The Quilt Page 7

  Leslie had always been accustomed to getting what she wanted.

  Today was one of the first occasions that what she wanted had slipped out of her reach.

  Paul stood motionless at a cob web covered window. He watched the spiraling dust cloud of the taxi as it made its way out of the Twin Pines gate.

  He briefly wondered why all he felt was numbness. As his jumbled brain scrambled to make sense of the day, he opened the medical kit and washed down pain relief for his hangover. He patted Jess softly on the top of her head and then crawled back into bed.

  Section Two JOANNE

  Chapter 8

  “Joanne, Stephen and Sandy”

  “Get out of bed you lazy sod,” snarled Joanne as she jabbed her long finger into her fiancé’s exposed ribcage.

  Stephen groaned and rolled over, slinging an olive skinned arm above his head.

  “Come back to bed,” he slurred smiling, lazy and, as always, seductive.

  “You know Sandy is coming in today. I’ve explained how important this is to me. She is my closest friend and she is only here for two days to be measured for her bridesmaids dress.”

  She dropped her voice.

  “Please can you try and give her a good first impression? At least get out of bed and have a shower.”

  Joanne glanced down at the delicate watch that sat snuggly on her narrow wrist. Hell is that the time already?

  “I’m already running late so I’ll see you when I get back from the airport.”

  She sent Stephen a last pleading look but his eyes were closed and his lips pressed in a smug and irritating smirk. Why did he always have to be difficult?

  Perhaps a bucket of water would help. She smiled at the thought, it was tempting but unfortunately it would wreck her new bed and bedding. Another thing she had purchased, another thing Stephen had not contributed to financially.

  Sandy looked down on the crystal aqua waters and white sand beach that stretched out like a horse shoe beneath her. The small plane was making its final approach into Nelson airport. It was only a short flight from Auckland city in the North Island to Nelson in the South Island but the rapidly changing landscapes made the trip feel much longer. It was like a time lapsed film, dedicated to the diversity of the world’s fast changing terrain.

  Half way through her flight, the vulgar and obese suited man sitting in the aisle seat, had finally irritated Sandy enough to cause a reaction. She had to admit, she had been in a dark mood before she had even boarded. She had emerged reluctantly from the warmth of her bed to meet the early morning flight and the previous night had had to work late, waiting on the drunks that frequented the inner city wine bar.

  He was staring like a besotted puppy, fascinated by this colourful creature, flaming red hair in waves half way down her back, green eyes slanted like a feral cat, outrageous blue eye shadow and, truthfully, the biggest set of tits he had ever seen.

  He certainly hadn’t been sensitive enough to read the messages Sandy’s body language had clearly sent. In fact, he had smiled hopefully when her green eyes had fixed him with an acid glare. His sweating jowls had parted slowly around greying crooked teeth and his tongue had suggestively run around the perimeter of his soft moist lips.

  The vulgar smile had frozen when Sandy snarled abuse. She was accustomed to dealing with the unwanted advances of elderly drunks and lonely souls at the wine bar. The startled looks from the stewardess and embarrassed glances from passengers did nothing to quieten Sandy. Sandy really didn’t care.

  The fat man retreated back into his newspaper, positioning his huge frame into the smallest possible space it could occupy.

  How dare she accuse him of being a pervert! Bloody tiger!

  Joanne had dressed in her normal, tidy conservative clothing. Tight blue jeans enveloped her long graceful legs, feet tucked into long spotless black boots, a crisp white tailored shirt tucked in to show off a thin leather belt worn elegantly around her tiny waste.

  At over five foot ten inches Joanne could have had successful career as a model on the catwalk. Her long hair was streaked a natural honey blonde. Like her mother, Joanne didn’t need dye to add highlights. Joanne’s eyes were a startling slate grey. Deep windows that reflected her moods and altered depending on what colour she was wearing. Unlike her mother, she wore very little makeup and didn’t seem to notice the heads that turned to watch her.

  The flamboyant Sandy erupted through the airport doors. Sandy was a spectacular display of clashing vibrant colours parting the monochromatic sea of black, white and grey suits. Her tiny tube dress barely covered her generous backside, the scooping tie-died, hot pink top revealed a purple lacy bra, a chunky string of red plastic beads adorned Sandy’s neck, sitting against her pale skin like plump ripe cherries. To complete the eccentric display, fishnet stockings tucked into long, black cowboy boots. All eyes were on this exotic creature mincing her way through the rows of plastic seats.

  Joanne shuddered and scanned the waiting faces hoping none of her conservative clients were amongst the milling crowd. Hadn’t she asked Sandy to make an effort to blend in?

  Near the line of customers waiting patiently to collect their rental cars was an unpleasant fat man. He wore a suit that was far too tight, its buttons straining to maintain their fragile hold on the large expanse of flesh. He nodded knowingly as Sandy shrieked and elbowed her way towards the statuesque blonde.

  Political candidate, Brent Forward, swatted at imaginary lint on his sleeve. He smiled as the confidence flowed back through his veins. It all made sense. If the hostile redhead had been normal she would have responded to his advances. He would certainly support that bill when he had influence.

