Marriage & the Mermaid (Hapless Heroes)

by Cusack, Louise

  Twenty year ago Saturday? Perhaps the Spanish structured their sentences differently to… “Oh! You mean the anniversary is this Saturday? Tomorrow?” Wynne wondered why the Wilson’s gardener would remember a date like that. “So Mr Wilson never remarried?” Perhaps Ted had a pity party each year about being abandoned. Carlos certainly looked sad. Wynne selfishly hoped Baz was over it. She didn’t want ancient heartbreaks impacting on her wonderful weekend.

  Carlos shook his big bristled head. “Mrs Wilson was … unico. Irreplaceable,” he said and paused to glance away to the cliff–top, his expression pensive. “She was a beautiful woman,” he added and the words dripped wistfulness. “Inside and out.”

  Wynne blinked and looked at Carlos afresh. Could the young gardener have had a crush on his employer’s wife? Oh God! Was that why she’d left? Before Wynne could stop herself she asked Carlos, “What was her first name?” because Wynne knew that if he’d loved her, it would be unmistakable in his voice. She’d read enough romance novels to know that was a certainty.

  “I… never use her first name,” Carlos said. “She was Mrs Wilson to me.” Then he sighed. “I was only her gardener.”

  Oh yeah. Definitely a crush. Wynne was convinced, but frustrated at the same time because she had no one to talk to about it. Baz wouldn’t want to speculate about his mother having been the object of the gardener’s fantasies. It would gross him out.

  Wynne, on the other hand, was indecently fascinated by it all, but she did try to keep the excitement out of her voice. “So Balthazar was eight when Mrs Wilson left Saltwood?” she asked, hoping Carlos would imagine her interest was in Baz and not himself.

  Carlos kept looking at the clifftop and the question hung in the air for several awkward seconds. Then he sucked in a breath, as if realigning his thoughts, and he turned to say, “Enjoy your stay, Miss Malone,” and he shook her hand again in a decidedly final manner before lumbering back across the garden to the fruit orchards, leaving Wynne standing on the garden path amid the roses. She, too, glanced at the clifftop, wondering.

  “Venus is all sorted out,” Baz said, coming up behind her, touching her shoulder to turn her, his hand warming her rapidly cooling flesh in a deliciously goose–bumpish way.

  Wynne felt the sensation slither down her spine and tingle across her backside, warming her in all sorts of exciting places, so it was a struggle to catch her breath and calm her voice, “I knew you’d be good at handling her, Baz,” she said at last, smiling at him blandly.

  He opened his mouth, but then closed it again, blushing. Finally he managed to crook his arm for her to take, and even came up with a smile and a Rhett Butler accent. “Walk you inside, Miss Malone?”

  She took his arm and drawled right back, “Don’t mind if I do,” happy to stroll at his side and laugh at his stories of Carlos and the possessed pool filter which had apparently made the gardener’s life a misery.

  Once back in her room, however, as she laid out her dress for dinner, Wynne’s imagination inevitably returned to the ever familiar fantasy of Baz as a wonderful doting husband.

  Intrigue about his mother and Carlos didn’t get a look in.

  Chapter Twenty–Five

  After dropping Wynne at her room, Baz made a beeline back to the kitchen, his nerves shot after spending the afternoon keeping Venus and Wynne apart He didn’t have a plan on what he wanted to say to Venus, but he just knew he couldn’t keep on with the way things were. On top of the Randolph Budjenski situation and his father’s increasing unpredictability, it was too much to cope with. Belatedly, he wanted his normal life back.

  With Wynne in it.

  But Venus wasn’t in the kitchen, so he headed for her suite where she’d gone after his father had been such a bastard to her at lunch, and she wasn’t there either. Baz stood in her bedroom looking at the stained carpet wondering where she could be and what other problems she was creating for him.

  He had an hour to find her, if Wynne’s preparations last night were anything to go by, and he wanted to use that time to convince Venus that she would be better off staying anywhere but Saltwood. He’d tried in the kitchen while Wynne had been checking out the rose garden but the infuriating girl had simply told him that if he was kicking her out he needed to take her somewhere she could find a virile male to impregnate her, perhaps a nightclub, she’d be sure to get sex there.

