by Nanette Fox
“I don’t know where to find my way through this, how to find my way. I don’t know where to begin.” He took another swig of his beer. “Mum, I just feel crap most of the time. I go off on the bike, riding, just to avoid everything.” He pulled his hand away from his mother’s and put his beer down. Tim took a deep breath, clasping his hands together on the edge of the table, he leaned forward and whispered, “I was on the bike this afternoon…” Another deep breath… “Mum, I nearly tried to leave it all.” A few moments silence. “I nearly tried to kill myself.”
Ruth’s hand flew to her mouth, she let out a little gasp of anguish, her eyes wide with fright; she didn’t know how to respond. Her mind feverishly trying to comprehend what he had just said; all she could mutter was, “Oh, Tim.” There it was, out in the open, he didn’t know whether to feel relieved or not. His mother was just sitting there looking at him; a sad expression on her face, a serious frown knotting her forehead. She was scrambling for an appropriate response.
Tim spoke, “You would never guess who was there when I desperately needed someone today.”
“No, I guess I wouldn’t know. Who, son, I can’t imagine?” Her mind whirled through a number of possibilities.
“After all these years Mum, someone I never really considered, or thought much of, Izzy.”
“Isabella, oh good lord no.” Ruth was feeling so very angry that it was someone else he had sought out, and panicked, her deep anxieties about the wretched girl coming to the fore.
“Son, she is lovely, but she really hurt your brother a few years ago.”
“Hmm, don’t know about that Mum.”
“I saw him today too, but later, in Izzy’s office, they were going to dinner.”
“And Mum, if I am not mistaken, he spoilt her recently, with the huge arrangement of flowers in the vase on her desk.”
Ruth suddenly felt like the rug had been pulled out from her. Had she become so unaware of what her adult children were up to? Marco’s death had been so sudden, she had barely caught her breath and come to terms with widowhood. She was so busy building a life for herself as a single person and taking time for her own, she hadn’t really spent a great deal of time wondering how her adult children were coping with their father’s death. She hadn’t really taken much interest in their comings and goings. She did know Julia was overseas with her fiancé, Antonio, but as for David, he had an endless string of pretty girlfriends, none seemed more serious than another. She certainly wouldn’t have expected him to be chasing Isabella yet again.
“I went to Izzy’s office, Mum, and Rebecca was there too. They were so friendly and welcoming. The thing is Mum, talking with Izzy helped a lot.”
“Let me stop you right there Tim, remember she is Isabella, not Izzy.”
“Mum, I have always called her Izzy and I am not about to change now. She can lump it or leave it,” frowning as he said it, wondering how it was going to play out if they were working together.
“Anyway Mum, without getting into all of the details about how I was feeling, do feel, most days, I was talking with her about my work concerns, and how to support myself as I try to start up.”Izzy, has solved my immediate financial concerns, I am going to work at the gallery of a weekend for a bit." His mother put her hand up to protest, but he continued. “Not just that, Izzy suggested I establish an ‘architect’s desk’ in the offices during the week so that I have a start. It is very generous.”
Ruth muttered, “She can afford to be,” and got up to start to clear the table.
Tim grabbed her arm, “So it’s all good? I think, but I am going to seek some professional help.”
“Oh son, I am so sorry, I didn’t realize any of this was going on.” She leaned over to give him a hug, and he responded hugging her back. She couldn’t remember the last time they hugged, and it made her feel very sad.
Together, they cleared away the meal, loading the dishwasher, and wiping down the benches. Ruth reflected on the young, quite troubled man working beside her, and looking heavenwards wished Marco was with her still, as he had been Tim’s sounding board. The thoughts running across her brain, ‘your time is now Ruth’, ‘you need to help Tim’. ‘Not David, not Julia, they are managing quite nicely, Tim needs you’.
Ruth offered, “Let’s make some tea or coffee or perhaps another beer? We can sit and watch some TV, that’s if you are not too old to sit with your mum for a bit.”
