House of the Blue Sea (18 page)

His eyes went to her forehead. “You’re bleeding,” he croaked.

“It’s just a flesh wound.” She tried to smile in an effort to relieve the tension she saw in his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be driving the boat?”

“Autohelm’s got it covered. I needed to rescue my crew.”

“Well, your crew appreciates it.” Her whispered words were lost in the roar of the wind but he answered by squeezing her tighter.

As they scrambled into crouching positions, Mark continued to hold Sandra’s arm even though she was gripping the lifeline with both hands. She leaned toward him to be heard. “I promise to hold on, and you need to do the same.” They inched their way from the bow, Mark looking back every few seconds to make sure she was still there.

“We need to drop the main,” he said as he climbed down into the cockpit.

“Aye aye, Captain. You go take over for Otto and I’ll get that done.”

Mark returned to his place at the stern and took the boat off autopilot while Sandra sought out the halyard marked “main”. There it was, right next to the genoa, and she hauled the heavy line from the jaws of the cleat with one swift pull. The mainsail dropped part way to the boom and Sandra pulled it with both hands again and again until it was flaked between the lazy jacks. “Okay,” she called to Mark, “turn this rig around.”

Neither spoke as he turned the boat south. With their backs to the blow,
Ode to Joy
motored her way through the cresting surf on course for La Paz harbour.

***

S
andra hopped off the boat as they pulled up next to the dock, taking the bow and stern lines with her. Mark reversed into place and she tied the front of the boat to its dock cleat before doing the same at the rear. He killed the engine and stood in the quiet with his hands resting on the wheel. The wind had lessened as they made their way back to La Paz and was now returned to a friendly breeze.

“You okay?” Sandra asked.

“Just happy to be back in the marina. That’s easily the heaviest weather I’ve been out in.”

“Me too. But here we are, safe and sound.”

“Well, for the most part, yes.” He pointed to her head and then her knees.

Sandra put her hand to her forehead and felt the dried blood. “I’ll be fine. Once it’s cleaned up you’ll hardly see it. And my knees will be a bit colourful for a few days but nothing to worry about.” Sliding across the deck and over the toe rail had removed some skin and banged up Sandra’s knees.

“I shouldn’t have angled the boat so high into the wind. I could have lessened the pitch of the bow.” Mark stared at his hands on the wheel. “And I should have paid more attention to the weather to begin with ...
and
, apparently, listened to the prairie girl.”

“And I shouldn’t have gone up on the deck without waiting for your instruction, and definitely should have followed the golden rule, ‘one hand for you, one hand for the boat’. Should have, could have—it’s okay, really. Let’s pack up and head home.”

“Drinks along the Malecón before we had back to San Leandro?”

“You know, thanks, but I think I could use a nice long bubble bath more than I could use a drink. Although, I might have one
in
the bubble bath.” 

“Maybe a drink later at Pablo’s then?”

“Maybe, if I’m awake long enough. All of that sea water seems to have sucked the life out of me. I’m seeing a good book in my evening.”

“Right.” Mark nodded and cast his eyes downward.

She knew she’d hurt him, rejecting his invitations, but she was so tired. On more than one front, the day had left her confused and shaken and she needed some time alone.

***

P
aul was at his desk when Sandra entered the lobby, the entrance chime pulling Paul’s eyes from his work and immediately to her forehead. “What the bloody hell happened to you?”

She didn’t think it was so noticeable now that she’d wiped off the dried blood. “Just a little boating incident. I’ll be fine once I wash off the sea water.”

“You were caught in that storm, weren’t you? Damn him. I told Mark the weather was unsettled and he shouldn’t be going out. Let me have a look.” Paul came around the front desk and inspected Sandra’s forehead. “I’ll get you a bandage. Was there no first aid kit on the boat? Does he not know how to do something as simple as put a plaster on a wound?”

“I do, but Ms. Lyall here insisted she didn’t need one.” Mark was standing in the doorway.

“And I’m still insisting I don’t need one. What I need is a bath, a hot meal, and maybe a pot of tea. You two are like a couple of old hens.”

