by Cooper, Tea
Alan.
Three calls, each sounding more annoyed, the final one starting to sound slightly concerned. She dialed his number.
“Hi, Alan. It’s Cassia. How are you?” Her voice sounded strange and husky; she hadn’t seen nor spoken to another person since she had left Jake in the pouring rain days ago.
“Good, but how are you? You sound as though you have the flu. Are you okay?”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry I haven’t returned your calls.”
“It’s been over two weeks since we spoke. Have you been out of town?”
“Yes, I’ve been busy, and I’ve been working.” She walked up to the massive locket suspended from the block and tackle in the middle of the room and swung it gently.
“Excellent. Anything I should know about? We need to get together. Discuss the pieces for the exhibition. There’s a vacancy at the gallery in four weeks. Your exhibition has been moved forward. When is a good time to catch up?”
Cassia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Was she ready? Could she be ready by then? She looked again at the heart; a wave of pride swept over her. It was certainly different, and it was time she made a move, asserted her independence. “That would be great. When would you like to meet?”
“How about tomorrow around one? Is it okay if I come to the studio? I’ll bring something for lunch, and I have some bits and pieces I need to leave with you.”
“Sounds excellent. I look forward to it.” Cassia hung up the phone.
Stage one of the new me.
The prospect of company, even her quirky agent, was something to look forward to. What would Alan think of her latest work? He had already seen some of the smaller metal pieces, but the locket would be completely new. And then there were the horses. If she got the driftwood in time, they would be wonderful. Old with new, timber with steel. The perfect transition.
***
Her intercom buzzed promptly at one, and Cassia pushed the button, looking forward to some feedback. Working in a vacuum was difficult, and it would be interesting to hear Alan’s opinion of her latest piece.
“Hi, Alan. Come in. It is great to see you.” He towered over her and bent his black-clad frame, then dropped a kiss on her cheek before she led him into the kitchen to deposit the bags from her favorite delicatessen. Her mouth watered at the smell of antipasto and sourdough bread. Delicious.
“Well, kiddo, you’ve been busy.”
Cassia stood back silently, her heart thumping, waiting for his reaction as he walked around the cavernous studio. She knew it would take him several moments to form an opinion. An opinion she respected.
Alan Roeden was one of the country’s most esteemed art critics, and his personal view would reflect the value of her work. She was on tenterhooks as he walked slowly around the room, his hands clasped behind his back, like a black cockatoo strutting its stuff. He strolled around the two full-sized skeletons of the prancing horses before raising one perfectly manicured eyebrow and looking directly at her. Cassia held her breath as a million words of rejection buzzed through her mind.
“Amazing, darling!” he exclaimed. “You’ve captured the grace and the form so well. I love the sheer size of them, and the combination of materials speaks for itself.” He clapped his pale hands in delight.
A blush warmed Cassia’s face at his unusual enthusiasm. He was often quite reserved. “Thank you. I wanted to capture the contrast between the metal and the timber—a transition from my previous work to the steel of the city.” She looked at the Harbour Bridge as she walked to the other side of the studio and pulled the drop sheet from the intricate, welded steel locket. It mirrored the wrought iron balconies of the inner city terraces.
She saw Alan’s eyes widen with excitement. His reaction was even more than she could have hoped for.
“How many pieces like this do you have?”
“The two horses, the heart, and about eight smaller metal pieces.” Cassia moved to the storage space at the back of the studio. “But I need some more driftwood to complete the horses.”
“That reminds me.” He raised a long, skinny finger. “I’ve got your chainsaw in my car. Jake dropped it in a while back, and I promised him I’d get it to you. He said he had some timber for you.”
Cassia’s stomach clenched at the mention of Jake. Ridiculous. “Thank you. I really could do with the chainsaw, but tell Jake not to worry about the timber. I’ll hire a four-wheel drive and go up and collect it.”
“No, you don’t have to. He said he was coming to town tomorrow to sign some papers, something to do with the sale of his house, and would drop it in. I told him you were working so you were bound to be here.”
Cassia’s temper flared. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she paused before she answered him. Alan and Jake were only trying to be helpful. Seeing Jake was the last thing she wanted, but she certainly wasn’t going to ring him and tell him not to bother. She needed the timber. She squared her shoulders and tossed her hair off her face. It was better to brave it. It would be easy; all she would have to do was to load the timber into the lift, and then Jake could go on his way. She could do that.
“So,” Alan said, interrupting her thoughts. “Exhibition in a month. The Steel Heart: Coastal Renaissance to Urban Nemesis. I like it. What do you think? Will you have everything completed in time?”
Buoyed by his enthusiasm, Cassia grinned, Alan’s interest and the prospect of the new exhibition pushing away any feelings of resentment. In fact, she felt more inspired than she had for days. “Another exhibition. Brilliant. I can’t wait!”
Alan walked to the door. “I’ll be in touch. We’ll need a couple of weeks to position and hang everything. Keep in touch.”