  Needless to say, Baz hadn’t been prepared to act on that, but he had to take her somewhere because if he didn’t he was likely to pop an artery!

  Of course, first he had to find her, and after checking every room and assuring himself she wasn’t in the house, he headed outside to the garden where she didn’t seem to be either. Hell, had she walked off down the road on her own? Desperation was starting to turn into panic when Carlos came into view, striding away from the pool area, his large face brick red.

  “Carlos!” Baz called ran over and only managed to stop the gardener with a hand on his arm. “What is it?”

  Carlos turned to face him and swallowed several times before he could speak. “The girl from the kitchen,” he said, not quite able to meet Baz’s eyes. “I didn’t see her properly this morning. But now. It was a shock.”

  Dear God, what has she done?

  “I’m so sorry,” Baz said. “She’s the new housekeeper — “

  Carlos sucked in a harsh breath and managed to look at Baz then. “H–h–housekeeper?” he asked.

  “She’s only just started.” Baz had never heard Carlos stutter before.

  The big Spaniard shook his head. “How long, Master Balthazar,” he asked. “How did she get here? Was she found? On the beach?”

  Baz stared in amazement, then he nodded.

  Carlos closed his eyes. “Not again,” he said softly, and pulled away from Baz, stumbling blindly down the path towards the house.

  Baz stared after him. What the hell? Then he ran around the corner into the pool area and, sure enough, his little wanton was doing laps stark naked.

  Shit!

  He squatted at the pool’s edge. “It’s getting dark,” he hissed, not sure what that had to do with her state of undress. “Did you at least bring a towel?”

  Venus glanced up at him, then headed for the side of the pool.

  Baz looked around. No towels on the surrounding chairs. He strode over to the small thatched cabana and let himself in, snatching a fresh towel off the shelf below the hand basin. He caught his own reflection in the mirror above it as he straightened and realised he looked tired. Christ, who was he kidding? He looked positively haggard. More like middle–aged than twenty–something.

  “Baz.”

  Venus came into the reflection behind him, dripping wet. She closed the cabana door and then stood naked in front of it, looking like some kind of golden goddess but Baz was too infuriated to notice her gorgeousness. She was driving him nuts and he wished like hell that they were at school and he could just send her to the office for someone else to discipline! But he couldn’t, so he turned to face her, to tell her off, only she wasn’t looking at his face. Her eyes were lowered, staring at his crotch.

  She moved in closer. “This room is private,” she said.

  Baz grabbed her shoulders to hold her back. “This has to stop,” he said, wondering for the first time if he should just take her to the police and explain everything. Surely they’d protect her from herself and make sure she didn’t get pregnant. But before he could even work out if that was a sensible idea, he heard noise outside.

  “ … was here ten minutes ago. “ Carlos’s voice.

  Baz glanced behind her to the door of the cabana. Shit! It wasn’t locked. If Wynne walked in on this –

  “I’ll sort this out. Thank you, Carlos. “ His father’s voice sounded surprisingly lucid. Then more softly, “We’re not having this again.”

  Venus shuddered at the sound of Ted’s voice, and Baz let go of her shoulder to press a finger against her lips, hoping she’d stay silent. She nodded, so he grabbed he
r arms and moved her in stumbling steps behind the partition with the mirror, so if the door opened, no–one would see her. Then he padded back to the door which was still closed. Footsteps were shuffling towards it so without giving himself time to baulk, Baz stepped out of the gloomy interior of the cabana and closed the door behind himself.

  The sun was setting and the pool glinted with pink and red reflections, momentarily dazzling Baz. Then he saw Ted several paces away, eying him suspiciously. “What were you doing in there?” the old man demanded, his head wobbling in agitation.

  “Using the toilet,” Baz said with an as if it’s any of your business tone in his voice.

  “I didn’t hear it flush.”

  “Then maybe you should get your ears checked.”

  “Did you wash your hands?”

  “I’m twenty–eight, not ten.”

