And he’d lost her when he was eight.
Chapter Eight
Wynne looked over her laptop screen to the peak–hour traffic outside the coffee shop window and sighed. All those people rushing home, probably to loved ones and noisy children while her empty flat echoed with loneliness. She’d thought an outing would raise her spirits but it hadn’t, and the uncomfortable no body loves me feeling had driven her to hot chocolate with marshmallows and a gigantic slice of cheesecake which she’d inhaled so quickly she’d barely tasted it. Then she’d felt sick because it would take her ages to work that off on the treadmill, but there was nothing for it – the hollow ache in her chest wouldn’t be filled by anything less than sugar and a big slab of fat. She knew that from experience.
So she’d binged, and now when she should be trawling employment websites on her laptop, she was obsessing about Baz and why he hadn’t called her. Wynne hadn’t mentioned it to Rachel, but she’d sent the letter two whole days ago, and this morning she’d checked with her post office and found it had been delivered at 10am yesterday and signed for by one Theodore Tiberius Wilson. Baz’s dad.
So Baz definitely had her letter. Why hadn’t he rung?
Wynne picked up her mobile phone to check that it was working, then wondered if she was starting to get compulsive. She put the phone back into her handbag and pulled out her copy of the letter she’d sent him. She’d reread it dozens of times since she’d posted the original, and each time she’d imagined she was Baz reading it for the first time. How would he react?
Dear Baz
I hope you won’t think I’m forward in writing to you, but I wanted to apologize for the bizarre circumstances surrounding our last meeting. I can only say that I read the signals incorrectly. When you smiled at me at the staff Halloween party, I assumed you were interested in me, and then I overheard you telling the other male teachers about a fantasy sequence you’d seen, with a girl in a raincoat. Although I’d never done anything like that in my life before, after a few too many drinks I thought it would be thrilling to bring that fantasy to life for you.
I was wrong.
It was scary and dangerous, and your reaction was completely understandable — wrong timing, wrong setting, wrong girl.
I hate leaving thing… unpleasant, so I’d like to buy you a coffee to apologize. I’m heading north to visit my sister next week. Could we meet and lay this to rest?
Friends?
Of course Wynne wasn’t about to lay anything to rest, or to settle for being Baz’s ‘friend’, but it seemed safer to start slowly. The imaginary visit to her sister would cost her an overnight accommodation at a nearby motel, but she couldn’t drive all that way up and back in a day, so she’d simply have to bear that cost. Even an hour with Baz would be worth the investment. Assuming he ever called her. Her mobile phone number was on the bottom of the letter and she’d expected a response by lunch–time yesterday. His father had been home to sign for the letter so Baz must be too.
Thirty hours later she was still waiting.
Wynne folded the letter up and tried to quell the panic rising inside her. Trying to win Baz had gotten her sacked. If he didn’t answer her letter…?
No. She couldn’t hold Baz accountable for her job. It was her own stupid desperation to get his forwarding address that was to blame. Even as she’d been setting the rubbish bin in her art room on fire, she’d realised it wasn’t the cleverest plan but she’d convinced herself that while everyone else was on the oval waiting for the fire brigade, she could sneak into the empty admin office and find his file. And if the wretched admin staff hadn’t shut down their computers she would have had it quickly. Instead she’d had to go searching through filing cabinets for the hard copy, then rather than sneaking out undetected, she’d been discovered with Baz’s file under her arm by the principal on his final sweep through the building.
It had been a complete debacle, except for the fact that Saltwood’s address was so simple she’d easily been able to recall it later after the file had been taken off her, along with her job. Still, unemployment had freed up time for her to visit Baz, so that was a plus.
Assuming he responded to the letter.
They’re busy, she told herself, and be patient, but she was desperate to convince Baz she wasn’t a lush. It had been completely uncharacteristic of her to drink so much, but his inattention had made her so frustrated! The raincoat had seemed, to her muddled mind, to be a shortcut. And it had been — a shortcut to rejection. She had so much ground to recover, and the longer it took to see him, the more her faith that they would have a Happily Ever After wavered.
