by K. M. Hodge
An air of mystery had always surrounded this remote, tropical location. She’d thought of it often, especially when daydreaming or when emerging from slumber. Something pulled at the innermost secret places of her mind and body. Some siren song seemed to say she’d never be complete until she’d explored and satisfied her fantasies on the white sands of this remote paradise.
Dreams and reality were about to collide.
Claire and her partner, Martin George Mitchell, had driven to the Cable Beach Inter-Continental Resort to breakfast at the Boardwalk Café. Martin had arranged a special indulgence to celebrate their recent arrival at the pearling capital of the world.
They’d dined on freshly cooked pancakes, with chocolate syrup for Claire and blueberry sauce for Martin. As they satisfied their appetites, they took in the magnificent panorama of Cable Beach. They completed their repast with black coffee and cigarettes.
Claire turned to her partner. “Thank you, darling. That was beautiful.”
“Glad you enjoyed it.” Martin’s green eyes twinkled. “But the fun’s not entirely over. Fancy a walk?”
“Whatever you say.” Claire smiled. “You’re the tour guide.”
They walked, hand in hand, from the resort to the beach. The tide had receded, already on the turn. The sun shone from a brilliant blue sky, the temperature already at twenty-eight degrees Celsius. The sand sparkled in the early morning light, and the faintest of breezes tugged at their hair. They were happy and in love, and they didn’t care who knew.
Claire had donned a maroon silk shirt for the occasion. She’d left it open at the neck and tied the ends around her waist. Old blue jeans with ragged holes in the knees and backside clung to her buttocks, a hint of red panties showing through.
Martin had chosen a white t-shirt, screen-printed with an image of a crocodile and the words: TRUST ME. His old, cream-coloured jeans hugged his backside.
They walked barefooted and talked about the times they’d had together and what they hoped to achieve in Broome. A cyclone had raged through the town almost a month ago. All the debris had been cleared away, leaving nothing to show of its path. They laughed and joked, very much enjoying the simple pleasure of each other’s company. At this moment, the reason for their presence in Broome drifted far from their thoughts.
As they strolled, Martin relinquished his companion’s hand. He reached behind her and trailed his fingertips over her perfectly moulded bottom, toying with the tear in her jeans. Claire laughed and ran away from his touch, teasing him. But she didn’t run far.
She stopped and bent over to pick up some cuttlefish washed ashore by the tide. There she waited, secure in the knowledge he’d be unable to resist the temptation of her rear pointing towards him, tantalising him. Martin caught her again and played with her arse while she stood motionless. She feigned interest in what she’d discovered, but she couldn’t hide the gentle quiver of desire coursing through her body.
As they reached the water’s edge, they continued in this manner, full of the zest of life and this wonderful magical world around them, each content in the knowledge that, before this morning grew much older, they would make love on this very beautiful and famous beach.
While they walked, they searched for a spot somewhere relatively private, yet not hidden away from the sky, the sand and the sea. At this hour of the day few people wandered down by the ocean, and they had this stretch of beach to themselves. They sought some place hidden from prying eyes but not somewhere to hide.
Soon, they reached a location where they couldn’t be observed from the resort, yet they remained on the beach with the sea before them, the sky above and the sand all around. A scattering of rocks screened them from casual eyes.
The fresh, salty tang of sea air, the lapping sounds of tiny waves breaking on the packed sand, the rustle of the gentle breeze ruffling their hair, and the warmth of the tropical sunshine all added to the surreal sensation this time and place generated.
***
Claire halted by a cluster of rocks and, giving Martin a coy glance, shook the large white towel she carried. She spread it on the soft sand three or four metres from the water’s edge. Martin smoothed out the sides and sat, looking up at her, silhouetted against the sky. Her impressive height was magnified from his vantage point. He reached up and took her hand. She smiled down at him and lowered herself to his side.
He reached across and ran his fingers over the smoothness of her cheek, marvelling yet again at her beauty. He wondered, not for the first time, why she’d chosen him as her partner.