Sandra went over to Mark and took her bag from his hand. “Thank you for bringing this in, oh and ...,” she turned to look at Paul for a moment before looking back to Mark, “and thank you again for saving me from drowning.” She walked across the lobby, heading for the hallway to the guest rooms, smiling at Paul on her way by.

***

S
andra leaned back into the hot water, the bubbles pushing up around her ears.
Aahh
... that was better already. If only she could order food and drink from here, life would indeed be perfect. Okay, perfect was a stretch, a big one. Her head was throbbing, although she hadn’t revealed that to Mark, and her knees stung when they hit the hot soapy water. But truly, the physical pain paled in comparison to what she was feeling inside. He’d been fun today, and kind, and concerned, and he might have even saved her life. So why did she feel compelled to run as fast and far from him as she could?

When she thought of spending more time with Mark she felt a tightening in her chest. Trisha would say it was love, with a wink, but that wasn’t it. When she’d fallen in love with Nick she couldn’t get enough of him. She wanted to wake up to his smile every morning and go to sleep to the sound of his breathing each night. She still missed him so much. His laugh, his blue eyes, the way he listened to her and was her greatest supporter in everything she did. Seventeen years wasn’t nearly long enough. Was it even possible for her to fall in love again?

Her mind drifted to the warmth of Mark’s body against hers, his arm wrapped around her holding her close as they lay on the deck of the boat, the sound of his voice so close to her ear. She slapped the water with the flat of her hand. Why had she not followed her own instincts and stayed away from him to begin with?

Sandra slid deeper into the tub, immersing her head in the warm water and shutting out all sound but the beating of her own heart. It felt safe under the water, except for that sting at her forehead.
Ouch
. She sat up and put her fingers to her head. Okay, maybe a Band-Aid wasn’t an all-bad idea for a day or two.

There was a knock at the door to her room. “Sandra?” It was Mark’s voice.

Oh please, just go away
.

Another knock. “Sandra?”

“I’m in the bath,” she called back.

“Paul sent me up to take your order. He’ll have it brought to your room.”

“That’s kind of him. Tell him to send the special. It’s always good. And some tea, please. Tell him thank you.”

“Done. And Sandra?”

She didn’t answer but instead slipped back underneath the water, ignoring the burning sensation above her eye.

D
espite her initial reluctance to participate, Sandra was delighted to see her three paintings hanging in the visiting artists’ tent of the La Paz Art Festival. The festival stretched for three blocks on a street just back from the Malecón, the cobblestone lined with colourful tents of green, gold, and blue in varying sizes. The tent for visiting artists was actually three gold tents strung together to make a twelve by thirty-six foot space. Sandra’s paintings were hung in a vertical column of three, Mark’s beach scene at the top, Mar Azul in the middle, and her new painting of the headlands at the bottom.

“Nice job, artista.” Ian nudged Sandra’s arm with his elbow. He leaned in to her and whispered, “Yours are the best in the tent.”

“Shh ...” Sandra gave him a look. “Thanks, but they are not.”

“Oh yes, they absolutely are, and I’m not the only one to say so.” Ian inclined his head toward the check-out area where Pascual was speaking with some guests, his hands moving wildly as he talked. “Your little Mexican Van Gogh agrees with me.”

“Pascual? He probably says that about every artist in here. He wants us all back next year.”

“Okay, but how many paintings are displaying a sold sticker merely ...,” he looked at his watch, “forty-five minutes into the show? Hm?”

“That one was sold over a week ago. I don’t think it counts.”

“Ah right, Mr. Jeffery, I forgot he was a fan of yours.”

“I wouldn’t say he’s a fan. He just happened to connect with that piece.”

“And with you too, perhaps?”

“What does that mean?”

“I just heard you’ve been spending time with him.”

“Who told you that?”

“I have my sources.” Ian raised his eyebrows.

“The Mar Azul grapevine, I’m guessing. It’s a small place.”

“And so, it’s true? You’re being courted by Mr. Rich and Famous?”

“Courted? God, no!” Sandra glanced around to see if anyone had heard. She lowered her voice and continued. “We’re friends. That’s all.”

“Friends ... I see. By the way, there’s a Band-Aid sticking out from under your hat.”

Sandra touched her forehead, her fingers going to the plastic bandage that could be felt below the straw brim.

“Why do I get the feeling it has something to do with your
friend
?” Ian asked.

