by C. Fonseca
She balanced her foot on a boulder and re-tied her shoelaces.
Since meeting Caitlin Quinn, she’d altered her route and now ran to the end of the beach, up the winding track, and along the gravel path. Her new course took her past the cliff-top house. Andi knew there was little chance that Caitlin would be there, but she found herself drawn to Kinsale. Of course, she told herself the longer route gave her a better workout. Sure.
Just after moving to Hakea, she’d asked the locals about the distinctive, contemporary styled home with its curved stone walls. Most speculated that the owners were a business family from Melbourne. Others thought Kinsale, with its wide iron gate and silvery-grey nameplate, belonged to a reclusive artist who rarely used the property. If she and Caitlin became friends, she would find out more about the iconic house and its owner.
Andi groaned, picked up her pace, and ran faster. Would Caitlin return to Hakea this weekend? She enjoyed Caitlin’s company. How could she not? She hadn’t met anyone like her before. Caitlin had shown genuine interest in her work; she just seemed to get her.
It had been a tough year, and at times, Andi doubted her abilities as a painter. It was good to get positive feedback and encouragement from someone with a background in art history. Caitlin’s enthusiasm had given her that buzz. She made Andi laugh and reminded her not to take herself too seriously. Of course, it didn’t hurt that Caitlin was captivating and sexy. Andi’s body had betrayed her when she’d responded to her kiss.
That kiss, Caitlin’s luscious mouth. Ending their kiss had taken all of her resolve, but the danger signs flashed, warning her to proceed with caution. A passing affair with a traveller, especially a beautiful woman like Caitlin, would be trouble.
“Get a grip, Andi,” she muttered.
This spring morning, the sea was a brilliant turquoise blue, and beyond the ochre cliffs, a few surfers were trying to make the most of a gentle swell. The smaller waves did not deter those who enjoyed being out on the water, no matter the conditions.
It was one of those magical mornings when the air was still and the light was delicate and diffused. Andi came to the beach most mornings to clear her head and organise her day.
She was the youngest of three children. By the time Andi arrived, her parents were occupied with their expanding business, and her two older siblings were at school.
When her mother was in the fields or the seed-cultivating house, four-year-old Andi, with the help of her imaginary friends, would pick out small pots of her favourite colourful plants. She would arrange the potted plants on the ground, according to their colours, to make pictures that would look like a mosaic from above. As a young adult, she discarded her imaginary friends, but concluded she was introspective by nature.
She adjusted the volume on her headphones and hit repeat on her playlist. Since Caitlin had kissed her—and she had kissed her back—her favourite tracks from Christina Perri’s album had played over and over in her head. The lyrics and rhythms tapped into her emotional and physical awakening. Andi sighed. The morning sun warmed her face, and her skin glistened with perspiration. At the base of the stairs, she wiped the moisture from her forehead with the back of her hand before bounding up the steps and heading for home.
Ten minutes later, she kicked off her runners on her front porch and opened the door to a loudly meowing cat. “Sorry, Koda, sweetie… You must be hungry.” She stroked her fur. “Come on, then. Time for breakfast. What have you been doing this morning? Lying in the sun?”
Koda followed Andi into the galley kitchen. She weaved through Andi’s bare legs and stood patiently in front of the food bowl. Andi fed her and then grabbed a green smoothie for herself.
Her phone rang, and she read the number on the screen. “Hi Mum. Good morning.”
“Good morning, Andréa, did I interrupt your work?”
“No, I’m just having breakfast.”
“Hopefully a real breakfast, not one of those green drinks. I don’t know how you can stomach that green slime,” she said. Lina Rey spent her life cultivating and appreciating the very green things she was complaining about, and she firmly believed vegetables should crunch when eaten, not be sucked through a straw.
Andi pictured her mother with one hand on her hip and the other holding the telephone, shaking her head in disapproval.
“Yes, but it is quick and healthy.”
