Marriage & the Mermaid (Hapless Heroes)

by Cusack, Louise

  “Is it?” Wynne replied. Whatever tiredness she’d been feeling immediately evaporated. He was glad to see her! This was so much better a beginning than she’d ever dared to hope for.

  “Things are very… odd here at the moment,” he added, and smiled wryly. Wynne felt her heart leap up into her throat. He was unbelievably sexy up close. “ … so it will be a delight to have someone normal to talk to.”

  Wynne’s smile faltered. She’d never thought of herself as ‘normal’. Her father had always used words like ‘extraordinary’ and ‘talented’ and ‘bewitching’ to compliment her. But given time, Baz would come to recognize those qualities in her himself, so in the short term Wynne could pretend to be ‘normal’ if that was what he needed.

  She put a hand up as one of their students might, and said, “Boringly normal here. Or at least, normal in a wet kind of way,” she added, and wriggled her shoulders to draw attention to her plight.

  Baz was onto that straight away. “Oh God, Wynne,” he said, smiling ruefully, “Here I am blathering away and you’re dripping wet. I’ll show you to the guest room and you can change into something dry.”

  “Lovely,” she said, hoping the contents of her Louis Vuitton knock–off weren’t sodden. Oh well, they probably had a clothes dryer. And while she was waiting, Wynne could swan around in a towel, looking enticing. She’d bet that would get under his skin.

  He reached down and picked up her suitcase then gestured down the wide hallway. Wynne walked at his side, trying not to gawk at him, but it was hard. She’d never been up close for this long, and the warm scent of his skin and the delicious curve of his full lips was making her light headed. She’d fantasized about kissing him so often it was challenging to be back in the reality where they were virtual strangers and she had to keep her hands, and her lips, to herself.

  For now.

  “So why is my visit good timing?” she asked, following his lead as they ambled down the hallway.

  Baz stopped abruptly and simply stood, looking down at the carpet runner on the polished timber floor.

  Wynne had been watching him closely so she was privy to the flash of emotion that crossed his face. Clearly she’d reminded him of something and it was a shock — but why, when he’d been so happy about her arrival? Baz continued to stand still, breathing, looking down, and she could almost hear cogs turning inside his brain. He’d forgotten something and now he had to adjust… the conversation? His plans?

  “The guest suite isn’t available,” he said, and looked up with a strained expression on his face. “It’s being renovated. I’m renovating it,” he added. “Wallpaper. Tiles. It’s a mess.”

  “Oh.” Was he going to throw her out into the rain? Wynne felt her bottom lip start to tremble. She’d been so close. So confident. Overconfident!

  “There’s another room,” he said, and pointed back the way they’d come. “It’s next to mine.”

  “Oh,” Wynne said again, unable to keep up with the conversation. Was he putting her next to him because he wanted to seduce her? She felt a real blush rise then and it wasn’t only her face that felt hot. They simply looked at each other and for a terrible few seconds Wynne thought she was going to push Baz back against the wall and kiss him senseless. But of course she didn’t. Instead she made her numbing lips to form words. “Look, I’d be grateful for a public toilet at this point,” she told him. “So anything more luxurious than that will be fine by me.”

  Thankfully he laughed and the tension between them dissipated. “It’s nicer than a public toilet,” he told her, and they set off walking back along the way they’d come. “Are you hungry? I’ve got party pies in the oven.”

  “Starving,” she said. “And party pies? Wow. You country folk live well.”

  Baz laughed. “Gourmet party pies,” he bragged, leading her back past the foyer and along another corridor. “My dad loves them,” he added and shrugged a tiny what can you do? shrug.

  “I do too,” Wynne lied, loving Baz that little bit more — suffering kid’s food to please his father. What a sweetie. And that boded well for the future. When she was pregnant, he’d probably pander to her whims too. “I’m glad I’m in time for the party,” she said.

  “Plenty of time,” Baz told her and stopped to open a door at her side. He gestured for her to precede him into a feminine bedroom with pink rose wallpaper.

