The Quilt (47 page)

He smiles revealing a perfect row of unnaturally white teeth.

“He is a hard bastard.  But I am sure he would understand.  Unless, of course you are seeing him?”

I roll my eyes.

“I was not aware that you knew Paul Clarke well enough to make that sort of character judgement.  The reason I do not want to join you for a meal has absolutely nothing to do with him.”

Uncharitably I watch as my words sink in and he slinks away wearing an injured expression. 

I join a group of relaxed people that have started to walk towards the restaurant.  I am focusing on the huge wooden doors and immersing myself in a double helping of self-pity when suddenly a flustered waitress collides with me.  Her face is red and her hair has escaped from the bands that had once contained it.  She is short and slim with dark brown hair and pretty eyes that are filled with panic.  She ignores me and without apologising pushes past the group making their way across the parking area.  I watch her elbow her way rudely through the crowd until she has finally located Paul. She appears to interrupt his conversation and he bends down to listen to her.  She places a familiar hand on his arm and I find myself bristling.   He shakes his head and turns to the small group standing near him. I assume he excuses himself before slowly edging his way back through the guests.  Occasionally they pause to speak to people but as he reaches the open parking area I see him impatiently shake the waitress’ hand off his arm before entering the restaurant by its side door.  His artic stare is fixed straight ahead, his jaw is frozen with tension and I can see he is fighting to hold onto his composure.  I feel a surge of concern and turn away trying, to melt into the group of people that are around me.  Where the hell is that shuttle? 

“Would you like a glass of ice
d water?”

Another waitress stands in front of me holding a
large pitcher and enough glasses to cater for those standing under the merciless sun. 

“Is everything alright in the restaurant?”

She hesitates and seems to be struggling to find a diplomatic way to answer.  Her huge eyes spring open and there is the unmistakable sound of tableware shattering on the unforgiving floor.  The dark haired waitress appears at the door, tears stream down her cheeks in a black ribbon of mascara.  Without looking back she gets into a small blue sedan and drives away fast enough to create a spray of tiny stones.

Mari’s
raised voice carries clearly in the still warm air.  She is speaking quickly in Italian and I look anxiously at the crowd hoping no one has translated her torrent of fury. 

“Debbie?” My eyes scan the small name tag on the blonde waitress’ uniform.  She looks confused and is still standing clutching the pitcher of ice water.

“You need to take the water to the people that are waiting.”

She nods
and seems relieved to have been given guidance.  I roll my eyes.  The fleeing waitress was obviously the oldest and I assumed the most experienced staff member in the restaurant.   I look at the diners, their expressions range from horror to amusement and many have turned to listen to the commotion that is still clearly audible in the kitchen. 

I stand on the hot cobbles undecided.  I glance at m
y watch, the shuttle is almost due.  If I catch it I will be home in time to finish packing, feed Critter and, most importantly, I would slip out of here without confrontation. 

If I stay I will not be able to avoid Paul or his family.  I am confident I can help with the staffing
situation; I am not as confident that I will be able to keep things in perspective or that anyone here will welcome my involvement.

I ignore the no admission sign and walk around to the side of the restaurant.  The door that provides a service entrance to the kitchen is open.  From here I
can see into the kitchen.  There is a pile of ruined food and broken glass on the floor.  Jean is standing horrified while Mari is flushed with anger and pointing towards perfectly presented trays of food.  Both women seem unaware of the destruction on the kitchen floor and unaware that I am standing nervously in the corner.

“The girl was incompetent!  It is a set menu.  All the courses go out one after another.
One, two, three, four!”

Je
an puts a comforting hand on Mari’s arm.  It seems only to enrage her further.

“
In the order written on the menu! She doesn’t even possess a small amount of common sense!”

“Look!” 

She pointed wildly at the exquisite plates of tiny sweet morsels.

“Isn’t it obvious?  Even to an idiot!  If she had taken a moment to listen instead of following Paul around like a puppy she would have known!”

I sigh.  Another woman fawning after Paul.

“Can I help?”

In unison both women turn to face me.

“What the hell
are you doing here?”

I stand i
n the miserable and uncomfortable silence.   Could this possibly get any worse? 

“Does Paul know you are here?”

“No.  I haven’t spoken to him.”

“Perhaps you should leave and keep it that way
.”

Mari’s face was grim.

“That was exactly what I had intended to do.  But it was hard not to notice there are some problems in the restaurant.”

They both eye
d me suspiciously. 

“I
can help and it would be a shame if pride or anger stopped the opening from being a success.”

Mari’s ey
es are narrowed and she is bristling with anger.   

“You are a lawyer not a waitress
.”

“
I also have experience as a waitress and manager.”

“Is this some sort of j
oke?”

Both Jean and Mari jump.  They look
at Paul apologetically.  The situation has just become worse.  I turn and meet his polar stare.  He looks devastating like an advertisement for male kind.  The light blue shirt intensifies his eyes which are now regarding me with contempt.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Right now I have no idea.”

I snap and turn to Jean. 

“If you would like me to help out I am happy to do so.  If the situation is manageable without me I will leave.”

