The Quilt (38 page)

“He was a bastard!”

Sean stood up abruptly and leant against the table, his fists were clenched and formed tight balls on the wooden surface.

“I’m sorry?”

Paul watched with concern as his father settled back into a chair.

“
It’s that damned quilt!  Jean asks questions that can’t be answered about a past that can’t be changed.”  

Sean was looking straight
ahead.

“You mean questions about Allan and what
, if anything, he had to do with Anne’s disappearance?”

Sean turned towards Paul as though he had only just realized he was in the room.

“What, if anything, he had to do with your grandmother’s disappearance?” He frowned and his mouth set in a grim angry line.

“
We are nothing like him.”

“M
aybe the gene just skips a generation or two,” Paul spoke cautiously. 

Sean looked up.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

For a moment father and s
on stood in silence.  A palpable tension filled the void between them. 

“
The addictive, psychopathic personality must have a genetic predisposition.”

Sean took a
deep unsteady breath before he spoke.

“I think
it’s high time you and I had a talk.”

Paul
waited for his father to continue.  Sean had a distant glazed look in his eyes when he began to speak.

“
The day before my mother, your grandmother, Anne, disappeared she came to find me.  She was agitated and nervous.  She kept looking around to check that bastard Allan was not behind her.” 

Sean’s eyes had reduced to slits as he recalled the last time he had seen Anne Clarke.

“She had a black eye and her fingers were bruised and swollen, possibly broken.”

“Looking back I should have known
there was a reason she chose that day to find me.  Maybe it was to say goodbye?  Maybe I should have tried harder to intervene.  There will always be regrets and questions.”

He shook his head.

“She told me that Allan was not my father.”

Sean looked up
, his eyes were haunted.

“
She asked me to forgive her.  She said that James was kind and that they had formed a relationship because she was lonely, trapped and scared.

“B
efore James was killed they had started to make plans to leave Twin Pines and take me with them.”

“She said
my legacy was not as Allan Clarke’s son.  She needed me to know my traits were from James, not his bitter and destructive older brother.”

“She told me Allan did not know the truth.  If he did he would
have hunted us down like prey.”

Sean looked up
, his eyes haunted by the guilt.

“The next day she was gone
.”

Paul breathed in.

“Do you know what happened to her?”

“I can only gu
ess.  She didn’t have access to any money, that was one of the methods of control Allan used.  None of the farm vehicles were missing and therefore she either walked away or was carried away.    If she could have come back for me she would have.”

He
shook his head sadly.

“
That only leaves one logical conclusion.  I think you know that she wasn’t officially reported missing for several weeks?”

“She told me that she would be
taking time out to visit her family.  Looking back I think she wanted me to believe she was safe rather than risk me trying to follow or confronting Allan while there was a possibility she could get to help.”

For a moment Sean lapsed in
to silence, his shoulders seemed to fold down and his knuckles drained white under clenched pressure.

“
If only she had asked me to call the authorities while I was away from Twin Pines. Her efforts to protect me were misguided.”

A strange
, bitter smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

“His drinking
only got worse after that night.”

“So
, why the hell did you stay?  You must have known that you were in danger?”

“Allan was a co
ward like most abusers.  He picked on people smaller or weaker than himself.  His health was failing by that stage.  He used to urinate himself and he didn’t even seem to notice.” 

Sean
visibly shuddered at the memory.

“I stayed
because I had a farm to run.  There was no man named Allan Clarke left in the house.  He was just a vile shadow that vomited and fouled in the corners leaving a trail of empty bottles in his wake.” 

“A couple of times I almost told him the truth, it would have been satisfying.  But even a small glimmer of hope that Anne was alive kept me silent. 
Towards the end, Allan probably would not have had the mental capability to find her, but who knows what drives someone like that.

“She was pro
nounced dead seven years later.”

“So you never
really got closure?”

Sean looked up and smiled
bitterly.

“Closure
, son?  I was given life but I am not sure what price my mother paid for it.”

The sun had welcomed in the new day with a spectacular display of orange and gold as it erupted over the horizon.  Paul watched the long tentacles of colour finger their way across the velvet surface of inky water.  He sipped at a strong, rich cup of coffee and reflected on his conversation with his father the previous evening.  Of course, it was history, etched in stone and unmoveable but as Paul recalled the expressions on Sean’s face he felt a certain amount of relief that the violent addictive traits of Allan Clarke were one more step further removed from himself. 

