Shadows of the Past

by Frances Housden

  “Do you want me to get arrested? If so, carry on. I’ll be the happiest guy in Takapuna lockup.”

  “They’d have to lock me up with you, big guy. You promised me until the end of the summer break and after today, I have another three days outstanding.”

  Her reminder was something he could have done without. Dammit all to hell! He’d begun to wish he’d never put a time limit on their association. It showed in the urge he obeyed to slip his sunglasses down over his eyes. Maria had learned to read him too well. No sooner than he felt a shadow racing toward him. One he couldn’t stop or duck away from, since it belonged to Old Man Time.

  Contrary to what he’d told himself earlier, his sunglasses had made it easier to search out a spot on the sand that wasn’t already occupied. “C’mon, hon. I’ve found us an opening.”

  Two minutes later, the plaid rug was spread out, the cooler within reach and the suntan lotion in Franc’s hand.

  A quick glance around him showed that maybe he hadn’t been so lucky after all, too many buff young guys with great bods in the vicinity, most of them staring at Maria unwrapping her sarong as if she were peeling the paper off a belated Christmas present. The sight of a couple of volleyballs didn’t imbue him with much hope that they would take themselves off closer to the water, to play on the hard-packed wet sand.

  He’d allow them two accidental throws in Maria’s direction, any more and he’d show them how to make points the hard way.

  Franc stripped off his navy polo shirt as Maria sank to her knees on the rug. The high-cut legs of her suit made her thighs look long and sleekly muscled. As he unzipped his cargo shorts, quickly stepping out of them, he had a flashback of her legs locked around his waist. Too many flashbacks and his black swim shorts wouldn’t leave much to the imagination.

  He dropped to the rug beside her and placed the bottle of suntan lotion in her hand. “You promised to rub this on my back.”

  She unscrewed the top and poured some into her palm. “And I always keep my promises.”

  He lay down and let her hands move across his back, firmly massaging the lotion into his skin, and thought about promises. Only three more days after today, and the time he’d promised her was up. What would it take to get an extended deadline?

  As she sat on her own, Maria decided Takapuna beach was becoming more and more croed and the jerks outnumbered the good guys like Franc about six to one.

  At least that’s how it felt when she heard a voice call, “Hey, Maria, I didn’t know you came down here.”

  She looked up. The sun was behind him, throwing a completely misplaced shimmer of gold around his silhouette, like a picture of Saint Peter her grandmother in Italy had once sent her. Tony Cahill, trolling for chicks, she supposed.

  “Hi, Tony.” To be polite, she gave him a meager wave, wishing she had the courage to give him an Italian salute she’d seen one of her brothers use. He deserved it after copping a feel of her breast the day her car wouldn’t start.

  “Wheeew.” The long sigh didn’t help. Didn’t change things. Franc had gone to buy ice creams and until he returned she was on her own. Or had been, until Tony turned up.

  What would happen when Franc came back? She’d seen him bristle, a low growl rumbling at the back of his throat every time the guys playing volleyball made some ham-fisted shot that landed beside her.

  Though, if she was being honest with herself, it hadn’t been nearly as exciting as watching Franc’s muscles ripple as he leaped for a high shot and punched the ball back at them. He’d looked tough, and dangerous, a combination that made her heart flip over as the sight took her breath away.

  Digging her toes into the sand under the rug, she hugged her arms around her knees so Tony had no chance to look down her cleavage. Where was Franc with that ice cream?

  Her desire for something cold evaporated.

  The moment Franc had left the rug and trudged across the soft sand to the truck on the esplanade, shivers had iced her spine.

  Automatically, her gaze had spun round, as it had the first time the sensation had crept up on her as she walked down Wellesley Street to catch the bus home. That day, she’d felt the first tentative fingers of fear stroke the back of her neck, like an elongated shadow from the past she couldn’t remember, stretching out to pull her into its embrace.

