by Helen Karol
Petunias of almost every shade imaginable coupled with nasturtiums growing in the shaded areas, allowing their colours to reach a greater vividness than in the sun. Beautiful, but poisonous oleander shrubs grew beside jacarandas not yet in full bloom. Opening the window, she inhaled the delightful scent of lilacs, their purple and white flowers perfect foils for the vibrant red and orange of the bougainvillea climbing the trellised garden seats that flanked either side of the window.
Winter indeed!
The direction of her thoughts reminded Claire she wanted to go for a swim and all thoughts of returning to bed left her. Julian might think her crazy to venture into the cold waters at this time of year, but they wouldn't be much colder than the Atlantic of New England in summer and the idea of an early morning swim appealed to her.
Searching her suitcase, she found and donned her bikini. Towel in hand, she moved quietly through the house, not wishing to disturb Julian's sleep. Reaching the shore, she lay down allowing the waves to wash over her, acclimatising her to the temperature of the water.
Phew, it was certainly refreshing.
As her body temperature lowered, she ran diving into the waves then stood, allowing them to batter her around. Catching one large wave, she rode it back to shore, lying face down; the calming effect of the ocean washing over her. She had missed the surf. She contemplated future fun with a boogie board, maybe she would even take up surfing again.
Rolling over onto her back, she found her thoughts moving backwards in time over the last few months. Since Julian had made his blunt statement last night, she had realised he was probably right in his assessment of her relationship with Richard. No doubt she'd known it herself, but was just afraid to admit it.
Lust.
It sounded so crude.
It wasn't that Claire was ashamed of her sexuality it was just that she would like to think it could be expressed in a more refined manner. Like love, for instance, or at least affection. Looking back, she admitted there hadn't been much affection between her and Richard. In fact, there were times when she felt she actually disliked him. Yet she had found it so hard to break away from him.
And what of Julian himself? For over three years he had felt more than friendship for her and she had no idea. He certainly hid it well. She blushed when she thought of all the times she had paraded in front of him in a skimpy bikini, asking him to oil her back. She chuckled when she thought of him harbouring secret desires for her, the idea a balm to her wounded pride.
Was that why she had wanted him to take her to bed last night; to salvage her pride as he had suggested? Probably, but it wasn't just that. Her thoughts over dinner had opened up new horizons and her reaction to him was a perfectly normal one to a man she now found attractive. At least there was certainly affection between them, and trust. Channelling her desires in his direction was not too bad an idea - who knew what else might grow between them.
"Come in and have some coffee before you turn blue."
Julian's voice startled her out of her reverie and she discovered she was becoming chilled. Draping the towel around her, she followed his figure across the beach and through the glass doors leading into the kitchen from the deck. The mug felt warm to her cold hands and she took a sip before appraising her benefactor.
He was dressed casually in a red, open-necked, knit shirt and jeans, which seemed moulded to his lower half. Assessing him, she tried to decide whether she liked him better dressed this way or in the more formal manner of the night before. Both had their merits.
This way she had a better view of his attractions. The form-fitting shirt showed off the muscles of his well-developed upper body; no doubt from playing tennis and racquetball and, of course, swimming. She had participated in those sports with him often in the past and come a cropper against his powerful backhand many times. Idly, she wondered who partnered him now, hoping it was another man.
Collecting her thoughts, before they digressed too much, she continued her mental debate over his dressing habits. Viewing him as he turned to refill his coffee mug, she decided the jeans definitely flattered his back view better than formal pants. But dressed formally, he was also attractive. He had excellent taste, and his suits were classy rather than stuffy. And somehow they spoke of a latent virility that was really quite exciting now that she thought about it. Taking one final inspection, she decided he was just plain sexy no matter how he dressed. Her decision must have shown in her face because Julian spoke to her in dryly amused tones.
"If you've finished your appraisal and I have finally met with your approval, perhaps you could go and change."
Claire smiled saucily and climbed up on one of the stools at the breakfast bar. "Why? Don't I meet with your approval in my present mode of dress?"
Obviously deciding to play her at her own game, he reached across the wood that separated them and brushed the back of his hand across her bikini top.
"It's wet, you could catch cold."
Claire inhaled her breath, mentally conceding him a point. But in her eyes, the game was far from over. She bent her elbow on the counter, cupping her chin in her hand.
"I thought you didn't want me warmed up."
Laughing, he rested his arms on his side of the bar. "Don't you think it's time we called a truce?"
"Okay," she agreed deceptively before sliding her arms around his neck. "How do you suggest we seal it?"
He kissed her gently on the lips and then straightened, obviously intending to go no further. Claire didn't push him, removing her arms from around his neck, sensing he had become serious. He didn't look directly at her when he spoke.
"Look, Claire, it's not that I'm averse to a change in our relationship, it's just that I think it's too soon after..."
He paused and Claire supplied rather wryly. "My lusty experiences in New York?"
He looked at her then with reproachful amusement. "I have a feeling you're not going to let me forget that remark."
