The Quilt (12 page)

CHAPTER 11

“
Joanne and Stephen”

Another Friday afternoon spelt the beginning of another solitary weekend for Joanne.  She was standing behind her large desk organizing client files, some to be put in alphabetical order by her secretary and several manila folders to take home and work on during her two days off.

The reception buzzer sounded raucous and loud
beside her elbow.  It was clearly audible over the persistent drum of rain on the office roof.  The abrupt noise broke her concentration and caused Joanne to jump and drop the file she had been studying.

“What is it?”
she snapped.  Joanne’s usual calm mannerism thrown by the mass of papers scattered at her feet.

Carol
, the pretty and efficient young receptionist, sounded slightly breathless when she spoke through the intercom.

“I know you are about to go home.  But there is a gentleman in reception asking to see a solicitor.  He hasn’t made an appointment but asked if someone could see him for just a minute?”

“Sure, show him in.  It’s not as if I have anywhere to go.”

Joanne
had now gathered her thoughts and was busy reassembling the dropped folder.  She didn’t mind accommodating a potential new client.  The senior partners had long since left the office and any distraction was welcome if it delayed battling the rain and facing another solitary meal.

A few minutes later
Carol knocked on the door and showed a young and very handsome man in.  He was tall and olive complexioned, not from hours in the sun but naturally tanned.  His eyes were deep brown and his smile seductive and well-practiced showing off perfect lines of white teeth.  He extended a soft hand with long elegant fingers towards Joanne. Not a labourer, the thought crossed Joanne’s mind as she automatically summed up the man that stood in front of her.

“My day
has just got a whole lot better.”

H
e broke off his intense stare to glance at Joanne’s wedding finger pointedly before continuing.

“I’
m Stephen and you are?”

Carol
giggled and hovered a moment too long.  Joanne glared at her and she retreated closing the door with a click behind her.

“Miss Kyle
.  How can I help you, Mr..?”

Joanne made an
attempt to formalise the introduction.

“Stephen
,” he repeated without hesitating.

“
You could help me by having dinner with me tonight.  Umm, Miss Kyle.”

Joanne felt herself blush, she made a quick mental note to
purchase a plain wedding band and avoid this situation in the future.

“I am sorry
, you wanted some legal assistance?”

Stephen’s eyes narrowed.  He was not used to rejection and the cool manner of this slim blonde was
challenging.  

“I broke up w
ith a lady several months ago.”

H
e looked up making sure he had emphasized the break up strongly enough.

“She has since given birth to a baby boy.  She indicates it may be my
son.  I dispute this fact and, therefore, I am obviously not prepared to consider paying maintenance.”

H
e hesitated before continuing.  This woman was exquisite.  His eyes took in the high cheek bones and the unusual slate coloured eyes.

“She wasn’t exactly
faithful.”

Why was she tying her hair back in an unflattering rope like that?  He imagined it free and cascading over her shoulders.  

“If you are wanting to contest paternity, it would be a matter of a simple test.  This will prove conclusively if you are, or are not, the father.”

B
ehind her professional mask Joanne had regained composure. 

“So
, you don’t eat?” 

Stephen smiled and expertly changed the
client and lawyer conversation back to one of outrageous flirtation.

“Yes
, of course I eat.  But not with clients.”

“
I can easily find an alternative lawyer.”

The grey eyes regarded him coolly.  Did she even know how attractive she was?

“Will you, at least, let me draw you, in charcoal I think?  I am an artist and you would make a very interesting subject.  You are very attractive, no doubt many men have told you.”

That would account for the soft hands Joanne thought. 
He was certainly persistent and lightly entertaining.

“Thanks but no thanks.  If you will excuse me I have to finish for the evening
.  Perhaps you could schedule another appointment when you have decided if you definitely would like to contest paternity?” 

Joanne handed over a small, neat business card that listed the
firm’s office hours, address and contact numbers.

“
There doesn’t seem to be an after-hours number listed.” 

Stephen looked up hopefully.

“No, but the card does list our normal office hours and office telephone numbers.  My secretary would be happy to make a further appointment for you early next week.” 

Joanne smiled
and politely dismissed Stephen by walking briskly to the door and opening it for him.

Stephen reluctantly walked out of the office
.   He would have sought legal advice well before now if he had known what his lawyer would look like.

What a stunning and fascinating woman.
He didn’t seem to notice the torrential rain that ran rivets down his shirt pasting the saturated material to his limbs and chest. What a shame that she pulled her hair back so severely, was that an effort to resemble a stern school teacher?   It would be impossible for her to hide those exquisite features.   He smiled as he imagined the long blonde locks cascading over her slim shoulders.  Yes charcoal, he imprinted Joanne’s features, her expression, her almond eyes and pouting lips into his memory.  He then shuddered as he recalled the sadness and self-doubt that seemed to lurk almost unnoticed behind her smile. 

Monday morning brought welcome relief from a long, wet and tedious weekend.  A telephone call to Sandy had been the highlight of the two day break.  It had given momentary relief from hours of reviewing client misery and served to remind Joanne of the social whirl that had previously been included in her once balanced life.