  And now in the full glare of a sun so harsh, where the only place for specters should be straight down, six feet under the sand, it had touched her again. Stroked her again.

  It had to be Randy, but in a crowd this big how could she pick out one face when so many sun-bleached male heads surrounded her? Before Tony had turned up, she’d been fighting an urge to run, to blend into the crowd and disappear, hide, until Franc returned, which only went to show how she was beginning to depend on him.

  The thought that she might be playing into Randy’s hands had stopped her flight. That might be exactly what he wanted, to fluster her into running somewhere Franc couldn’t protect her.

  Then Tony had arrived.

  With the flight-or-fight urge still winging through her veins, she reached for the sarong that matched her swimsuit. Though cut low at the back and high at the legs, the swimsuit Franc had helped her pick was sexy but not see-through. It hid her scars. Yet, from the way Tony stared, it appeared there was every chance of him having been born with X-ray vision.

  “I noticed how your car isn’t back in the carport. If you want to catch a ride home from the beach, just say the word.”

  She knew which word she’d like to use but it wasn’t ladylike. Although…if the situation ever called for it…?

  “Thanks,” she lied. “But I have transport. You remember Franc? He’ll be back any second now with ice cream.”

  “Yeah, remember the guy.”

  Fed up with staring at his knees, Maria shaded her eyes with her hand. From Tony’s expression, it wasn’t one of his favorite memories.

  “Saw him take off. Was hoping he’d gone home. Noticed he couldn’t fix your car, either. Saw it getting towed.”

  “I guess you see most things from your house, it’s on one of the highest sections of the street.”

  “Yeah, usually see you trotting off to work and walking home from the bus. To see you in your prissy work suits, no one would guess you could look like a babe.”

  She shivered as Tony’s shadow fell across her, blocking the sun. She must be the only icicle on the beach. She signaled with her hand. “Do you mind? You’re shading me.”

  Big mistake. He obviously took it as an invitation to sit down and plunked his towel next to the plaid rug. “Ought to wear that color more often, red suits you.”

  He didn’t touch her physically; he didn’t need to, with his eyes doing an imitation of a slug crawling over her shoulders.

  Desperate, she looked behind her and heaved a sigh as she caught a glimpse of Franc. He was literally hotfooting it across the sand to her, dodging between groups of sun lovers.

  At last she was able to breathe easy.

  She knew Tony and his friends in the corner house were university students, sharing the rent the way she did with her friends, but he was younger and should have his sights fixed on someone closer to his own age.

  What was it about her lately that attracted all the wrong men?

  She listed them in her head, as if counting down the seconds till Franc reached her. Randy, Tony, Arthur, the guys tossing the volleyball in her direction, deliberately trying to rile Franc—they’d all focused in on her like heat-seeking missiles.

  Aargh. Not a good metaphor.

  She wondered if there was a sign on her forehead, like a party hat. Only it didn’t say Kiss-Me-Quick; it read, Frighten the Pants Off Me.

  Funny how much braver she was when Franc was around.

  He took one look at Tony and his nostrils flared on a huge breath that inflated his chest. Although she admitted, his expression might have been more effective if he wasn’t holding two ice-cream cones.

  “You lose your
way?” asked Franc.

  His meaning had to be obvious, even to someone as full of his self-worth as Tony. “No, I’m not lost.”

  Testosterone was having a field day.

  Franc soundedremarkably calm as he handed her a waffle cone that should have melted simply from the heat in his eyes. She moved over and he sat down between her and Tony.

  Although, from his patient “Then I suggest you give it a try starting now” sounded as if he could chew butter and swallow it whole, Tony got the message.

  “Know when I’m not wanted.” The younger guy jumped up and grabbed his towel.

  Franc didn’t bother to acknowledge the reply. Just stared, all jutting chin and aggressive slant to his shoulders. Too stupid to live, Tony took a parting shot, “See you around, Maria.”