“So is toast. A poached egg. A little cheese. Some coffee or milk.”
“How are you? How is Dad?” Andi changed the subject. Her father would be out in the fields by now, checking his crops. Six days a week, he supervised the packing for the morning delivery of produce to the central depot, nearby restaurants, and grocers.
“Your father is busy, as usual. I’m good. Annalise and Mick are here already, arriving before the sun was even up,” Lina said. There was so much more for Ana and Mick to do now that they managed the market garden.
“Dad is much more relaxed,” Andi said.
Her mother chuckled. “Yes. And I’m back in the potting shed where I belong.”
Andi smiled. “How are my nephew and niece?” She switched on her iMac and waited for it to boot.
“Manny, when he’s not at school, helps his father with the deliveries. God help us, can you believe he has his licence already? He is in that car as much as possible.”
“Oh, Mum…you worry too much. Manny is seventeen.” If their grandmother could do anything about it, Manny and his younger sister Mia would never get behind the wheel. Ever.
“He is still on L plates and needs supervision,” Lina reminded her. “Andréa, what have you been doing? How is the painting going for the exhibition? Do you have enough paid work at the moment?”
“Mmm.” Andi agreed absently, as she skimmed her list of emails.
“Andréa, are you listening to me?”
Sprung. She hadn’t been paying proper attention to her. Not that she would admit it.
“Of course, I’m listening, Mum. Things are coming to life around here. There’s always a lot to do at this time of year. But I’ve just finished a project for Bailey Graphics. It was a big job, which means I’ll get a nice cheque in the mail. My painting is going well. Daylight hours are longer, so I can work later.”
“Money helps to pay the bills. What about matters of the heart, querida? Have you met anybody? Your family waits for you to bring a sweet girl home to meet us.”
Lina didn’t often interfere, but Andi knew she worried about her being lonely and away from her mother’s watchful eye. She’d never trusted Martha and always thought Andi’s ex-girlfriend had controlled her life and isolated her from friends and family.
“I have until the first week in December to finish the paintings for the exhibition. That doesn’t include all the other things I need to do before the opening, and I have to finish a project designing the logo for a new surfboard company in town. Mum, I have enough to keep me occupied. No need for added distractions.” It was true. She didn’t need any more complications.
“Love and companionship are a necessity in life, Andréa,” Lina said gently. Andi understood that her mother wanted her children to be successful with their careers, but more than that, she wanted all three of them to be happily settled in a relationship. She couldn’t help but push; it was simply the way her mother was designed, and Andi took it as an expression of her mother’s love.
Andi sighed. She didn’t always like her mother nagging about her love life.
“Okay, okay. A mother can ask.” She paused a moment, as if searching for a change of topic. “Make sure Luca fixes everything you need while he’s there. Otherwise, he’ll be out in the water for hours.”
Her brother was her favourite surfing companion and was scheduled to visit in about a week. She would love it if they could spend all their time together on the ocean, but he had promised to finish building the air-conditioned storeroom. “I am excited about Luc’s visit. We will both be out riding our boards if the conditions are right.” Andi cheris
hed any time spent on her surfboard in Luc’s company.
“Do you need anything from home? I can send it with Luca.” Her mother always insisted on calling her children by their proper baptismal names.
“A box of whatever’s in season would be great. Maybe a jar of Ana’s orange marmalade. I notice the grocers here are stocking more of our produce.”
“Birdie is so wonderful. She always has her regular delivery, and now they’ve started to order punnets of microgreens as well. Yours is an easy request to fill. Maybe I’ll have time to bake you a batch of pastéis de nata.”
“Yum. I miss your cooking.” Her mother’s Portuguese custard tarts were the best. “Okay, Mum, I probably should get on with my work.”
“Of course, of course.”
“Talk again soon, love you. Love to Dad. Bye.”
“I love you too, Andréa. Keep safe.”
It was good to have her own space and an independent life, but Andi sometimes missed her family, especially her mother’s cooking.