  “Lovely,” Wynne said and stepped inside.

  “Ensuite’s over there,” he told her, pointing past the fluffy meringue of a bed to a closed door. “Just lock my side when you’re using it. It’s a shared bathroom I’m afraid.”

  “Thanks,” Wynne said softly and glanced away, feigning embarrassment. One thing she didn’t plan to do, unless she was using the toilet, was to lock that door. Nothing could be more convenient than to have Baz accidentally burst in on her while she was naked and vulnerable. “How long do I have until dinner?” she asked, walking over to the pretty chaise lounge where Baz had put her suitcase down. She quickly unzipped the top, hoping to give him a glance of lacy underwear before he left.

  “Oh … dinner.” He sounded tense again and Wynne snatched up a bundle of silky next–to–nothings and turned to see what had disturbed him. Unfortunately he wasn’t looking at her, so in spite of the fact that she ruffled the underwear in front of her, as though sorting through it, his gaze remained locked on the wall behind her. “It might take a while, actually,” he said, frowning, thinking so hard she could hear cogs turning again.

  “I’ve got plenty to do here,” she offered, hoping all he needed was space — hoping he wasn’t regretting setting her up in the room next to his. “If there’s no rush I can have a lovely long shower and get myself sorted out. Unfold things. Girlie stuff. You just call me when you want me. I’ll stay here.”

  “That’s… great, Wynne.” He smiled tentatively. “That would be great.”

  Wynne watched his shoulders relax and knew that she’d nailed it — probably something to do with his father. He’d said the old man was forgetful. Perhaps there were other health issues: something embarrassing that Baz had suddenly remembered that he didn’t want her to see.

  Wynne didn’t care what it was. The old guy could be incontinent for all she cared. She’d put up with anything if it drew her closer to Baz. “So, I’ll see you when I look more presentable,” she said.

  He focused on her then, his gaze tracking onto the underwear in her hands and then skittering back up to her eyes. “You look fine, Wynne,” he said. “You’re lovely. I was… an idiot that time. I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

  Wynne felt her breath catch in her throat. Did that mean what she thought it meant — that she hadn’t been the wrong girl to fulfill that fantasy for him? How desperately she’d tried to retain some self–esteem by convincing herself that it had been the workplace setting that had made him react adversely, rather than her. What if she’d been right!

  “Let’s start again,” she said softly, and could barely hear her own words over the thundering of her heart.

  He smiled a crooked half smile and she near–to melted on the spot. “Deal,” he said, and he held out his hand awkwardly.

  Wynne stepped forward immediately and half her silky g–strings fell to the floor as she released them to take his hand. “Deal,” she said and squeezed his much–larger fingers firmly.

  He nodded, embarrassed, then ducked his head and turned to leave, only letting her hand go at the last minute. “I’ll come back,” he said, and let himself out.

  Alone in the room, Wynne threw the rest of the underwear on the bed and hugged her shoulders. “He thinks I’m lovely,” she whispered to herself. “Lovely…” and her heart ached with such happiness that she completely forgot that she’d wanted to kiss him senseless. Instead she sat beside her suitcase on the lounge and closed her eyes, imagining the wonderful life they would have together, and how the love they shared would grow even larger as time went by.

  “Mrs Winifred Wilson,”
she said softly, and smiled to herself, awed by how quickly her world had shifted on its axis. Baz thought she was lovely, he’d put her in the room next to his, and he was thrilled to see her.

  The future she’d fantasized about so ardently was clearly just a matter of time.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Baz turned the oven off and left the party pies in there to stay warm. God only knew when they’d be eaten. Before that he had to placate Venus, so he snatched a packet of sea shanties out of the freezer and zapped them in the microwave. Their crumbed exterior went soggy but they were steaming hot, so hopefully she wouldn’t complain too much. He loaded them onto a tray with a jug of iced water and bunch of grapes. Not exactly a balanced meal, but as long as it stopped her venturing out to forage, he’d be happy.

  He glanced back at the oven and decided there wouldn’t be enough party pies for three, so he grabbed some garlic bread from the fridge and put that into the slowing oven.