Claire didn't reply, merely taking a sip from her coffee, but her eyes supported his comment, promising future reprisals.
"You're right though, that is what I mean. I'd rather not be used as rebound material."
Claire protested, “Julian, that’s not the reason. Do you find it so hard to believe I'm attracted to you?"
"No, but you're confused right now."
Claire became exasperated. "I'm old enough to know my own feelings. I don’t need you to explain them to me,” conveniently forgetting that she had relied on his judgment only the night before.
But Julian didn't remind her, his answer only slightly impatient. "I don't care how old you are. No one can completely assess their emotions under pressure, and you've been in a stressful situation for a number of weeks. All I'm suggesting is you take a breathing space."
"And then?"
"'We'll see," but his eyes were full of promise.
Claire considered. His suggestion made sense. She nodded. "Alright. Should we lay down the ground rules?" A little of her earlier sauciness returning, drawing a chuckle from him.
"No. I don't think that will be necessary."
"Well, I don't know. Is kissing allowed?"
Julian answered her through action, his lips lingering longer than before. "Yes. As long as they don't go much further than that. And they shouldn't be too frequent, either," he added, backing away from her advancing mouth.
Claire stole another kiss anyway, before she slid off the stool and left to change.
Showering quickly, she pulled on casual clothes similar to his. She towel-dried her hair and prepared to return it to the top-knot she had worn for her swim. Changing her mind, she used the blow-dryer until it surrounded her head like a golden veil, curling around in soft waves to frame her face.
Julian was still at the breakfast bar when she returned, although he had moved round to sit at one of the stools, gazing out at the ocean, lost in his thoughts. Hearing her enter, he turned his head. As he caught sight of her, a startled expression crossed h
is face.
"You cut your hair!"
"Yes, I forgot you hadn't seen it. It's easier to care for this way. I got fed up with it last month and did the evil deed. It's alright, it didn't hurt a bit," she reassured him, surprised at his reaction; he looked positively bereft. However, he recovered quickly and like the perfect gentlemen he was, complimented her on the change, adding.
"It gives you an air of sophistication."
Inwardly he shrugged. It did suit her and at shoulder length it was still long enough and thick enough to... "How about an omelette for breakfast?"
Claire nodded, following him into the kitchen, wondering what his secret smile was about. She discontinued her speculation when he separated some articles from the ones he had taken from the fridge and dropped them in front of her on the counter.
"How come I always get the onions?"
"Cook's helper always gets the dirty jobs."
She eyed him resentfully, but nevertheless began peeling and cutting. Together they prepared the omelette. Claire had forgotten how easily they moved around in this kitchen. It had been three years since they prepared a meal together. They had always eaten out when Julian was in New York. But when he placed the onions in front of her, with such a familiar gesture, those years had fallen away, as if they had never been. When he asked her to pass him the skillet, she instinctively opened the cupboard it was in and passed it to him, voicing her thoughts.
"Everything's in the same place, it's almost as if I never left."
Pouring the beaten eggs into the pan, adding the onions and mushrooms, he said. "Yes, I’m a creature of habit, I'm afraid"
"Habits can be fun to break," and she let her fingers walk up his back. "Sorry, I forgot," removing her fingers when he looked reprovingly over his shoulder. But she wasn't the least bit remorseful. "You’d better give me something else to do with my hands."
Smiling, he told her to set the table. She completed the task quickly and then looked around. The house was built in California style; open plan with varying levels. The table where she sat was nestled in a large bay window, making it a cosy nook looking over the ocean. The working kitchen was separated from her in part by the breakfast bar that followed round in a semi-u. To her left were the glass doors leading to the deck and further away three steps led down into the living room, the east wall of which was taken up with a high tech media centre, coupled with shelves of books from floor to ceiling, ranging from gold embossed leather to well-worn paperbacks.
From there, and at the other end of the wooden railing that divided the living room from the rest of the house, the two steps Claire had posed at the top of the night before led up to the bedrooms and across to the dining room. This room adjoined the kitchen, although it was one step lower and also led to the entrance to the double garage at the side of the house. The house possessed four bedrooms, one of which Claire knew Julian had converted to a workroom, so he could work at home if he wanted.
The decor was predominantly Spanish, although it was stylish and comfortable rather than overpowering. In fact, it was a lot like the man who lived in it. Claire sighed contentedly.
"I love your house, Julian."
He placed a plate filled with omelette in front of her and one in front of himself, asking as he sat down. "Enough to live in it, some day?"
Claire stared at him. "Now whose breaking the rules?"
He didn't apologise, as she had; instead he began to eat.
Claire followed suit, but her fork froze on the way to her mouth as she remembered his reaction when she had told him of Richard's suggestion she move in with him, and the full import of Julian's words sank in. Quickly, she looked at his face, but it was emotionless, as if he had merely commented on the weather and Claire did not have the confidence to probe further, instead she began talking of the weather herself.
After breakfast they went for a walk on the beach, catching up on old news, closing the gap of the years she had been away. On the way back to the house Julian suggested driving down to Long Beach for lunch and spending the afternoon there.