  A few minutes later he waddled past, hesitating long enough for the crowd and a waiting reporter to recognize him. It would be a missed opportunity if he did not issue a quick message showing his support of correct moral behaviour.

  “Lesbians,” he snapped, revealing his grey chipped teeth. Joanne felt the warmth and colour rise in her cheeks and turned to respond to the unexpected and seemingly unprovoked verbal attack. The politician had already been absorbed by the crowd, guided away by a concerned public relations officer.

  Sandy had arrived with the calmness of a meteorite landing on conservative Nelson city.

  When Joanne had rung to say she had met someone special, someone who looked like a Greek God, who was an artist and had recently held a public exhibition featuring his work, Sandy had greeted the news with caution.

  She had always imagined Joanne settling down with a lawyer or a barrister like herself. Someone that was solid, academic and educated. A successful man that was confident enough not to be intimidated by her looks or ambition.

  An artist, that was a surprize enough, but an artist that seemed to have achieved little success. Surely it wouldn’t last. Perhaps Joanne was enjoying a passionate relationship based on a wild sex life.

  Sandy giggled, no, that was not likely to be the answer.

  Joanne had many qualities and talents. But passion, spontaneous laughter and uninhibited fun were buried under the thick concrete exterior of her upbringing.

  Sandy recalled it had been almost six months since the subject of Stephen had been introduced. She had impatiently answered the telephone. Actually, she had considered not answering it but the ring went on and on insisting there was some urgency until she was forced to lift the receiver.

  A half-naked man with his arm draped over her massive breast had frowned disapproval at the interruption.

  “What do you want?” she had snapped.

  “Joanne, sorry, I didn’t realize it was you. Hi how are things going?”

  Sandy winked at the man lying next to her. What was his name again? Michael, Mathew? No Matt, that was it.

  “Congratulations. Of course, I’d love to be your bridesmaid! Can I help design the dress?”

  “That is hardly a fair comment! It would not be orange or green!” she laughed loudly sending the half-naked man scutt
ling towards the far side of the massive bed.

  The mention of commitment in a conversation with an unknown stranger at the other end of the line was making him nervous.

  “I’ll book my flights tomorrow and let you know when I’ll arrive. Work is slow and it’s about time I met this wonder man of yours.”

  Sandy hung up. The mood had vanished and she looked reproachfully at the lean, wiry stranger lying across her filthy sheets.

  “Michael?”

  He glanced up and frowned.

  “Sorry, Matt.”

  That was embarrassing.

  Too many men, too many names, what was a girl to do?

  “I think you should leave.”

  He didn’t question why, he just looked relieved. A boy being dismissed from the headmasters office after a reprimand. A few minutes later the door clicked firmly behind him.

  He hadn’t bothered to speak to the crazy redhead again.

  “It would be a lot easier if they were all called Michael. Michael One, Michael Two, Michael Three,” Sandy laughed without humour.

  Sandy hardly stopped her conversation as they drove along the coast. She spoke as she lived. Fast, without any logical thought that connected her brain to her pouting mouth and seemingly oblivious to the offence she often caused. Joanne sat back and listened, she had always marvelled at her friend’s ability to question without waiting for a reply and to spill numerous words without any indication she needed to breathe.

  In truth, the only thing the two friends had in common was their love of good pinot gris and New Zealand sauvignon blanc. They didn’t look the same, they were from completely different backgrounds, had different early life experiences, different morals and different future expectations. Despite this, their friendship had endured through many years. In fact, it had often provided the only stable thread grounding them as they went through the difficult stages and the emotional turbulence of adolescence.

  Months could pass without Sandy and Joanne talking. But no matter what had changed, or how much time had passed, when they were together they would pick up with the easy familiarity of true friendship. They kept no secrets from each other and shared nothing spoken in confidence. Every time they met, Joanne felt she had been transported back to the carefree days of boarding school and the time when the saw each other daily without the numerous complications of adulthood.

  The small, conservative VW pulled up in a steep and narrow driveway that was retained with a solid moss-covered rock wall. It widened to form a parking bay for the occupants.

  Joanne had spoken only twenty words since they had left the airport. It felt refreshing to relax and let the nonsense and gossip wash over her. There was no need to contribute or fill in awkward, stilted silences. She often found it hard to initiate and maintain conversation with Stephen. He was disinterested in her work and much of her discussion was limited by a need for client confidentiality.

  Stephen and Joanne had rented the arty little studio flat high above the white sand beach and rolling foam flecked breakers. Stephen felt inspired by the view and the sound of the ocean and Joanne loved to walk the driftwood covered shoreline to relieve the stress of listening to her client’s problems and miseries.

  How could anyone pack such a ridiculously heavy suitcase for just a weekend visit? Joanne struggled to help unload the bulging bag. No doubt it was filled with plastic baubles in an offensive rainbow of colour.

  “So, how is the job going? Is that perv still causing you problems?”

  Joanne glanced over and saw that Sandy had actually waited for her to reply.

  “If I didn’t need this position as much as I do, Kelvin Wade would be up on a sexual harassment charge. I’m keeping a diary of the issues just in case I ever need it.”

