The Quilt (41 page)

He stood casually leaning against the terminal wall.  His
toned arms were loosely folded across a white linen shirt.  The remarkable blue of Paul’s eyes was disguised behind Ray Bans and his hugging blue jeans gave him the appearance of a man stepping out  of a man’s clothing advertisement.  Behind his glasses Joanne could feel him watching her approach although nothing else indicated he knew her.

He greeted
her with a crooked smile and Joanne felt her cheeks redden self-consciously.

“Do you always draw so much female attention?”

Joanne indicated towards a willowy brunette standing with two friends near the terminal’s small café.   The woman smiled as Paul looked towards her but her smile froze when he shrugged dismissively.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.  Can I take your backpack?”

“I’m fine, it isn’t heavy.”

Paul
raised an eyebrow and removed the bag from her arm. 

The Range Rover wound its way up to the vineyard along the ridge which fell away to reveal small bays and houses nestled against the cliff edge. 

“The view is even more breathtaking than I remember.”

“Definitely
.”

Paul smiled
pointedly at Joanne, causing her to flush with embarrassment. 

She imagined
the ghost of Sandy would be wringing her hands with delight.  Note to self, I need to distance myself from this man.   A few minutes later they pulled into the car park outside the heavy doors of the restaurant.  The barrels of red geranium spewed over the cobbles and the sweet fragrance of roses mingled with rich fresh coffee filled the heavy still air.

“You look nervous
Joanne.”

Paul smiled gently as he held the door open.

“I am, which makes me feel ridiculous.”

She
smiled apologetically and squinted into the dim interior.  Angled slightly above head height the mermaid’s thin arms and flame coloured hair beckoned towards her.  The inviting red-lipped pouting smile, vivid green eyes and outrageously long lashes lured diners seductively towards the interior of the restaurant.

Joanne traced the outline of a long lock of hair with her
finger; she glanced at Paul who was observing her from a discrete distance.

“Whoever did the restoration
has really been sympathetic.  They haven’t altered it at all.  It is still Sandy’s work and clearly her features.”

Her hand lingered
on the weathered looking paint and then travelled to a small brass plague attached below the hull.

“By Sandy Cunningham, a dedication to friendship
.”

Paul turned away and walked to
wards the large commercial coffee machine.

“Cappuccino?”

Joanne stood behind him; she reached up and kissed him quickly on the cheek.

“Thank you
, it is perfect.  It is the biggest compliment you could have given Sandy.  It is a shame she isn’t here to see her work come to life.”

She smiled shyly.

“And I kissed you as I would an injured kitten.”

Paul laughed
, his eyes lighting up with good humour. 

“I am glad you
have made that quite clear, Ms Kyle.”

He
continued to prepare the coffee and placed fresh warm croissants and strawberry jam on the counter.

“I
thought we might continue the theme, put the Mermaid on menus, and perhaps at a later date, label the reserve wine with her as well?  It won’t take long to establish the connection so there is no need to feel obligated to leave the hull at Marinella if you want it returned.”

Joanne smiled thoughtfully.

“I am not likely to be in a position to ask for it back; at least in the near future. Your idea would be very effective.”

She took a small bite of pastry
.

“
Did you pack jeans?”

Joanne looked up and frowned.

“Yes, you told me to didn’t you?  I would think they are going to be too hot today.”

“If you want to go and slip them on over some swim wear I’ll get the bike
.”

“Bike?”

She looked towards the door and uncertainty played over her face.

“
By bike I assume you mean a motorbike?  I have never been near one in my life and I am not sure I want to change that today.”

“Then you haven’t lived up until today
.”

Paul
’s amusement was barely disguised on his handsome face.

“It would be a shame not to take advantage of this weather and
there is no need to take a car.”

He smiled at Joanne and his eyes seemed to be dancing with mischief.

“The dogs would be too hot walking or in a vehicle today.”

How did he know what she was about to say?
  Paul was grinning as he walked out of the restaurant.  A few minutes later a distinctive throb echoed through the walls.  Joanne’s hand travelled over her forehead and she looked desperately at the smiling face with flowing red hair mocking her from the wall. 

“Come here and I’ll help you fasten your helmet
.”

She eyed the black bike squatting
in the car park.  Its chrome exhaust reflected the morning sun and Harley Davidson, Road King glistened on the elegantly curved tank. 

“
You are going to have to trust me on this one.”

Paul winked and gave her a boyish smile.

Joanne’s hand traced the line of the tank.  Her long fingers followed a deep jagged scar that ran through the otherwise immaculate paintwork.  She frowned disapprovingly.

“Who the hell would coin a
beautiful machine like this?”

“Paul what the fuck is this?”

Leslie’s
eyes had narrowed.

“You better not have spent our money on useless
, selfish toys.”

Paul had glanced pointedly at the pile of shopping bags and boxes discarded throughout the small interior of the
Shearer’s Cottage. 

“Tell me you haven’t purchased this bloody bike
.” 

Leslie’s
voice was little more than a hiss and her normally immaculate complexion suddenly appeared blotchy and unattractive on her distorted face.  