  “Not if I see him first,” she muttered, snuggling close to Franc, her ice cream at a safe distance so it wouldn’t drip. “My hero to the rescue again.”

  Male hormones sparked at the back of his dark eyes, making her skin feel all goosey. She leaned into his arm, then noticed the other ice cream. “Uh-oh, Tony got sand everywhere.”

  She held her waffle cone closer to Franc’s mouth. “We’ll have to share. One lick for you, one lick for me.”

  Franc laughed. Afternoon reprieved. “Hon, you know what I like.” His warm laughter spilled over her, washing away her fears and drowning the shadows.

  “As soon as we finish the ice cream, let’s go home.”

  “Sure, hon.” He took a large mouthful of strawberry ice cream, at least half. There was a gleam in his eye as he told her, “You really do know what I like.”

  She attracted men like flies. Sooner than later he was going to have to swat some of them, particularly Jellic. The bastard treated her like a tawdry sexual object.

  Jellic couldn’t see the qualities that he’d found in Maria. The angelic goodness that shone out of her.

  Jellic had sullied her glow with his grubby fingers and it would be up to him to erase the tarnish and make her shine again the way he knew she would for him.

  Only for him.

  It was New Year’s Eve. Franc was planning something special.

  He’d called Maria at work, saying he might not be there when she arrived home but he was taking her out. “Dress casual but elegant.”

  Casual? Elegant? What exactly did that mean?

  And he wanted to make sure of her shoe size. “You shall go to the ball, Cinderella,” she sang to herself as she picked up her purse. There had been no calls for hours. Most of the work she’d done that day had been for Stanhope Electronics and she was sure they, or rather Franc, could wait a few more hours until she collated the last of her findings.

  He was going to be over the moon with what she’d discovered today. And no one was going to know or care if she left work early. Tomorrow was the first day of a brand-new year, and after Franc’s call she’d stopped thinking of the two days until the end of the summer break as a bridge between her earth-shattering love affair and the drab return of normality.

  He couldn’t simply make love to her as he had last night then shut her out of his life forever. Once Randy was no longer looming on her personal horizon, maybe they wouldn’t live together, but surely he’d call her sometimes as he had today and say, “Wear something casual but elegant” again.

  But, unless she got to the shops before they closed, she’d have nothing that fitted the description.

  She locked the interior doors behind her, but her mind was focused on color. Which should she wear? And should it be something her mother would like or something that Franc would want to rip off as soon as he got her home?

  The white envelope lying on the floor inside the plate-glass doors looked like something that could wait until next year, and then she noticed her name hand-written on the front.

  No time now. She pushed the envelope inside her purse then locked the door and beeped the alarm system with her remote control.

  Leaving everything behind her locked up tight, she hurried down the hill to Queen Street and a boutique that she thought might just have what Franc had in mind.

  The sweater she chose was a pale, silvery lilac with fine white stripes. Sleek and silky, it had a wide rolled neck that drooped off one shoulder or could be pushed down off both.

  Maria smiled as she glimpsed her workaday reflection in one of the large mirrors as she entered the bedroom. The wide neckline meant no bra was possible, but she couldn’t imagine Franc objecting.

  The pants were silky too, plain white with lilac binding on the pockets that slanted across the curve from waist to hip. She flung her parcels and purse down on the bed as the doorbell rang. Had Franc locked himself out?

  A woman holding a bouquet of dark red roses, that’s what Maria saw when she squinted through the peephole.

  She opened the door. “Maria Costello?”

  “For me? How lovely.” She opened her arms and took the bouquet, with no doubt of who had sent them. Something special was going to happen and she was glad she’d spent a small fortune at Perdito’s Queen Street boutique.

  Her hand rifled through paper, cellophane and roses in search of the card. Then the deliverywoman spoke up, “Oh, there’s no card. They said it had been sent separately.”

  Maria covered her mouth with her hand, “Oops, I pushed it into my purse and forgot about it. I’ll go read it now. Bye.”