She adjusted her hat forward. “Can you still see it?”

“No, and your secret is safe with me, whatever it is.”

“There’s no secret. We went sailing yesterday and got caught in a blow. I fell and hit my head. End of story.”

“And the knees. What happened there?”

“So, what, you’ve been inspecting me?” Sandra’s eyes went to her capri pants to see if they were covering her scraped knees.

“No, not inspecting, they were sticking out when you were sitting in the car and I happened to look over. Why are you being so sensitive?”

“And why are you being so meddlesome?”

Ian raised his hands and took a step back. “Okay, how about we dial it down and go for a walk. Meddlesome? Really?” He turned and left the tent, Sandra following.

When they were outside Sandra spoke first. “I’m sorry. You weren’t being meddlesome. I’m just feeling a bit frustrated with the Mark situation.”

“Ah, so he’s a
situation,
is he?” They started down the row of tents.

“Well, yes, sort of. He keeps inviting me out and I keep going but I’m not sure why because ... well, I’m here to paint and walk the beach. And besides that, he makes me uncomfortable a lot of the time.”

“He’s a bit of an arrogant prig so I can see why.”

Sandra stopped and turned to Ian. “No he isn’t—arrogant or priggish. Why would you say that?”

“He just strikes me that way. I don’t like him—didn’t before he started following you around, like him less now.”

“He’s not following me around. I think he’s a bit out of his element here in Mexico and I’m kind of ... convenient.”

“Ah, that’s what’s bothering you. You think he’s using you.”

“I didn’t say using. I said convenient.”

“And there’s a difference?”

“Well ... yes ... it’s just ... different ... let’s walk. I think better when I walk.” They continued down the block. The street was closed to traffic but beginning to fill with art shoppers. “He’s nice to me, and we have fun, so I wouldn’t call it using. What I meant by convenient is that I’m not his typical kind of friend, but since we’re not exactly in Hollywood here,” Sandra scanned the crowd around her, “his kind of people aren’t in great supply.”

“I’ve met a lot of musicians in my days of playing, including some famous ones, and though they do like to spend time with other musicians, I wouldn’t say they have a
kind of people
. You’ve helped me make my arrogant-and-priggish argument.”

“I shouldn’t wander too far. It’s getting busy and Pascual wanted me around to meet with people.” They turned and started back toward the tent. “I have to admit, now that I’m here, it’s kind of exciting to be in a show. Pascual would like me to come every day, but that might be more than I can manage. Maybe I’ll come back on the weekend for a bit.”

“And what do you plan to do about your English stalker?”

“I don’t know. I find myself wishing his agent or some girlfriend would call and he’d get on a plane back to London or L.A.”

“He has a girlfriend and yet he’s hanging all over you?”

Sandra stopped again. “He isn’t hanging all over me, okay? No courting. No hanging.” She continued walking. “As for girlfriends, I don’t know. He and Paul were talking about someone in London named Roxanne.” Sandra remembered walking in on that conversation in Pablo’s and Mark had promptly changed the subject. Whoever Roxanne was, he hadn’t been speaking very glowingly of her. Sandra had done some on-line research and found tabloid photos of Mark with an actress named Roxanne Murphy. It wasn’t clear from the article who she was, just that she’d been spotted “around town” with actor Mark Jeffery. She was gorgeous, of course, with a perfect complexion, long dark hair, longer legs, and thirty-five at best.

“You okay?” Ian broke into her thoughts.

“Yes, sorry. What were we talking about?”

“You apparently need to get out of the sun. We were talking about—well, speak of the devil.”

Sandra followed Ian’s gaze and there was Mark entering her tent. “Really? Today? I’m just not up for it.” She stopped walking.

“Do you want me to drive you back to San Leandro? I will.” Ian put his hand on her arm.

“I would love that, but no I can’t. I told Pascual I would be here for opening day.”

“Well let’s go find a coffee then.” Ian put his hand on the small of Sandra’s back to lead her across the street. “Maybe he’ll be gone by the time we get back.”

***

T
here was a line-up at the coffee shop and the barista had been slow so Sandra thought Mark would have moved on by the time they returned to the tent. She walked in and glanced around. Thank goodness. No Mark.