The Quilt (46 page)

Oh shit
, she was crying.  Simon screwed up his nose.

“You make me so happy to be
gay.”

He put his arm awkwardly around her shoulders.

“Go to the opening.  You have enough unresolved problems and you don’t need to add Paul to that list.”

Why tonight out of all nights are there no trucks?  Every night I lie awake and hear them rumbling down the road but tonight there is only silence.  Silence and the miserable driving rain that lashes against my face and slides in rivers off my skin.  I look behind but still there are no lights.  It seems like I have been running for hours and yet I know the Kean farm is only two miles down the highway.  I know it is hours until daylight and hours until my son will catch the bus.  By then I will have found help and we can start our life together; free from Allan Clarke. I cannot think about not reaching safety.  I cannot allow myself to be crippled by the fear that hides just below the surface.

My
face feels numb from the cold but a sudden warm flush runs down the contours of my swollen mouth.  Cautiously, I raise my hand and feel a warm sticky mass flowing from my nose and over my lips.  It congeals sluggishly on my chin.  I swallow and taste the sickening metallic blood.  Nausea rises up like waves in my throat. Oh, please, help me.  I am bleeding.  Gingerly, I run my hands over my broken face. I rub my swollen, twisted blue fingers and hope the nervous energy will give me strength. I know if I had not run tonight I would have died at his hands tomorrow.

I
say a silent thank you for Sean.  I say a silent thank you for the chance I had to tell him who he was.  I say a silent thank you for the chance to tell him how much I love him.  For the first time in my life I pray.  I strain my eyes towards the darkness.  There are still no lights.  I am alone, running down a slippery black highway in the driving rain.  I feel as alone as I did the night James died.

The bitch would be gloating.  She would be thinking how stupid and drunk he was.  He would teach her. 

The man with the dead eyes walks to the farm truck.  He puts one hand on the steering wheel and rests one on the gun.   He drives in the darkness towards the highway.  He is a hunter and he knows how far his prey will have travelled.  He smiles and caresses the cold hard steel.  He takes another drink from th
e bottle.  He strains to see into the darkness.

My name is Allan Clarke and I like to kill.  Not to alleviate pain, not to provide food, no I just like to kill.  I like to track.  I am a hunter and this bitch will not win.

He sees her movement.  A white clad drenched animal crouched on the roadside in a ditch that is half filled with water and waste.  He looks at her pathetically huddled behind a blackberry bush that is heavy with plump purple fruit.  He smiles.  She has made it halfway, the perfect place to die.

I know the lights are from a small vehicle.  I say a silent thank you that I had the chance to tell Sean how much I love him.  I say a thank you that I had the chance to tell him this man from hell is not his father.  I feel my eyes are wild with fear and I search his crazed face for a sign of compassion.  All I see is contempt and saliva dripping from his smiling mouth, white foam is crusting at the corners. I feel repulsed and full of hatred.  His lips pull back revealing ruined teeth, there is nothing in his eyes.  It is then I know he is enjoying my pain and that I am about to die.

“He wasn’t dead
.”

I try to blink.  I really don’t understand.

“James, your James, he wasn’t dead.  I saw him move.  I left him to die, to die slowly.”

His lips pull back
further and something moves in the depths of his crazed eyes.  I lunge at him, I want him to feel pain.  I hear a scream, is it me?  There is a sudden light and then nothingness.

I hear a scream, is it me?  Chloe sits bolt upright and feels her heart hammering in her chest, in her ears and in her head.  The bedding is wet and her hair sticks to her forehead.  Geoff is staring at her from across the room.  His face is a terrified mask, but more frightening is the sadness in his eyes, an overwhelming sadness.

“I love you
, Chloe.  But I can’t stay and watch you go through this again.”

He doesn’t move to comfort her.

“I have to go through this.”

For a moment anger flairs and then he sinks slowly down beside her.

“Why, Chloe?  It has been years since you have lived these dreams.  Don’t you remember they nearly killed you? Don’t you remember the months you spent in hospital?”

“It’s Paul
.”

Geoff frowns.

“Paul Clarke?”

She nods a
nd looks at him through eyes that have the appearance of translucent panes of frosted glass. Geoff rests his head on his hands.  Can I do this again?

“Ring
him and get him here!”

Paul’s irritation faded when he walked into the tense room.  Chloe didn’t hesitate; it was always hard to speak about things she didn’t understand herself and inappropriate small talk served no purpose.

