by Diana Fraser
“No. It should be somewhere where I hang out. The café would be perfect, but they only want touristy pieces.”
“We—I mean, you’ll find somewhere. I know you will. Look, I have to go.”
“What could possibly be so important as to take you away from a sunny afternoon drinking coffee with me and my dad?”
“One word. Business. I have a lot going on at work. I’m making some big changes.”
“Okay. So when will I see you again?”
“How about tonight?”
She grinned. “Sounds good.”
Amber looked out her window. Everything was gray and streaked with a misty rain. The sky and sea were a metallic gray while the hills on the far side of the harbor were a forest green, the individual trees combined into one forbidding mass. A silent sheet of lightning sparked behind the hills, somewhere out in the Pacific Ocean, flickered for a few moments and then was extinguished, leaving the gray even more opaque, as if it were being sucked into a darkness from which it couldn’t escape.
Her skin prickled and she shivered. Something felt wrong, off, as if nature was trying to warn her. She gritted her teeth, determined not to be influenced by such things, forgetting that the last time she’d been so determined it had cost her dearly.
Whatever, it would rain. She hoped the road to Christchurch wouldn’t be blocked by slips, which it often was after heavy rain. At least not until David got here. She grinned as the familiar low shape of his car revved as it passed her. She waved and it disappeared around the corner to park. She closed the curtains and opened the door, waiting for him to appear.
Despite the ominous darkness and threat of heavy rain, the air smelled good—alive, somehow. She stepped out into the drizzle just as David clicked open the wooden gate and strode up the garden path and into her arms. She literally fell into them and he took hold of her and kissed her as if he’d been thinking of nothing else except that kiss for a long time.
She curled her arms around his neck and he ended up carrying her inside. She pushed the door closed with her foot, only catching a glimpse of curtains twitching either side. She just hoped that what they’d seen would keep her neighbors in their own homes.
“Hello,” she said, as they eventually parted and he set her down on her feet.
“Hello,” he replied.
A sudden clap of thunder made them both turn to the window which was illuminated as another bolt of lightning lit up the night sky, revealing a solid sheet of rain.
“You just missed the rain.”
“It’s been following me. I hope there’s not a slip tonight or else I won’t be able to get home.”
“You could stay at your sister’s, I guess,” she said, with a smile, moving her fingers over his closely cropped hair, more evidence of his need for control. She hoped that she’d break that famous control tonight.
“No room,” he said with an answering smile.
“Oh dear, then perhaps you should stay here with me.”
“But the road might be clear.”
“But you could stay here with me, anyway. I’ve plenty of room.”
He looked around. “This looks pretty much like a one-bedroomed house.”
“It is.” She gripped his hand. “I’ll take you to see it if you like?”
“I would like, as it happens.”
She took him through a door in the lounge directly into the bedroom which sat parallel to the kitchen with the small bathroom added at the rear of the bedroom. Fairy lights twinkled around the wrought-iron bed—painted pink—and the multi-colored glass chandelier which looked as big as the small double bed over which it hung.
She opened the door wide. “So, what do you think?”
“It’s exactly as I imagined.”
She turned and nestled into him. She wanted to breathe him in, devour him.
“Well, it’s not exactly as I imagined.”
He looked down at her, lifting a stray curl from her face. “No? And how did you imagine this?”
She jerked her head to the bed. “You, me, on the bed.”
He put his head back and laughed, before raking his fingers through her hair and cradling her face. “There’s never any pretense about you, is there?”
“No. Life’s too short.” A shadow came over her as she remembered. “For a long time, after…” She sucked in a breath to continue. “After what happened, I didn’t trust anyone, not really. But you’ve changed that for me. I trust you, and I want to go to bed with you.”
He blinked and froze. Suddenly, she couldn’t read him. It was as if a wall had slammed down, concealing his thoughts, feelings—everything.
“David? What is it?”
“Amber, I’m not making love to you, as much as I’d like to.”
“Why not?”
He was silent for a few minutes as he examined her face. “Because I don’t think I’ve done anything to deserve that trust.”
She was confused. “What do you mean?”
“Just that. Trust should be earned.”
“You haven’t not earned it,” she said, groping to understand.
Again he was silent. “Amber, I love you. I really do. And, believe me, I never thought I’d say that to anyone. I think I loved you the moment I set eyes on you. I felt I could see you, the real you, so bright and hopeful and lovely, and I was drawn to you like a moth to a flame. But, frankly, I’m scared that I’ll do something wrong. I want to take this slowly.”
“Slowly,” she repeated, grasping something she understood. “I happen to like slowly,” she said with a spreading smile. “It gives time to savor and understand things better.”
“And I don’t want to misstep.”
She took his hand. “You won’t, because I won’t let you,” she said, pulling him to the bed.
There they kissed and lay down, and listened to the increasingly heavy rain batter onto the iron roof above them, drowning out any other sound. And they got to know each other, slowly, and Amber realized it felt more intimate than sex, more loving than anything she’d experienced.
