The Feel of Forever

by Lyn Denison

  “She and Angus divorced ten or so years ago and she tried living on the mainland for a few years but she says she works better here.”

  Mayla had been a good friend. And something of a salvation for Fliss. Quite often she’d saved Fliss’s sanity simply by listening. She was the only person Fliss had told about her preference for women. Instead of recoiling in horror, Mayla had taken Fliss with her to a lesbian club and introduced her to her lesbian friends.

  “I have a couple of Mayla’s pieces myself.” Bailey said, surprising Fliss again. “I bought them in Sydney when Mayla had a very successful show down there.” She moved away from the sculpture to stand in front of one of Marcus’s oils. “Now this is colorful.”

  “Marcus O’Leary is our artist in residence.”

  Bailey nodded. “I’ve seen his work, too. Nothing like this though. Is it recent?”

  “One of his latest. I think Marcus has really developed a unique style. He has quite a following, too.”

  “I imagine he would if this is any indication.” Bailey moved along the wall of artworks, stopping to study a watercolor seascape. “This is lovely.” She glanced at the name of the artist and raised her dark brows inquiringly. “P. Devon?”

  “My sister, Petra.”

  “But she’s so young,” Bailey remarked.

  “She’s eighteen and quite amazing. She’s doing an art course at the moment and her teachers are really impressed by her. She prefers watercolors but she’s working with a whole lot of different mediums. We’re going to have a show of her work at the end of next month.”

  “You are? I’ll have to come and see it.”

  “If you—I can send you an invitation to the opening, if you’re interested. I usually send John one.” Fliss paused. “How long are you staying?”

  “That depends.” Bailey’s dark gaze held Fliss’s again and the heavy tension-filled silence stretched between them, saying nothing and everything. “I’ll be here for at least a month,” Bailey finally continued. “John’s going off to the Gold Coast so I’ll be house-sitting.”

  Fliss knew John Macrae hired an island couple to look after Allendale Cottage when he was away and so wasn’t in the habit of arranging for housesitters.

  “I have some things to deal with.”

  Fliss looked up at Bailey.

  “My life’s been pretty hectic lately and I felt I needed to get away, to consider my options, as they say in my business.”

  Bailey hosted an award-winning nightly current affairs program. It was one of the leading shows on the network and had won a number of Logies. Bailey herself had been the recipient of her own personal awards, including the Gold Logie for the most popular personality on Australian television just a few months ago.

  “What about your show?” Fliss heard herself ask.

  “I’m on leave. They can do without me for a while.” Bailey had wandered back to look at Marcus’s oil and Fliss surreptitiously checked the time. A tour bus was due in before they went next door to Chrissie’s café for a meal. The tourists would get more than the tour promised if Bailey was still here, Fliss thought wryly. She knew she should tell Bailey about their imminent arrival but before she could do so the back door to the studio opened and Marcus strode in.

  He was barefoot and wore a snug pair of shorts and a tank top that, although paint-splattered, showed off his lean body with its nicely defined muscles. “I hope you brought a note, Miss Goody Two-Shoes,” he said, unaware that Bailey stood behind the partition. “I heard you come in late this morning. Very uncharacteristically late, too.” He lent with his elbows on the counter and gave Fliss a leering grin. “I can’t wait to hear your excuse. Please tell me you were out on the tiles and that you’re going to give me all the juicy details.”

  Fliss felt herself flush as she met Bailey’s inquiring gaze over Marcus’s curly head. The other woman’s eyebrows rose.

  “Ah, I was—” Fliss swallowed, trying to formulate an answer and warn Marcus they had a customer at the same time.

  Marcus frowned slightly and sensing they weren’t alone, he turned and straightened as Bailey stepped away from the partition. “Oh.” Marcus’s eyes widened as he recognized Bailey. “Wow!” he said, obviously disconcerted.

  “This is Marcus O’Leary, our artist in residence.” Fliss began to make the introductions. “And Marcus, this is—”

  “The very famous Bailey Macrae,” Marcus finished, recovering himself.

