The Quilt (45 page)

The commanding
voice conveyed irritation, impatience and suspicion with just one word. In the background Paul can hear a muffled apology.

“What can I do for you?”

“I am a friend of your daughter, Joanne.  I am trying to contact her.”

“Is that you Stephen?”

“It is Paul, Paul Clarke.  I have rung Joanne’s number and it appears to have been disconnected.  Could you please either provide me with her new number or tell her I am trying to make contact?”

There was an unpleasant silence and when Randal Kyle spoke his voice was guarded and accusing.

“You say you are a friend of Joanne’s but she has obviously not provided you with her new contact details.  Mr Clarke, my daughter values her privacy.  If she had wanted you to know where she was living, or wanted you to contact her it would not be necessary for you to interrupt me now.”

Mr
R. Kyle QC hung up, leaving Paul to stare dejectedly at his phone.  Who the hell is Stephen?  He scowled at the pile of papers in front of him and ran his hand through his hair.   Despondently, Paul picked up the menu.  It was time to move on.    

“Hold all my calls!”

Randal glared
at the receptionist.  That stupid,  blonde girl was so irritating. 

“Paula
!”

Randal’s
voice dropped to a silky growl.  A leggy brunette entered the room and sat crossed legged in front of the expanse of dark brown wood.

“Run a check on a Mr Paul Clarke
, please.”

“That’s a common name
, have you got anything more for me?”

“Anything more for you?”

Randal smiled an unspoken promise. 

“Remember not during work hours
.”

She giggled
.  Oh please, don’t make that irritating noise.  His face froze in a mask of disapproval.

“I need to be in court this morning so if you
can attend to that search now it would be appreciated.”

He watched
as Paula retreated and closed the door quietly.  Tonight, he smiled and his fingers automatically reached for the thin band that encircled his finger.

Randal Kyle’s eyes scanned the extensive list. 

Assault and b
attery, bastard is too old. 

Threatening to kill, deceased.  One less scum bag. 

Paul Clarke, King Country, mid-twenties, minor traffic violations mainly speed-related on a motorbike.   

He narrowed
his eyes.  Perhaps it was Stephen.  The voice sounded young like him, but not familiar and not feminine and whining.  He hadn’t been a problem up until now.   So why would Joanne find it necessary to change her phone number and address?   Damn, I may have to talk to her mother when she gets home.

He walked
angrily to the reception desk.

“
Cancel my next appointment!”

The
pretty blonde looked panicked and fumbled desperately with her diary.

“Paula!  Office. N
ow!”

An hour later Randal Kyle had forgotten the unscheduled interruption to his day.  He sat eyeing the unpleasant pimply youth in front of him.  Guilty sick bastard had not even dressed how he had been instructed to.  Randal narrowed his eyes and glanced at his fingers.  He was absentmindedly playing with his wedding band, scratching at the indent left by years of wear.  It was a new habit and he needed to break it.  Impatiently, he turned to the scum in front of him.

“Are you ready?”

Without waiting for a reply, Randall stood up and checked for creases in his tailored trousers.  He pulled his shoulders back and walked briskly into the world he was most comfortable in.  His world, the crowded court room.

Paul Clarke is watching me from across the table.  We sit discussing the vineyard opening.  Discussing the music.    I feel a sense of excitement.  I also feel tired and confused.  I am full of those dreams again and their unanswered questions.  I look into the depths of Paul’s remarkable eyes.  Those eyes.  I freeze and it starts to come back to me. A flood of dimly remembered images surface, a patchwork of forgotten dreams begin to form in front of me. 

Those
eyes.  The same ice blue, looking at me from the same incredibly handsome features.  But this is different. 

I stare into the windows to hell, frosty and cold eyes with no connection to the soul.  He is lying in a rancid smelling bed.  A thin line forms his lips, then his head lifts and he strains to hear the dim sound of the front door closing.  His senses are acute; he is fuelled by anger, hate and adrenalin. 

He gets up.
  He is tall but he is also an unhealthy shadow.  Only a broad frame remains of a tortured, ravaged man.   He sits down heavily at a wooden table.  A bottle is beside this man that has Paul’s features and he reaches across to take a long swill from the amber contents.  I know I am looking at evil.  I feel his arousal and I see his high powered rifle.  I watch as his fingers caress the barrel.   He is drawing control from the hard steel.  I then hear him speak.

“You whore!  You thought you could leave me?  You think you have won
?”

He narrows his eyes to bl
ue slits pinched into a yellow-tinged face. 

“Your precious son, my
brother’s precious son, is asleep and you are cold and wet and exhausted.  You stupid whore, you have more chance of being killed by a passing truck than being rescued by one.” 

He
laughs but there is no humour, he walks unsteadily to the window and takes another long swig from the bottle.  A sneer forms.  I feel his thoughts and I shudder.  It’s a pity the prey is not a challenge.  Someone more intelligent.  He watches as the small figure clad in white is highlighted by a sudden flash of lightening.  Even the heavens know you should die!  Again he laughs.  You thought I couldn’t hear you.  You thought you were safe.  Whore!  You had my brother’s son.  I hate you both.  But Sean shall live and you shall die.  I have that power.  He fingers his rifle.  Sean will run Twin Pines because I am sick.  You made me sick, but not sick enough to let you win.