  Ted said nothing, and Baz waited for him to talk about Venus, to say that Carlos had told him she was swimming naked, but instead his father said, “Where’s your lady friend?”

  “Getting ready for dinner. I hope you’re not going to be rude in front of her again like you were at lunch.” Baz took a step away from the cabana, trying to draw his father with him back to the house. If he could brazen this out, the old man would talk himself dry then Baz could go back to Venus with some clothes and sneak her to her suite where he could lock her in until after dinner. Then when everyone was asleep he could drive her to the Bundaberg Police. He certainly wasn’t dealing with that local cop Liam Moore again, smarmy bastard.

  “Are you going to ask her to marry you?”

  Baz blinked. For a ridiculous moment he thought his father was talking about marrying Venus, and maybe that’s why he’d taken a dislike her. Then he remembered they were discussing Wynne.

  “She might have a potty mouth,” Ted went on, “but I think she’d be good for you, Balthazar. She’s got spunk.”

  “Spunk?” Baz couldn’t get his head around this, particularly in light of the discussion at lunch about Beth only being after his money and how that was fine, and he should never have divorced her. Now, in a complete turnaround his father wanted to marry him off to Wynne who he’d also scathingly pointed out was ‘working class’.

  “It’s about time you settled down and had children. Otherwise who will you hand Saltwood to when you die? It has to stay in the family.”

  Baz simply stared at his father. In the first place there was nothing an adult wanted to hear less than their own good ideas thrust upon them by a parent è especially an irresponsible parent — and secondly, “If your friend Randolph has his way there won’t be any Saltwood left for my heirs to inherit.”

  Ted got that same look on his face that he’d produced for the police – his patronizing, my silly son expression. “What are you talking about?” he said. “Randolph advises me. He isn’t involved in the running of Saltwood.”

  “Can you really be this credulous?” Baz wasn’t sure if he wanted to slap his father, or cry. The tension of the last few days felt like it was building up inside him like hot magma inside a volcano. “That piece of paper you so blithely sent off gives him the right to sell Saltwood and keep the money for himself.”

  Ted recoiled from that. “What utter nonsense! You’re making that up. You just don’t want me to have friends. You like me being lonely and depressed.”

  “That’s crap!”

  “Don’t you swear at me –”

  “Crap isn’t swearing. If I called you a fuckwit, that would be swearing.”

  Baz watched as arteries blocked somewhere in Ted’s body, causing blood to pool in his face and neck. He spluttered but no words came out and Baz, who had every right to be completely pissed off, suddenly felt contrite.

  “Look, I’m sorry, dad,” he said. “I know you don’t like swearing.” And please don’t have a heart attack, okay?

  Ted’s eyes narrowed and eventually his head jerked into a nod.

  “I’ll try to stop swearing.”

  “You’re … a b … bad boy.”

  Baz took several calming breaths before he replied. “Is that why you trust Randolph more than you trust me?”

  “Exactly!”

  The effect of the calming breaths evaporated and suddenly he felt as though he was standing outside himself. “Then maybe you should be talking to him about getting married and settling down.” he spat at his father. “After all, he’s the one who’s got Saltwood now!” That wasn’t entirely true. Baz intended to fight tooth and nail for his home, but he was sick of his father screwing things up, sick of being blamed, not to mention the stress of Venus turning his life inside out and involving him in lies to the police. Then there was Wynne. He was over–stimulated and ready to vent angst in pretty much any direction he could, so he blurted, “Why don’t you bring your little bum boy here so you can show him what he’s tricked you out of? Or have you already had him here? Is that why he’s your good boy?”

  Ted’s hand came up and connected with Baz’s cheek in a slap that rattled his brains. “She always wanted to get away from you!” Ted spat. “Now I know why. She h … hated you, and I do too.”

  Baz stood with his hand on his cheek, barely registering the physical pain his father had just inflicted. The shock that had pushed him outside himself deepened. Hated me? He shook his head. It couldn’t be true. But even as he thought that, an image came to him of his mother, the last time he’d seen her, her eyes wild, shaking his shoulders. It had terrified him.