  Joanne cringed as she thought about the features of the senior partner in the legal firm that employed her. Her skin crawled when she remembered his “accidental” contact last week and the stale smell of his breath. She knew it couldn’t go on indefinitely like this.

  Stephen had opened the front door and stood watching as they struggled with the heavy bag. He made no effort to help. He was enjoying the spectacle of the two women wrestling with the luggage. He was also enjoying the view down Sandy’s top every time she leant over. Stephen smiled and leant idly against the door frame, a cigarette was dangling from his fingers. His hair was still in disarray and he smelt vaguely of sweat and sex, his eyes were sleepy and slightly unfocused as they settled, without shame, back on Sandy’s breasts.

  Sandy felt herself tense as she summed up the man posing arrogantly in front of her. She knew she didn’t need a weekend to get to know this creep. He was just like the other creeps, the numerous ones she took home from the wine bar. He was a replica of what she slept with when she needed comfort or company.

  No doubt under different circumstances this one would have made himself easily available. She looked up and noticed his eyes were still focused on her breasts. No, under these exact circumstances, this one would make himself easily available. Disgust spread over her face. Sandy was well aware Joanne could read her thoughts like a book.

  She began to count “Michael one, Michael Two, Michael Three.”

  She felt her expression relax into a neutral mask.

  Stephen had brown eyes, he wore gold chains, he was angular and tall. Instinctively she knew him for what he was. Not a long-term keeper, his looks would fade and there would be nothing of substance left. He would survive sucking the life out of those he could charm, putting nothing back because he had nothing he was willing, or perhaps able, to give. How the hell had he managed to form a relationship with Joanne?

  Stephen extended a limp hand with long narrow fingers and perfectly manicured nails. He smiled seductively showing off perfect rows of teeth.

  Sandy concentrated on maintaining her neutral face. She had a feeling she would need it more than once over the weekend.

  Sandy had trouble sleeping on the Friday night despite the gentle sound of the waves lapping on the shore below urging her to relax.

  How could her intelligent friend be so bloody naive? Joanne, the university graduate with everything in front of her planned out like a carefully written agenda in a formal meeting.

  Joanne had the charisma and the looks to turn heads in any room. Goodness knows how many times talent scouts had approached her on the streets of Auckland. Sandy recalled at least two occasions when she had been there. Joanne had laughed and made jokes about hidden cameras making fun of silly vain woman.

  There had, of course, been men in her life. Often they were talented and devastatingly handsome men. They had walked into the apartments the two friends had shared, looking at Joanne with adoring eyes, like smitten puppies waiting for crumbs from her table. They joined her to study the books that were piled high on the tables and benches. Eventually, they drifted off because she remained cool and politely disinterested. A few had stayed longer but Joanne always remained distant, she seemed to be looking for something else in a relationship, perhaps an equal or perhaps she wasn’t looking for a relationship at all?

  Sandy lapsed into a fitful sleep.

  “Good morning,” Joanne greeted cheerfully. Her hair was piled high in a tight bun and her elbows rested on the morning paper. She was seated at the table holding a large mug of coffee. Weak rays of morning sun filtered through the net curtains and bathed the room in a soft yellow glow.

  “How did you sleep?’

  Sandy greeted the question with a grunt. Joanne took the cue and walked over to the coffee machine.

  “I’ve got today planned out. The seamstress is expecting us for that fitting this morning and then we might go up and visit some of the vineyards for a quick lunch. How is the head?”

  Sandy had complained about a dull headache the evening before. She suspected Stephen’s constant boring conversation about Stephen had been the trigger.

  “Stephen is busy today. We will catch up with him again before you leave.”

&nb
sp; As far as Sandy could see he had not bothered to emerge from the bedroom upstairs. Whatever the reason, a small break from listening to his opinions about the world of art and conversation revolving around his achievements would be a relief.

  The seamstress was a matronly, efficient woman with pins positioned carefully in her lips. She tutted and spoke to herself as she measured Sandy and wrote numbers in a crumpled note book.

  “It is a good thing you have taken the time for a professional fitting.”

  She glanced at Joanne who was sitting with a magazine open on her knee. The glossy advertisement announced the release of the latest cosmetic solutions available from the international company her mother represented. More than represented, Natalie Kyle had totally dedicated her working life to managing and developing the Southern Hemisphere division. Her commitments had often caused her to exclude her husband and daughter from her life while she searched for professional satisfaction.

  “I will be in contact closer to the time. Just to confirm your measurements have not changed.”

  Sandy stared coldly at the elderly woman.

  What did she expect to happen in the few short weeks that remained before the wedding? Unexpected bulges to form around her middle or perhaps a mass over indulgence in chocolate to visibly plaster inches on her hips?

  Sandy was still complaining about the possible implication as they drove up a narrow winding road out of Nelson to one of many boutique wineries situated in the picturesque hills surrounding the city.

  They settled into a tiny cushioned booth and Sandy attempted to initiate a difficult conversation. First she took a sip of crisp delicious white wine and then hesitantly tested.

  “What do your parents think of Stephen?”

  Joanne visibly tensed before answering.