The Secret Wound

by Deirdre Quiery

  As he climbed, he felt himself surrounded by a life of possibilities. The acorn had to die to become the oak tree. The bodies scattered on the slopes of Everest? What did they become? Memories in a loved one’s mind, laughter, tears incarnate, frozen until the end of time.

  When he reached the Mirador he walked onto the balcony with its tables set for lunch. He sat alone, looking down on the Port of Soller. There was a sheer drop from the balcony to the valley below which stretched towards the sea. He felt familiar waves of vertigo move through his body – dizziness with a hint of nausea. He gazed into the vast sky.

  What kind of relationship did he have with Cornelia? In Pizza Express, she had said that it wasn’t a normal relationship. That was true. Yet, even though the relationship had changed before Henry’s death, he knew that whatever happened, he still loved Cornelia. He had whispered in La Quinta after their row that “Love Just Is”. Looking down at the Port of Soller – he knew that even if Cornelia had murdered Nuala, it was impossible for him not to love her. If ‘Love Just Is’ – he couldn’t stop it – no matter how terrible her actions. What would be his loving response to her? He didn’t know. But Love would know how to respond.

  One night, before the big row, while staying at La Quinta, they had gone to a Thai restaurant where Henry, wearing his amber cravat, extolled the beauty of Thai food. He ordered a salad filled with beansprouts, tofu, peppers and a picante dressing. Cornelia and Gurtha began to talk about different kinds of relationships. Gurtha started by talking about marriages in which there was a ‘symbiosis’ – a long term co-existence of two different biological species which is beneficial to one or to both parties.

  Cornelia asked Henry, “What do you think about that Henry, do we have a symbiotic marriage?”

  Henry smiled at the Thai waitress who served them Tom Yum soup. “Of course darling. We are like two turtle doves.”

  Cornelia snorted rather than laughed,

  “We meet the criteria for a long term living together and being two different biological species – but as for beneficial to one or two parties – I think the jury is out on that one.”

  Henry responded, sipping his soup, “This is superb. You can taste the lemongrass, galangal and kaffir lime leaves – a soup to die for.”

  Cornelia ignored him and continued the conversation by talking about relationships which where ‘parasitic’, those in which one member benefits while the other is harmed. She then asked, “Henry, darling – I think that is more like us – do you not?”

  Henry shook his head and said, “Well it would have to be me who has benefitted. I recommend the Thai larb. Rarely have I tasted such quality - perfect sticky rice.”

  It all felt rather embarrassing to Gurtha. He wondered if this was the kind of conversation which Henry now had to constantly endure. Gurtha felt obliged to finish the topic by explaining that there were also relationships which existed in a state of ‘synnecrosis’ - where any interaction was detrimental to both organisms. He waited for Cornelia to make another sarcastic comment but thankfully she only topped up each of their glasses and said, “So we have a trio of possibilities and none of them sounds particularly marvellous.”

  ♥

  As Gurtha tucked into Spanish Tortilla and salad, it occurred to him that there was a fourth level of relationship which hadn’t occurred to him that evening in the Thai restaurant. Maybe it was just as well, as Cornelia would undoubtedly have made fun of Henry again. Could this fourth level of relationship be a rare event which happened without you doing anything? It was born when you died. It was love, but not as most people would know it. It was the ‘Love that Just Is’. All that you needed to do was to get out of the way and it was there. It was like a Russian doll. As you remove one layer after another, you eventually get to the last doll. When you open it and there is nothing – only emptiness – love waiting in the emptiness. Love covered up, disguised and no longer recognised.

  DAY 27

  FRIDAY 6TH SEPTEMBER 2013

  “TWO THERE ARE WHO ARE NEVER SATISFIED — THE LOVER OF THE WORLD AND THE LOVER OF KNOWLEDGE.”

  J RUMI

  GURTHA WAKENED to birdsong and to feeling a glimmer of peace in his heart. He hadn’t heard anything from Andy Finn, which he took as good news. Andy seemed to have a sharp intellect. If something had been discovered regarding Cornelia which needed to be acted upon by Gurtha in Mallorca, he had no doubt that Andy would have been in touch.

