Catch (27 page)

Hurrying up her side of the path to catch Matt, she stopped for a moment to ponder St John the Baptist’s words, a much more comforting message.

Matt continued his steady ascent and it occurred to her she was the one who’d wanted to be here.
 
Why then was she hurrying through the experience to catch up with him?
 
She should take her time and enjoy the precious moments.
 
She didn't need Matt to hold her hand, physically or metaphorically.

The revelation startled her.
 
How long had she been dependent on another person's approval?
 
Was that what she was doing with the fish business?
 
Granted, she enjoyed it - but her dream, as Gina so often reminded her, was to get sponsorship for a retreat.

Gina.
 
Oh, shit!
 
She suddenly remembered the previous night’s phone call that Matt’s rising tide of disapproval had persuaded her to ignore.
 
Dammit, she should have checked the answerphone this morning, but despite the little red light had flashing all night she’d completely forgotten about it. How could she have done that?
 

Redoubling her resolve not to chase up the path and catch Matt, she took advantage of a strategically placed seat to rest a while and ponder on the last few days.
 
He could bloody well wait for her, or even turn around and come back.

What she couldn't understand, however, was why Gina had taken it into her head to ring the hotel.
 
Twice.
 
Surely it was just more head games?
 
Life at home had been horrendous since Gina quit work.
 
Not another job in sight and the drinking had gotten horribly out of control.

Tamsen gazed at the craggy stonework of the cathedral; its exterior fairly oozed peace and serenity, in total contrast to the turmoil she felt inside.

She was at a loss as to what to do for Gina.
 
Maybe Matt was right.
 
Maybe she should just wipe her and get on with her own life, but that seemed somewhat drastic.
 
Even for someone who pretended to be as callous as Matt.

He was further up the path, studying a bronze bowl that was the origin of the water trickling down the concourse at her feet.
 
As angry as she was with herself for giving in to him and forgetting to call Gina back, she couldn't help admiring his physique.
 
He was truly beautiful. She got up and walked to him.

"You didn't wait for me?"
 
Her anger had dissipated; it was as if the water, pouring out of the copper basin, had washed it all away.

"I figured you'd want some time alone." He smiled. "You know, to take it all in.
 
It's just magic, isn't it?"

She felt like an idiot.
 
Why did she listen to the garbage that went on in her head?
 
"It is magic - of the most spiritual kind."

"Any idea who the saints are?"
 
Matt gestured to two striking statues whose presence appeared to be supporting them as they looked back down across the open space.

"Catherine and Francis."

"You have done your research, haven't you?"

"Always."
 
She slipped her arm through his.
 
"You're not the only one who can investigate a subject, counselor."

He squeezed her arm in a gesture of support.
 
"It appears I'm not."

Tamsen couldn't help but be touched by the dramatic freshness of Louis Lauman's saints, whom he’d identified with the suffering of Jesus - Francis bearing the wounds of stigmata and Catherine the crown of thorns.
 
A shudder ran down Tamsen's back; the thought of such pain and torment being inflicted on any living creature was appalling.

"Do you want to go inside?" Matt asked.
 

A light breeze had come up - or was it just the thought of so much suffering that made her shudder.

Matt took her hand in his and renewed warmth spread through her body. It was amazing the effect a simple touch had on her nervous system – but then who wouldn't feel calm and serene in this spiritual place, despite the reminders of Jesus' suffering?

They entered the cathedral through the main doors, its ascetic façade giving little hint of the ethereal beauty cloistered within.
 
Matt touched the tips of his fingers into the small vessel of water at the door and crossed himself.

"Don't you just love the way these places smell?"
 
Tamsen's hushed tone startled Matt.
 
He'd been held captive in a world of his own making for most of the morning.
 

"Hmm.
 
Takes me back to my childhood."
 
His voice was as quiet as hers.
 
He'd never been able to bring himself to talk naturally in the awe-inspiring catacomb-like interior of a cathedral.
 
It seemed disrespectful.

Tamsen stood motionless in front of a large ornate crucifix that dominated his view; it reminded him of center stage in a production. They were dwarfed by the majesty of the surroundings and he felt an insane urge to cry.
 
Working hard to swallow the raw emotion, he felt beads of sweat erupt on his temples.

In an effort to distract himself he bent to whisper in Tamsen's ear, close enough to feel tendrils of her hair on his lips; the feeling was almost decadent, especially in this holy place.
 

"You look like an angel."
 
Every word caught in his throat, as shafts of soft light fell through the stained-glass windows, muting the harsh Australian sunlight and bathing them in a cosmic glow.
 
"What's going on in that beautiful head of yours?"

There wasn't a moment of hesitation before her reply.
 
"Jesus - on the cross like that.
 
It's always fascinated me."

"Why?"
 
He was still whispering into her ear, drinking in her subtle scent, a hint of citrus - or was it musk?

"I just like the image.
 
The aesthetics.
 
Visual beauty, yet the underlying suffering and pain isn't lost.
 
A perfect balance."

He was losing himself in her - the melody of her voice, her scent - and he was mortified to discover that he was becoming aroused. In this of all places.
 
Cascading emotion crashed through him; he was caught between desire and despair.
 

How was this happening?
 
He was in the most safe and secure space he had ever known, yet he was feeling emotions here, with Tamsen, that he would never have expected.
 
Where was the lust coming from?
 
He was in a cathedral, for crying out loud.

"Don't you find it a real turn-on?"

"What?"
 
He felt the instant need to slap his own face, or maybe hers. Instead, he cast his eyes skyward and whispered, "Straight aim Hughie, she's the one you have to hit, not me," acutely aware of the growing strain in his groin.
 