“Do you know someone called Anne
?”

Paul stared
at Chloe’s pale face and wrestled with a growing sense of panic.

“Is she dead?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” 

I am unsure whether
to continue.  I hold those blue eyes and realise I am only confirming what he already knows.

“Do you want me to continue
?”

He nods and breaks eye contact.
  I glance at Geoff.  His jaw is set and a small nerve twitches at the corner of his mouth.  I hope he doesn’t leave me but I can’t blame him if he does.  I begin to tell Anne Clarke’s story.

“
Is that where he shot her?”

Chloe has to
ld him everything that she knows and dropped her hand guiltily from her forehead.  Geoff groans.

“How can
any of this possibly help?”

“You mean
, how is knowing better than not knowing?”

Paul
looks impassively at his friend and then turns towards Chloe.  Her hand has returned to her forehead and she is slowly rubbing her pale skin.  Paul reaches across and takes it gently in his hand before he speaks.

“No one even knew Anne had disappeared.  Allan had become increasingly paranoid and had isolated her over a period of time.  She had no contact with anyone and he never kept to a routine so she was always uncertain when he would return.  Sean has always felt he was responsible.  For several weeks he ignored the premonitions and assumed she was visi
ting her parents as she had planned to do. Eventually, he borrowed the telephone at the school office and rung his grandparents. He found she had never made arrangements to go to their house and they had not heard from her for months.  A missing persons report was lodged with the police that same day.  Any physical evidence would have been washed away well before then.”

Paul shook his head slowly.

“To this day she is identified in the police archives as
Anne Marie Clarke (nee Saunders) and is classified as an Unsolved Missing Person. She was declared legally dead seven years after her disappearance.”

He squee
zed the tiny hand and looked into Chloe’s eyes.

“Do you know where her body is?”

Chloe shook her head.

“Finding her and laying her to rest will be the only way my father
can get closure.  There is no point in discussing it with him unless we can give him that final piece of information.”

Chl
oe nodded and prayed silently that she would get more visions.  She rubbed her forehead again and glanced nervously at Geoff.  He didn’t look up.  I am so sorry.

Chapter 39

“Jazz and Wine”

There was a steady stream of people making their way up the vineyard’s long drive way.   The shuttle stopped and the driver cursed. 

“It might be easier if you walk from here
.”

The passengers spew
ed out of the door and I waited for them to disperse.  I can smell the familiar scent of frangipani and jasmine mixed with the sharp tang of the salt that rises from the bay below.  The sky above is a cloudless blue and not even a slight breeze breaks the already stifling heat or ruffles the lush foliage of the vines that line the entrance.

I am surprized that I feel as though I am
somehow involved in this event.  It is a ridiculous thought. I am probably the last person Paul would welcome here today.  I start to walk with a group of people slowly making their way up the drive way. 

In a week I will begin
my new life in Tauranga.  I have already organized temporary accommodation.  I have even packed a few of my belongings.  Actually, I hadn’t really had the time to unpack after leaving the villa.  Simms and Graham have offered a very attractive remuneration package.  The contract accepting their terms of employment has been signed and mailed back to them.  Last night Simon, Jason and I drunk my last delicious bottle of Marinella Reserve to celebrate my appointment.

Today represents the
only chapter left open in my tragic Auckland life.  I hope when I leave I will be confident in the direction that I have chosen.  I hope if I see Paul I will feel no regret or doubt.  Actually, I hope I do not see Paul at all because I don’t really trust the stranger.

On the
way in I purchase a small carafe of silky red wine from a temporary cabana that has been constructed near the huge concrete pizza oven.   I settle on to the soft short manicured grassy bank.

The crowd is mellow and relaxed
in the sun listening to the bands seductive earthy music.  I turn my face up to the warmth and bathe in the security that I am an anonymous, nameless guest in this huge gathering of people.

The wine is
velvety and rich.  I take another sip and look towards the restaurant.  Even the alfresco area is crowded and although the interior is bathed in darkness it is obviously fully booked.  Waitresses dressed in smart white uniforms scuttle in and out carrying trays of food and bottles of wine.  Guests walk around the tasting room and a constant stream leave carrying bags or boxes of wine.  The signature blood red geraniums spew in a mass of colour from numerous half wine barrels and the delicious aroma of freshly baked wood fired pizza fills the air.

