The Quilt

by Carlton, Rochelle

  The information is sketchy and disappointingly normal. He has competed in sports with success for most of his life. She could have ascertained that by just looking at his body. Rugby, team captain, rowing, Joanne skimmed through his achievements. Head Boy, Dux, manager at Twin Pines Station, involved in a search for a man by the name of Cliff Kean who was found deceased. She clicked on an article that appeared in the International Farmer.

  Iconic Twin Pines Station is rumoured to have been sold for an undisclosed figure to Shaw Properties Limited. Twin Pines has been home to four generations of the Clarke family.

  In the 1950’s Twin Pines was the scene of several notorious King Country tragedies. These include the untimely death of James Clarke who perished on Twin Pines when land he was clearing subsided under his machinery and the mysterious and unsolved disappearance of Anne Clarke. Extensive investigations have failed to find the remains of Anne Clarke although her disappearance is generally considered suspicious. Her late husband, the reclusive Allan Clarke, has often been implicated in the unsolved disappearance.

  The youngest member of the Clarke family, Paul Clarke, has recently separated from his wife, Leslie Clarke (see picture below). Family friends state the marriage failed due to irreconcilable differences. Paul Clarke declined to be interviewed.

  Married!

  Leslie Clarke stared back at her with huge baby blue eyes. She was a tiny, gorgeous blonde with hair that hung in waves over her shoulders. A gorgeous, tiny blonde with a tendency to attack her husband.

  Towering beside her and scowling unhappily into the lens was Paul.

  Joanne took a long swig from her glass.

  Mari looked steadily at Paul’s thunderous face. Without looking across the table she knew Jean would be fiddling nervously with a napkin avoiding the unrelenting ice of her son’s eyes. Mari spoke without blinking.

  “Paul, you will be the one employing the staff.”

  “But you are the one training them and the one that ultimately has to work with them.”

  He muttered something incomprehensible.

  “Look, Mari, the last thing I want to do is interview the ten simpering females you have shortlisted.”

  She ignored him and pushed a small pile of resumes towards him.

  “These are my two favourite applicants. We need a minimum of three on opening night in the restaurant, another two outside. We need to make a decision soon so that I can make sure they are up to speed when we need them.”

  Paul glanced at the cover of the top file. An attractive teenager stared out from the page. He scowled disagreeably and waited for Mari to speak.

  “Here is the menu. If you can please look at it tonight so that it can be printed this week. Let me know if there is anything you are not happy with.”

  She shuffled through a pile of papers and pushed a brightly colour sheet across the table. Paul looked down at the reclining mermaid and continued to scowl.

  “That old drunk sent the artwork through yesterday. I assume this is what you had in mind for the cover?”

  “Yes. I will look at the menu tonight and yes, Glen Forrester has done exactly what I asked him to do. Will that be all?”

  “No.”

  Does this woman never stop talking or take the time to blink!

  “Have you organized the advertisement for the papers and have you placed it on the internet?”

  Mari continued without waiting for Paul to answer.

  “That is now urgent. Bookings are essential for the restaurant. Numbers for the casuals outside are not important. We will have done the preparation beforehand for the pizza.”

  “I will do that tomorrow,” he sighed deeply. “First thing tomorrow.”

  Jean looked up hopefully but returned her attention to the linen napkin when Sid spoke.

  “Your mother has found some good-sized red geraniums at the garden centre today. There are enough to fill all of the barrels and they will be quite a display by opening day.”

  “Thank you. Is that all?”

  “If I can have another minute of your time?”

  Sean watched the others walk back into the restaurant before turning to his son.

  “Remind me to trim back those grapes on the pergola. They are so full of sugar they are attracting the bees and I don’t want anyone getting stung.”

  “Is that what you wanted to speak to me about?”

  Paul’s eyebrows rose and he ran an impatient hand through his hair.

  “I do not normally interfere in your personal life. But when it starts to affect your mother I have no option.”

  He glanced over to make sure his son was listening.

  “I don’t know what happened between you and that woman. But I do know you have been distracted and unpleasant since she visited and I can only assume it is because of Joanne.”

  Paul’s mouth had set into a hard line and his eyes locked warily on to Sean.

  “We had a misunderstanding.”

  “It appears you had more than a misunderstanding. From what you have told Jean she has changed her telephone number and moved from where she was living.”

  Paul nodded.

  “Her telephone is no longer in service and the villa is vacant and currently being renovated.”

  “Then it would appear she no longer wants any contact with you. Perhaps it is time to accept she does not reciprocate your feelings.”

  “That may be the case.”

  Paul shrugged apologetically.

  “But I felt it was unresolved when she left.”

  “Have you got any other way of contacting her?”

  “Yes, but I have been reluctant to use it.”

  Sean sighed.

  “I haven’t seen you like this before. Perhaps make the effort once more, and then, please, for all of us walk away. You have a business to run and an event to organize. Summer has almost ended and with the unsettled weather it will only be weeks before you are forced to have the opening indoors. That will really limit the number of guests that we can accommodate.”

  Sean relaxed.