They sat in quiet, companionable silence for an hour or so watching some re-run of Grand Designs, an architectural and design program. Tim stretched and said, “Busy day tomorrow, it is time I called it a night.”
“Night, night son,” Ruth said as he stooped down to kiss his mother’s cheek.
Chapter 10
Could It Be a Date?
Rebecca arrived at the office with Rufus. She occasionally bought him in as Isabella adored him and loved to see the elderly dog. He had a comfortable bed behind the main desk and after Isabella’s fussing slept most of the day. It was usually Isabella who took him out for a toddle to stretch his legs and do his business. Isabella was already there, well and truly. Already endless documents and things for Rebecca to start her work day with were piled on her desk. Isabella was pacing, that was usually a sign that it was going to be a difficult day balancing Isabella’s requests with gallery customers, and the general day to day operation. Isabella was determined when she paced, intent on getting her way.
What gave Rebecca the heads up that something was up, and indicated the pacing was more personal were the clothes Isabella had chosen to wear. Not the usual dark, business, image-creating professional look. The usual severity of her clothing gave her a stern look and provided protection somewhat akin to the idea of a knight’s armour. This was skin-tight jeans, wedge heels, topped by the most romantically beautiful top, layers of lace, handmade Venetian lace. Rebecca remembered Isabella had it specially designed and made from a magnificent, slightly damaged on one corner, antique tablecloth. It was a statement piece. Her hair was carefully done and her make-up pretty. She was dressed for a date!
Next in through the door and surprisingly early in the day, was Tim Martinelli. He also looked like he had spent hours grooming. Gosh, he was stunning, where was yesterday’s lost boy? His dress, casual business, a white, with a faint grey check, dress shirt, carefully turned back at the cuffs, navy trousers, leather belt, leather loafers. Rebecca felt distinctly drab in her much worn sensible workday black and white. She did, however, suddenly feel like the adult in the room with two lovesick teenagers when Isabella stepped out and greeted Tim with a broad smile and hint of sparkle about her eyes. He was equally glowing as he acknowledged her. Isabella quickly turned to Rebecca, with just a hint of self-conscious blushing, and asked for Tim’s employment documents.
“Come through to the office Tim, and we will get the official paperwork out of the way.” Tim looked at Rebecca and caught sight of the dog. “Hey, is that old Rufus? Izzy I’ll just give him a pat.”
The immediate “NO” took all three by surprise. Tim’s smile quickly disappeared. Rebecca breathed a sigh of alarm.
Isabella spoke again, “I didn’t mean a ‘no’ to patting Rufus. I meant a ‘no’ to calling me Izzy, in this environment.” She was firm and abrupt. “At the gallery, here, I insist you call me Isabella and possibly even after gauging the age of clients or their nationality,”Ms Stewart."
Tim stood up to his full height and glaring across at Isabella said, “I planned to, Ms Stewart, but why isn’t it, Mrs Thompson?”
“Because it just isn’t, I use my maiden name, can you please be business-like,” Isabella snapped.
Rebecca was at a loss to know where to look. This was going to be interesting. Isabella turned on her heel and stormed into her office. Tim was again bent over making a fuss of the dog. He looked up at Rebecca with a wicked gleam in his eye. Isabella was back, glaring, “I haven’t got all day.” Tim straightened up and smiling at Rebecca, said, “See you later, alligator,” w
ith a broad grin on his face he sauntered into Isabella’s office.
Rebecca immediately heard Isabella laying down the law once again about what she was to be called. Tim said something about ‘so not Mrs Thompson’; because Isabella shut her door, she didn’t really hear the full conversation. Half an hour later, they appeared with Tim’s contract signed and some relevant human resources paperwork in a file ready for Rebecca’s attention. They both looked a tad ready for business, with professional game faces on. However, Tim quipped, “Rebecca you are to start a swear jar for me for every time I accidently say Izzy.” Isabella just rolled her eyes.
Explaining they would be out of the office for the rest of the morning, Isabella asked for the SUV keys and grabbing Tim’s hand dropped the keys into it with a, “I presume you drive, not just ride that bike?”