“But you haven’t had anything to eat. Let me get you a glass of wine and some of the delicious antipasto you brought with you.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. It’s my standard starving-artist-in-a-garret parcel. Enjoy. I’ll stick the chainsaw in the lift and press the up button on my way out.” The last sight she had of him was his pale hand waving as he disappeared behind the sliding doors of the waiting lift.
“Yes!” Cassia punched the air and sashayed across the floor, sweeping in and out of her horses in an extravagant parody of a ballerina as she careered around the studio. She twirled to the lift as it pinged, announcing the arrival of her chainsaw; she picked it up and waltzed it around the studio.
“Oh, but I am hungry,” she said to her empty workroom. She opened the deli bags and peered inside.
Perfect.
With her mouth watering, she broke the end from the sourdough baguette and cracked it open, then stuffed hot salami and artichoke hearts into the middle.
She sat gazing at the lights on the bridge as she devoured her meal.
A new exhibition. So exciting.
Now she had her chainsaw, she could use up the remaining timber tomorrow. Tomorrow. Right, Jake. How was she going to handle it? Easy. The new, independent, self-made, second-exhibition artist could handle a visit from Jake; after all, he would only be delivering timber.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Hell-ooo! How can I help you?” The excitement and happiness in Cassia’s voice caught Jake unawares. He shook his head and grinned. Nothing changed. Her moods were still as mercurial as ever. Down one moment, and up the next. It sounded as though she’d been working—a day in the studio always excited her.
He breathed a huge sigh of relief. The light was fading fast; it had taken him far longer than he’d anticipated to sort out the paperwork with the real estate agents, but he had no complaints. The sale would leave him with more than enough capital to buy the family farm from Lyle. Finally his brother would have the money he so drastically needed to move on. Some days it seemed as though the two of them were just meaningless pawns in the slow grind of the judicial system.
“Hi, Cass. It’s Jake. I had to come back into the city today, so I brought your timber. Did Alan tell you I was
coming?”
“Oh, Jake, perfect!” Her breathless enthusiasm tore at his gut. “I’ll be right down. We can stack it in the lift. Wait a moment!” The buzzer on the door sounded, and Jake propped the security door open with a piece of driftwood.
The pile at the back of the Shack had been much bigger than he remembered. Since Cassia had first left, he hadn’t been able to resist the temptation to pick up pieces he’d seen on the beach. It had been a way of keeping her close to him, maintaining a connection with her, imagining what she might say when she saw a piece she liked, how her hands would shape the timber and create her special kind of magic.
He opened the back door of the car, and after tossing aside an old jumper of Madeleine’s, started to untangle the puzzle of gnarled timber jammed in the back. He really did admire Lyle and his determination to ensure the drug dealers were convicted, but the police demands for strict secrecy were a nightmare. He knew it made sense—the entire case for the prosecution depended on it. The fewer people involved, the better; that was why it had been necessary for Madeleine to move into the Shack with him, away from any threats or pressure associated with the case. It had been so difficult not to confide in Cassia and tell her the truth, but the lawyers had convinced him the less she knew, the safer she would be. Her safety was more important to him than any explanation.
He pulled one of the largest pieces of wood from the trailer and then walked to the lift, dragging it over the cobblestones. The doors slid open, and Cassia bounded out, almost squealing with excitement.
“Oh, Jake! I don’t remember this piece. It’s fantastic. Perfect. Here you are. I’ll hold the lift door, and you can load it.”
Jake smiled at her. Her hair was tangled, her feet bare, and her hands black. Overtones of singed hair invaded his nostrils as he stepped past her into the lift and gently laid the large piece of wood on its side.
What on earth has she been up to?
Cassia moved past him and bent down to run her slender fingers along the smooth timber. The sight of her neat backside encased in the stained dungarees, her slim calves and delicate ankles made him want to grab hold of her and kiss her senseless, but it probably wouldn’t be a good idea.
He’d rather have this happy Cassia, pleased to see him, than the disheartened, dispirited girl he had upset the other night. His breath caught in his throat. She was so delighted, so exuberant. One of the things he loved most was her total lack of pretense. Never one to primp and pose in front of a mirror, her dress sense was a mark of her individuality, and her clothes were always haphazardly mixed with her special, creative flair. The dungarees were rolled up to midcalf and hung loose on her.
Not surprising.
They were an old pair of his. He hadn’t even noticed they were gone. He chuckled to himself as he walked back to the trailer; they sure looked a lot better on her.
Cassia could hardly contain her enthusiasm, and by the time the second trip in the lift was complete, she had a huge pile of driftwood balanced like a prehistoric skeleton in the middle of her studio. “Oh, Jake! Thank you so much. Your timing is perfect. I’m nearly finished.”
He looked around at the large mound covered with drop sheets; it stood like an Incan pyramid in the middle of the studio. “Are you going to show me what is underneath all of that?” he asked, gesturing at the pile.
“No, that’s not finished, but it will be soon, now I have the driftwood. I’ll show you what else I have been working on.”
Jake roamed around the studio. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine them back at the Shack. Evenings had always been his favorite time—a glass of wine and a wander around her studio, seeing her latest work, listening to her plans. He smiled to himself as he remembered the way she would grab his hand and pull him from one piece to another, explaining her ideas, asking for advice. Then they’d sit together on the deck, backs against the wall, the late afternoon light bathing them in the surreal landscape of her sculptures.