  “How is the band going?”

  Paul got up from the table.

  “I’ll make that phone call and go and see Chloe tonight.”

  The receptionist sounded rehearsed and efficient.

  “Good morning, Kyle, Lee and Richards. How may I help you?”

  “I would like to speak to Mr Kyle.”

  “I am sorry Mr Kyle is currently unavailable. May I take your details and have him return your call?”

  Paul ran his hand through his hair.

  “I am a friend of his daughter’s.”

  There was a slight pause and he heard a gruff voice in the background.

  “I will put you through to Mr Kyle now. Will you please hold the line?”

  “Kyle.”

  The commanding voice conveyed irritation, impatience and suspicion with just one word. In the background Paul can hear a muffled apology.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I am a friend of your daughter, Joanne. I am trying to contact her.”

  “Is that you Stephen?”

  “It is Paul, Paul Clarke. I have rung Joanne’s number and it appears to have been disconnected. Could you please either provide me with her new number or tell her I am trying to make contact?”

  There was an unpleasant silence and when Randal Kyle spoke his voice was guarded and accusing.

  “You say you are a friend of Joanne’s but she has obviously not provided you with her new contact details. Mr Clarke, my daughter values her privacy. If she had wanted you to know where she was living, or wanted you to contact her it would not be necessary for you to interrupt me now.”

  Mr R. Kyle QC hung up, leaving Paul to stare dejectedly at his phone. Who the hell is Stephen? He scowled at the pile of papers in front of him and ran his hand through his hair. Despondently, Paul picked up the menu. It was time to move on.

  “Hold all my calls!”

  Randal glared at the r
eceptionist. That stupid, blonde girl was so irritating.

  “Paula!”

  Randal’s voice dropped to a silky growl. A leggy brunette entered the room and sat crossed legged in front of the expanse of dark brown wood.

  “Run a check on a Mr Paul Clarke, please.”

  “That’s a common name, have you got anything more for me?”

  “Anything more for you?”

  Randal smiled an unspoken promise.

  “Remember not during work hours.”

  She giggled. Oh please, don’t make that irritating noise. His face froze in a mask of disapproval.

  “I need to be in court this morning so if you can attend to that search now it would be appreciated.”

  He watched as Paula retreated and closed the door quietly. Tonight, he smiled and his fingers automatically reached for the thin band that encircled his finger.

  Randal Kyle’s eyes scanned the extensive list.

  Assault and battery, bastard is too old.

  Threatening to kill, deceased. One less scum bag.

  Paul Clarke, King Country, mid-twenties, minor traffic violations mainly speed-related on a motorbike.

  He narrowed his eyes. Perhaps it was Stephen. The voice sounded young like him, but not familiar and not feminine and whining. He hadn’t been a problem up until now. So why would Joanne find it necessary to change her phone number and address? Damn, I may have to talk to her mother when she gets home.

  He walked angrily to the reception desk.

  “Cancel my next appointment!”

  The pretty blonde looked panicked and fumbled desperately with her diary.

  “Paula! Office. Now!”

  An hour later Randal Kyle had forgotten the unscheduled interruption to his day. He sat eyeing the unpleasant pimply youth in front of him. Guilty sick bastard had not even dressed how he had been instructed to. Randal narrowed his eyes and glanced at his fingers. He was absentmindedly playing with his wedding band, scratching at the indent left by years of wear. It was a new habit and he needed to break it. Impatiently, he turned to the scum in front of him.

  “Are you ready?”

  Without waiting for a reply, Randall stood up and checked for creases in his tailored trousers. He pulled his shoulders back and walked briskly into the world he was most comfortable in. His world, the crowded court room.

  Paul Clarke is watching me from across the table. We sit discussing the vineyard opening. Discussing the music. I feel a sense of excitement. I also feel tired and confused. I am full of those dreams again and their unanswered questions. I look into the depths of Paul’s remarkable eyes. Those eyes. I freeze and it starts to come back to me. A flood of dimly remembered images surface, a patchwork of forgotten dreams begin to form in front of me.

  Those eyes. The same ice blue, looking at me from the same incredibly handsome features. But this is different.

  I stare into the windows to hell, frosty and cold eyes with no connection to the soul. He is lying in a rancid smelling bed. A thin line forms his lips, then his head lifts and he strains to hear the dim sound of the front door closing. His senses are acute; he is fuelled by anger, hate and adrenalin.

  He gets up. He is tall but he is also an unhealthy shadow. Only a broad frame remains of a tortured, ravaged man. He sits down heavily at a wooden table. A bottle is beside this man that has Paul’s features and he reaches across to take a long swill from the amber contents. I know I am looking at evil. I feel his arousal and I see his high powered rifle. I watch as his fingers caress the barrel. He is drawing control from the hard steel. I then hear him speak.

  “You whore! You thought you could leave me? You think you have won?”

  He narrows his eyes to blue slits pinched into a yellow-tinged face.

  “Your precious son, my brother’s precious son, is asleep and you are cold and wet and exhausted. You stupid whore, you have more chance of being killed by a passing truck than being rescued by one.”