  Gurtha didn’t need to contact Andy as there was nothing new to add to the investigation, made easier by not having had contact with Cornelia. As he lay in bed, he wondered what Cornelia was thinking. If she had murdered Nuala, she might be thinking that she had got away with it – with no negative response from Gurtha.

  There was a lie and a truth in what was known about what had happened to Nuala. Gurtha held onto that faint sense of peace within his body, wondering if it was the peace of a coward. He didn’t want to rock the boat. He preferred what might be the lie of Cornelia’s innocence to the truth of her possible guilt. He said to himself.

  “That’s who I am. I am a liar and a coward. I don’t want to face the truth.”

  He knew that Nuala was different. She looked for truth, found it, drank from it like a Holy Grail and lived it by what she said and did.

  ♥

  He didn’t want to spend all day alone thinking such thoughts. So he decided to visit the Gallery and not to ring Cornelia.

  ♥

  Gurtha opened the creaking wooden door into the Gallery where Angelina, a feather duster in hand, was flicking away cobwebs from the painting of ‘Eve’.

  She jumped as the door swung closed.

  “You gave me a scare.”

  Gurtha laughed.

  “Sorry about that.” He kissed her on the cheek, noticing her blushing.

  “Where is the great general public? Have they disappeared from planet Earth?”

  It was Angelina’s turn to laugh.

  “It’s too early. It will be at least another hour before anyone turns up, but the exhibition is going well. We’re nearly sold out. Let me show you what we’ve sold. Everything downstairs.” She waved an arm around the paintings.

  Angelina was wearing a pair of flowery pink and green leggings and a long white smocked cotton shirt. With her golden ballerina shoes she skipped along the wooden floors, as if on a stage.

  “Follow me. You will love seeing this. They’re nearly all sold. Only five left.”

  Gurtha followed her upstairs, smelling a warm herbal wave of mint, rosemary, lemon balm flowing over him.

  He walked towards the painting which Angelina was standing beside.

  “You smell like Mallorca.”

  Angelina turned to him,

  “I hope Mallorca smells good.”

  “Of course it does. How are you getting on?”

  Angelina looked at him quizzically.

  “You mean with the exhibition?”

  “Not necessarily. With your dreams.”

  Angelina laughed.

  “Dreams? What restrictions do dreams have?”

  Gurtha shook his head.

  “None - the bigger the dream, the better. The only advice is that if you want to dream big, let go of nightmares.”

  Angelina smiled.

  “You don’t seem like someone who has nightmares.”

  Gurtha walked towards the window overlooking the street. An old woman mopped the cobbled paving outside her front door. She looked up at him and waved. He waved back.

  “Nightmares. Doesn’t everyone have nightmares? They’re only what we fear most, expressing itself through our unconscious. We are all afraid of something.”

  Angelina sat in the rocking chair where Gurtha had sat before. She rocked backwards and forwards, slowly.

  “Can I tell you what scares me?”

  Gurtha spun around from the window. He walked towards her.

  “Does this need a glass of wine?”

  Angelina slowed the rocking ch
air.

  “Wine sounds good. Although only one glass.”

  Gurtha made his way downstairs, opened the fridge and took out the bottle of Moet. He lifted two glasses from the wooden shelf and returned, taking the stairs two at a time.

  He walked towards Angelina, setting the wine and glasses on a small table beside the rocking chair. He pulled out a bean bag which had been tucked in a corner, patted it into the shape of a doughnut, paused, filled two glasses and settled onto the cushion.

  “I’m all ears.”

  Angelina’s mascara had run down her face. She wiped the tears away and there were two horizontal black stripes under both eyes. She picked up the glass and began to sip it.

  Gurtha sat his glass on the wooden table.

  “I’m pregnant. That scares me.”

  She shivered in the chair.