To make matters worse, the coffee shop was full of couples smiling at each other, touching each other’s hands, and if she wasn’t careful that would make her cry. The old couple in the corner holding hands were particularly poignant for Wynne. She longed to have the unconscious rapport they clearly had — to have lived with Balthazar for so long that his presence beside her in bed felt like an extension of her own body, so familiar to her that not being able to reach out and touch him made her feel displaced.
She was ready for that. She was so ready for that. All she had to do was wait, but that was proving harder than she’d thought. The idea that he might ignore her apology grated like sand in bikini pants. Completely unbearable. And as the minutes ticked over and her empty mug was collected and another hot chocolate ordered, Wynne realised the desperation clamoring inside her chest was building towards critical mass.
If she hadn’t heard from Baz by nightfall, she really wasn’t sure what she might do. Her whole future was wrapped around that man. If he ignored her… well, she really couldn’t be accountable for what might happen next.
Chapter Nine
Baz set the tray of food down on the coffee table in the sitting room and went to wake Venus up. It was almost dinner time. She’d been asleep for a couple of hours. She need to eat and get some fluids down.
She was curled into a foetal position, snuggled into her pillow and thankfully still wearing his shorts and tee shirt. He stood looking at her for a moment, thinking how cute she was, and how relieved he felt to not be aching to pounce on her. Of course, the she’s hot thing was still happening inside his head, but that was normal. The urge to do something about it had faded. A lot. So he confidently reached down and grasped her thin shoulder to shake her gently. “Venus, honey. I brought some food.”
Her eyelids fluttered and she rolled onto her back and looked up at him. “So are we going to have sex?” she asked.
He had to smile at her persistence. It was kind of flattering. “No,” he said. “You’re going to eat something.”
She glanced at his shorts and Baz shook his head. She really did have a one track mind. But, he reminded himself, that didn’t mean he had to act on the thoughts that kept racing through his mind. “Come on,” he said. “Up you get,” and he took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “In the sitting room.” He led the way.
She followed him, leaning on the walls along the way, then sat heavily on the black leather lounge. When she was settled she looked at the front of his shorts again, which were now at eye level. “Shouldn’t the penis stiffen when —”
Baz turned away, embarrassed by the fact that her scrutiny was turning him on. He sat opposite her to hide the growing evidence of his arousal. “It’s just the drug,” he said dismissively, but when she glanced away frowning he remembered her earlier insecurity and added, “Plus the fact that you’re very attractive, but you’re too young to have babies, and I don’t know a thing about you.”
She looked back at him solemnly. “I am exactly the correct age to conceive, and I don’t know anything about you either. But I still want sex. Are you sure you’re not homosexual?”
Baz gazed at her for a moment and then sighed. “This is too weird.”
“I really did come to the wrong place.” She sounded sad and pathetic, and Baz felt uncomfortable about that, but he wasn’t having sex with her to ch
eer her up, no matter how attractive she was.
“The police seemed happy with their interview,” he said, in an unsubtle conversational segue.
Venus, to her credit, tried to rally and even managed a faint smile. “Thank you for talking to them. That was kind.”
He shrugged off the compliment. “They’ll expect to see your I.D by early next week. I’m not sure what we can —”
“I’ll be gone by then,” she said, the kicked–puppy expression back on her face.
“Okay.” She looked so despondent he wasn’t sure what to say, what to do. It was clear what she wanted, and equally clear that he wasn’t about to provide it, or to be her pimp. So where did that leave them? “Look,” he said, and leant forward, putting on his best compassionate teacher face. “If I knew a little more about where you were from and why you wanted to get pregnant, maybe I could —”
She completely ignored him to point at the tray on the low table between them. “What’s this?” she asked, and although her behavior was rude, Baz had an instinct to back off. She’d only met him this morning. It was far too soon to expect her to trust him. And hard to believe she’d managed to pack so much trouble and excitement into his life in such a short period of time! Maybe the best way to help her would be by earning her trust, so he decided to follow her lead and stick with practicalities.
