can please look at it tonight so that it can be printed this week.  Let me know if there is anything you are not happy with.”

She shuffled through a pile of papers and pushed a brightly colour sheet across the table. 
Paul looked down at the reclining mermaid and continued to scowl.

“That old drunk sent the artwork through yesterday
.  I assume this is what you had in mind for the cover?”

“Yes
. I will look at the menu tonight and yes, Glen Forrester has done exactly what I asked him to do.  Will that be all?”

“No
.” 

D
oes this woman never stop talking or take the time to blink!

“Have you organi
zed the advertisement for the papers and have you placed it on the internet?”

Mari continued without waiting for Paul to answer.

“That is now urgent.  Bookings are essential for the restaurant.  Numbers for the casuals outside are not important.  We will have done the preparation beforehand for the pizza.”

“I will do that tomorrow
,” he sighed deeply. “First thing tomorrow.”

Jean looked up hopefully but returned her attention to the linen napkin when Sid spoke.

“Your mother has found some good-sized red geraniums at the garden centre today.  There are enough to fill all of the barrels and they will be quite a display by opening day.”

“Thank you.  Is that all?”

“If I can have another minute of your time?”

Sean
watched the others walk back into the restaurant before turning to his son.

“
Remind me to trim back those grapes on the pergola.  They are so full of sugar they are attracting the bees and I don’t want anyone getting stung.”

“Is that what you wanted to speak to me about
?”

Paul’s eyebrows rose and he ran an impatient hand through his hair.

“I do not normally interfere in your personal life.  But when it starts to affect your mother I have no option.”

He glanced over to make sure his son was listening.

“I don’t know what happened between you and that woman.  But I do know you have been distracted and unpleasant since she visited and I can only assume it is because of Joanne.”

Paul’s mouth had set in
to a hard line and his eyes locked warily on to Sean.

“We had a misunderstanding
.”

“It appears you had more than a misunderstanding.  From what you have told Jean she has changed her telephone number and moved from where she was living
.”

Paul nodded.

“Her telephone is no longer in service and the villa is vacant and currently being renovated.”

“Then it would appear she no longer wants
any contact with you.  Perhaps it is time to accept she does not reciprocate your feelings.”

“That may be the case
.”

Paul shrugged apologetically
.

“But
I felt it was unresolved when she left.”

“Have you got any other way
of contacting her?”

“Yes
, but I have been reluctant to use it.”

Sean sighed.

“I haven’t seen you like this before.  Perhaps make the effort once more, and then, please, for all of us walk away.  You have a business to run and an event to organize.  Summer has almost ended and with the unsettled weather it will only be weeks before you are forced to have the opening indoors.  That will really limit the number of guests that we can accommodate.”

Sean relaxed.

“How is the band going?”

Paul got up from the table.

“I’ll make that phone call and go and see Chloe tonight.”

The receptionist sounded rehearsed and efficient.

“Good morning
, Kyle, Lee and Richards.  How may I help you?”

“I would like to speak to Mr Kyle
.”

“I am sorry Mr Kyle is currently unavailable.  May I take your
details and have him return your call?”

Paul ran
his hand through his hair.

“I am a friend of his daughter’s.
”

There was a slight pause and he heard a gruff voice in the background.

“I will put you through to Mr Kyle now.  Will you please hold the line?”

“Kyle
.”