  Gurtha asked, “Why would that scare you? Most people would say congratulations and be thrilled.”

  Angelina hesitated, “Because the father is Barry and I have Cornelia to deal with.”

  “Do Cornelia and Barry know?”

  Angelina shook her head and placed the glass beside Gurtha’s.

  “No.”

  She pushed the glass away from her.

  I shouldn’t have any more to drink.”

  Gurtha nodded.

  “So neither Barry or Cornelia knows. That’s complicated. What do you want to happen?”

  Angelina threw her hands into the air.

  “I told Barry that it was a mistake us being together. But I am beginning to see another side to him.”

  “Do you want to be with Barry?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She chuckled.

  “I told Barry that maybe I wanted to marry you.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Thank you very much. That’s not a great compliment.” She held out her glass. “Maybe a spot more.”

  Gurtha held up the bottle of Moet to see what was left. He helped them both to a small glass.

  “Barry seems to like you.”

  Angelina nodded.

  “That’s true. I also understand why he could be intimidated by Cornelia.”

  Gurtha asked, “Why?”

  The door downstairs opened and noisily closed. Footsteps moved quickly along the wooden floorboards. Angelina and Gurtha jumped to their feet.

  “Anyone at home?”

  Cornelia had reached the stairs. She climbed rapidly.

  “Oh my God.” Angelina caught Gurtha’s hand. “What will we say?”

  Gurtha handed Angelina a paper handkerchief from his pocket.

  “Wipe your face.”

  Angelina had only managed to clean the mascara from her left cheek when Cornelia reached the top step.

  Cornelia looked at the bottle of Moet, the two glasses side by side, the tear stained face of Angelina.

  “What’s going on here?” She snapped.

  Gurtha moved towards her, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

  “I suggested to Angelina that we should celebrate the success of the exhibition. Fantastic news – only five paintings unsold. Join us in a glass of Moet.”

  Cornelia’s voice remained harsh, “I was keeping that Moet for your return. It doesn’t look like a celebration that the two of you are having. I thought that we weren’t getting together until tomorrow at Toni’s party?”

  Gurtha lifted the bottle into the air.

  “You were keeping it for my return? Perfect – I have returned. And what a good choice – the Moet. There’s still some left. Let me get you a glass. Now don’t get fretful. I did say that I might call into the Gallery.”

  As Gurtha ran downstairs to get an extra glass, Cornelia turned to Angelina.

  “You look as if you’ve been crying. What kind of celebration is this? What’s up?”

  “I just had a little bit of a health scare which frightened me. I’m going to be OK – but it shook me a little bit.”

  “What kind of health scare – cancer?” Cornelia’s voice softened slightly.

  “No – women’s problems – but nothing serious.”

  “Sounds like you’ve told Gurtha what your health scare is all about but you don’t want to tell me. Do you not think that’s odd?”

  Angelina stared unflinchingly into Cornelia’s eyes.

  “I’ve only told him what I’ve told you. What makes you think I would do anything different?”

  Gurtha arrived with a clean glass. He poured a full glass for Cornelia and topped up the remainder into Angelina’s glass.

  “To friendship.”

  Cornelia drank the champagne quickly and handed the glass back to Gurtha.

  “I will leave you two, then, to complete your business and see you tomorrow at Toni’s.”

  Without looking at either of them, she walked briskly towards the stairs. They heard her feet stomp across the tiled floor and the front door slam shut.

  DAY 28

  SATURDAY 7TH SEPTEMBER 2013

  “WHY DID you ask to see me?” Gurtha asked Angelina, munching on a croissant at Bar Stop on the road to Palma. They sat inside. It was a café which Cornelia would never visit - more a place for cyclists and a place where the local Mallorquins would have an early morning ‘merienda’ of bread, cheese, tomato, jalapeno pickles and wine. The ex-pat community preferred the cafes around the Plaza in Soller for a leisurely orange juice, coffee and croissant.

  Angelina sipped her coffee.