Later, they fell asleep in each other’s arms, still partly dressed, but content and at peace, as the storm continued to rage all around them.
8
“Oh my goodness, Flo, but David is the one for me! He’s gorgeous and lovely and I’m in love!”
Flo picked up the last cup from the now empty verandah and stood holding a tray of breakfast things. “So you had a good night?” she asked dryly. But, it seemed, Amber wasn’t in the mood for dry.
“Yes, yes, yes!”
“Three yesses, goodness. That was a good night!”
Amber followed Flo inside. Water still dripped from the gutter, and the creek which flowed beside the house was high and noisy from last night’s storm.
She closed the door behind her, darkening the hallway, the colored light from above the door bringing chunks of vivid color onto the polished floorboards.
“We didn’t make love, though,” Amber said, before greeting a couple of late-leaving backpackers in the hall who gazed at her with an open curiosity which Amber didn’t notice.
Flo looked from the backpackers back to Amber with a shake of her head. “Come on, we’d better go into the kitchen for this conversation.”
Flo set the tray on the table and poured them both a coffee. “Now, about this making love business. What happened?”
“Nothing, honestly. Well, when I say nothing, we cuddled and stuff, but David didn’t want to make love because he said he didn’t think he’d earned my trust yet.”
“Wow! He said that?” Flo grunted with admiration, before furrowing her brow. “Did that seem a bit strange? Why did he think he had to earn your trust? Has he done something to upset you?”
“No, of course not. What could he do? He’s perfect!”
“Steady on. No one’s perfect.” Flo ruminated for a few moments. “Where is he now?”
“He’s gone to work. Christchurch. Why?”
“I don�
�t know. It’s just that I’ve never heard of a man refusing to make love to a woman who’s obviously keen when he’s told her he loves her. It’s just odd, isn’t it?”
“No,” denied Amber, doubt creeping into her mind for the first time. When she’d been with David, nothing had seemed odd. Whatever he’d said she’d believed and they’d been in tune, in key, together emotionally and spiritually, so there was no way she could doubt him. But now, in the cold light of day, she couldn’t help agreeing with Flo. There was something odd about it. She stood up. “Anyhow, I’d better get going.”
“I thought you were going to hang out with me this morning.”
“Change of plan. I’ve had a text from a friend asking me for one of my rainbows on another building, which the powers that be want to destroy. And I think I’ll catch up with David, too.”
“Where? His office? His home?”
The seed of doubt grew a little. She didn’t like to tell Flo that she didn’t actually know where either of those were. All she knew about David was that he appeared from time to time in Akaroa, where his sister also lived part time. Really, it wasn’t much to go on now she thought about it.
She shrugged. “Somewhere. I’ll see him around.” And, as she left Flo’s place, she had the uncanny sense that she would.
* * *
But, at the end of a long, hot afternoon, Amber still hadn’t seen David, despite sending him text messages asking if they could meet up. She stepped back from the painting on the side of the wall of one of the older buildings in Christchurch, now exposed by a building which had had to be demolished after the earthquake.
She’d been asked to join a group of artists who were frantically painting the front and sides of the lone building, which remained standing after the 2011 earthquake but whose future was far from sure. With empty lots on either side, it was ripe for development, and that was just what the group was afraid of.
She stepped away from her painting and scrutinized it. She liked it. Abstract, but with a feeling for the place. It might be ever so slightly illegal. But no one knew who owned the wasteland, and all the feedback on their work had been positive.
There were only a few of the group left that late in the afternoon, as it had got colder. She went and joined the others who were beginning to pack up. “It looks great, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah. And your rainbow is perfect, brings together the two elements really well. You’ve got a way with colors.”
Amber grinned. She might not get her work shown in snobby art galleries in Christchurch without knowing the right people, but her people enjoyed her work. And that was good enough for her.
“It all works well together, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, the news reporters who were here earlier took a few snaps and interviewed me. I hope it makes the news. We want as much publicity as this will bring us. It would be a crime to demolish it.” Her friend waved one of his paint brushes across the road. “Looks at those old warehouses. They’ve been done up and are tenanted now. So could this one be.”
“Let’s hope.”
“Anyway, we’re off now. You coming?”
Amber felt a momentary flicker of unease. She still didn’t like being left alone, especially on a deserted site such as this. “Yes, I’ll just pack my things.”
But, as the others were itching to go, they made sure Amber wouldn’t be far behind them, and hopped over the fence and were gone.
Amber finished up, gathered her things and was only a few minutes behind them, but they’d vanished and, instead, she was confronted with a small group of angry-looking men in suits.
“Hey!” An aggressive voice shot out over the cold frosty ground. The men were standing around the padlocked gate, which she’d hopped over a few hours before, watching her. She smiled and waved. Maybe they were sightseers doing the rounds of the art works.
