Tallis' Third Tune

by Ellen L. Ekstrom

  “I know you’ll be doing Quinn a world of good,” Dennis laughed. He took my hand as we strolled towards the park where Richard the Third and Anne Boleyn were still locked in a game of Risk. “And how do you know that’s what he has in mind?”

  “He’s a guy!”

  “Oh thank you very much, Faery Princess!” my brother chuckled. “Glad to know that you think all guys are rutting dogs and just want one thing. What happened to the girl who used to say love between two people wasn’t just about sex, but about the soul and the mind, the spirit, and all combine to make a tie that cannot be unbound?”

  “I said that?” I asked, incredulous.

  “I can recite chapter, verse, date and time.”

  “The Trist Effect, dammit!”

  “Pardon?”

  “I fell prey to the effect of Donovan Trist. I got used to his idea of love, which is that love between two people is all about hormones and physical sensation. He uses it to trap and capture, to keep you bound to him.”

  We sat on a bench across from the Risk game. Dennis leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and watched a quarrel start up between Anne and Richard. “I think, Alice, you’re strong enough to break that rope. I think that’s what you had in mind all along – you just need to let go of the fear.”

  “I’m not afraid!”

  “Of rejection, of society’s disapproval – yes you are. And think about this. To whom did you first make a promise?”

  I pondered this with brows knit together and was ready to speak when Dennis got up to referee the game, which was getting out of hand. Richard was throwing little wooden army pieces at Anne, who was cursing him in medieval French. Dennis snapped his fingers and I was back on the train, staring out the window.

  “What’s wrong?” Quinn asked now, leaning forward to take my hands.

  I shrugged. “Some of my Catholic guilt has resurfaced.”

  “Meaning…?”

  “We’re both in relationships and yet, here we are.”

  “Two long time friends spending time together, not legally bound to others…maybe bound to each other by a promise made not so long ago.”

  “Yet we broke it, and may break it again.”

  He leaned back and exhaled a sigh. “Well, we can turn around at Scarborough, if that's what you really want.”

  “No. The trouble is I don’t know what it is that I want. I thought I did.”

  “You’re not alone there. Let’s use this time to figure things out.”

  “Maybe I want, or I’m expecting something more, than you’re willing or able to give,” I confessed.

  “You don’t know what’s being offered,” he jested lightly.

  Quinn slid across the compartment and held me in his arms like he had on our first date. Leaning back against the armrest, he stretched out over the seat and brought me with him, so that I was snuggled in his arms. “My beautiful Alice,” he whispered, “one thing you must know is that you will always have my love.”

  I wanted to respond but I was warm and contented in those arms that I’d dreamt of so many times, inhaling the clean sweetness of his aftershave and his natural scent. I became deliciously drowsy and finally fell asleep.

  When I woke the Proprietress was standing over me, Joan of Arc and Richard the Third flanking her. My brother had an arm around me protectively. No one else was in the Shop and though I was exhausted and could barely open my eyes, I noted that the light had changed and that the sun was actually setting over the village. My head was cradled on my forearms on the table, a cashmere sweater of my mother’s used for a pillow. I could barely hear my brother’s voice but he was angry.

  “Didn’t I say this wasn’t a good idea? Send her back!” he growled at the Proprietress. “What’s a year or two?”

  “Didn’t I say?” the Proprietress mimicked. “Matters need to be set in play and decisions have to be made! It’s the same for everyone, even your precious little sister!”

  “There are only a few years between…”

  Dennis’ protest was drowned in the whistle of the Flying Scotsman and I felt a soothing movement, of rocking back and forth as if I were in my mother’s arms. I drifted off into a comfortable, warm, sleep and was awakened by a kiss on my brow.

  “Alice, we’re here,” Quinn whispered.

  I sat up and immediately fussed with my hair, swiped my fingers under my eyes to remove the mascara smudges. It was around midnight and we had arrived at Scarborough.

  “Are we staying in a railway hotel?” I asked as we disembarked and walked from the platform to the station waiting room for our bags, the night air both shocking and delicious.