  “I wanted to thank you for listening yesterday. I can’t believe what a relief that was - to feel listened to and understood. I have been going crazy over the last week. I invited Barry around last night and we talked.”

  Gurtha brushed the crumbs of the croissant from his lips and cut a slice of Mahon cheese which he placed on top of bread covered in oil and tomato.

  “How did he react?”

  “I told him about the baby and he seemed really happy. He said that more than anything else in the world, he wants to marry me.”

  “How do you feel about that as a possibility?”

  Angelina sipped her water.

  “The idea is growing on me. Nobody’s perfect. It would have been better if he had separated from Cornelia before we got involved with one another – but that’s life. We both have to accept responsibility for that. I can’t say that it is all Barry’s fault.”

  Gurtha helped himself to a spicy jalapeno pepper and olives which he heaped on top of a piece of white bread.

  “What will be more complicated will be to work out when and how to tell Cornelia – especially when I tell you what else happened.”

  Gurtha placed his knife and fork on the plate and pushed his coffee to one side.

  “OK. Let me hear it.”

  Angelina sat up straight in her chair.

  “Before I texted him last night, Barry said that Cornelia was behaving in a frightening manner. He was really terrified about how she was acting and how her behaviour was escalating out of control. He is used to her major tantrums over minor problems, but last night she seemed to have completely lost her mind. She screamed that you and I had plotted to meet in the Gallery and that we had deliberately not told her. She said that was because we were having an affair. She blamed me and called me a …” She hesitated.

  Gurtha nodded. “I can imagine.”

  “She insisted that I had laid a trap for you by quoting poetry to impress you. That enraged her as she said that she had never heard me express any interest in poetry before. It was my fault. You were not to blame. You couldn’t help yourself falling into the trap because I was devious, manipulative and a nymphomaniac manhunter.”

  Gurtha laughed.

  “Well there are more painful traps to fall into than a poetry trap. But how did she know about the poetry? I don’t remember her being a part of that conversation.”

  Angelina, shook her head.

  “Unfortunately Barry mentioned to her that we were talking about T S Eliot. He didn’t expect her reaction. Gurtha, it
isn’t funny. Barry was really worried. She then threw two plates at him and then told him that he was no better than me.”

  Gurtha looked serious for a moment and then laughed again,

  “It doesn’t sound as though we’re going to have a fun fiesta this evening. I hope Toni has paper plates.”

  Angelina placed her hand on his, and whispered, “The worst has still to come.” She looked around the café. There didn’t seem to be anyone listening – only the clatter of knives and forks and loud chatter from the locals at a few tables nearer the window. She continued, “She shrieked that she was going to put an end to it. Barry asked what she meant. She yelled at him, saying that she would put an end to our affair. Isn’t that awful? How is she planning to do that when we’re not having an affair?”

  Angelina waited for Gurtha to say something.

  Gurtha looked at her intently. Her face pale white, her lips trembling, anxiously waiting for him to speak. He felt bad now about being so flippant. It really wasn’t funny at all. This could be more evidence to support the fact that Cornelia may have murdered Nuala. What could be more serious? Hadn’t Andy Finn said that Cornelia had to be kept in a stable emotional state? He needed to ring Andy Finn, tell him about this latest outburst and get a perspective on how to handle this.

  Gurtha urged Angelina, “Go on.”

  Angelina sipped again on her water, before answering.

  “She doesn’t know about the baby. Can you imagine what way she will react to that?”

  Gurtha asked, “What did Barry do?”

  “After throwing the plates at him, she began thumping him with her fists. He caught her by the wrists and tried to calm her down – saying that he was convinced that you were not having an affair with me. You know the way her face is always white. Barry said it turned a deep red, her eyes were wide open and bulging. She spat at him and told him to get out. He did.”

  “Did he go back after talking with you?”

  “Yes, because he said if he didn’t she would be compulsively churning mad thoughts in her head. That’s what she always does, he said. He was worried that she might try to hurt me.”

  Gurtha leant forward in his chair.