She
looks flustered.  Her eyes travel to the mess that lies congealing on the floor. 

“Paul
, I am sorry but we have to get through today and whatever personal grievances you two have will need to be put aside.”

He threw up his hands in a gesture of frustration and his voice d
ropped to subzero.

“I bloody give up!”

Paul abruptly walked out and Mari turned away.  I notice she is shaking her head.  One day I know I will find humour in this ridiculous situation, but today it just hurts like hell.

Jean finds
me a white cotton uniform and her eyes fill with sympathy.

“Please s
peak to Paul before you go.  The Clarke men are tough but regardless of what has happened it would not be healthy for you to part and leave things how they are.”

“Let’s just
concentrate on getting through this service.”

She squeezes my hand.  

“You are falling in love with him aren’t you?”

“No!
Jean, your son is a wonderful man but I am not falling in love with him!”

My voice sounds too high and far too defensive. 
I swallow hard and try unsuccessfully to meet her eyes.  I look down.  She looks through me like the strange dark haired woman with the sad voice.   I think we both know I am lying but I manage a weak smile.

“
I am moving away from Auckland next week.”

She nods
but doesn’t look surprised.

“
Then make sure you say goodbye.”

There wasn’t much time for me to dwell on the mess that I had created by arriving at the vineyard opening.   The restaurant was much larger and more hectic than Simon’s café and the menu, although set, was complicated and time sensitive.   There were three waitresses’ left including Debbie, the young girl that had served iced water to the crowd waiting for the shuttle.  They were all surprisingly efficient despite their limited experience.

The food was
exquisite.  I look at the long, rectangular white plates laden with tiny, perfectly presented, lavender-infused pannacotta topped with delicate crystalized purple flowers, bright green pistachio gelato each sitting on a spun sugar basket and dolce torinese.   I glance at Mari and consider asking where she has learnt to prepare food to this standard.  She regards me coldly.

“There is only coffee and
dessert wine to serve.  Why don’t you get changed and go over to the house.  I will find Paul.”

I feel drained.   All I want to do is go home, pack and get the hell out of Auckland.
  I think Jean understands my doubt and puts a reassuring hand on my arm.

“Joanne
, nothing good comes from things that are left unfinished.”

I stand in the doorway and look into the wide expanse of room in front of me.  My eyes travel over the neat lawn to the moody blue green palette of the harbour.  The scene looks familiar.  Jess is curled up on the sheepskin rug.  She watches me through liquid brown eyes and her tail thumps lazily on the soft fibres.  I walk over to her and sink down allowing my face to bury in her dense coat.

He is standing tense and still leaning against the doorframe
.  I don’t need to look at him; I can feel his eyes watching me. Paul’s arms are folded across his chest and his expression is unreadable.  It always is.  When he speaks his words are detached as if spoken to a stranger.

“It has been a long day and I have no patience left for games.  What are you doing here Joanne?”

“Games?”

I look up and search his face. 
He runs his hand through his hair, the gesture is so familiar and then his features settle back into a mask.

“
A few weeks ago I thought we had something special.  Something that was at least worth talking about.  You obviously didn’t feel the same.”

His voice is gritty and his eyes glisten
ed with anger and frustration. 

“You made it impossible for me to contact you.  You changed your phone numbers, you
moved out of your house and after all that effort, I really don’t understand why you would come here.”

I swallow
and search for words.  I fail and shrug.

“Jean has told me you are leaving Auckland
.”

“I have found a position in the Bay of Plenty
.”

“Is this what you want?”

“It is a good opportunity.”

“Did you come here to tell me?”

I drop my eyes and knot my fingers in Jess’ coat to stop them trembling. 

“So you are
going to continue to run and really had no intention of even saying goodbye.”

“You are right
, it would have been wrong to just go.”

“Jo
anne, you did just go, remember?”

I move uncomfortably under his penetrating stare.

“I am not running.  It’s different this time.”

“Why
? Because last time you were running away from something and this time you are running to something?”

I fight to shut the smart mouth in me.
  He is running his hands through his hair again and looking anxiously towards the restaurant.

“Joanne
, I have to go back soon.  Can I ask you two questions before you leave?”

“That depends on what the questions are
.”

I
feel apprehensive.

“Are you married
?  Or involved with a man called Stephen?”

I jolt as though hit by electricity. 

“Stephen?” I stare at Paul in disbelief.

“How the hell do you know about Stephen?”

“I tried to find you.  When I ran out of options I rung your father
.”

I f
ight to suppress a smile.  He rung Randal J. Kyle, QC criminal lawyer and asked for personal information. 

“I’m sorry
, he didn’t tell me.  How did that call go?”

The muscles in Pauls face
softened and amusement briefly flickered in his eyes.

“Stephen and I
were engaged.  He is one of the many reasons I returned to Auckland.”

I feel drained.  Paul is regarding me unemotiona
lly and we both know there isn’t really anything left to say.  I get to my feet and offer a weak smile.  

“You said you had two questions
.”

I reach down to pat Jess once more before walking to the door.  I lean back against the opposite doorframe and
meet his gaze.