His eyes felt gritty after
a fitful sleep and, although still early, the humidity and warmth of the day felt like a damp blanket over the skin.  Jess shuffled up from her position at Paul’s feet.  He hadn’t spoken but she sensed he was surfacing from the deep thoughts that had held him brooding and motionless for hours. 

He got up and stretched.  Already the fabric of his polo
had stuck uncomfortably to his back.  Just visible in the bay below was a small yacht that had taken shelter overnight.  The excited voices of children carried in the air despite the stillness.  He stripped off the shirt and motioned for Jess to follow, before walking down the track and onto the warm, sheltered sand.  The heat radiated from the surface and the air pooled heavy and sweet-scented in the curve of the bay. 

Paul waved politely
as he passed the moored boat but he didn’t pause, he didn’t want to encourage conversation.  He negotiated the rocky outcrop that separated the bay below Marinella and another small stretch of sandy shore.  It was cradled between the fingers of rocks that had become the final resting place for the wreck of Lucky Lady.  The hull was barely visible from a distance.  To anyone unaware it could well be mistaken for a discarded pile of debris stark and white against a dark, granite coloured background.

The
Christmas display of blood red blooms had all but disappeared from the pohutukawa trees that clung precariously to the crumbling, sandy soil.  There was still a raw beauty in the gnarled twisted limbs and exposed roots that hugged the cliff edge.

Paul threw his
towel over a branch and walked into the shallow depths of the channel.  Jess had already begun her slow journey towards the buoy.  It was a routine they had followed daily, although recently she had been content to only swim half way and then return to the warmth of the beach. Paul made slow headway against the incoming tide.  He ignored the familiar but comforting pain of exertion in his muscles and only rested when he reached the slick surface of the buoy.  He put his hand over his eyes to reduce the blinding glare reflecting off the water.  Jess had safely returned to the shore and was shaking vigorously scattering tiny droplets of water like a halo around her head. 

Without having to fight against the current the swim back was much less strenuous.
He stood in the shallows allowing the excess water to run down his skin and the sun to ease the dull ache of exertion.  Through the salt laden haze he could see a lone figure walking slowly around the wreck of Lucky Lady.  The woman seemed to pause occasionally and then kneel to examine the discarded and ruined hull more closely. Paul watched her progress for a few minutes before turning his back and towelling off the last of the salty crust from his skin.

Chapter 35

“
The Mural”

The old dog with the knowing eyes had arrived silently.  Her coat was damp and sand clung to her greying muzzle and paws.  Joanne followed her gaze towards the tall man standing motionless in the shallow water.  It wasn’t until she had moved closer that she recognized Paul.  He didn’t turn to face her but there was a slight tension that travelled over his shoulders and she knew he was aware that someone was behind him.  

Joanne’s eyes travelled across his broad back and over the clearly de
fined muscles of his forearms. Surely he must work out to have a physique like this. With a quick shake of her head she tried to expel the unfamiliar thoughts that caused heat to rise into her cheeks.  What am I thinking?  The ghost of Sandy normally stood between them and created a safe barrier; today she had skulked away.  Joanne felt her arms move protectively across her tee shirt trying to evict the feeling of naked vulnerability. 

Paul allowed the towel to settle around
his shoulders and spoke without turning to look at her.  His words made Joanne jump self-consciously.

“What are you doing here Joanne?”

How did he know it was me?
  A flush of colour crept up into her cheeks.

“I suppose I deserve that reception.  Is this yo
ur dog?  I don’t want to leave her on the beach alone if she has wandered away from her home.”

Joanne
reluctantly dropped her gaze from the toned, muscular body to the small working dog that was sitting obediently by her side.

“How did you know it was me?” 

Paul had turned to face her but his expression was guarded.  His eyes were the colour of a moody summer sky.  She shuffled uncomfortable under the intense calculating stare.

“Your perfume.  You haven’t answered.  Do you think it is healthy for you to be here?”

His tone was icy.

“
Are you asking if I am here to relive the accident and if I am not able to move forward from that day?  If you are then the answer is no. Some of my best recent memories involve the Lucky Lady and the mural on her side is one of the most unusual things Sandy ever produced.”

Paul seemed to study the play of exp
ressions on her face.  Again, Joanne felt herself move uncomfortably under his intense eyes.    Where was that ghost that had always stood between them?

