The Quilt

by Carlton, Rochelle

  “When this storm has run its course, perhaps we could spend some time spring cleaning the cottage?”

  What the hell did she do with her day? He glanced away from the dirty dishes fighting for space on the discoloured formica bench and focused on the yellow-stained net curtain that hung lopsidedly over a grimy expanse of glass.

  “What are you implying?”

  Her voice was little more than a hiss and it was now located directly behind him. Paul spun, raising his arm defensively as the cigarette bit angrily into his flesh. Her eyes were glazed by the wine and she spat hatred as she fought ineffectively to claw at his face.

  “Go on hit me! Hit me! That would make you just like Allan Clarke!”

  Paul looked at her contorted face with horror. His hand was shaking as it strained to hold her at a safe distance.

  “I would never hit a woman.”

  Each word sounded punctuated.

  “Then pretend I am a man!”

  She was yelling irrationally. He knew she was attempting to enrage him. What he didn’t know was why the hell she would do it.

  “If you were a man you would have been dead long ago.”

  Paul swallowed hard fighting the urge to react to the slow stinging pain as Leslie held the hot embers against his flesh. A cruel, satisfied smile played at the corners of her mouth. His eyes narrowed and he released her arms. Red marks circled her wrists and he eyed them in horror. Shit, I have to get out of here before I let myself become Allan Clarke. He spun away from the shrieking hysteria that was his wife and without hesitating headed for the cold, wet comfort of the road.

  Paul shook his head to dispel the unwelcome memories. He slowed, taking a narrow road that dropped steeply down towards a tiny shell covered bay. Small homes nestled on each side of the road and signs advertised cottage industries selling soaps, candles, pottery and organic produce. Paul guided the bike slowly along the waterfront, dodging the numerous potholes before coming to a stop outside a tiny wooden shop.

  Neglected paint flaked off leaving large areas of exposed dirty brown timber. A tiny porch jutted drunkenly towards the road and ancient dirty tables and chairs sat empty, waiting for customers. An old man with a well-worn face watched them carefully. His thin lips parted in greeting, revealing yellow stained teeth. He extended a dirty, frail, purple-veined hand towards Paul.

  “Paul Clarke. What brings you to this side of the island?”

  “The best fish and chips in town, of course.”

  The old man seemed pleased with the compliment and walked unsteadily back into the filthy building.

  “You are joking?”

  Joanne searched Pauls face hopefully.

  “Trust me.”

  Paul’s eyes danced and, without giving her a chance to respond, he followed the stooped figure into the store.

  “You must almost be ready to open the restaurant?”

  The old man addressed Paul without turning away from the smoky vats of hot oil.

  “We are waiting on the last planning approvals. They should be through in a week or so.”

  The lined wrinkled face turned towards them and he nodded.

  “What’s a pretty young thing like you, doing with an ugly hulk of a man like this?”

  The blue-veined hand pointed towards Paul and an uneven chuckle erupted through the yellow teeth.

  “She’s a looker Paul!”

  Joanne felt her face redden under the appreciative rheumatic gaze. He laughed at her discomfort and began to drain and wrap the contents of the fryer on to absorbent paper and then wrap it in layers of newsprint.

  The old man smiled warmly as he watched the couple walk across the pitted road and settle themselves on to the sun warmed beach.

  “You win. This is the best fish and chips I have ever tasted.”

  Joanne licked her fingers appreciatively and tilted her face to the sun.

  “Takes you back to another time doesn’t it?”

  “Leslie where are you? We only have an hour before we are due for dinner.”

  “It’s about time you got home. I am in the room getting ready.”

  Nervously, Paul looked at his watch. It was late and Jean was cooking fish and chips for them tonight. He pushed open the door and stopped. He felt his face draining of colour.