  She closed the door behind the deliverywoman. Rushed through to the bedroom, laying the roses on the kitchen counter on the way past. Now, where had she seen a vase? Did Franc even have one?

  She took out her wallet. The card was underneath.

  With impatient fingers she ripped the envelope. Was this all part of the surprise for tonight?

  The card was white, expensive, embossed with silver writing. The words on the front read, In Deepest Sympathy.

  It tumed from her hands onto the bed she shared with Franc.

  What kind of sick joke was this?

  The card couldn’t have come from Franc.

  Her heart pounded so hard she could hear its echo in her ears. Gingerly she picked up the card with the tips of her fingers. She could hardly bear to touch it, but she had to find out what it said inside. Find out who had played this cruel trick on her.

  Suddenly, she remembered the roses. Remembered burying her nose in their scent as she’d carried them into the kitchen. She felt sick inside, their perfume was on her hands, and as she shuddered, a couple of photographs fell out of the card onto the bed. The first was of her, taken yesterday at the beach in her red swimsuit. Someone had cut tiny crosses through the photographic paper. One on each breast, the other from navel to the apex of her thighs. She threw it away in disgust.

  Who knew about her scars? Randy? How had he found out?

  The situation was worse than even she had imagined. Tears ran down her cheeks. She let them. Anything that blurred her vision from something she dreaded seeing couldn’t be that bad.

  The second photo wrenched a sob from her lips. It was of a headstone. On it, in black ink, someone had printed:

  Franc Jellic

  Born March 14, 1970, Died January 1, 2005.

  Tomorrow!

  And underneath written much larger, the letters RIP.

  The threat contained in the photo was blatant, but this time it wasn’t aimed at her. It was meant for Franc. Her thoughts railed at the devilish nature of the fiend who’d sent the threat, and a moment’s sanity only just prevented her fingers ripping the photo in two.

  If she had ever thought it could be a joke, she didn’t now.

  But who had sent it? Randy? Was he that mad? That devious?

  To threaten his boss…

  She opened the card carefully, as the thought of preserving forensic evidence jumped to the forefront of her mind.

  Leave him today, Maria.

  Only you can save Franc Jellic’s life.

  Of course, the coward hadn’t dared to sign the threat.

  It was weir
d how he knew what would motivate her to leave Franc. Were her feelings so obvious that he knew how to exploit them, how to rob her of the last few hours of her once-in-a-lifetime fling?

  She felt numb, dead inside. Knuckling the tears from her eyes, she left Franc’s bedroom to go pack.

  Once more the rose perfume on her hands made her feel sick.

  Sick with anger.

  She shook from the intensity of it as she walked back to the kitchen. Before she pack she had one urgent task to deal with, some roses to kill.

  Chapter 14

  Franc put the shoebox he was carrying down on the counter and stared around his kitchen.

  It took a lot to amaze him these days. From the instant Maria gate

  -crashed into his life she had dazzled him, turned his world upside down and made him see his future from a different perspective.

  And again, the unexpected.

  He drew a deep breath. The room held the same lush smell of roses that he’d caught the moment as he walked through his apartment door.

  Deep red roses like the petals scattered all over the floor, like the few thrusting their bruised heads above the lid of his garbage bin.

  What’n all hell had Maria been up to while he was out making arrangements for their New Year’s Eve entertainment?

  Leaving the floral disaster scene behind, he waded through the petals into the hallway. “Maria!”

  The word echoed back at him with an emptiness that took him by the throat, as through the gaping door of the second bedroom he saw the bed strewn with Maria’s bags and clothes, some neither in nor out, like a shattered rainbow of all the colors that suited her best.

  She was leaving him.

  “Maria.”

  Her name bounced off the walls, off the closed doors that shut him out of the other rooms. Picking up speed, he dashed into the room they’d shared every night since, at his impulsive insistence, she’d moved in to share his apartment.