Sandy had gossiped
, happily laughing as she recalled the week’s events filled with nothing of importance and nothing of consequence.  Again, Joanne marvelled at her friend’s ability to talk so rapidly, changing subjects without notice or taking the time to breathe.

Sandy had put down the receiver and picked up her pen immediately.  She sucked at the end of it deep in thought.  She then reached across and opened up her bright pink diary and in her scrawling messy print she began to write.

24
th
of August

Joanne is so sad.  She doesn’t say it in words but I can hear it in what she doesn’t say.   She sounds old and lonely; she has the career that she always wanted but no life. I worry that my friend will forget to take time to watch the sun go down, to walk on a windy beach and smell the salt as it is carried on the air.  I worry that she is lost and doesn’t know it yet.

She put down the pen and sat wondering how deeply Joanne was retreating into her shell, sheltering again behind her icy exterior. 

A small
wet nose pushed into her leg breaking through her thoughts and demanding her attention.  Sandy glanced down at the matted ugly face of Critter, her tiny house dog.  His inverted nose blew bubbles and he peered through bulging round eyes pleading Sandy to feed him.  Giving up on attention he groaned and sat to scratch vigorously at an imagined flea. 

Sandy
filled up Critters biscuit bowl and checked his water which was constantly murky and full of floating food particles that had washed from his long scraggly beard.  She then pulled on a bright sweater, clashing bright beads and walked out on to the street.  She ducked her head against the winter drizzle and headed briskly towards the wine bar.

Behind the reception desk Carol beamed a welcome indicating with a quick nod towards the huge vase of delicate red roses.  Leaning against the flowers was a large, baby pink, sealed envelope.

“I hope you don’t mind but I put them in w
ater for you,” Carol called out.  Joanne had already retreated into the privacy of her office where she cautiously prised open the large envelope.

An involuntary breath caught in her throat.  A charcoal sketch haunti
ngly stared back at her as if a mirror.  Her face was sad with large almond eyes, her mouth pouting and a single charcoal tear traced its way down her high cheekbone.  Her hair loosely fell over her naked shoulders delicate and detailed as if viewed by the artist in a moment of intense intimacy.

St
ephen had captured vulnerability, her expression intensely haunting and familiar.   The details were vivid and raw leaving Joanne emotionally naked in front of a stranger.

A tiny note written in ornate calligraphy was attached to the roses
. 

“Dinner a
t 6.30pm.  Pick you up from your office.” 

Stephen included no contact details
.  This time he would not let her decline.

To avoid a potential conflict of interest Joanne assigned an alternative solicitor to contest the paternity suit. 

By the time
the DNA results confirmed Stephen was not to be a father she had fallen completely and irrationally in love with him.

Stephen was a talented artist.  Unfortunately, he was not a commercially smart artist or astute business man.  His work was created for himself and he was uncompromising on how he viewed and presented his art.  His approach limited the potential market and his stubborn opinionated personality resisted advice from the numerous gallery managers and agents that recognised his potential.  Eventually those that could be of assistance accepted he was not only commercially unviable but also too difficult to work with.

He
had sold a few pieces, had been commissioned occasionally for work by local interior designers and had also submitted paintings or charcoals to several exhibitions. Stephen had enjoyed just enough success to etch out a meagre living and keep him working towards the day when recognition would change his future.

T
he exception was that first charcoal sketch of Joanne.  It was raw and deep with emotion.  It held the viewer captivated not only by Joanne’s elegant features but by the numerous emotions that played across the canvas.

If Stephe
n had been able to reproduce the brilliance that flowed down his arm and into that work success would have followed.  Unfortunately, he could never recapture the gut feeling, the rejection, the overpowering attraction and the open rawness that was his inspiration. 

The original charcoal was f
ramed and hung above Stephen’s bed.  He went on to sell limited edition numbered and signed prints at respectable prices.   To this day it is Stephen’s only successful and sought-after work. 

Coupled with his artistic limitations
Stephen was also selfish and lazy, very lazy.  He excused himself from the mundane responsibility of looking for alternative work or contributing financially. He subscribed to correspondence courses but did not have the self-discipline to complete them; he lined up weekly for his benefit and touted his artwork through studios and exhibitions in the hope of finding a willing buyer or agent. 

Joanne’s mother was outraged when the subject of Stephen was introduced. Warning bells immediately rung in her delicate ears.

“The man is unemployed Joanne!” her normally controlled voice rose
to a high-pitched screech in the receiver.

“No, m
other.  Stephen is an artist.  His work does not fit into the normal time slot.  He is also taking a graphic design course.”

“And how long has he been doing this
so called course, Joanne?”  Natalie Kyle did not wait for an answer.  Stephen’s course had been put on suspension while he was busy organizing an exhibition of his work in Blenheim.

“Joanne
, for goodness sake, you are not stupid and I wish you would stop acting like you are.  This man will be like a leech financially.  He cannot support himself let alone you, if, heaven forbid, this relationship proved long term!” 

Again she stopped
but only to inhale deeply.

“I’m flying down there
, Joanne.  You are my only daughter, only child and quite simply this is a mistake.  You must realise you have nothing in common with this, this man.”

S
he put emphasis on the word man and the word seemed to stick as though she wanted to find an alternative description.