“Coffee and sandwiches,” he said. “I thought you could have a snack while I finished untangling your hair.”
She nodded at that, but remained still with her hands in her lap.
“Okay. I’ll pour,” Baz said, and reached for the plunger.
“I’m looking forward to the flavor of coffee,” she admitted.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she replied, keeping her attention on the brown liquid he was pouring. “I’ve never had it.”
Baz felt his grip on reality slip that little bit further, and he couldn’t stop himself saying, “Of course you haven’t. You’re Venus from the sea.” If she noticed his sarcasm she didn’t say, so he just filled the two cups and added milk and sugar. He stirred one and handed it across the table to her. “White and one. Tell me if you like it.”
She took a sizeable sip and then spluttered, “It’s hot!” rattling the cup in its saucer until he grabbed it back off her.
“Actually, it’s probably getting cool by now.”
“No, it felt hot, like lava!” she complained, looking at him accusingly. “Now my mouth is burned.”
Baz shook his head, completely at a loss. What was she?
“I’m tired and hungry and now my mouth hurts,” she whined.
“Okay, okay.” He held up a placating hand. “I’ll get you a cold water.” There was a jug of it in the bar fridge so he filled a whisky tumbler and handed it to her. When she was happily gulping that down he snuck off to the bathroom and retrieved a spray bottle of leave–in conditioner and a comb. Her bottom lip was stuck out belligerently when he returned so he silently refilled her glass, then bypassed the salad sandwiches to put a plate of macadamia shortbread biscuits onto her lap. She had a suspicious bite of one and then her tensed shoulders slumped and she started working her way through them, so he took the opportunity to sit on her couch and turn her to face her away from him. She sulked and munched her way through the plateful while he combed her hair, trying to avoid the painful bump. At last it was done and she stopped ouching and complaining and fell silent.
Baz put the comb down and sighed. “When you were little, I bet you were the kid in the back of the car who kept saying are we there yet?”
The silence between them stretched into uncomfortable territory before she said, “… No?” with that same testing quality.
Baz decided to leave that alone. “Do you want to rest?”
“Yes,” she said on a sigh. “If I can’t have sex I want to sleep. I am far more tired than I’d expected to be.”
He put the glass cover back onto the sandwich plate and took it to the bar fridge. “Okay, I’ll put this food in here in case you wake up hungry.”
She nodded at that, then with Baz’s help she struggled up from the couch and used the wall for support as she wobbled her way back into the bedroom. Baz hovered behind her until collapsed onto the bed face first.
“Thank you for helping me,” she mumbled then her eyes slid closed.
Baz shook his head. “This is Narnia with chocolate sprinkles,” he whispered to himself. Beyond bizarre. But as he stood over the bed staring down at her he couldn’t quell a pang of frustration. First Wynne Malone and now Venus had come–on to him blatantly, and he’d rebuffed them both because instinctively it hadn’t felt right. They were both just interested in sex, and he wanted a relationship. So why couldn’t he find that?
He glanced up at the dresser on the opposite wall, catching his reflection. He wasn’t ugly, and one day he’d be wealthy. Well, if Randy Budjenski didn’t steal his inheritance out from under him. He’d also be a good father, or at least he’d have to be better than his own father. So logically he knew he was a catch. He just had to find the right woman. A good mother. Someone who’d love the isolation of Saltwood. Someone who’d love him.
That’s the tough bit, Wilson. Who’d love you?
Beth hadn’t. She’d spelled that out with the eloquence only a barrister can demonstrate. ‘You can cook and you’re good with your hands,’ was the nicest thing she’d said, and he’d never understood if the hands comment had been a sexual reference or simply an acknowledgment of the fact that he was mechanical enough to fix flat tires and change broken light bulbs.