Paul
recalled that it hadn’t come as a shock when she had hit him.  After all it wasn’t the first time.  What had come as a shock was the sheer strength and hatred someone as petite as Leslie could muster.  She had uttered a demonic screech and hurtled spitting towards him.  Hysterically, she had punched at his face and body, clawing with long finger nails until bloody trails ran down his arms and cheeks.  He remembered raising his arm defensively and the disbelief he had felt when she sunk her teeth deep into the muscle.

Disregarding the pain
Paul had ripped away from her, tearing the flesh from his forearm.  He had turned his back on the angry knotted features willing himself to keep his fists safely clenched into tight balls at his sides.   When his breathing had steadied, and control had returned, he looked at the woman he had vowed to spend his life honouring and cherishing. 

She was
standing over the tank gripping a coin triumphantly and scrapping her hatred into the black shiny paint.

“Paul?”

Joanne watched him absentmindedly run his fingers over a deep scar on the
bulging muscle of his forearm.   She frowned.  He looked slightly disorientated and his eyes clouded until he focused back on her face and delivered her a disarmingly sheepish grin.

“Sorry
.”

“
What do I hang on to?”

“Me
.”

Oh
, too much.  Joanne visualized Sandy’s imaginary ghost dissolving into fits of uncontrolled laughter.  She settled stiffly on to the seat and frowned without humour at Pauls back.   He reached for her hand and placed it gently around his waist.

“Just lean with my body
.”

The bike made its way gingerly
down the wide driveway and onto the narrow cliff top road.  He hesitated to make sure she was happy before gently accelerating along the twisting cliff top.  Joanne lifted her face towards the sun.  An intoxicating smell of the sea mingled with sandalwood teased her senses.  Under her fingers she could feel the defined muscles of his abdomen.  She moved her hands over the flat expanse, resisting the temptation to trace the line of muscle with her fingers.  I need a distraction.  Joanne tapped gently on his shoulder.  Paul tilted his head and slowed so that he could hear her over the gentle rumble of the bike.

“Can we go faster?”

He nodded.

“Of course
, Miss Kyle.”

They turned off the main highway on to a narrow twisting ribbon of road that rose sharply above the sea in a series of hairpin bends.  The bike accelerated
until the broken centre line became a continuous white blur.  The wind whipped at Joanne’s visor, its roar muffling the sound of the engine and the rapidly snapped gear changes.  Joanne tightened her grip and relaxed to the flow of the corners. Leaning over to greet the tarmac, she followed Paul’s body as though locked in his embrace; a sexy synchronised dance to music.  They travelled along a ridge line and the bush gave way to large fenced paddocks before finally dropping down through a series of long fast sweeps and re-joining the highway. Paul took his hand off the controls to briefly squeeze her wrist.  A small, comforting gesture.

The road narrowed
and was lined with boutique shops and small kerbside cafés.  It then dropped down sharply and continued along a long horseshoe shaped bay of white sand and emerald coloured water.  Eventually, the seal gave way to gravel and olive trees and vineyards created a tapestry between the sheep farms and patches of native trees.  Paul stopped the bike in a small parking area.  It was elevated above the blue harbour specked with small boats and the bulbous white of yacht sails.

“Are you up to a
walk before it gets too hot?”

“I’m sure I will manage
.”

“It is well worth the effort.  Stony Batter has some of the best views on the island
.”

“And tun
nels and gun emplacements dating back to World War II.”

Paul smiled and nodded approvingly.

“You have done your homework.”

There was an established road, although
a metal gate blocked vehicle access.  They wandered, initially without talking.  Gnarled tree’s and rocky outcrops lined the road.  Expanses of isolated sandy beach curved below them.

Joanne eventually broke their silence.

“How did you end up on this island running a vineyard with two sets of parents?”

“Put like
that, I really don’t know how to answer.”

He smiled and
continued to walk as he spoke.

“I was raised in the King Country.  My biological parents
came here so that Jean could recover from surgery.  She fell earlier this year broke her arm.  They fell in love with the island and decided to settle here.   Mari and Sid came with the property.” 

He
laughed, “they weren’t mentioned on the list of chattels or I think I would have reconsidered!”

Joanne stopped walking.

“The vineyard is yours?  I suppose you are going to tell me about the hidden and violent criminal life you lead, now that we are isolated.” 

They both laughed
.

“No
, nothing as exciting as that.  We sold a large property in the King Country when my parents retired.  The family trust purchased Marinella.”

Jo
anne nodded.

“So
, you must have a story?”

Paul saw a f
licker of tension pass over Joanne’s face.

“
I studied at the University of Auckland. My father is a barrister and that seemed the logical choice for me.”

“The normal story
, not enough jobs for too many applicants.  So I moved to Nelson and joined a practice down there for a couple of years.”

“And how did you end up in Auckland again?
Was it after Sandy became unwell?” 

“Something like that
.”

Joanne’s
expression had hardened and again they fell silent.

There was little shelter from the relentless morning sun and the cool confinement of the damp tunnels was a welcome relief.  They walked the length guided by torchlight and after negotiating a cold steel ladder, broke back into the daylight.  They walked around the historic gun emplacements and then settled on the soft grass under an ancient craggy tree that over looked the harbour.  Directly below, a narrow finger of rock jutted out to the water flanked by a fringe of fine white sand.  Paul lent back contentedly and pointed out several small islands sitting like jewels amongst the velvet richness of the shimmering water.