I jump as Geoff’s hand comes to rest on my shoulder.  I look at him and I know he is angry.  I see his worry and I see his disappointment.

“Please don’t Chloe
.  You promised.”

I look at the concerned fac
es around the table.  I look into Paul’s eyes.  He is even more handsome than the ruined man with his face that is invading my mind.  His features are compassionate and his eyes connect with his emotions.  Paul is a good man.  But what the hell is behind him?

“Can we meet tomorrow?” I wipe a bead of moisture that has run down my cheek.  I then leave the room without waiting for anyone to answer.  I lie down on the bed but I am too afraid to close my eyes.

It has been years since this hell has invaded me.  This hell that destroyed my first marriage and almost destroyed my life with Geoff.  I thought it had stopped, I prayed that it had stopped.  I promised I would block out the images, that I would not live the answers when they came to me.  I know Geoff is scared for us both.  I have been scared for months.  I have been scared from the very first time I looked into the eyes of Paul Clarke and felt the connection, felt the link and knew through him I had one more trip to hell that I had to make.  God, please help Geoff and I to survive it.

Joanne read the letter for a second time.

Dear Ms Kyle,

Thank you for submitting your resume and application for our recently advertised position of practicing solicitor.

We are pleased to advise you have been shortlisted. 

We request you contact our Tauranga office as soon as convenient to make a suitable time for an interview.

We look forward to meeting you.

Yours sincerely,

Peter Simms

She carefully refolded the high quality paper an
d put it back in the envelope.  Her interview was in the morning and all she felt was numbness at the thought of leaving Auckland to relocate in yet another pretty seaside city. 

The small plane circled over a long expanse of beach before making an unusually rough landing at Tauranga Airport.   Simms and Graham were situated on the main street of the bustling city centre.  The building was modern, a square impersonal structure of stainless steel and glass.  Towering planters filled with aesthetically pleasing plants and sweeping expanses of polished desks.   The firm’s appearance suited her mood, impersonal, reserved and detached.

Peter Simms was one of two
senior partners.  Research had confirmed he was happily married with two children and highly respected both professionally and personally.  He greeted Joanne warmly, extending his hand and offering a firm handshake.

“
I hope you had a pleasant flight.  Your previous employers speak highly of you.”

H
e smiled and indicated to a chair.

“Can you tell me
why you left the position in Nelson?”

“A f
amily illness.”

“Your father is
Randal Kyle the QC isn’t he?”

“Yes
.”

“What makes you want to move to the Bay of Plenty?”

Joanne breathed.  I can’t find a suitable position in Auckland without the help of my overpowering, distant and controlling father.  My life has imploded after the suicide of my best friend, who incidentally I watched being eaten by cancer for over a year before she took her own life.  Do you want to know about the breakdown of my engagement, the harassment of my previous legal employer, the alienation of my best friend who is also gay and my current employer?  He now has no time for me because he is fabulously happy and in love.  For good measure, I have just walked out on a man that could have easily become the centre of my universe. Running away to the Bay of Plenty seems a better alternative than facing reality.  She cleared her throat.

“I like
d living in Nelson and I see similarities here.  I like the smaller community and, of course, a more personal work environment.”

Joanne smiled disarmingly.

“A smaller practice, such as this, would give me more opportunity to gain diverse work experience.”

Peter Simms sat taller in his chair.

“I think this interview is only a formality.”

H
e smiled showing perfect white teeth.

“I will discuss your appointment with my partner and co
ntact you in the next day or so.”

Like a robot Jo
anne returned his smile and shook his firm hand.  She drove back to the airport and wondered why she felt so flat.

“You are really fucking up your life!”

Simon regarded her from a safe distance. 
He held her resignation in his hand.

“How is getting a position in the field I have studied to be in
, fucking up my life?”

He shook his head.

“You know that you can’t run forever Joanne.  If this is really what you want I am happy for you.”

“It is.  My new landlady isn’t particularly happy but the opportunity is too good to turn down
.”

Simon smiled patently.

“I meant to give you this.  It was in Saturday’s paper.”

He handed her a small newspaper advertisement boldly circled in bright yellow vivid.  He watched as the colour drained from Joanne’s face.

Sandy’s face grinned back at her from the top of the newsprint.

Marinella Vineyard

Come and enjoy the opening of Waiheke Islands, Marinella Vineyard.

Degustation Menu. 
Please note reservations are necessary.  Telephone for details.

Casual
guests bring a blanket or chair.  Relax to the sound of live Jazz. Enjoy genuine wood fired pizza accompanied by a variety of quality wine.

The advertisement gave links to local accommodations and contact details for the vineyard.

Jo
anne pushed aside the paper and cursed.  Simon raised his hands and shrugged.

“I just thought you might be interested
.”

It came back in
a flood.  The strong arms, that one night, the anger and the hurt, everything she had pushed into a private corner of her mind. 

“Joanne
, you need closure.  You need to make sure this is finished for you before it is too late.  This might be the only opportunity you have to do that.  There will be a lot of people.  He wouldn’t even have to know you were there.”

Simon looked nervous, very nervous. 

“It would be the only chance you have to see the restaurant completed and Sandy’s last work being displayed publically.”