The icy chill of the glass hit his hand.
Mind reader.
He took a sip of the chilled white wine as he moved from one small sculpture to the next, running his fingers over the intricate designs. They reminded him of the city terrace balconies, of The Rocks, and Sydney’s convict past.
“Well, what do you think?” Jake almost missed her question as he examined one of the more detailed pieces. She sat on an old timber crate, leaning forward, her elbows on her knees, and her long, blonde hair curling over one shoulder. Her entire attention focused on him as he looked up to meet the familiar coffee-colored eyes. If she kept looking at him like that, he would forget all his good intentions and drag her into his arms.
Jake shook his head and turned to the window.
Don’t do it again. Don’t even think about it.
It wasn’t fair to either of them. It was time to leave. The wood was delivered, and he had to get out before it was too late. Just looking at her made him ache all over. He wanted her so much. Not in a few weeks’ time when Lyle and the police had finally gotten the dealers safely behind bars, but right this very moment.
“Cass, this work is really different,” he said, turning back to her and focusing on the grace and fragility of her long fingers, marveling at their ability to create the sculptures. “It’s innovative, unusual. Your style has changed.” A shadow crossed her face, and he knew she wanted to ask him more but seemed as fearful as he was of creating any intimacy.
“I have to go.” Abruptly he put his glass down before he walked carefully around the debris covering the floor.
***
“Would you… I’d really like you to see my major piece.” Her words were tentative. He turned back, and she held out her hand. Their fingers automatically interlaced, and she led him across to the other side of the room, in front of the huge plate-glass window. The bridge lights twinkled in the twilight, one green like his eyes, the other flashing a warning red.
Her heart pounded as she reached for the drop sheet covering a timber packing case. With a magician-like flourish, she pulled the material away to reveal her latest creation. The sculpture she had spent a good part of her anguish on in the days since her trip to the beach. She craved his opinion.
Jake’s expression made it totally worthwhile. Cassia held his gaze. “From Coastal Renaissance to Urban Nemesis.”
Without a word, he strolled around the giant heart. The shadow of the bridge flickered across his face as he studied it. Cassia settled back to look at him, at his beautiful profile, his chin shadowed by a day’s growth of beard, and the flickering lights highlighting the copper streaks in his hair.
“What do you think? I’m rather pleased with it.”
“It’s incredible. When did you do this?” His whispered words sounded almost reverent. It took all she had not to clap her hands at his reaction. His amazement was obvious in his voice; it was more than she had hoped for.
“In the last few days. About a week, I suppose, since I saw you at the auction.”
“It’s unreal, and so different from everything you’ve done in the past.”
Excellent. It was exactly what she had intended.
The new me.
Time almost stood still for Cassia as Jake studied the intricate filigree patterns of the metalwork, and she knew the exact second he understood her message. She smiled to herself with deep satisfaction as the flash of realization crossed his face. He turned to her, his eyes wide, and his expression of sudden comprehension was almost worth the anguish that had fuelled her inspiration.
“Amazing.”
Cassia held his gaze, then nodded, shielding her eyes with her thick lashes. “Thank you.”
“City slicker’s heart, hey? Not for an old beachcomber like me.” The amusement was clear in his expression.
So her meaning was plain as the writing on the wall, and as always he had interpreted her correctly. He read her so well. Maybe she should give him one more chance to explain what had happened between him and Madeleine.
She pulled herself up sharply. No. Don’t go down that track again. Her heart was locked as tight as the metal locket, and this time she wasn’t offering him the key.
“There you go,” she replied, keeping her voice light. “This is the new me.”
There was a teasing gleam in his eyes, and for a moment she thought he was going to laugh. But he shook his head, wiped his hand across his face, and stepped closer to her—too close. Ocean, ocean mixed with a splash of desire, assailed her senses. No. Not today. She was not going to fall into the same trap again. She held her breath, resisting the urge to step closer to him, refusing to allow his familiar scent to work its magic.
“I can see. Very new. Are you sure it is what you want?” His lifted his right eyebrow a little higher, waiting for her to consider his question. “I have no complaints with the old you. In fact…” He paused, allowing her to fill in the blank.
Her heart was pounding, but she forced herself to hold his gaze, and she plastered a brittle smile onto her face. A numbness pervaded Cassia’s limbs, and she simply stared at him for a long, airless moment. “Times change,” she finally managed to splutter out.
Jake slowly placed the drop sheet back over the steel heart. Her breathing fluttered as he came close enough to touch her. Shivering at the prospect, her nerves tingling in anticipation and her heart pounding, she allowed her hand to drift toward him.
In the instant before she touched him, he leaned back against the daybed and folded his arms across his chest. Cassia let the mixture of relief and disappointment seep through her body—and made the most of the space to suck some much-needed air into her burning lungs.
Jake cleared his throat. “Cass, there’s something you need to know. I have every intention, every intention”—he drew the words out—”of proving to you one day just how wrong you are.” He nodded his head as if to emphasize his words.