  “Nope, somewhere better: my house.”

  “Your house?”

  Quinn fell in love with Scarborough when the orchestra made an appearance at a summer festival, and, as he told his story on the taxi ride, when he’d made enough money he purchased a house facing the south bay in the shadow of the ruins of the massive keep of Scarborough Castle. From the balcony off the master bedroom one could see the castle and the sea lit by a full moon, and I couldn’t wait until morning to see it in daylight.

  A thump behind me confirmed that Quinn had come up the stairs and dropped my suitcase on the floor. “Wait ‘til you see it tomorrow,” he said.

  “I was just thinking that.”

  “Tired?” Quinn was standing behind me now and drew me close, kissing my hair.

  “I didn’t realize how hard I’ve been driving myself until we got off the train,” I admitted with a yawn.

  “You have two choices: you can sleep in here and I can take the bed in the study, or, we can share this bed and we both promise to behave ourselves.”

  We shook on it, and after a quick shower I slipped into bed wearing the scent he’d given me from his grandmother’s shop and a nightgown of blush colored silk and listened as Quinn washed up and brushed his teeth, was drifting off in the cloud of featherbeds and comforters when he slipped in beside me, pulling me close.

  “This is the way it’s supposed to be,” he whispered after a long, passionate kiss goodnight.

  And so we slept until the sun rose on a wet summer morning. Quinn offered a quick kiss and slipped out of bed, tossing on a robe. I stayed under the covers for a while, hoping he would come back and we could snuggle and talk. When he didn’t, I threw back the covers and reluctantly got up. Quinn was downstairs in the kitchen staring into the refrigerator.

  “I’ll ring the grocer and see about putting in some food for the rest of the weekend – I had them bring some milk, eggs, the usual stuff, when I decided to come over – unless you want to eat out,” he commented.

  “Why don’t you let me worry about this while you take a shower?” I offered, playfully shoving him in the direction of the stairs. For once I didn’t mind hearing the taps go on or the drone of the shower while I worked in the kitchen. By the time he came back downstairs, I’d managed to brew a pot of coffee and made omelets and French toast.

  “I thought I was wrung out, but you must be exhausted from the touring,” I mentioned, taking the cup of coffee he offered. “You fell asleep the moment your head hit the pillow.”

  “I’ve got a lot on my mind right now,” Quinn answered, tapping my nose in his playful way. “And you should know that’s the first restful sleep I’ve had in ages. Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For saying yes and coming with me to Scarborough. Just knowing you were beside me, Faery Princess – it meant a lot.” A lump was forming in my throat and I looked down at the food he brought to the table to avoid looking at him. Now he sat beside me in the little nook and nudged me playfully. “Forgot you were left-handed – elbow wars at the table, just like the good old days!”

  “We can’t play catch with the toast, though – need dinner rolls for that.”

  “Who cleaned up after that Thanksgiving dinner, I wonder?”

  “I think it was Harry,” I said, trying to keep my voice even, though I wanted to
sob.

  “We should visit the castle today. You don’t mind going in the rain to see it? I want you to see it, and the view. It’s incredible,” Quinn said as he helped himself to more toast and eggs, poured another round of coffee.

  “Sure, why not.”

  The tone of my voice betrayed my feelings and Quinn turned to look at me. When our eyes met he smiled and leaned over for a hug. “Oh God, I’ve upset you, haven’t I?”

  “No, no, it isn’t you. It’s knowing I can’t stay here forever and that things will change between us…” I sobbed into his shoulder.

  Outside there was a clap of thunder that rolled for the longest time and the sky grew darker. I peeked out, frowning, expecting to see the Proprietress standing in the garden window as she stood in the rain, dripping wet.

  And there she was, scowling, with the rain sliding off her nose and pillbox hat, looking very much like the quintessential wet rat. She tapped at the wristwatch above her left hand and then walked away muttering to herself.