  His wife lay across the bed. Her head rested on an immaculately manicured hand. Scarlet lipstick glistened on her pouting lips and long mascara cloaked eyelashes fluttered invitingly towards him. Her legs stretched out under fishnet stockings and the tiny matching bra and panties adorned in lace clung precariously to her ample breast and pubic area. A wave of nausea passed over Paul and pooled like acid in his stomach.

  “Tell me I am sexy.”

  She looked at her husband expectantly and repositioned. Leslie lightly passed the tip of her tongue over her lips.

  “Tell me you will shift back into our room.”

  A sphinx-like smile slipped on to her lips and a slender hand ran suggestively down the length of her thigh.

  Paul looked towards the window. A light breeze ran through the leaves outside and a tiny fantail flirted in and out of the branches. He swallowed and his eyes filled with sadness.

  “I’m sorry, Leslie.”

  It had been the first time she had really struck him. Perhaps his rejection had provoked her. Perhaps he had been the selfish bastard she described.

  “Welcome back.”

  He looked into the cloudy grey depths of Joanne’s eyes.

  “Jack was right, you are a looker!”

  Joanne giggled and suddenly her face looked very young and very vulnerable.

  “So what was she like?”

  Paul moved uncomfortably.

  “I am not sure I know what you mean.”

  “No man retreats like you unless there is or was a woman involved.”

  He searched her face before answering.

  “Was.”

  Joanne nodded.

  “Fast. I would like to go fast back to Marinella.”

  “Ms, Kyle you definitely are a bad influence.”

  They turned off the main highway onto another deserted road. Paul accelerated quickly until the white line again became a blurred unbroken blemish on the tarmac. The velvety trees lost their individual features and turned into a tapestry of lacy green, and the fragrance of the bush and damp undergrowth merged until it smelt like sweet musky liquid honey. The adrenalin coursed through her body heightening every one of her senses. Throwing caution to the wind she wrapped her arms around Paul’s broad leather clad body and leant with him towards the unforgiving ribbon of black.

  She could feel rather than see the disapproving stare of the two women seated at the large wooden table under a pergola dripping with purple flowers. Their brows knotted in disapproval as they watched the Harley Davidson idle up the length of the vineyard’s driveway. As it came to a halt, Joanne reluctantly released her arms from around Paul and deeply inhaled the earthy seductive smell of leather. She stretched like a contented cat absorbing the delicious warmth of the sun and revelling in the unfamiliar feelings of carefree youth that washed over her. Could a day be made any more perfect? She glanced shyly at Paul who stood beside the sleek bike casually removing his leathers. He looked up, as if aware of her scrutiny and pinned her with eyes the colour and depth of glacial ice. He smiled an intimate boyish smile and the rush of raw longing clenched somewhere deep under Joanne’s ribs. What the hell? I might as well strip naked and run through the restaurant. An unwelcome hot blush stole across her face.

  “Joanne, would you like a glass of wine?”

  Jean was walking back from the restaurant. A half full, frosted bottle nestled in one hand and in the other she carried a plate laden with warm breads and amber coloured olive oils. Without waiting for a reply she poured the crisp delicious liquid into a glass before handing an official looking letter to Paul.

  “This arrived this morning. It appears we have reason to celebrate.”

  He quickly s
canned the contents and smiled crookedly at Joanne.

  “At last they are ready to sign off on the restaurant.”

  “I hope I heard that correctly!”

  Two men carrying a bin filled with fish appeared from under the covered walkway. They both smiled at Joanne and the taller man with craggy good looks and the same startling blue eyes as Paul walked forward extending a grimy hand.

  “You must be Joanne. I have heard much about you.”

  He nodded pointedly towards Jean and winked. His smile broadened and his eyes crinkled against the glare of the sun. Despite his years he was an undeniably handsome man, still athletic and bearing an uncanny resemblance to his son.

  “It’s about time,” Sean indicated to the letter on the table. “I assume you will join us this evening to celebrate?”

  He looked at Joanne who moved uncomfortably under the strangely familiar eyes.