Somewhere in the distance, they heard a transistor radio. Martin recognised the Beatles singing, ‘Do You Want to Know a Secret?’. Although he scanned the length and breadth of the beach, he failed to locate the source.
They kissed—slowly at first, then with hunger as the fires of lust raged, their tongues seeking and finding each other.
Martin applied gentle pressure to his partner’s shoulders, and she sank onto the towel. Their lips were still entwined, and his body melded to hers. After they divested themselves of their clothes, their hands and mouths explored each other’s bodies. Soon, nothing mattered but their pleasure.
When Claire climaxed, Martin watched her tremble for what seemed an eternity. Moments later, he joined her in a mutual orgasm.
While they lay regaining their breath, the tide came in and caressed their feet and legs. The water felt warm and sensual, and they didn’t move.
At length, a wave broke over them, ending their embrace. They scrambled along the sand, intent on keeping their heads above the tide. During their lovemaking, they’d rolled off the towel onto the sand. Where the incoming tide had wet their bodies, fine particles clung in irregular patches that gleamed like tiny pearls in the sun.
He found his cigarettes and lighter on a rock just above the high tide. He lit two. He inhaled with pleasure and passed the other cigarette to Claire. They sat on the sand, smoking in silence, and took in the scene around them.
Martin glanced towards the horizon and pointed at several seagulls hovering and diving, making raucous calls to one another in their endless search for food.
The birds watched the two humans from afar, beady little eyes wary, yet alert, lest the humans discard some morsel of food for probing beaks to snatch up.
There wasn’t another soul in sight on this lonely, lovely stretch of northern beach to witness Claire and Martin in their quiet, perfect haven.
Martin finished his cigarette, turned to his lover and grinned.
Claire squinted, the brilliant sunlight illuminating her finely chiselled features. Her hair, damp and untidy, hung in thick clumps down the sides of her face and past her shoulders, not quite reaching her breasts. She’d acquired a slight trace of redness on her cheekbones and nose where the hot morning sun had kissed her. She took a last drag of her cigarette and responded with an answering smile.
Martin dropped onto all fours and crawled towards her, oblivious to the sand clinging to his arms and knees. He focussed on his partner’s body.
Claire’s laugh was magical, filled with joy and the promise of still-hidden depths to her sensuality.
They embraced, and the kiss was long and smouldering. A new song drifted on the breeze from the unseen radio. Frank Sinatra’s unmistakable voice informed them of the perils of ‘The Tender Trap.’ Eventually, they broke the clinch and climbed back onto the rocks.
Still naked and not caring who saw, Claire lit two more cigarettes and passed one to Martin. They sat and smoked, enjoying this moment of pure enchantment. The tide reached its peak, filling numerous pools of water in the rock hollows around them.
“Tell me this isn’t a dream, my darling.” Claire’s voice was whimsical. “And if it is a dream, may it last forever.”
Martin turned to her and smiled. “No, my sweet. This is no dream. Welcome to paradise. Welcome to Broome.”
***
Atop a not-too-distant dune, hidden from the lovers by tall grasses, a shado
wy figure watched and smiled. One hand clutched a small radio, while the other held high-powered binoculars. When the lovers departed, walking hand in hand along the sandy shore, she snapped her fingers. The rocks that had concealed the duo from all eyes bar hers vanished.
Let the games begin. Now that I’ve lured these interlopers to this remote location, they’ll soon learn not to interfere in the affairs of Wanda Jean.
CHAPTER 3: MULDER & SCULLY
Thursday, May 4, 2000
“I don’t remember seeing that sign yesterday,” said Claire.
Martin looked up from his weeding and gazed at her. In the act of sweeping up leaves from the driveway, she’d paused and raised her broom, using it as a pointer. He turned his attention towards the dwelling further down the street. He wiped sweat from his forehead and shielded his eyes from the late afternoon sun. “I guess it must’ve gone up during the morning, while we were at the supermarket buying groceries.” When Claire didn’t respond immediately, he added, “It beats me why the previous owners let the weeds take over like this.” He returned to his chore, more interested in improving their lawn than in the FOR SALE sign that had caught Claire’s attention.