Whatever. That relationship hadn’t worked. And if he wanted a family, which he desperately did, he needed to find a relationship that would. Work. Time was passing. He was edging up to thirty, and though it was a modern trend to start families late, Baz had never wanted that. He’d been alone all his life, even when he’d been married to Beth. What he craved was a houseful of noisy, happy children he could cuddle and play with and love. He shouldn’t be wasting time with girls who were only interested in sexual pleasure.
Venus might want a baby, but she’d make it clear she wanted one to go, and even if she had been five years older, he wasn’t having that.
Damn it, why was life to hard!
She made a sound and he looked down to find her breathing noisily through her mouth. Not snoring, but not quiet either. It should have been unattractive, but this was Venus. She’d been gorgeous crusted in sand and with a mop for a hairdo. Now that her hair was clean and combed, her long golden locks shimmered as they spilled around her pillow. He couldn’t help reaching down to touch a strand, running it through his fingers, feeling the cool silkiness of it.
She snorted and that made him smile despite his morose thoughts. He listened to her little–bear snores for a moment, wondering about her life, her parents, and whether they knew she’d come to a place that was clearly unfamiliar to her, alone, and with the purpose of getting pregnant. Were they pleased with what she’d done, or were they mad with worry? Baz hadn’t thought of that before, and it made him resolve to ask her about it when she woke up. If his teenager daughter was missing he’d move continents to find her. He hoped Venus’s parents cared as much about her.
On the bed her fingers clenched and unclenched as if she was having an unsettling dream, and something about them caught his eye. Late afternoon sun was shafting in through the timber blinds and something on her hands had glimmered. He leant closer to look at her unusual fingernail polish, then risked lifting one hand to put it into the light. The fingernails were a blue–green metallic color, which he had to admit was trendy. Then he blinked and looked closer, realizing it was not only metallic, it was textured. Little circles like…
Scales.
Wednesday
Chapter Ten
Baz pressed the end call button on his mobile phone and put it down on the bedside table, then he rubbed his eyes. Between worrying about his inheritance and trying to work out
what to do about Venus, he’d barely slept. But in the light of a new day things weren’t as bad as he’d imagined.
His solicitor had just woken him up to tell him there were currently no Power of Attorneys registered for Theodore Tiberius Wilson, which meant that either the old man hadn’t sent the papers to Randolph after all, or the little shit was biding his time in lodging them. Either way, Baz wasn’t waiting around to find out. He’d organized the solicitor to draw up a fresh Power of Attorney which would arrive via email around midday. All that remained then was for Baz to talk his father into signing it and the Wilson estate would be safe.
Easy …
In the mean time, there was plenty to keep Baz’s mind occupied.
Venus would probably be waking up soon and Baz needed to decide whether to isolate her in her room, which thankfully he’d remembered to lock, or introduce her to his father. Although today might not be the best day for that. The old man had been even odder than usual over dinner the night before, and when Baz had queried the heavy silences Ted had snapped something about smelling rotting seaweed. He’d gone on to accuse Baz of secreting fish in the tinned spaghetti and the dinner had gone downhill from there. For some reason the old bastard had been in a niggly mood, and Baz could only hope he’d slept it off.
He glanced at his watch. Eight–fifteen. Ted wouldn’t be up for at least another hour, but Venus might be stirring. He’d better check. He didn’t want her getting antsy and calling out. That might attract Carlos, if the gardener was near the house. The last thing Baz wanted was for her to proposition the fifty–something Spaniard, because to be honest Baz wasn’t sure how that would end up. Carlos had been with Saltwood since before Baz was born, and as far as Baz knew he’d never had a woman here. So his celibacy, or otherwise, wasn’t something Baz wanted to test.
In a hurry then, Baz pulled on shorts and a tee shirt and headed for Venus’s rooms. Halfway there he realised he was smiling with the same ‘good to be alive’ sensation he’d had yesterday. The monotony of his job and the drama of his divorce had worn him down. Coming to care for his father had ground his sense of humor even further into memory. Until Venus had come along: salty, whiney and wobbly, complaining that she couldn’t have sex with him.
Marriage & the Mermaid (Hapless Heroes) Page 7