  Bailey smiled her famous smile and something inside Fliss twisted with that old familiar pain. “Pleased to meet you, Mr O’Leary. I’ve just been admiring your work.”

  “You have? I mean—” Marcus drew himself together and stepped forward, making a graceful and exaggerated bow. “Your humble servant, my lady.” He went down on one bended knee, head lowered. “May I say I admire your work immensely, too?”

  “You may.” Bailey chuckled. “Arise, Sir Marcus. And, thank you,” she added as Marcus rose to his feet and grinned at her.

  Fliss watched Bailey run her eyes over Marcus and she felt a pang of something she refused to acknowledge as jealousy. How could Bailey not be impressed by Marcus with his golden curls and young Adonis features. Most women wouldn’t be able to help themselves, Fliss thought wryly. Then again, Bailey Macrae could have anyone she wanted. Male or female.

  “So my eyes weren’t deceiving me the other morning,” Marcus was saying. “You were the mysterious woman on the headland, the one who did the disappearing act?”

  Bailey shrugged. “I’m sorry if I appeared rude. I just have to be careful. I don’t take any chances these days. Everyone’s a member of the paparazzi until proved innocent.”

  Marcus nodded. “Understandably. So, I take it you’re here incognito?”

  “Pretty much so. While I can be. But I suppose I wouldn’t be too difficult to find for anyone who knew my famous brother lives here on the island.”

  “Well, the islanders won’t tell. They’re very protective of their own and they consider John Macrae to be well and truly their own.” Marcus grinned. “Being John’s sister, you’re an islander too.”

  “I’m honored.” She looked at Fliss, held her gaze for long moments.

  Fliss swallowed. It would be oh so easy to be drawn into their deep blue, sensual depths. But Fliss had been there, exalted in it, thought it was going to be forever. Bailey Macrae had just as easily snatched it away from her and for Fliss, the journey back alone had almost destroyed her.

  Bailey turned to Marcus’s painting again. “This is so different from your previous work.”

  Marcus moved to stand beside her. They began to discuss Marcus’s art and then painting in general. Fliss stayed by the counter and watched them.

  Of course it only gave her another opportunity to study Bailey Macrae. She seemed powerless to focus on anything else when Bailey was around. And Fliss realized she could see a subtle change in the other woman. There was a tension about her that hadn’t been there before and it seemed to Fliss that her dark blue eyes hadn’t regained the sparkle they’d lost when her son died. Maybe, Bailey—

  Fliss turned away, pretending an interest in the pile of advertising postcards on the counter. She tried to curb the rush of emotions inside her. She was deluding herself if she thought she had anything to do with the changes in Bailey Macrae. Why wouldn’t Bailey look different? She knew she did. They were both eight years older, and Fliss knew she was wiser. Wasn’t she? She’d changed, too. She paused as a little voice inside her reminded her that a lot of the changes in herself were due to Bailey Macrae.

  “Would you like to come through to the studio and see some of my other stuff?”

  Marcus’s words startled Fliss and she looked at him with barely concealed amazement. Marcus hated anyone seeing his paintings in their unfinished state. After a couple of customers had wandered into the studio he’d asked Fliss to put up a large DO NOT ENTER sign and a lock on the door.

  “Or as we say when we twirl our imaginary moustach
es, would you care to come and see my etchings,” Marcus added.

  Bailey’s delighted chuckle played over Fliss like silky seawater on a warm summer’s day.

  “It’s been quite a while since I was offered an etchings showing,” she said, a smile playing around her mouth.

  “My! My! What would the paparazzi make of that?” Marcus asked with a laugh.

  “They probably wouldn’t believe it,” Bailey responded dryly. “Far too boring for them.”

  “I somehow doubt that. Don’t you, Fliss?”

  “Oh, I—I’m sorry. I don’t know,” she stammered, not expecting to be drawn into the conversation.

  “But I do,” Bailey said gently. “And believe me, it would need loads of poetic license to even begin to pique their interest.”

  “Their loss.” Marcus shrugged. “Follow me, my lady.” As he drew level with Fliss he gave her a cheeky wink.