She resumed her sweeping. “Still, it’s curious how things like that can appear virtually right on your doorstep without you being aware of it. I wonder....”
“How ya going?” A familiar voice cut through Claire’s discourse. “Busy in the garden again, I see.”
“Watch out,” said Claire in a stage whisper, “it’s the eyes and ears of Lee Court.”
Martin glanced up again and managed a smile. “Hello, Mildred. Nice day for it.”
“It’s too hot for me,” said the elderly woman as she reached them. Despite having hurried from her house two doors away, she wasn’t out of breath, nor was she perspiring. “I can’t handle days when it’s over twenty-five.”
“You’re living in the wrong part of the country.” Martin laughed. “It’s much cooler in Victoria.”
“I couldn’t handle that.” Mildred’s eyes darted from Martin to Claire and back again. “Too cold for my old arthritic joints.”
Martin smiled, but he hid his face in an attempt not to offend. Mildred was a nice old lady, but she tended to be a little eccentric.
“How’s your day been, Mildred?” asked Claire, in an obvious attempt to save her partner from further embarrassment. “Busy?”
“When you get to my age,” said Mildred, rolling her eyes and turning down the corners of her mouth, “there’s not much to do other than sit around all day and watch television. Since my husband died, that’s about the only thing I have to fill my time.”
“Bit lonely?” Martin continued weeding. “You should drop in for a cuppa every now and then. Relieve the boredom. You’re always welcome.”
Mildred gave him a sour look, as if she’d sucked on a lemon. “Not much time for that sort of thing. I meet my friends for tea most days. Eat a few cakes, discuss the weather, solve...,“ she hesitated, searching for the right word, “...things.”
Martin chuckled and concentrated on his weeding.
“Did you see the sign in Mulder and Scully’s front yard?” Claire’s voice was tinged with suppressed mirth.
Amanda Multa and Jonathon Sculls, the youngest couple living in the court, had purchased the house across the road only three years ago. Since then, they’d married and settled down into a normal, suburban existence. Of course, it didn’t take long for one of the residents of Lee Court to nickname the couple ‘Mulder and Scully.’ Although voiced in a joking manner, the names had stuck, and the populace of the court now thought of them in this way. All this, Martin and Claire had learned from Mildred.
“Curious you should ask.” Mildred’s face came alive. “I was checking the mail when the man from Broome First National Real Estate came by this morning to erect it.” She volunteered this information without taking a breath. Her eyes sparkled with renewed vitality. “Rather strange, I’d say.”
“Why’s that?” asked Claire.
Martin looked away from Mildred and continued his work on the lawn, but he cocked an ear to catch what the old woman might impart. Everything they knew about their new home they’d gleaned from the old gossip. Possibly, she’d add something useful today.
“I haven’t seen much of Scully’s car lately,” said Mildred, as if this explained her previous comment. “It used to be parked outside all the time. See that oil stain on the road? His car made that mess.” She pointed down the street.
“I don’t see anything unusual about that.” Martin stared up at Mildred, but the sun sat behind her head, and he could make out only a dark shape. “Maybe his work involves a lot of travel.”
“What if she’s done away with him?” The old crone dropped her voice, perhaps in case Mulder overheard. “It’s the sort of thing young people do nowadays.... Kill their partners, sell the house, and disappear interstate.”
Martin laughed outright. He rose to his feet, providing a clearer view of their elderly neighbour.
Despite her complaints about the heat, she wore her usual garb—a pale blue cardigan over a white, open-necked blouse and a heavy tweed skirt. The clothes seemed brand new. Not a hair looked out of place, and she’d applied her pale pink lipstick with perfection.
“I think that’s unlikely.” Martin directed his gaze towards the house and the sign that had attracted all this comment. Is something going on there Claire and I should know about?