  “Maybe things will change for the better; of course, no one knows, but I’m hoping…” Again, there was a clap of thunder that shook the house and the sky lit up with the bluish tinge of lightning. I hugged Quinn tighter. “Right now I just want to spend a few days being with you, showing you this place I love, reacquainting ourselves.”

  “Sorry,” I sniffed.

  “Don’t be! Remember, we’re here to figure things out – it’s bound to be bumpy. The path to that place is pretty steep and rocky.”

  I couldn’t believe what I heard.

  Hadn’t Dennis said that to me? He had!

  Now I glanced at Quinn suspiciously and watched as he finished his breakfast. He looked over with brows raised in amused question.

  “What?” he laughed.

  “Nothing. Are you sure we can see the castle in this?” I gestured towards the buckets of rain pouring down and splashing on the windows, lightning ripping through the dark clouds.

  “This? It’ll clear up soon.”

  I sniffed back the last of my tears and looked up at him from under my lashes. “Wouldn’t happen to have a Risk game handy, would you?”

  “Left it at my London flat – but I have something better in mind.”

  “What could be better than losing another game of Risk to me?” I teased, taking the last bit of sausage from his plate and popping it into my mouth.

  “You’ll find out. I’ll clear this away and do the dishes while you settle in, then you’ll get your surprise – and hopefully after that the weather will cooperate with my plans.”

  Gulping down the last of the coffee in his cup, Quinn pushed me gently towards the stairs.

  It was difficult not to study the photographs on the dresser or the artwork on the walls, the personal touches to his vacation home. I did notice a framed photograph of us taken in the winter of 1972 right before the break-up. There we were, Quinn, Dennis, Harry and me sitting on the backyard steps and we each wore a scarf that Dennis had knitted. I noticed the absence of photographs of his parents, though there were quite a few of Quinn with Grandma Ellie. There were no photographs of other women or friends. I wondered about that.

  I was lacing up my boots when Quinn knocked on the door. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said.

  I shoved myself off the bed and placed my brush on the dresser where our photograph stood. “Do you still have that scarf?” I asked.

  “Yes, it’s in London. Still have yours?”

  “Everything Denny’s made for me I wear – mostly because he’d make a comment if I didn’t.” I joked, then, “It’s nice to see that photo again. That was a happy time.”

  “I think of it as my family portrait,” he murmured, dusting off the frame with a gentle finger.

  “So! What’s this surprise?” I asked, wanting to change the subject and the mood.

  “Follow me, m’lady.”

  We raced downstairs to the little study off the living room where an upright piano and Quinn’s cello nearly filled the space. Quinn led me to the overstuffed loveseat and sat me down, kissing the top of my head, and then he sat with the cello.

  “This is a special song, for a very special friend,” he said and then began to play.

  My breath caught when I heard it: Nino Rota’s love theme from Romeo & Juliet – the popular version known as A Time for Us. He began to sing in his bari-tenor voice, the familiar verses were not in English but Italian. After the chorus he played a solo of the theme and added incredible arpeggios and chords that were lush and spine-tingling. When he finished, Quinn leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, exhausted. Moments passed before he opened his eyes and saw me staring.

  “I hope you liked it,” he said, smiling and eyes glistening with tears. He reached for me and I melted into his arms, listening to the heart pound in his chest. “That was for you, Alice!”

  I started to weep with happiness then and he laughed gently, holding me tighter. He started singing Here Comes the Sun and I joined in.

  “Hey!” Quinn exclaimed in mid-verse, pointing at the window. “Here comes the sun!”

  We went on the outing that would change, yet bind, everything.

  Chapter 15

  The strains of the Rota song and Quinn’s interpretation were still spinning around in my head and making me drunk with love as we climbed to the ruins of Scarborough that afternoon.

  “Here, this is what I want to show you.”