She looked out at the garden. The deck was protected from the wind, and although Koda had managed to find a sliver of sunlight in which to sleep, it was mostly shaded. The conditions were perfect for painting.
Andi set up a blank canvas and moved her art trolley, laden with materials, onto the deck.
She began a new painting, part of a series she’d been working on for the last three months.
Andi’s work was always about her intuitive response. Eyes wide open, all senses engaged, feeling one with the landscape. She allowed the sea, clouds, and trees to fill her senses and gave herself permission to explore the sensuous nature of paint.
Her art process could be messy. She tapped into her emotion-based intuition and let it flow. She painted quickly. It was about observation, capturing on canvas the patterns of weather and light. Bold brushstrokes. Thick layers of acrylic. Her palette knife, large brush, roller, and paint were the tools she used to express herself.
Today, she used only palette knives, a technique that allowed her to work quickly. She’d previously prepared the canvas with a thick layer of chalky-white gesso and had allowed it to dry. The layer of gesso meant that the paint would not be absorbed into the canvas.
Andi scooped phthalo green onto a knife and spread it thinly. She lifted the knife high above the canvas with her left hand and dropped blobs of phthalo blue and leaf green and a touch of cadmium yellow. With her right hand, she controlled the surface, guiding the colours to merge into rhythmic patterns.
She wiped her hands on her already paint-spattered shirt and cargo shorts and stepped back to grab a larger palette knife. Andi applied primary yellow and sap green with circular motions to create leaf fronds. While the previous layer was still wet, she scraped lines of grey and titanium white across the canvas.
Satisfied with the lushness of colour and texture, Andi exhaled slowly and rotated tension from her shoulders. The painting was her representation of grass trees, and when it dried, the luminous pigments would continue to glow, even in the half light, brightening the whole work.
Ancient grass trees were one of Andi’s favourite native plants. Their slow-growing, blackened trunks were encircled by a skirt of rough, grasslike leaves, topped by a long, spear-shaped flower. Even a mere one-metre trunk could be over two hundred years old.
Koda—curled up asleep in her basket under the workbench—opened one eye and yawned at a pair of magpies who caroled loudly.
“Now the painting is ready for the final stages,” Andi told Koda and the magpies as she carried it inside. She placed it on the table, ready for the finishing glaze. Andi stretched her back and raised her arms above her head. She was tired but satisfied. It had been a productive day.
CHAPTER 7
Caitlin breathed a sigh of relief as she loaded the last of her things, including her computer, into the tiny boot of the Roadster. She couldn’t wait to return to the seaside, back to Kinsale. She checked her phone again.
There were no new messages. She slammed the boot closed and rested her hands heavily on the trunk. Why wasn’t Andi replying?
It was early Saturday afternoon, and she’d been working her arse off for two long weeks. She’d managed to rearrange her schedule in order to escape to the coast for a few days. Isabella was right. She needed a break.
Okay, she would still have to do some work online. She’d told Kim that she could be contacted anytime, via video chat or phone. She considered these were small concessions to make. If she got to spend time with Andi, it would be worth it.
Caitlin had been occupied in meetings with conservators, the architectural firm responsible for the historic preservation of the estate, and art storage specialists. They’d discussed ways to improve the estate’s storage in order to house all of the collections at one location. They agreed that the new facility would be discreet and designed to architecturally compliment the estate.
The construction needed to happen as a matter of urgency. Caitlin was excited to bring all of the artworks together in one large, temperature-controlled facility.
She took the Eastern Freeway and drove past Melbourne’s outer suburbs of new homes and light industry.
Caitlin punched the audio button on the Roadster’s Bang & Olufsen stereo system, and music filled the car. When one of her favourite songs from university days started, she increased the volume. Caitlin hummed and recalled The Corrs concert she and Rachel had attended in Dublin ten years ago.
