The Quilt

by Carlton, Rochelle

  He hesitates and I take the opportunity to quickly look at him. Mistake. I focus back on my sandals.

  “From this year our reserve releases will carry the “Mermaid” image. This is easily recognised and unique to Marinella.”

  I look up and stare at him. Nausea grips me.

  “The original Mermaid is on loan to the vineyard and can be viewed in the restaurant. For anyone not familiar with its history the artist died tragically in a boating accident earlier this year.”

  The crowd claps respectfully and I continue to gape at Paul. My vision has blurred and I am fighting to maintain even a small amount of composure.

  “One more thing I must mention. We want you to enjoy our wine but not if it means drinking in excess before driving.”

  Another approving whistle pierces the air.

  “There will be complimentary shuttles available which are timed to meet the departing ferries. They would also be happy to transport you to any of the local accommodations. They will run approximately hourly. The first shuttle is due to arrive in thirty minutes. If you would like to catch the early ferry back to Auckland start making your way to the area in front of the restaurant. Any of our staff will be happy to help you if you would like to utilize this service, organize a taxi or have any questions.”

  Please stop, I need to get out of here. Paul stepped back and let his hand linger as he passed the microphone back to the dark haired woman. There was a ripple of applause and he disappeared from sight as if swallowed by the milling crowd.

  The hum of conversation has resumed and the rich sultry voice begins a haunting rendition of All of Me. Her words hang on the heavy humid air. I am still gapping, moisture is pooling behind my eyes and my legs feel unsteady.

  “Hi.”

  Chris is standing beside me. I make no effort to acknowledge him but he doesn’t seem to be deterred.

  “Are you enjoying yourself?”

  Does it look like it? I feel a traitorous tear escape and slide down my cheek.

  “I was wondering if you would like to go for a meal at some stage.”

  I close my mouth and stare at him. Under normal circumstances I may have found him attractive. Today, every molecule of my body is focused on the man that has briefly touched my life and a few minutes ago walked away for the final time. Why the hell did I ever consider coming here?

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  He smiles revealing a perfect row of unnaturally white teeth.

  “He is a hard bastard. But I am sure he would understand. Unless, of course you are seeing him?”

  I roll my eyes.

  “I was not aware that you knew Paul Clarke well enough to make that sort of character judgement. The reason I do not want to join you for a meal has absolutely nothing to do with him.”

  Uncharitably I watch as my words sink in and he slinks away wearing an injured expression.

  I join a group of relaxed people that have started to walk towards the restaurant. I am focusing on the huge wooden doors and immersing myself in a double helping of self-pity when suddenly a flustered waitress collides with me. Her face is red and her hair has escaped from the bands that had once contained it. She is short and slim with dark brown hair and pretty eyes that are filled with panic. She ignores me and without apologising pushes past the group making their way across the parking area. I watch her elbow her way rudely through the crowd until she has finally located Paul. She appears to interrupt his conversation and he bends down to listen to her. She places a familiar hand on his arm and I find myself bristling. He shakes his head and turns to the small group standing near him. I assume he excuses himself before slowly edging his way back through the guests. Occasionally they pause to speak to people but as he reaches the open parking area I see him impatiently shake the waitress’ hand off his arm before entering the restaurant by its side door. His artic stare is fixed straight ahead, his jaw is frozen with tension and I can see he is fighting to hold onto his composure. I feel a surge of concern and turn away trying, to melt into the group of people that are around me. Where the hell is that shuttle?

  “Would you like a glass of iced water?”

  Another waitress stands in front of me holding a large pitcher and enough glasses to cater for those standing under the merciless sun.

  “Is everything alright in the restaurant?”

  She hesitates and seems to be struggling to find a diplomatic way to answer. Her huge eyes spring open and there is the unmistakable sound of tableware shattering on the unforgiving floor. The dark haired waitress appears at the door, tears stream down her cheeks in a black ribbon of mascara. Without looking back she gets into a small blue sedan and drives away fast enough to create a spray of tiny stones.

  Mari’s raised voice carries clearly in the still warm air. She is speaking quickly in Italian and I look anxiously at the crowd hoping no one has translated her torrent of fury.

  “Debbie?” My eyes scan the small name tag on the blonde waitress’ uniform. She looks confused and is still standing clutching the pitcher of ice water.

  “You need to take the water to the people that are waiting.”

  She nods and seems relieved to have been given guidance. I roll my eyes. The fleeing waitress was obviously the oldest and I assumed the most experienced staff member in the restaurant. I look at the diners, their expressions range from horror to amusement and many have turned to listen to the commotion that is still clearly audible in the kitchen.

  I stand on the hot cobbles undecided. I glance at my watch, the shuttle is almost due. If I catch it I will be home in time to finish packing, feed Critter and, most importantly, I would slip out of here without confrontation.

  If I stay I will not be able to avoid Paul or his family. I am confident I can help with the staffing situation; I am not as confident that I will be able to keep things in perspective or that anyone here will welcome my involvement.