Br
eaking loose from the static that hung in the air around them she looked up.   Her smoky grey eyes hardened and her voice became laced with the tone of a defiant child. 

“I wanted to see what was
undamaged and if it was possible for me to salvage the hull.”

Without speaking Paul p
ulled at the towel around his neck and started to walk briskly towards the Lucky Lady. 

“I am not asking you to get
involved.”

Oh no
, not the pleading voice of that spoilt child again.  Joanne felt the warm sensation of heat in her face as he turned to face her.  Apologetically she continued.

“
At this stage I was only planning to put a tarpaulin over the mural to stop it deteriorating further.”

For a moment he regarded her
silently.  His expression was unfathomable although a slight movement at the corners of his mouth gave away his amusement.  Joanne bristled.  Arrogant bastard!  How could he stand there without speaking and have the ability to totally unnerve her?  She noticed that his mouth had now formed into a hard set line.  Was he actually fighting to contain his laughter?  She tore her eyes away from his chiselled features and the slight shadow that clung to his chin.  He could have stepped out of the pages of a high end women’s magazine.  Paul had the looks of a man that could easily have left a trail of broken woman in his wake. She glanced up through narrowed eyes and struggled to meet and defiantly hold his penetrating gaze. He smiled and spoke patently as if addressing a wayward child.  

“A
nd how are you going to stop the tarpaulin rubbing against the paintwork?  The friction would cause even more damage than the elements.”

Where the
hell is the ghost that keeps contact with this confusing man at a safe distance?   He waited for a reply but Joanne failed to respond and he continued.

“I am assuming you
already have a plan to transport the hull up to the road and on to a trailer.  I would be interested to hear how you intend to do this.”

Joanne felt her anger surfacing.
  She dropped her eyes and kicked at the sand.  Damn, the heat seemed to be pooling in her face.  

“Are you
still annoyed about the flowers?”

She
aimed a disarming smile at him but his face remained a grim mask.

“The flowers are not important.  What is important is that you seem incapable o
f graciously accepting help or friendship without imagining an ulterior motive.”

His tone was brisk and
anger had at last broken through the cool exterior.  The startling blue of his eyes had become a mysterious ink colour reflecting a tide of barely contained annoyance.   Jess whimpered and glanced up nervously before slinking away towards the cliff.  Distracted, Paul watched the old dog’s progress before slowly shaking his head and speaking again but in a soft, patient voice.

“The hull is not only going to deteriorate further if it is left out here but there is also a very real risk of vandalism.  If you want me to
have a look and see if it is possible to salvage the mural I would be happy to help.” 

He
ran a hand thoughtfully through his unruly damp hair.  Joanne followed the progress of his fingers and then settled on the coarse hair that ran across his broad chest.  He seemed so at ease, confident and, well, so damned sexy.  He also seemed to be considering his next sentence.  He hesitated and looked at Joanne; she felt the colour rise as she fought to rein in her treacherous mind. 

“If you do not want me to help you only need to say.  I won’t intrude any further
.”

He shrugged and waited for Joanne to respond.  She stood chewing at her lip. 

“I guess I owe you an apology.  I have been quite ungrateful and rude.”

He laughed.
 

“Y
es, you have been incredibly rude and ungrateful but that isn’t important.”

Joanne stood silently as Paul retrieved a pile of broken planks from
the mussel encrusted rocks and examined the larger portion of the hull. She watched from under her long lashes as he effortlessly lifted the timbers and moved around Lucky Lady with the long strides of an athlete. 

“I am surprised that it is in such good condition.  You have been lucky that the
recent tides haven’t been high enough to reach her.  But even though the mural is largely intact it is still going to be a big undertaking to restore.  What do you intend to do with it?”

Joanne felt relieved to be distracted by his question.

“I have no idea.  All I have planned at this stage is to try to stop any further damage or deterioration.”

Paul picked up another plank and seemed to
test it for weight.  His arms coiled like ropes under the strain.

“
It is dry but the timber is still heavy.”

‘
There is a well formed track up to the road.  My own property is another two bays in the other direction but the gradient to the house is much steeper from the beach.”

He indicated with his hands but seemed to be considering the options rather than asking for Joanne’s opinion.