"I need to sit down."
 

Feeling almost faint, he led Tamsen to the nearest pew.
 
Caramel-colored wood carried the sheen of wear, attesting to thousands of hours of worship.

"Are you okay?"
 

He was touched to see concern etched between her brows, and a bizarre desire to run crashed his confused mind.

"I'm not sure, to be honest."
 
Rubbing his sweaty palms on his stone-washed jeans, he realized that at least he no longer had to worry about being caught with a hard-on in church.
 
"I'm not sure talking about how the Son of God turns you on is a good thing here."

"Why not?"
 
Her concern had turned to bewilderment.
 

"I just don't think it's appropriate."

"Matt, if you can't talk about your feelings honestly in a church in front of God, where can you?"

She had a point, though he didn't like feeling on the back foot.
 
"But it's disrespectful.
 
This is a place of worship."

Her ears were turning pink, a sure sign she was worked up.
 
"Matt, darling, everywhere's a place of worship.
 
You don't think God can only hear you when you're in church, do you?"

"Well, no."
 
Now he really was squirming.
 
"But it just doesn't feel right to be talking about lustful thoughts here."

"You didn't have any problem acting on lustful thoughts in my bedroom."

"No, but - "

"My room is where I commune with my God."

Outrage rushed through him like a flash flood.
 
"That's not the same."

"Why not?"

Damn.
 
She'd well and truly sucked him in here.
 
"Because it's not."

Her eyes seemed to expand in her face as he looked at her.
 
"You don't think mine's a real religion - is that what you're saying to me, Matt?"
 

In that moment he felt connected to her in a way he'd never felt connected to anyone before.
 
Fear clawed at him and he wasn't sure why.
 

The silence hung heavy between them.
 
She reached over and held his hand, said nothing but just sat there next to him, serene and composed, apparently meditating, an unblinking vision of calm and beauty.

How did she do it? He, on the other hand, was unable to stop obsessing about the deterioration in their relationship since they'd arrived in Melbourne.
 
The supposed fun trip away - a real chance to get to know each other without any distractions - had become a shambles.
 
If anything, there were more distractions from home, courtesy of the spinner room mate.
 
The lack of logic disturbed him nearly as much as the circumstances.

Obsessive thoughts ran on fast forward through his head in an unrelenting fashion, like one of those lousy old eight-tracks that just kept going around and around.

The trip's only highlight so far had been coming here this morning - well, apart from the mind-blowing sex over breakfast.
 
Why did he keeping think about sex in church?

"You haven't spent a lot of time in churches since you were a boy?"

The question jolted Matt out of the tortuous scenarios being played out in his head.

"No.
 
If I’m honest, I had a crisis of faith."
 
She was asking far too many probing questions. Maybe that was why he wasn't having such a great time.
 

She looked around the cavernous interior of the cathedral again and sighed.
 
"I don't know how anyone could possibly have a crisis of faith in these surroundings."

"You're probably right." He was so used to giving everyone else advice yet was unable to look at himself.

"Come on."
 
Agitation set in again and he knew he needed to keep moving - almost as if his thoughts and emotions were chasing him, and if he never stopped then he'd never have to turn and face them.
 
"I've had quite enough of this place.
 
You ready to leave, or should I wait for you outside?"

"Why don't you wait for me?
 
There's a lot I want to look at."
 
A fleeting look of despair crossed her features.
 
Maybe she felt the strain too, or was that his own paranoia?
 
"You don't mind do you?"

"No, of course not."
 
He felt uncomfortable, desperate to get out.
 
"Once you've seen one cathedral you've seen them all."
 
Now he felt stupid.
 

She pecked him on the cheek.
 
"I won't be long.
 
Promise."

"No, no, take as much time as you like.
 
If I get bored listening to the babbling brook I'll just make my way back to the hotel."
 
Nausea and panic building within, he wasn't sure if it was the surroundings or his guilt for spoiling her morning.
 
"You really wanted to be here.
 
Enjoy it.
 
I'll be fine.
 
Honestly, take your time."

Bless her, if she didn't have the decency to look relieved.
 
He turned and almost sprinted out of the building, all the time unable to pinpoint what was going on.
 
She had the most absurd effect on his emotions.

Cool air hit him as he left the ecclesiastical building.
 
Storm clouds were brewing - not just in his mind, but on the horizon.
 
There wasn't going to be any great chance of him spending time on a bench contemplating his navel.
 
"Bloody Melbourne weather," he muttered to no one in particular.
 

Feeling dejected and forlorn, and not wishing to risk a soaking, he headed for the nearest taxi rank - unable even to take in the loveliness of the park-like grounds he'd so appreciated not more than an hour ago.

"Where to, mate?"
 
The Australian drawl coming out of the Italian-looking tax driver's mouth caused Matt’s teeth to ache and he struggled to be polite.

"Grand Hyatt."

"Not a problem."
 

The man's voice tore at his nerves. Matt hadn't felt this claustrophobic since his Brett Masters locked him in the linen chest when he was seven.
 
He still found it hard being in anything that even resembled a small, dark place.

"On holiday, are ya?"

The peasant wasn't going to let up.
 
Maybe if he ignored him he'd simply shut up.
 
The cab had that nauseating spurious citrus scent that seemed to permeate all manner of public transport.
 
The one you knew hid an infinite number of repulsive reminders of past inhabitants.
 
The suit who, after over-zealous drinks at work, vomited his greasy fries and milkshake through the synthetic carpet, or the grubby youth who, after due ministrations by his adoring girlfriend, in a fit of adolescent lust left more than the scent of his aftershave on the seat.