  “I was planning to catch the ferry back to the city tonight.”

  Paul regarded her from across the table. His expression was difficult to read and his fingers rubbed at the stubble that formed a faint shadow across his chin. Jean watched her son impatiently before breaking the charged silence.

  “Of course Joanne you are most welcome to join us. If you are uncomfortable staying in the vineyard house you are can spend the night with us.”

  She cast a pointed look at Paul who remained motionless his eyes twinkling with amusement and his mouth forming a crooked confident line. Joanne tilted her chin and glared at him defiantly.

  “I would love to join you this evening. As long as I am not imposing.”

  Chapter 37

  “The Stranger Within”

  It was late afternoon and soft dapples of shadow fell across the cobbled pathway. Paul opened the massive wooden door and stood back to allow Joanne to enter the house. She remained motionless, looking from the impressive entrance to the wide expanse of the lounge. Like a child, she stared in wonderment at the towering fireplace which was similar in style to that of the restaurant. She walked to the floor to ceiling glass wall and stared into the depths of the pale blue pool. It stretched towards the manicured expanse of grass before the view merged with the moody sparkling hues of the sea. Finally, she walked to the upright piano that sat snugly near the entrance to the formal dining room. She touched an ivory key and looked at Paul; he was standing in the lacquered kitchen watching her.

  “This house has a wonderful feeling to it.”

  He smiled.

  “I am very comfortable here. I’ll show you to your room.”

  Polite and reserved. She followed him down a broad, slightly impersonal hallway. The master suite fell off to the right. A towering expanse of floor to ceiling glass framed the spectacular view and a screened fireplace faced a huge bed that was covered in a tasteful plush silk comforter.

  “I will leave you to settle in.”

  Paul indicated to another open door before turning away and walking back towards the lounge. The room was sparsely furnished in pleasant neutral shades and opened up to a small cobbled area. She pulled back the slider and soaked in the kaleidoscope of colour, the sharp taste of salt and fragrance of frangipani that hung like a cloak in the warm air.

  The haunting sound of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata carried to her in waves on the gentle afternoon breeze. Mesmerized, Joanne stood in the doorway, watching in silence. His eyes were deep pools of emotion as he sat staring without focus. His fingers danced over the keys creating music that caressed and teased, lifting, soaring and then diving to the darkest depths. He had showered and his hair clung to the collar of his crisp white shirt. His tight blue jeans formed a skin over his thighs as he urged the pedals to give soul to his music.

  “You look beautiful.”

  Paul had turned to face her although he continued to play the lilting melody. Joanne flushed and unconsciously ran a hand through her damp hair.

  “I love Beethoven.”

  Paul nodded approvingly and slowly unfolded his long legs from under the piano.

  “Have I told you how beautiful you look?”

  He smiled mischievously and his eyes travelled from her open sandals to the smooth indent of her throat.

  “Not for at least two minutes and I am starting to think you are an incorrigible flirt, Mr Clarke!”

  Joanne shook her head and a secretive smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

  The restaurant buzzed with the muffled sound of conversation. It was punctuated by Sean’s deep voice and Sid’s strong Italian accent. A petite dark haired waitress greeted Paul with a silky smile and looked Joanne over with open contempt.

  “We will find own way to the table, thank you.”

  Paul dismissed the waitress with a bleak stare. He smiled and winked at Joanne before taking her by the elbow and guiding her to the long rectangular table. Before taking his seat he pinned Jean with icy eyes that travelled from the empty bottles to the lipstick stained glass that sat drained in front of her.

  “You got here well before us. No repeats of Christmas, please.”

  She giggled and made an unsuccessful attempt to focus.

  “We have ordered already, I hope you don’t mind?”

  Sean rolled his eyes and made an explanatory hand gesture towards his wife.

  The meal was served on large platters placed in the middle of the table.

  “It is good but not as good as Marinella will be.”