  I ignore the no admission sign and walk around to the side of the restaurant. The door that provides a service entrance to the kitchen is open. From here I can see into the kitchen. There is a pile of ruined food and broken glass on the floor. Jean is standing horrified while Mari is flushed with anger and pointing towards perfectly presented trays of food. Both women seem unaware of the destruction on the kitchen floor and unaware that I am standing nervously in the corner.

  “The girl was incompetent! It is a set menu. All the courses go out one after another. One, two, three, four!”

  Jean puts a comforting hand on Mari’s arm. It seems only to enrage her further.

  “In the order written on the menu! She doesn’t even possess a small amount of common sense!”

  “Look!”

  She pointed wildly at the exquisite plates of tiny sweet morsels.

  “Isn’t it obvious? Even to an idiot! If she had taken a moment to listen instead of following Paul around like a puppy she would have known!”

  I sigh. Another woman fawning after Paul.

  “Can I help?”

  In unison both women turn to face me.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  I stand in the miserable and uncomfortable silence. Could this possibly get any worse?

  “Does Paul know you are here?”

  “No. I haven’t spoken to him.”

  “Perhaps you should leave and keep it that way.”

  Mari’s face was grim.

  “That was exactly what I had intended to do. But it was hard not to notice there are some problems in the restaurant.”

  They both eyed me suspiciously.

  “I can help and it would be a shame if pride or anger stopped the opening from being a success.”

  Mari’s eyes are narrowed and she is bristling with anger.

  “You are a lawyer not a waitress.”

  “I also have experience as a waitress and manager.”

  “Is this some sort of joke?”

  Both Jean and Mari jump. They look at Paul apologet
ically. The situation has just become worse. I turn and meet his polar stare. He looks devastating like an advertisement for male kind. The light blue shirt intensifies his eyes which are now regarding me with contempt.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Right now I have no idea.”

  I snap and turn to Jean.

  “If you would like me to help out I am happy to do so. If the situation is manageable without me I will leave.”

  She looks flustered. Her eyes travel to the mess that lies congealing on the floor.

  “Paul, I am sorry but we have to get through today and whatever personal grievances you two have will need to be put aside.”

  He threw up his hands in a gesture of frustration and his voice dropped to subzero.

  “I bloody give up!”

  Paul abruptly walked out and Mari turned away. I notice she is shaking her head. One day I know I will find humour in this ridiculous situation, but today it just hurts like hell.

  Jean finds me a white cotton uniform and her eyes fill with sympathy.

  “Please speak to Paul before you go. The Clarke men are tough but regardless of what has happened it would not be healthy for you to part and leave things how they are.”

  “Let’s just concentrate on getting through this service.”

  She squeezes my hand.

  “You are falling in love with him aren’t you?”

  “No! Jean, your son is a wonderful man but I am not falling in love with him!”

  My voice sounds too high and far too defensive. I swallow hard and try unsuccessfully to meet her eyes. I look down. She looks through me like the strange dark haired woman with the sad voice. I think we both know I am lying but I manage a weak smile.

  “I am moving away from Auckland next week.”

  She nods but doesn’t look surprised.

  “Then make sure you say goodbye.”

  There wasn’t much time for me to dwell on the mess that I had created by arriving at the vineyard opening. The restaurant was much larger and more hectic than Simon’s café and the menu, although set, was complicated and time sensitive. There were three waitresses’ left including Debbie, the young girl that had served iced water to the crowd waiting for the shuttle. They were all surprisingly efficient despite their limited experience.

  The food was exquisite. I look at the long, rectangular white plates laden with tiny, perfectly presented, lavender-infused pannacotta topped with delicate crystalized purple flowers, bright green pistachio gelato each sitting on a spun sugar basket and dolce torinese. I glance at Mari and consider asking where she has learnt to prepare food to this standard. She regards me coldly.

  “There is only coffee and dessert wine to serve. Why don’t you get changed and go over to the house. I will find Paul.”

  I feel drained. All I want to do is go home, pack and get the hell out of Auckland. I think Jean understands my doubt and puts a reassuring hand on my arm.

  “Joanne, nothing good comes from things that are left unfinished.”

  I stand in the doorway and look into the wide expanse of room in front of me. My eyes travel over the neat lawn to the moody blue green palette of the harbour. The scene looks familiar. Jess is curled up on the sheepskin rug. She watches me through liquid brown eyes and her tail thumps lazily on the soft fibres. I walk over to her and sink down allowing my face to bury in her dense coat.

  He is standing tense and still leaning against the doorframe. I don’t need to look at him; I can feel his eyes watching me. Paul’s arms are folded across his chest and his expression is unreadable. It always is. When he speaks his words are detached as if spoken to a stranger.

  “It has been a long day and I have no patience left for games. What are you doing here Joanne?”

  “Games?”

  I look up and search his face. He runs his hand through his hair, the gesture is so familiar and then his features settle back into a mask.

  “A few weeks ago I thought we had something special. Something that was at least worth talking about. You obviously didn’t feel the same.”