Rachel. Her only long-term relationship had died a slow death. With both of them struggling to establish their academic careers, they’d had little time or energy to balance the demands of work and their personal relationship. There had been no fighting, no jealousy. Just a slow end. They’d tried to remain friends, but before Caitlin left Ireland, even their dinner catch-ups had all but ceased.
At the end of their relationship, Caitlin threw herself into an even more hectic schedule. She’d worked gruelling, long hours until one day, a researcher with a fiery sex drive breezed into her dreary life and showed her what she was missing.
Neither woman was interested in a long-term relationship, and Laura left to pursue a job in New York four months later. Caitlin completed a year-long research post in Paris and enjoyed the occasional casual liaison. All mutual. All friendly. No strings. No expectations. Painless.
Since her arrival in Australia, she’d listened to Isabella talk about her love affair with Maggie and the rewarding life they’d shared together. It made Caitlin yearn for more from her own life. She was changing.
She glanced at the petrol gauge and was forced back to the practicalities of her journey. The Roadster needed juice. Ten minutes later, she pulled into the service lane, parked at a petrol pump, and momentarily rested her head on the steering wheel.
She didn’t have the foggiest idea what she wanted or how to go about getting it. This level of introspection was entirely new to her.
Caitlin’s phone beeped with an incoming text. She reached across the passenger seat for her jacket and grabbed the phone from the pocket. Finally.
Just got your message. Can’t do dinner. Surfing near the reef, below the lookout. Around 5:30 pm. CU there?
Caitlin tapped out a return message.
LOL Surfing? Me? I’m about forty minutes away.
A minute later, Andi replied.
Perfect.
* * *
Andi’s big brother was tall and broad shouldered. They shared the same dark-blonde hair colour and the same dark-brown eyes. His career as a builder kept him well muscled and fit, and his skin was deeply tanned from many hours spent working in the sun.
“It is good to see some sand in your hair instead of sawdust, Luc.” Andi punched her brother’s shoulder.
“Well, it’s good to have time to have sand in my hair.” He lay his longboard down and sat on the beach beside her. “It’s been ages since I’ve had time to spend an afternoon surfing.” He lifted his face, soaking in the sun’s warmth. “Do you get to surf as
much as you’d like when you’re painting?”
“I do… Surfing the waves, being in the water, running, meditation. It’s all essential to my process.”
“Are you going all Zen on me?” He grinned, his eyes sparkling.
The afternoon was perfect. Plenty of sunshine, a gentle breeze, and rolling swells. Andi loved the chance to surf with her brother. He’d taught her when she was fourteen, on a wooden shortboard he’d handcrafted. A few years later, while still at school, she’d tagged along with Luc and his friends on their weekend trips to the coast.
They’d drive to the beach on a Friday night, and Andi would sleep in Luc’s old VW Kombi, while he and his mates pitched a tent beside the van. Surfing with Luc was always an adventure. He’d inspired her fluid style and taught her that the ocean was a place to be one with nature and escape life’s stresses.
“How’s business?” she asked.
“You know, sustainability is popular, especially in country Victoria. Every man, woman, and galah wants an eco-friendly house.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Even if they don’t always know what that means. I’m getting a lot of interest in the eco pods.” Luc leaned into Andi. “I’m glad I could help you out this week, kid. It may be a while before I get back here, because business is booming.”
She was proud of her brother. He’d managed to establish a successful business, specialising in small, eco-friendly homes, holiday cabins, and beach houses. Her own home was one of Luc’s first solo projects, and with her initial design, he’d crafted a home that was both comfortable and affordable. Andi loved the private sanctuary they had created together.
Luc glanced around. “I wouldn’t mind being closer to the coast myself. You have a great lifestyle here, Andi. Everything except—” He held his finger to her lips as she started to protest. “Let me finish. Mum isn’t the only one who worries about you. Goes with the territory, baby sis.”
Andi rolled her eyes. “I know, but I’m doing okay. What about you?”