I let the
voice with the clarity of fine crystal wash over me.   The woman has a face that I find hard to age and an ethereal beauty that I cannot define.  She closes her eyes and her tranquil, sad features soften with her words.   Her long flowing skirt pools at her bare feet and her dark hair falls in a thick plaited rope that reaches to the floor.  She looks up and immediately her eyes seek me out and settle on mine. She looks right through me; it is as if she sees my thoughts.  She leaves me feeling uneasy and I have no idea why.  I have to turn away. The haunting voice continues but she doesn’t look at me again.

More people
have gathered on the bank.  The conversation seems to fade to an impersonal background drone.  The voice stills and the unusual woman stands, unfolding her legs and placing her guitar gently on the chair.  A group of teenagers are seated in front of me.  I may have to move, their gossip is irritating.  They are tanned and form a slim mass of exposed flesh clad in tiny pieces of scanty clothing.  I glance down at my modest floral summer dress and sensible sandals.  I suddenly feel overdressed.

They giggle again.  I think of school and
imagine myself behind the complicated text of a historical novel.  I glare at their backs. Shut up.  A blonde must feel my arctic gaze she turns and I watch the smile freeze on her lips.  I am nothing but a temporary unpleasant distraction.  She turns away and points towards the band members.  They have congregated in a small huddle.  Paul stands in the middle; his hand is resting gently on the arm of the strange dark haired woman.  He hands her a glass of water and something intangible passes between them.  I feel unable to look away and watch their interactions with an unhealthy interest.  I am not immune.

Paul is wearing a light blue cotton shirt.  I wonder if the strange dark haired woman has chosen it to match his eyes.  She reaches over and bats his hand playfully and he bends down to whisper something.  I feel my stomach contract and
tear my eyes away long enough to take a large sip from my glass.  This was a mistake, I shouldn’t have come here. 

I look back and Paul is making his way slowly through the guests.  He is tall, even from a distance I can watch his progress.  He stops near a young couple and talks.  He is
relaxed and professional, working the crowd with his lazy smile and easy manner. He is greeting each guest individually, focusing full attention on them; making them feel as though they are the only people visiting the vineyard.

The music
resumes and the haunting lyrics of Misty fill the amphitheatre. 

I watch him progress to the next group of guests.  His
forearms like ropes reach to shake hands.  I remembered the feel of them wrapped around my body.  His crisp shirt is unbuttoned enough to show a slight scattering of hair.  He is incredibly handsome and incredibly sexy.  He also seems totally unaware of the female attention that is following his every move.

I look disapprovingly at the teenage girls in front of me.  I think about my lace underwear sitting on the now deserted beach.

I need to get out of here. 

Will this woman ever shut up?  Paul struggles to remain focused.  He glances hopefully at her equally dull husband who smiles at him apologetically.  He knows it isn’t just the boring couple that is causing his irritation. 

Paul run
s his hands through his hair.  Chloe’s sultry voice is mellow and smooth but it is laden with pain.    He rubs his eyes and smiles robotically at the couple standing in front of him.  The woman continues her mindless chatter, she isn’t even aware that Paul has no idea what she is talking about. 

Geoff had been silent, a deep brooding
silence that had said more than any words could have expressed.   Geoff had left Chloe this morning; he had walked out with a suitcase and his guitar.

Two of the most important people in his life
, destroyed by a dead man named Allan Clarke and images that came from somewhere Paul couldn’t understand. He looked at Geoff.  He was playing mechanically; his eyes were expressionless and fixed at a point above the crowd.  Chloe’s pain poured into her voice and there wasn’t a thing he could do to help.

Paul had walked to the restaurant as the sun had greeted the new day.  Marinella had already been a hive of activity in preparation for the opening.  He wondered if there would be music, he wondered if either Chloe or Geoff would be able to face a crowd of happy faces looking to be entertained.  He should have known that these special people would never let him down despite living their own personal hell.

The day
was a success.  He knew that.  The restaurant had been fully booked and happy customers spilled on to the outside tables.  Sid had struggled to keep up with sales in the tasting room and Sean was alternating between sipping red wine and cooking the wood fired pizzas.  Already the forward bookings at the restaurant ran a month in advance.