  His voice is gritty and his eyes glistened with anger and frustration.

  “You made it impossible for me to contact you. You changed your phone numbers, you moved out of your house and after all that effort, I really don’t understand why you would come here.”

  I swallow and search for words. I fail and shrug.

  “Jean has told me you are leaving Auckland.”

  “I have found a position in the Bay of Plenty.”

  “Is this what you want?”

  “It is a good opportunity.”

  “Did you come here to tell me?”

  I drop my eyes and knot my fingers in Jess’ coat to stop them trembling.

  “So you are going to continue to run and really had no intention of even saying goodbye.”

  “You are right, it would have been wrong to just go.”

  “Joanne, you did just go, remember?”

  I move uncomfortably under his penetrating stare.

  “I am not running. It’s different this time.”

  “Why? Because last time you were running away from something and this time you are running to something?”

  I fight to shut the smart mouth in me. He is running his hands through his hair again and looking anxiously towards the restaurant.

  “Joanne, I have to go back soon. Can I ask you two questions before you leave?”

  “That depends on what the questions are.”

  I feel apprehensive.

  “Are you married? Or involved with a man called Stephen?”

  I jolt as though hit by electricity.

  “Stephen?” I stare at Paul in disbelief.

  “How the hell do you know about Stephen?”

  “I tried to find you. When I ran out of options I rung your father.”

  I fight to suppress a smile. He rung Randal J. Kyle, QC criminal lawyer and asked for personal information.

  “I’m sorry, he didn’t tell me. How did that call go?”

  The muscles in Pauls face softened and amusement briefly flickered in his eyes.

  “Stephen and I were engaged. He is one of the many reasons I returned to Auckland.”

  I feel drained. Paul is regarding me unemotionally and we both know there isn’t really anything left to say. I get to my feet and offer a weak smile.

  “You said you had two questions.”

  I reach down to pat Jess once more before walking to the door. I lean back against the opposite doorframe and meet his gaze.

  “Your question is?”

  Paul leaned forward and slipped an arm around my waist pulling me roughly against his body. His lips find mine and before I have a chance to react he is demanding, possessing and I am responding. He pulls away suddenly and regards me through narrow eyes.

  “What the hell do you think you are doing?”

  “You have just answered my second question. Whether you are honest enough or aware enough to admit it I don’t know. Joanne, we need to talk.”

  I don’t respond.

  “I have to see the last of my guests off and when I get back I hope that you will still be here.”

  He searches my face but I glare at him dispassionately.

  “If you choose to leave tonight please don’t come back here. You need to get on with your life and leave me to move forward with mine.”

  “That is a little dramatic, Tauranga is only a few hours away. Is there no compromise with you?”

  “Compromise is something I will never consider in a relationship.”

  “So it is all or nothing for you?”

  “Should a relationship be any other way?”

  He turned and walked away. I know he is right. We will both have busy inflexible lifestyles separated by endless miles. In time we would become an inconvenience to each other and slowly bleed apart.

  Paul lifted Glen Forrester off the tarmac. The old man mumbled incoherently and slumped into the back o
f the taxi. The driver shook his head sadly and eased the cab slowly down the driveway.

  He stood on the sweeping green bank of the deserted amphitheatre. Small areas of rich soil had been exposed by the trampled grass, the aroma of pizza still hung in the evening air but otherwise the day’s celebrations had been completely erased.

  Paul sat down heavily in the restaurant, holding a hot cup of fresh coffee. He had made no attempt to return to the house. A kitchen hand was still working. She scurried back and forth gathering pieces of linen ready for dry cleaning.

  “Would you like another cup of coffee or anything else done?”

  “No, thank you for staying. Enjoy your day off tomorrow.”

  Her footsteps sounded loud in the otherwise silent interior of the building.

  Paul finished the last of his coffee and walked slowly back to his house. Small moths had congregated around the light in the entry. He opened the door wearily and picked up his guitar. Settling back on the sofa he cradled Jess’ face, her eyes soft and solemn, she no longer had the sharp eager look of a young highly driven dog. His fingers picked at the strings without enthusiasm.

  He had known Joanne would not be there when he returned. He had known what he had asked of her was more than she was able to give.

  There was no point in trying to sleep and the music was bringing no comfort tonight. He wandered over to the sideboard and picked up the ledger and a pen.

  Chapter 40

  “A Mothers Lesson”

  Simon is standing in the flat when I enter. He looks at my face and wraps me in his thin arms. Jason hovers awkwardly in the background. He then walks to the kitchen and begins to make tea. He glances at me anxiously; Jason has been uncomfortable since the airport episode. I wonder if he will ever forgive me for the hour he had had to spend dragging his bag around the car park looking for Simon’s nondescript car.

  They don’t stay for long and I can’t blame them. I don’t want to eat. I don’t want to drink. I scowl at their small talk and my eyes fill with tears at the mention of Paul’s name. They leave me alone to indulge in my self-pity.