  “Damn stupid thing!”

  Baz dropped Venus’s tray back on the counter top and spun around to stand in front of it.

  Ted was at the door, bending down but not able to reach his toe to rub it. He slapped the solid timber door jamb. “Stupid place to put a door.”

  It had been in the same place for over a hundred years so Baz let that go over his head. “We’ve got a visitor, dad,” he said brightly.

  “The police?” Ted asked straightening, his toe momentarily forgotten.

  That gave Baz pause. How had the old man known about them coming back? Had he listened to Baz’s phone conversation on another extension? “No,” Baz said, hands behind his back edging Venus’s tray up the servery to where his father wouldn’t see it. “It’s a teaching colleague of mine. A girl. Wynne Malone.”

  “Winifred Malone. She wrote to me!” Ted said, smiling. “Lovely girl. Bit hard to understand.”

  “That letter was for me, dad,” Baz said, wondering what other mail of his had gone astray. “You read a private letter.” No way to keep the accusation out of his voice.

  Ted said nothing for a moment, just stood in the doorway looking belligerent. Then his head started wobbling. “Well, she should have addressed it properly,” he countered. “It’s not my fault —”

  “It never is,” Baz snapped, then felt an instant pang of guilt. For all he knew Wynne could have addressed the letter simply to Mr Wilson. But even if she had sent it to Balthazar Wilson, there was little point rubbing his father’s nose in that. It would be simply another sign that the old man was incompetent and that would only make them both feel bad.

  Baz put a hand over his eyes for a second then dropped it. “Look dad, let’s not worry about that. It’s done now and Wynne is here. That’s a happy surprise.”

  Ted’s lip quivered for another couple of seconds before his rheumy eyes lightened. “She’s just in time for the party pies,” he said.

  “Yep, she’s a lucky girl,” Baz replied, and went to get plates out of the cupboard. “She’s having a shower and getting cleaned up, so we won’t eat straight away.”

  “I’ll get flowers for the table,” Ted offered. “The Scarlet Henry is in bloom.”

  “Assuming the storm hasn’t wrecked them, that’s a great idea.” Baz set his father up with secateurs and a basket. “And I’ll put a vase on the sink here so you can arrange them when you come back in. I’ll just be… having my shower while the party pies finish cooking.”

  Ted frowned, and for a terrible moment Baz was sure he’d realised the pies should be done by now. But his father merely said, “I might get red and white roses.”

  “Nice contrast, dad. And don’t forget some greenery.”

  Ted’s frown morphed into disdain. “I know how to arrange flowers, boy. I’ve been doing it since before you were born.”

  Baz was reasonably sure Carlos had only shown him recently, but he let that one go through to the keeper as well. “Of course. Sorry, dad. You’re right as usual,” and with that he bustled his father out into the soggy garden where the light was fading, and went back to snatch up Venus’s tray. He only hoped the limp sea shanties wouldn’t be cold. Then again, remembering Venus’s reaction to the hot coffee, perhaps she’d prefer them that way. She’d waited until the breakfast fish fingers were lukewarm before sampling them, then asked him what manner of fish produced such bland flesh.

  Baz hadn’t made the fish fingers, he’d merely opened the packet, so there was no need to take offence. But it had seemed a tad ungrateful. And in fact, while he was edging out the kitchen door and striding down the corridor towards her rooms with the tray, he realised that the only thing she had thanked him for was lying to the police. So did that mean she completely took for granted the fact that he’d rescued her from the beach, put her up in his house, provided her with sustenance and trusted her under extremely suspicious circumstances?

  Baz slowed down as he reached her door, and so did his moment of indignation. Who was he kidding? The drugs had made him kidnap her, and when they’d worn off he’d jumped into the role of ‘knight in shining armor’ – faster than you could say big fat hypocrite. So there was no point whining about her being ungrateful. He’d made his bed and now he had to lie in it.