“Hi!” she called, pulling her vintage purple coat more tightly around her. She wore a south American knitted hat with ear flaps, fingerless gloves and thick boots. Gabe had said she looked like a homeless woman when he’d caught sight of her. Maddy and Rachel had defended her look, saying no homeless women had ever looked so exotic, and besides, she wasn’t carrying plastic bags. Amber didn’t care either way. She never did understand why people worried about what other people might think. What was the point? No, she dressed to please no one but herself. And people had to accept her for who she was, or not at all.
“You there!” The voice was angry now, and her smile faded.
She put her brushes into her leather holdall and walked across to the fence. “Yes?” she said, through the wire fence.
“What are you doing there?”
She looked at the painting behind her and wondered why they were asking. It was pretty obvious. “Painting a rainbow.”
A car door slammed from behind them. “Sorry I’m late. I got held up at the—” The words stopped like they’d flowed into a brick wall and Amber found herself face to face with David.
“We’ve found the culprit, sir. We’ll let the police take care of this little matter.”
Amber turned back to the speaker. “Culprit?” She frowned. “I’m an artist.”
There was a snigger among the men and she turned back to David, her frown deepening.
“Tell them, David.”
All eyes went to David. He, too, was frowning, as if unable to believe what he was seeing. He glanced at the rainbow and she followed his gaze.
“Of course, it’s not finished yet,” she said, embarrassed for the first time that she worked in such a rudimentary form, sketching, until something took off, and then working from that explosive center to the outside. For the first time in her life, she questioned her process. She wished she could begin in one corner and work steadily to the other, with no one ever doubting the quality of the artwork. But here, with others looking and the undercurrent of snide remarks and laughter, she suddenly felt embarrassed and hurt. She swallowed and looked up at him, wondering why he wasn’t saying anything.
“Amber, I—”
“Do you know the woman, sir?”
“I do. This is Amber Connelly.”
Amber waited for him to introduce them to her. But he didn’t.
“And is she an artist?” one of the men asked him, as if she wasn’t there.
“Does it look like that?” laughed another man.
She stepped back as if struck. “David?” she asked again.
David turned to the others. “Shut it!” he said to them, and they did.
“Miss Connelly, I must ask you to leave this area. It’s private property,” David said.
She couldn’t believe he was talking to her as if she were a stranger. She opened her mouth to reply, but for the first time in a long time words proved elusive. She normally never had a problem speaking, because whatever was in her heart was in her mind, was in her mouth. But here, now, this man in whose arms she’d fallen asleep had turned into a stranger before her eyes.
“Miss Connelly?” she repeated in a whisper directed only at him.
His eyes, which she’d only ever seen to be strong and sure, reflected her own confusion. “I’m sorry, I…”
She stepped away again, shaking her head, unable to believe what she was seeing, what she was feeling. She licked her lips and bent down to pick up her bag.
“Don’t forget your paint pots! Only the best in materials for the ‘artist!’” shouted one of the men. She used exterior house paint rather than expensive oils. She had intended to make a second trip to return for them. But now she just wanted to get all her things and get away from the laughter, and this stranger who she’d thought she knew.
With her spare hand she balanced the cardboard tray carrying the pots of paint on her hip, and bit her lip as she looked at the gate over which she’d clambered only hours earlier. She stood for a moment, wondering how she was going to get out, not looking at any of them, trying to ignore the barely suppressed laughter and comments about her fledgling rainb
ow, when the lock in the gate clicked, and the gate was opened for her. David stood, his eyes fixed on hers, the gate open. The fact he’d opened the gate for her was a relief. The fact that he had the means to do that, held the key in his hand, confounded her.
She tried to lift her chin but was scared her watery eyes would be seen by everyone, so she kept her eyes down and tried to swallow past the lump in her throat, tried to clear the blurriness of the ground by blinking. It didn’t work. “Thank you,” she said in a clipped, proud way as she walked past him. She felt his hand on her arm.
“Wait, I want to apologize.”
She bit her trembling lip. “Please take your hand off me.”
For a moment she wondered if he would. But after a moment’s hesitation, he did, and he stepped away, leaving the way clear. She walked along the street to the bus stop, knowing she’d missed the bus she’d intended to catch. It was too late for cafés, they had all closed down for the night, it being a week day in winter with few people around. Only crazy would-be artists, Amber thought miserably, allowing a tear to track down her heated face. Only artists of rubbish rainbows still lingered on the cold, darkening streets. She placed the tray of paint pots on the seat beside her and sat down on the damp wooden bench.
She could hear the drone of voices from the empty lot, punctuated by David’s authoritative staccato instructions. Whatever they were meeting about, it didn’t last long and she soon heard the clank of the chains and lock being put into place. Why, she didn’t know. All you had to do was climb over. But when she glanced over, she noticed that they’d added further precautions to the fence. A line of barbed wire. No one would be climbing over that in a hurry.
David looked at her and she turned away again, focusing on the incoming rain cloud sweeping over the rooftops. She’d get wet, she thought, numbly. The bus shelter was a work in progress and a roof had yet to be added.
She continued to focus on the gray cloud, the same color that had invaded her heart, she thought remotely, as she listened to the cars roar off down the road, leaving an emptiness which she felt to her core.