  “She didn’t drown accidentally,” his father said, his voice lowered now, pain etched onto his own features. “She deliberately —”

  “No!” Baz bumped into a banana lounge, then realised he’d been backing up. He moved around it, staring at his father as if he was a cobra poised to strike. “No. She drowned. You said… The police said.” His voice was rising, trying to block out anything else his father might say. “You can’t change the facts to hurt me.”

  But somehow, he already had.

  In some deeper part of his mind Baz was reliving an alternate past, reacting to news that his mother had killed herself to get away from him. The childhood pain he’d suffered, knowing she was gone from him forever, was nothing compared to this. They’d been so close. Inseparable. Could she have only pretended to love him? His heartbeat slowed into a deep mournful thudding at she stared at his father, everything inside him tightening, becoming brittle, as though preparing to shatter.

  “Fuck … you … “ he whispered, so gutted he couldn’t even lash out properly. Then he turned and stumbled away into the dark, ending up on the garden path, scratching his shoulder and a cheek on a rose bush as he passed. The sound of the ocean was drawing closer, then suddenly Baz couldn’t hold the pain in any more. Sobbing sucked the breath from his chest and stuck daggers in its place. At the cliff top he fell to his knees and covered his face in his hands but it wouldn’t abate. If anything, his crying got worse. Totally out of control.

  Baz would have been frightened of it if there had been any part of him capable of independent analysis. But there wasn’t. He was completely immersed in grief, so deep down that nothing else existed for him. He was eight years old again and in that state of mind there was no Venus waiting in the cabana. No Wynne getting dressed for dinner. No Randolph about to steal his inheritance. And no father who needed to be cared for.

  Balthazar Wilson was completely lost, and as he curled around himself in the foetal position and stuffed knuckles into his mouth, he wished he could swim out into the ocean and drown himself.

  Chapter Twenty–Six

  Wynne looked around the cavernous dining room, wondering where everyone was, and what she should do. Part of her was seriously cranky with Baz. He’d left her sitting in her room until eight thirty, and now, finally deciding to come out alone, she’d discovered that dinner was clearly over and cleaned away. Not a crumb left on the long, white damask tablecloth. So, was this part of some make–Wynne–jealous plan? Was she supposed to suspect he’d been spend
ing the time with Venus?

  Wynne took a deep breath and smoothed a hand down the front of her cocktail dress, an A–line classic that stopped just above her knees. The fabric was silky and cool, shimmering into different shades of blue as she moved, and Wynne knew it looked beautiful on her. She’d been counting on Baz seeing that too. But this game playing — of which she’d previously been a teasing participant — suddenly annoyed her.

  Not only that, she was hungry!

  So she headed for the kitchen, knowing she’d be unable to keep the annoyance out of her voice, but maybe that was a good thing. The sooner Baz realised she was no gullible dim–wit the better. Still, at the entrance to the kitchen she paused and listened. There were noises in there, but it wasn’t talking.

  Wynne’s hand came slowly up to her chest as her breathing slowed. God, they couldn’t be making love, could they? What if she’d completely read Venus wrong, and there was something going on here before she arrived? A wave of hot revulsion ran down her spine but a second later Wynne realised she wasn’t having it. Her happy future with Baz was so solid in her mind that no other option was possible, so she straightened her shoulders and pushed the swinging door open slowly, praying it wouldn’t creak.

  It didn’t, but the small sounds stopped. The kitchen was brightly lit and Wynne kept her head still, staring at the window that looked out on the veranda, allowing her peripheral vision to detect any small movements. At last she saw it, the pantry door moving open a crack. She turned towards it in time to see it fall shut again.

  No point mucking around. If she was being played for a fool, she needed to find out now. But though her mind was full of firm intentions, her knees wobbled as she forced her legs to take her to the pantry. She wasted no time in swinging the door wide open, already practicing Oh my God! silently in her mind.

  But it wasn’t a tryst. As the automatic light clicked on she could see Venus alone, cowering against the shelves in the same spider–web bikini she’d had on that morning. Her eyes were huge and dark, her hair falling around her face in long golden clumps, her purple–stained hands twisting against each other in agitation. She looked impossibly younger than the eighteen Wynne suspected she was.