“We may have to disassemble some of the hull.  But there is a possibility that six men could haul it as is, up to the road.  There isn’t enough length to allow more of us the room to lift.”

He seemed to
suddenly make up his mind and turned to speak directly to Joanne. 

“
Are you sure you want to take on this restoration. There are several pieces and many of them are damaged. You will have to find someone knowledgeable to help.”

“The only other alternative is
for me to let it rot away on the rocks.”

She swallowed
, biting back the sudden urge to cry.  Paul glanced at the track and then his eyes settled on Joanne.   A frown knitted his brows together and his expression became anxious.

“
As long as you realize what an undertaking this will be I can see no reason to allow it to rot away on the rocks.” 

Joanne visibly relaxed and he continued with an encouraging smile.

“I think it is best to put the mural undercover until you decide what to do with it.  Leaving it here is not an option.  It will either be taken, saturated or vandalised.  I have several sheds that you are more than welcome to use until you make alternative arrangements.  Unless, of course, you do not want me to help.”

Paul anticipat
ed Joanne’s reaction and held up his hand before she could speak.

“
You have an alternative?”

“
I don’t have an alternative.”

Joanne looked at him steadily. 
The unfathomable tension was broken by the abrupt ring of his mobile.  Reluctantly Paul dropped his eyes and glanced at the screen.

“Geoff
. I was going to ring you in a few minutes.  Is there any chance of getting a hand to lift that damaged boat hull from the beach and on to my trailer?” 

He laughed
at the response on the other end of the phone.  Joanne frowned.

“Another five should be able to lift it. 
We may have to take it apart and transport her in smaller pieces.”

Joanne walked to the wate
r’s edge and waded bare foot into the tiny ripples.  She could no longer distinguish Paul’s words over the gentle lapping of the water and the shrill cries of the sea birds. She allowed her toes to sink into the spongy surface of the sand and tried to imagine the tension washing away with the ebb and flow of water.

“Joanne?” Paul stood behind her
.

“I am going to get the trailer. 
Would you like to come to the house for a cup of coffee or stay here?”

She stood uncomfortably.  Is it Paul or myself I don’t trust? 

“I would rather stay here if you don’t mind?”

His mou
th lifted in a lopsided grin but he made no effort to convince her to reconsider. 

“I’ll leave Jess here with you.  She has an old ligament injury and has probably walked enough today.  I am sure she would appreciate another swim though
.”

He pulled gently on
the old dogs ears.  Joanne watched fascinated by the depth of affection shown in this simple exchange.    Paul commanded Jess to stay and nodded curtly to Joanne.

“I will be back as quickly as I can
.”

He smiled b
ut the warmth fell short of his eyes.  Joanne sighed, was she really incapable of accepting help and friendship?  She watched the broad back retreat down the beach covering the sandy expanse with long, confident strides. 

H
e had no way of knowing that she had existed on an emotional roller coaster for over a year.  That she had been on a nightmare ride, an out of control ride careering away with her life while she hung on, nothing more than a helpless passenger.  She now needed to take the time to heal and rebalance, to process what had happened and replot a way forward.

She frowned at the distant figure that was now almost out of sight.  This
man couldn’t begin to understand the raw emotion that welled up every time he walked into her life. He couldn’t see the imaginary ghost that she willed to appear and keep him from confusing the way forward.

Paul had now disappeared around the curve of the bay.  Joanne stared at the deserted beach and an empty
gnawing raked at her gut.   She shuddered, a cold hand seemed to run down her spine despite the heat of the unrelenting sun.  Today was the first time she had seen this serious man without Sandy’s tragedy hanging like a wall between them.  She had been forced to acknowledge the intense attraction that pulsed with static electricity making her act like a surly defensive school girl.  She needed to distance herself.

She shook her head
and expelled the uninvited images of the commanding man with glacial-coloured eyes. 

Jess appeared at her side.  A long
, smooth stick protruded from her mouth and her eyes looked up imploringly.  She dropped the object at Joanne’s feet and wagged her wet, straggly tail. Absentmindedly, Joanne reached for the soft triangle shaped ears and pulled gently. 

“If I let him I think your master could really complicate things for me
.”

“I’m not an invalid you know.”

Jean
sounded furious, her voice was clipped with a tone Paul knew she reserved for disobedient children.

Mari was pruning so
mething in the garden while Jean stood idly beside her, frowning at a reprimand she had received for attempting to help.