"Sounds like fun. Should we change?"
He looked down. They had walked barefoot along the shore with their jeans turned up at the bottom. Despite this, the cuffs of both had been soaked by the waves and when they sat down the sand had stuck to the wet material. Claire followed his gaze and smiled ruefully.
"You're right," and then added challengingly. “Bet I can change faster than you."
He laughed. "As if any woman could change faster than a man."
"Well, we'll see about that!"
Catching him off guard, she pushed him and then tripped him, sending him sprawling on the beach. Then she dashed for the house intent on using her unfairly gained advantage. His cry of cheat reached her just before she entered the house. Chuckling merrily, she realised she hadn't felt this light-hearted for months, maybe even years, and it struck her that she hadn't only missed the surf - she had missed him.
She changed into light green slacks with stovepipe legs and a blouse in a small check of white and matching green. She decided to wear a light foundation to cover her untanned complexion. Blusher, eye shadow and lip gloss completed her toilette and she joined Julian in the living room, who, despite her duplicity, had managed to dress ahead of her. He had changed into beige slacks and a polo shirt of a deeper shade of green than her own clothes. A shade, she couldn't help noticing that exactly matched the colour of his eyes. He stood up when she entered and looked at her in pretended fierceness.
"Minx! I ought to take you across my knee."
"Huh! You and whose army!"
But when he advanced on her, she turned tail and fled to the relative safety of his car.
Their light-hearted mood continued over lunch as they gaily baited one another and traded insults across the chequered tablecloth of the outside cafe. Claire decided to round off her meal with an ice cream cone, so they made their way along the wharf to the Baskin-Robbins concession. She had just finished her selection when an all too familiar voice rent the air and Claire was eternally grateful she had changed her clothes.
The afternoon crowd parted and Andrea appeared in all her splendour. She was attired in lavender slacks of the same style as Claire's, and looked just as good in them, regardless of the fact Claire knew her to be well over twenty years older than herself. Unlike Claire's, which were cotton; they were fashioned from the same material as her elegant, cream, silk blouse. Numerous gold chains adorned her neck, wrists and even her ankle. A pair of cream strappy sandals added to her already towering height, and the whole effect was regally capped by a turban, in the same shade of lavender wrapped around her smooth, platinum-coloured head.
As usual, Andrea looked outrageously fabulous. She didn't look a day older than at their last meeting, two years ago in New York.
"Julian, I knew it was you, I'd know those curls of yours, anywhere."
Claire could have sworn she was going to ruffle his hair in much the same manner she would one of her three full grown sons. It was amazing how such a maternal woman could dress in so unmatronally a fashion and get away with it. Andrea's attention was drawn away from Julian as she noticed Claire.
“Why it's Claire. I hardly recognised you. You're all grown up. Isn’t she, Julian?"
He handed Claire her ice cream (who fervently wished she had chosen any flavours other than bubble-gum and tutti-frutti) and refrained from answering. He merely sent Andrea a warning look. A look missed by Claire. Andrea paid no attention.
"Of course she is. It's more than your hair, which really does suit you. You've acquired a New York polish, created your own style," and then she added with an emphasis not missed by Julian for whose benefit it was uttered. "Nobody would take you for a teenager now."
"I should hope not, I'm twenty-seven." Claire replied and stuck her nose mutinously into her cone.
"Twenty-seven, how time flies. Next we know you'll be married with babies. Won't she be, Julian?"
She looke
d at him quite pointedly and he almost laughed outright. Really, she was incorrigible. He had just decided to come to Claire's rescue, when he was forestalled by the appearance of Andrea's husband, Stephen, and their three year old granddaughter. The little girl squealed with delight at the sight of Julian and threw her arms around his legs, demanding to be picked up. After this had been accomplished, she announced to all and sundry that he was her favourite person in the whole world, and then deflated this statement by qualifying it with.
"Next to mommy and daddy and granny and grandpa ... "and after a slight pause added, almost apologetically,” ... and my baby brother Michael.”
Julian treated this obviously recent defection as it deserved, by tickling her. This procedure was greeted with squeals and chuckles and after a questioning look at Andrea, he treated her to an ice cream, and to Claire's dismay she chose the same combination as herself.
She tucked into the offending article as the adults beamed at her, as adults tend to with children who are not their own. Having demolished a goodly portion, she stared at Claire and uttered a question with a forthright candour that marked her unerringly as Andrea's kin.
"Who are you?"
Julian laughed indulgently. "Marcie, you should wait to be introduced, like a proper, young lady."
"Why," emitted the potential, proper, young lady, wiping her chin on his shirt. An exercise, to Claire's amazement, he completely ignored. "Oh alright, intra ... doose me then," Marcie capitulated, her inexperienced tongue having a little difficulty with the word.
"Claire, I'd like you to meet Marcella Saunders. Marcie this is Claire Fitzpatrick, a very good friend.”
"How come I've never met you before, if you're Uncle Julian's friend?"