  Mari looked pointedly at Jean but was met by a vacant stare. She shook her head and turned to Paul.

  “Is the advertising ready?”

  “I’ll contact the papers as soon as I get the documentation. Everything else is just waiting on a date.”

  They raised their glasses.

  “You’re not drinking?”

  “I’m on call. They are short of crew.”

  Paul smiled apologetically and sipped at the iced water in front of him. He shifted slightly, adjusting his legs under the table and leaning back against the chair. His eyes were shaded behind glasses but Joanne felt them briefly settle on her.

  “I don’t think Jean is going to last much longer.”

  The easy conversation paused. Sean shook his head before signalling for the predatory waitress to bring the account.

  “I’ll fix this up.” Paul untangled his legs from under the table and followed her to the reception desk.

  Mari’s eyes had turned to steel as she followed their progress. The waitress passed back the credit card taking a moment too long to release it.

  “Che è disgustoso.”

  Joanne nodded. Her eyes narrowed as the young woman hungrily watched Paul return to the table. Only a very self-assured woman could form any sort of relationship with a man like this. She met the uncharitable eyes of the waitress and pinned her with a disdainful glare. The woman dropped her eyes and flushed to scarlet.

  As they drove along the twisting road above the vineyard the sun dipped over the horizon exploding on the harbour’s surface in a spectacular display of fire. The warm evening air felt damp and humid and the smell of jasmine and frangipani lingered outside the house. Joanne hesitated in the door, enjoying the warm scented fragrance and the soft envelope of wine that wrapped around her contented limbs.

  “Are you going to tell me about your ‘was’?”

  Paul stood motionless. A frown formed and he turned away abruptly.

  “Mari has been to the market.”

  He picked up a large plump strawberry and offered it to Joanne.

  “Why would you want to know about Leslie?”

  “You are a mystery and I am nosy.”

  He smiled.

  “I am a mystery?”

  Joanne persisted but was not sure why she felt it necessary to have information about this closed man.

  “Was she pretty?”

  “Yes,” the blue eyes burnt into hers. “Leslie was very pretty. At least on the outside.”

  “Fuck Paul, don’t you think I am pretty? Every other man in the
King Country thinks I am pretty but my own husband won’t even share a bed with me!”

  Leslie stood in front of him. Her hands were placed firmly on her hips and her chin jutted out in defiance. Surprisingly, there was no smell of alcohol on her breath but her eyes still gleamed with contempt.

  “Well, my darling husband, let me tell you there are other men, real men that do find me attractive.”

  “Leslie, please, it has been a hard long day and I need to clean-up. I see you have been shopping again.”

  Paul looked at the discarded packaging as he negotiated his way to the kitchen. If he had hoped to defuse the situation he would be sadly disappointed.

  “I hate you! I didn’t marry a real man.”

  Leslie spat her venom and frustration.

  “Then you also didn’t get pregnant to a real man.”

  “Did she do that?”

  Paul dragged himself back and realized his fingers were automatically travelling over the scars that crossed his arms.

  “Let’s not spoil a perfectly good day.”

  The charged atmosphere shattered with the sudden insistent cry of a pager. They both jumped and Paul grinned sheepishly as he read the message on the screen. He picked up his phone and spoke in an efficient, non-emotive tone. He was comfortable again, professional and in control.

  “Geoff.”

  “Is anyone else available?”

  “Where to?”

  “Yes, at the boat.”

  “Saved by the bell.”

  Paul gave her a boyish smile.

  “It is only a tow, I won’t be very long.”

  “I have strawberries and wine. What more could a woman want?”

  He raised his eyebrows. He was still grinning as he picked up his overalls and walked out of the door.

  Joanne sipped at the sweet fruity dessert wine that Paul had poured for her before leaving. Perhaps I have had enough to drink. It has certainly been enough to make me uninhibited with my line of questioning. She pushed the glass across the small table.