He ran his hands through his hair again and stared at the boring woman in front of him.  Perhaps it was that stupid waitress that left him feeling dull and angry.  He should take some responsibility.  After all he had refused to interview the applicants.  But surely Mari would have been aware that the girl was not suitable?  Twice she had interrupted him, her eyes pools of unshed tears.  She had applied as a senior waitress but clearly was unable to function under pressure.  If she managed to remain composed until the end of service it would be a miracle.  He planned to finish his day by advising her that her employment would be terminated.    He resisted the urge to scowl at the woman in front of him.

Static interrupted his thoughts and he looked
towards the band. At last, a chance to escape.  He smiled broadly at the couple in front of him and walked towards the band.

“I would like to take this opportunity to pass you over to our host Mr Paul Clarke.”

Paul listened as
Chloe formally introduced him.  She was a truly remarkable woman, composed despite nights of living someone else’s horror and professional despite waking up alone this morning.  He wondered if he would be stronger than Geoff if he was ever put in the same situation.  He hoped so.  But how could he judge?  It wasn’t him that had once found his wife in a bath full of her own blood and tepid water. 

Chloe smiled sadly and handed the microphone over.  He touched her han
d affectionately and focused on a point above the hopeful upturned teenage faces.

I freeze, sit down and sink miserably into the grass bank.  Despite the visual barrier of teenage heads in front of me I feel exposed and vulnerable.  I glance around and see that the crowd is focused expectantly on Paul.  The only people that remain standing have interrupted their meal to listen from the door of the restaurant.  I stare resolutely at my sandals.  I can’t bring myself to look at the strange dark haired woman or the familiar man that stands in front of me.

“
I will keep this short. There are a couple of things that I would like to say before I stand down and leave you in peace to enjoy your evening.”

An appreciative ripple ran through the crowd
followed by a piercing whistle.  I turned towards the unwelcome noise and find myself pinned by the flirtatious eyes of Chris, he winks in recognition.  Beside him the local policeman Bradley acknowledges me politely by raising his glass.

I redden.  I really need to get out of here. 
There is very little left of my wine but I gulp the last remaining mouthful and return my attention to my sandals.

“I’d like to thank every
one of you for joining us and every member of our staff for making Marinella restaurant’s first day memorable.  Today we are releasing our new label of reserve wine in limited quantities.  We are offering substantial discounts to anyone that is attending our opening.   You can place your orders at the office or with Sean in the tasting room.”

He hesitates and I take the opportunity to quickly look at him. 
Mistake.  I focus back on my sandals.

“From this year our
reserve releases will carry the “Mermaid” image.  This is easily recognised and unique to Marinella.”

I look up and stare at him.  Nausea grips me. 

“The original Mermaid is on loan to the vineyard and can be viewed in the restaurant.  For anyone not familiar with its history the artist died tragically in a boating accident earlier this year.”

The crowd claps
respectfully and I continue to gape at Paul.  My vision has blurred and I am fighting to maintain even a small amount of composure.

“One more thing I must mention
.  We want you to enjoy our wine but not if it means drinking in excess before driving.”

Another approving whistle pierces the air.

“There will be complimentary shuttles available which are timed to meet the departing ferries.  They would also be happy to transport you to any of the local accommodations. They will run approximately hourly.  The first shuttle is due to arrive in thirty minutes.  If you would like to catch the early ferry back to Auckland start making your way to the area in front of the restaurant.  Any of our staff will be happy to help you if you would like to utilize this service, organize a taxi or have any questions.”

Please stop
, I need to get out of here.  Paul stepped back and let his hand linger as he passed the microphone back to the dark haired woman.  There was a ripple of applause and he disappeared from sight as if swallowed by the milling crowd. 

The hum of conversation has resumed and the
rich sultry voice begins a haunting rendition of All of Me.  Her words hang on the heavy humid air.  I am still gapping, moisture is pooling behind my eyes and my legs feel unsteady. 

“Hi
.”

C
hris is standing beside me.  I make no effort to acknowledge him but he doesn’t seem to be deterred.

“
Are you enjoying yourself?”

D
oes it look like it?  I feel a traitorous tear escape and slide down my cheek.

“I was wondering if you woul
d like to go for a meal at some stage.”

I close my mouth and stare at him.  Under normal circ
umstances I may have found him attractive.  Today, every molecule of my body is focused on the man that has briefly touched my life and a few minutes ago walked away for the final time.  Why the hell did I ever consider coming here?

“I don’t think that would be a good idea
.”