  Quinn led me to the eastern tip of the promontory where the castle stood facing the North Sea. Below us was the shore and to the north, the flat darkness of the moors. Patches of green were speckled with whitewashed towns and villages along the horizon. I turned slowly to take it all in: the waves rolling and crashing on the beach, the vast, empty horizon to the east where France and the Netherlands lay, to the fishing boats and touring yachts bobbing in the harbor as waves slapped against them, as well as the daffodils and gillyflowers, white roses in clumps near the foot of the donjon, the cliffs of Scarborough and the town nestled above, around and upon them, the clusters of houses along the quay and around the approach to the castle itself. The wind picked up as we walked higher still and turned to face the sea and let the wind gently buffet us. It swirled about in my hair and around us, made the georgette crepe of my dress dance. I pulled my sweater closer for warmth and smiled at all this beauty. Waves crashed below and gulls cried as they soared and dove, circled and lit on the traceries of the castle donjon. The air was crisp and sharp with the tang of the sea, the damp earth after a rain.

  I had been here many times in my dreams.

  “Remember what you said?” Quinn asked as he came up and wrapped me in an embrace. “‘A meadow, or a moor at sunrise, or walking across the moors, standing on a cliff, looking out to sea…’ Every time I come here, and that’s a lot, I think of what you said, and of you, especially you.”

  “You said I’d be part of the picture,” I whispered.

  “You are; you always are.”

  I closed my eyes and took a breath, swallowed hard. “Then tell me what this shadow is hanging over us; what it is that you’re holding back, dying to tell me but can’t.”

  He leaned in and put his chin on my shoulder, holding me tighter now, as if to prevent me from escaping or to keep me from falling. I could have gone either way. His sigh rolled through both of us.

  “I've been dreading this. I’m not ready to watch you walk away forever.”

  “Oh God, you're married to that attorney!” I blurted out and did indeed make ready to run, but Quinn held me firmly.

  “No! It's not that.”

  “Then what is it? You’re not dying of cancer or something?”

  “Not that, either. First confession: I lied to you, Alice. We aren’t dating. It was one dinner and a movie, a night of the worst sex …”

  “Were you trying to make me jealous with that lie?”

  “Pretty much. Actually I don’t know what I was doing. I was jealous of your archeologist.”

/>   “Would you please stop calling him my archeologist? I don’t own him and he certainly doesn’t have rights to me.”

  “But you’re getting married in a few weeks, aren’t you?”

  “Haven’t made up my mind.”

  “Well, think about it.”

  I was ready to argue but his expression as he turned me to face him convinced me silence was best.

  “Second confession,” he sighed. Quinn looked around and motioning towards a park bench near the Visitors Center and the outer curtain of the castle precincts, led me there. “I haven’t been telling you the truth about a lot of things.” His voice was serious, as were his dark eyes now catching the late afternoon sun. I felt a heaviness I’d not felt before, as if something or someone was pulling out my heart. The pressure seemed unbearable at first and as the sky above me started to darken, I felt faint.

  “Let’s sit here,” Quinn was saying. He sat close and took my hand and for the longest time said nothing. Finally, he turned and looked at me. I would never forget that look.

  The sun suddenly appeared from behind the clouds and shone brightly on us, glinting off the windows of the Visitor’s Center so that it was annoying, and blinding. I squinted as the light grew brighter and brighter, and then I felt myself screaming, though no words came from my throat. When I opened my eyes, I was in the Curiosity Shop.

  “NO!” I screamed at the Proprietress. “It isn’t fair!”

  “Who said anything about life being fair – right, Your Grace?” the Proprietress sniped, tossing a look at Richard the Third.

  “Don’t bring me into your silly argument,” Richard grumbled as he put aside his crossword puzzle and made for the espresso machine.

  “Silly is it?” Joan of Arc groused, joining me at the table.

  “Of all emotions, love is the silliest,” he countered. “And I think you would agree?” His pencil was directed at the Proprietress.

  “Indeed,” she sniffed. “It makes us do foolish things, as your brother once said, Alice; it forces us to make decisions, and make promises that can’t be kept. Or that we want to keep.”

  “Here’s a thought,” said Tyrone Power as he looked up from his poker game with Sigmund Freud. “It makes us happy.”