“They seem perfectly normal to me,” said Claire, attempting to counter Mildred’s bizarre suggestion. “They’re young, and I know they don’t seem to spend a lot of time mixing with the remainder of the people in the court, but that’s no crime.”
“They keep such strange hours. Especially him.” Mildred had obviously spent time observing the routine of the young couple. “She works in the showroom of one of the local pearl shops, you know.” She looked from Claire to Martin, watching the impact of her words. When they didn’t react, she continued, “And he’s away from home. A lot.”
“Surely there’s nothing wrong with that.” Martin turned back towards Mulder and Scully’s tidy house and surrounds. “They tend to the garden and lawns more than most, and they don’t seem to throw many wild parties.”
“They don’t have a lot of visitors,” said Mildred. “Don’t you think that’s strange?” Again, she directed her piercing eyes at each in turn.
“Neither do we.” Claire shielded her eyes and stared at the old woman.
“But that’s different.” Mildred scoffed. “You’re new here.”
Claire sighed. Martin understood her frustration. The conversation was going around in circles, as usual.
“You’re right about that.” Claire sounded confused.
Martin struggled to suppress a chuckle.
“I’ve asked everyone I know,” said the elderly gossip. “No one seems to know anything at all about Mulder and Scully. They’re so secretive.”
“Perhaps they’re nothing more than what they seem,” said Martin.
“Ah well. You can’t please everyone, I suppose,” Mildred said, as if this had some relevance to the conversation.
“I guess not.” Martin’s confusion registered in his voice. “I find it’s best not to try.”
“We’ve all got to have something to complain about, I guess,” Mildred said, using one of her stock phrases.
“When you find out something, be sure to let us know,” said Claire. When Mildred failed to respond but continued staring at the house for sale, she changed tack. “Feel like a cuppa? We were just going to put the kettle on.”
“Heavens no. It’s already past my dinnertime,” said Mildred, without consulting her watch. “My tea’s cooked. All I have to do is heat it.”
Martin glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s only 4:30.” He failed to keep the amusement from his tone.
“I like to eat early so I can go to bed. Television’s so boring, isn’t it?” She fixed them with a hard stare. �
��But I will keep my eye on those two.” She turned and walked away. “See ya later,” she called over her shoulder.
“Thanks, Mildred. Bye.” Claire shook her head and waved.
“I hope I never get as bad as that.” Martin chuckled and resumed his kneeling position on the grass.
“I’ll shoot you long before you do.” Claire formed a pistol with her finger and thumb and mimed shooting him in the head.
He pretended to be hit.
They laughed and returned to their chores. Mildred disappeared down her driveway without a backward glance.
CHAPTER 4: PAST & PRESENT
Friday, May 5, 2000
While Claire drove into town to check out the school where she’d obtained work as an emergency teacher, Martin busied himself tidying up the garden bed beside the front veranda. The previous owners had permitted it to grow unchecked, just like the lawns. He decided to begin towards the rear of the shrubbery and fought his way into the overgrown bougainvillea. Hedge clippers in hand, he set to work. The shrubbery screened him from the prying eyes of Lee Court.
He’d worked for perhaps ten minutes when he heard a car driving up the street. Thinking it might be Claire returning from her interview, he listened, trying to ascertain which house the vehicle was visiting. After several seconds, the sound of the motor died and a car door closed, but he couldn’t quite work out where.
Suddenly, he heard Mildred calling out loudly, as if to someone several houses away. “Mul... er Amanda. Spare a minute?”
“Hello.” Mulder’s response was not nearly as loud, her tone indicating she didn’t wish to encourage the old busybody who lived across the street. “What can I do for you today?”
“I just wanted to ask you something. Won’t hold you up more than a few seconds.”
A strange silence settled over Lee Court. No neighbours’ voices. No sounds of nearby traffic. No twittering birds. No overloud TV or radio. Not even the buzz of a solitary bee. Only the sound of Mildred’s feet scuffing on the bitumen as she crossed the road. Martin paused his gardening, intrigued by the tableau unfolding not more than fifteen metres away.