“Ah yes Isabella. That I do.”
“Okay we’re driving to Mornington, to visit a ceramic artist. I have also organized to call by a glass-blowers workshop. It is training, so you have a little understanding of the basic skills involved in production of ceramics and glass art.”
“Isabella, I do know what is involved.” Tim, a little irritated she was treating him like a young intern.
“Oh of course you do, I don’t mean to say, you don’t know,” she emphasized, “I just wanted to show you and give you a greater understanding of the types of items we feature here. It will also give you an opportunity to meet one or two of our feature artists.”
“Okay.” She was looking up at him with questioning expression.
Looking deep into her eyes, he gently touched her arm and said, “It’s okay.”
Moments later, they were gone. Rebecca was left staring after them. Swivelling her chair, “Well, Rufus old boy, it’s just you and me for a few hours.” Then she added with a quick glance over her shoulder to ensure she wasn’t overheard, “They like each other, they do, they do my boy, very much,” as she played with the dog’s ears. She reflected trouble would be brewing with David; with the knowledge Isabella was his intended latest conquest. She knew Isabella too well and knew the relationship between Isabella and David was an on and off lop-sided affair.
Tim set the GPS for the address Isabella had given him. He watched her buckle up, she then settled herself with her lap-top from a bag. He raised an eyebrow. “I expect you not to drive fast. I should be able to do some work as we are driving,” She instructed.
“Do you mind if I put the radio on?” he queried.
“Yes, I mean no, it will be fine.” She dithered, he turned it on anyway.
Isabella discovered Tim was a very good driver and she felt safe. There was none of the erratic lane changing she experienced with David. He was also conscious of the speed limits.
“How are you feeling today?” she broached the topic carefully.
Tim replied, “Actually pretty good, I was able to talk to Mum for a while last night.”
“I am not sure your mum, Ruth, likes me very much,” said Isabella.
Tim muttered, “Hmm, got that impression.”
“Oh, what did she say?” inquired Isabella with sudden interest.
“She didn’t elaborate, something to do with David and you marrying Isaac.”
“Damn,” swore Isabella. She went quiet and stared out the window looking quite miserable. Tim needing to concentrate on the road just then thought it was best to leave it at that.
They arrived at Phyllis’s ceramic studio. She was an older woman, probably closer to Ruth, his mum’s age. Tim remembered he had heard his mother speak of her; she was one of his mother’s closest ‘artist’ friends. She greeted Isabella with a long hug and checked if they wanted a drink, hot or cold. Phyllis looked Isabella up and down and whistled. “Wow young lady, you are looking rather fine. Is that the very special Venetian top?”
Isabella smiling said, “Yes, it is,” an exchange that indicated to Tim that Phyllis and Isabella knew each other very well. Izzy introduced Tim, as David’s younger brother, which did absolutely nothing for Tim’s ego.
Tim clenched his jaw, breathed deeply and trundled behind the two ladies into the pottery studio. They spent time discussing clays, glazes, and techniques. Phyllis and Isabella then spent some time examining and discussing a developmental range of more ‘Australiana’ products. Tim meandered around looking at items in the studio. Two hours passed very quickly. Tim had to acknowledge he had found it all worthwhile. Back in the SUV, Tim turned to Isabella as he buckled up and enthused about everything he had seen and heard. Isabella was pleased his attitude about the trip had improved substantially particularly as the next stop was the glass-blower.
Phillip was a hard character to assess on first meeting. He knew his craft but was consistently pushing to see how he could develop effects with glass. He was rough and tough but melted at the sight of Isabella. He called her ‘Princess Isabella’ and whistled as she approached. Again, Tim was introduced as David’s younger brother. The visit was as entertaining as it was productive. They came away with two items to trial in the gallery. They were glass shapes that were created involving the manipulation of coloured millefiori canes. This created patterns within their shape. There was an apple and a pear. Tim was invited to try his hand with some glass-blowing and having done some years ago was not a complete dunce. Phillip had slapped Tim on the back, said, “Call me Phil,” and told Isabella to ditch his older brother and bring Tim again next time. Tim had noticed Isabella blushed.