  He laughs but there is no humour, he walks unsteadily to the window and takes another long swig from the bottle. A sneer forms. I feel his thoughts and I shudder. It’s a pity the prey is not a challenge. Someone more intelligent. He watches as the small figure clad in white is highlighted by a sudden flash of lightening. Even the heavens know you should die! Again he laughs. You thought I couldn’t hear you. You thought you were safe. Whore! You had my brother’s son. I hate you both. But Sean shall live and you shall die. I have that power. He fingers his rifle. Sean will run Twin Pines because I am sick. You made me sick, but not sick enough to let you win.

  I jump as Geoff’s hand comes to rest on my shoulder. I look at him and I know he is angry. I see his worry and I see his disappointment.

  “Please don’t Chloe. You promised.”

  I look at the concerned faces around the table. I look into Paul’s eyes. He is even more handsome than the ruined man with his face that is invading my mind. His features are compassionate and his eyes connect with his emotions. Paul is a good man. But what the hell is behind him?

  “Can we meet tomorrow?” I wipe a bead of moisture that has run down my cheek. I then leave the room without waiting for anyone to answer. I lie down on the bed but I am too afraid to close my eyes.

  It has been years since this hell has invaded me. This hell that destroyed my first marriage and almost destroyed my life with Geoff. I thought it had stopped, I prayed that it had stopped. I promised I would block out the images, that I would not live the answers when they came to me. I know Geoff is scared for us both. I have been scared for months. I have been scared from the very first time I looked into the eyes of Paul Clarke and felt the connection, felt the link and knew through him I had one more trip to hell that I had to make. God, please help Geoff and I to survive it.

  Joanne read the letter for a second time.

  Dear Ms Kyle,

  Thank you for submitting your resume and application for our recently advertised position of practicing solicitor.

  We are pleased to advise you have been shortlisted.

  We request you contact our Tauranga office as soon as convenient to make a suitable time for an interview.

  We look forward to meeting you.

  Yours sincerely,

  Peter Simms

  She carefully refolded the high quality paper and put it back in the envelope. Her interview was in the morning and all she felt was numbness at the thought of leaving Auckland to relocate in yet another pretty seaside city.

  The small plane circled over a long expanse of beach before making an unusually rough landing at Tauranga Airport. Simms and Graham were situated on the main street of the bustling city centre. The building was modern, a square impersonal structure of stainless steel and glass. Towering planters filled with aesthetically pleasing plants and sweeping expanses of polished desks. The firm’s appearance suited her mood, impersonal, reserved and detached.

  Peter Simms was one of two senior partners. Research had confirmed he was happily married with two children and highly respected both professionally and personally. He greeted Joanne warmly, extending his hand and offering a firm handshake.

  “I hope you had a pleasant flight. Your previous employers speak highly of you.”

  He smiled and indicated to a chair.

  “Can you tell me why you left the position in Nelson?”

  “A family illness.”

  “Your father is Randal Kyle the QC isn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “What makes you want to move to the Bay of Plenty?”

  Joanne breathed. I can’t find a suitable position in Auckland without the help of my overpowering, distant and controlling father. My life has imploded after the suicide of my best friend, who incidentally I watched being eaten by cancer for over a year before she took her own life. Do you want to know about the breakdown of my engagement, the harassment of my previous legal employer, the alienation of my best friend who is also gay and my current employer? He now has no time for me because he is f
abulously happy and in love. For good measure, I have just walked out on a man that could have easily become the centre of my universe. Running away to the Bay of Plenty seems a better alternative than facing reality. She cleared her throat.

  “I liked living in Nelson and I see similarities here. I like the smaller community and, of course, a more personal work environment.”

  Joanne smiled disarmingly.

  “A smaller practice, such as this, would give me more opportunity to gain diverse work experience.”

  Peter Simms sat taller in his chair.

  “I think this interview is only a formality.”

  He smiled showing perfect white teeth.

  “I will discuss your appointment with my partner and contact you in the next day or so.”

  Like a robot Joanne returned his smile and shook his firm hand. She drove back to the airport and wondered why she felt so flat.

  “You are really fucking up your life!”

  Simon regarded her from a safe distance. He held her resignation in his hand.

  “How is getting a position in the field I have studied to be in, fucking up my life?”

  He shook his head.

  “You know that you can’t run forever Joanne. If this is really what you want I am happy for you.”

  “It is. My new landlady isn’t particularly happy but the opportunity is too good to turn down.”

  Simon smiled patently.

  “I meant to give you this. It was in Saturday’s paper.”

  He handed her a small newspaper advertisement boldly circled in bright yellow vivid. He watched as the colour drained from Joanne’s face.

  Sandy’s face grinned back at her from the top of the newsprint.

  Marinella Vineyard

  Come and enjoy the opening of Waiheke Islands, Marinella Vineyard.

  Degustation Menu. Please note reservations are necessary. Telephone for details.

  Casual guests bring a blanket or chair. Relax to the sound of live Jazz. Enjoy genuine wood fired pizza accompanied by a variety of quality wine.