  Of course, the problem was that Venus wanted to lie in that big, comfortable bed with him and she wasn’t terribly subtle about it. Baz planned to keep deflecting her, and he was fairly confident that Ted wouldn’t realize what was going on, but Wynne was a woman. She’d see it in a heartbeat. Would she call the police?

  He stopped outside Venus’s door thinking about that, wondering what sort of person Wynne was. Now that he’d had a conversation with her that lasted for more than thirty seconds he could tell she was sweet as well as pretty, and she clearly felt something for him or she wouldn’t have tried to fulfill that stupid fantasy. Had she dared herself to do it? It must have been out of character. He really should have paid more attention to her at school — should have dated her. Only, he’d never felt attracted to her. She was… well, cute really. But cute wasn’t sexy. Was it?

  He tried to remember if she’d looked hot in that raincoat. He’d looked away so quickly — idiot! — embarrassed of course, but he did remember that her skin was pale, and that the sexy red underwear had seemed incongruous on her, as though she was a white cotton girl doing dress–ups.

  She should have been sexy. Hell, any woman should look sexy in a shiny black raincoat and high heels, but for some reason the only lasting impression Baz had of the incident was embarrassment. Nothing, of course, compared to how mortified she must have felt when he’d immediately turned away. But no stirring in the loins, no… nothing really.

  So… where had he been going with this?

  Baz suddenly realised he’d meant to work out whether Wynne would dob him in to the police, not rate her on a scale of hotness. Jesus! Where was his head? Focus Wilson! He balanced the tray in one hand and reached for the key in his pocket, then paused because he couldn’t remember if he’d locked the door. Oh God. He grabbed the door handle and turned. Unlocked! Damn.

  “Venus, I’m coming in,” he called, then added more softly, “Please be here.” No reply, so he pushed the door open and stepped into the gloomy entry, then shut the door behind himself. There was no sound, but a funny smell like hot dirt set his hackles up. He reached for the light switch and flicked it on.

  Then, for the second time in an hour Baz found himself saying, “Fuck!”

  The suite looked like a paint bomb had gone off in it. Purple stains criss–crossed the white marble tiles of the bathroom and the entry, then ran onto the relatively new cream carpet in the sitting room. Baz glanced in the other direction and saw splashes of purple leading into and across the bedroom carpet as well.

  “Unbelievable!”

  He went into the sitting room and put Venus’s dinner tray down beside the lunch tray, which looked as if it had been picked over since he’d left. He stepped back and switched on the wall mounted lighting, then could only shake his
head. There were purple stains on almost every surface, as if someone had walked around with something dripping purple. It was simply too much. Baz just didn’t know how to compute it. What the hell had she been doing?

  He turned and marched into the bedroom where he was preparing to… shout? Rant? Something!

  But two steps into the room after he’d snapped on the light switch he stopped. Stopped walking. Stopped being angry. Stopped… everything.

  The bed had been stripped and Venus lay on the mattress — naked — curled up around her pillow, clutching it like a child with hands stained purple to the wrists. Her honey blonde hair shimmered in the bright overhead lighting and was partially lost in the swirling pattern of the tan mattress cover. Her eyes were closed. Asleep.

  Around her, hanging off the four–poster bedrail, were knotted lengths of fabric that had been dyed purple. They’d long since stopped dripping onto the carpet but the damage was done and Glenda would have a fit when she turned up in two days to clean the house. Still, it was probably no worse than some of the messes his father had apparently made.

  And though it shocked Baz, it also surprised him in a good way. For a start she was here, not roaming the house naked. That was good. And she was clearly creative — not someone who expected everything done for them — she’d done something for herself. Something pretty incredible considering the tools she’d had at hand. Not only were the strips of fabric uniform in width, the knotting was intricately done so the pattern on each would be unique. Was she a fabric artist?

  There were so many strips hanging down it was difficult to see her through the thin gaps between them, and they made the masculine solid–timber bed look whimsical, like a gypsy caravan – as if she’d put her own stamp on the room.

  Mess and mystery.

  He smiled. Then took a step closer and tilted his head to look at her through the strips of what had once been expensive bed linen.