Time was getting on and feeling hungry. Tim suggested they go to Sorrento and find a café for some lunch. Isabella was in agreement, which rather pleased Tim. At lunch, he wanted to assert he was his own person and didn’t enjoy being introduced as ‘the younger brother’. He knew she would probably fight him back with this business of being Isabella not ‘Izzy’, if he expected to be Tim, not ‘David’s younger brother’. Over some rather delicious pumpkin and chickpea salads with Turkish style meatballs, accompanied with a glass of white wine for Isabella and a beer for himself, he enthused about the visits to the artisans. Isabella, who was used to dealing with the less than enthusiastic responses of everyone other than Julia, delighted in his comments. He had noticed everything, taken in so much detail, challenged her thoughts on some of the pieces they had seen.
Time was pressing. She would have been happy to just relax in the afternoon sunshine, maybe take a stroll on the beach as she loved the feel of sand between her toes. Isabella couldn’t remember when she had felt so relaxed in the last few years. She was conflicted. She was enjoying being with Tim. She would have loved to be totally carefree. She needed to get back to the gallery as some Tuscan pottery should have been arriving by courier, and she was desperate to see it. Julia had been full of rave revues of this pottery from the outlet in Cortona, Italy. The potter was developing new designs, going away from the Tuscan scenes and blue-bordered lemon-laden images. There were apparently three or four twenty inch plus round platters made ready to hang and one amazing rectangular tray.
Tim, nursing his beer, leaning back in his chair, had been watching her intently. She had smiled, she had frowned, she had even wrinkled her nose, and brushed her hair away from her cheeks and he had loved every moment. She was totally absorbed in her own thoughts. She certainly was a very beautiful woman. He had avoided complaining about the introductions as David’s younger brother as he simply didn’t want to argue. He broke her thoughts with, “Izzy, I’ll pop and pay and then I think we need to start back.”
She murmured that would be fine, but catching herself in time, declaring, “Oh please Tim, let me pay.”
“You can buy me lunch with the first pay from the gallery.” He smiled in gratitude.
As he opened her door of the SUV, he took the opportunity to encircle her in his arms and kiss her somewhat thoroughly. She responded. Backing away, he looked down at her and saw her flustered and confused. She got into her side. He climbed into the driver’s seat, as he buckled up Tim looked across at Isabella, she immediately looked a
way. He cursed silently. He knew the kiss was so right, but so wrong too. He had taken a chance, probably too early in the relationship. He started the vehicle and drove back to the gallery without so much as a word exchanged between them.
Rebecca saw the SUV pull up. She saw Isabella jump out, slam shut the door and come hurrying inside. She observed Tim get out more slowly, stop and watch Isabella scuttling away, then shut the door of the vehicle, reaching up to slap the door in frustration or annoyance before he dawdled in. The body language told her everything, something intense had happened. The gossip in her wanted to know. The friend in her was worried. Isabella bolted into her office, slamming the door.
Rebecca asked Tim, “Everything okay?”
He looked at Rebecca, almost crushed, and simply said, “Here’s the keys, I think I had better go.”
“I’ll come in to work out the whole ‘desk’ thing tomorrow. Bec, I think I made a big mistake, maybe, or maybe I did the right thing, I am not sure. Can I give you a ring later to make sure she is, Izzy is, okay?”
“Sure Tim.” He turned, sprinting out of the building. Rebecca looked after him and looked at the closed office door. His leathers and helmet on, he roared off on his motorbike at great speed.
Leaving it for some fifteen minutes, she bravely tapped on Isabella’s door and went inside. She was absolutely astounded to find Isabella sitting in tears. She had concluded she would find her stewing with angriness and irritation. Imagining all sorts of the worst, she went over and gently said, “Isabella, what is it?” The story unfolded.
“It was really great, the visits went well, the lunch was lovely and then just when we were getting back into the car to come back, Tim kissed me. A real kiss and I didn’t know what to do, I was embarrassed.”