  While the two of them were in the studio Fliss tried desperately to concentrate on her paperwork, but she couldn’t focus. She kept listening to the faint unintelligible murmur of voices. She chastised herself and tried to block out the sound, only to find herself pausing to listen again when she couldn’t hear any sound at all. When a couple of people wandered into the gallery she had to stop herself from running over to them and thanking them for providing her with a distraction.

  Just after the customers left with a neatly wrapped piece of local pottery, the studio door opened and Bailey and Marcus reappeared. “In all seriousness, Bailey,” Marcus was saying, “I feel like the luckiest guy alive to be able to work here, perfecting my craft. It’s magic. Apart from that I love the island.”

  “I do too,” Bailey said softly, her eyes finding Fliss.

  Fliss looked away, pretending great interest in a perfectly ordinary invoice. The other two stopped by her desk.

  “Well, I should be off. I have supplies to collect,” Bailey added. “Thanks for letting me look around the gallery, Fliss.”

  “Oh. Yes. Anytime.” Fliss stood up, too.

  “And thank you for the cook’s tour, Marcus. Your work’s so impressive.”

  Marcus beamed at her. “The one you liked will be ready in about a week.”

  “Great. Don’t forget to put a sold sticker on it. I wouldn’t want anyone else to buy it.”

  “You’re interested in one of Marcus’s paintings?” Fliss looked from Bailey to Marcus, who was grinning broadly.

  “More than interested.” She drew out a small wallet from the side pocket on her cargo pants. “Shall I leave a deposit?”

  “No. No. Don’t worry about it,” Marcus waved his hand. “You might change your mind once you’ve had time to think about it.”

  Bailey laughed again. “I won’t change my mind once it’s made up. Nice to have met you, Marcus.” With that she strode across to the door, pausing to turn back. “I’ll see you later, Fliss. Did John arrange to pick you up when he asked you to dinner?”

  “Oh. Yes. I mean, no. I’ll walk over.”

  Bailey looked as though she wanted to protest but she simply nodded and then the door had closed behind her.

  “At the risk of repeating myself,” Marcus said. “Wow! Actually, double wow. She’s so much more attractive in the flesh than she is on TV, isn’t she?”

  Fliss murmured noncommittally.

  “And can you believe it, she wants to buy the painting I’m working on, the one I’m just putting the finishing touches to. How good is that?”

  “It’s wonderful, Marcus.”

  “And it turns out she’s got quite an art collection of her own,” Marcus continued enthusiastically.

  “Mmm,” Fliss murmured again and Marcus turned to face her, eyes narrowing.

  “Did Bailey say you were going to dinner with her brother? You’re having dinner with John Macrae? Didn’t we establish he was a tad old for you, Fliss? He must be in his forties.”

  “He’s not that old and you know it.”

  “So, late thirties. And you’re what? Twenty-six? He’s still too old for you.”

  Fliss put her finger to her cheek, feigning deep thought. “Do you really think so?”

  He regarded her suspiciously and Fliss tried to look as innocent as she could. “Yes, I do think he’s too old for you. So, how long has this been going on?”

  “What?”

  “You know what. Since when has John Macrae been asking you to dinner?”

  “This is the first time, actually.”

  “There’s something very not right here, Fliss. I mean, there’s you, innocent young thing living an isolated existence, and then there’s the world-wise and world-weary writer of gung-ho blokey best sellers. I’m going to tell your father.”

  Fliss couldn’t contain herself any longer and she burst out laughing.

  Marcus frowned. “What’s so funny?”

  “You are. And what’s this about telling dad? Since when are you my babysitter? Or a snitch, for that matter.”

  “I like to think of myself as a good mate, a best buddy, looking out for you. I live here. You practically live here. I’m a man. You’re a woman. It’s a basic primeval urge to protect.”

  “A basic primeval urge? You can’t mean that, Marcus O’Leary,” Fliss began and then realized he was also trying to keep a straight face.

  They looked at each other and both laughed heartily.

  “You had me going there, Marcus,” Fliss said at last.

  “You had me going first. So, what’s with this dinner with John Macrae? I know you don’t like him”—he made quotation marks with his fingers—“that way. I’ll know when you’re smitten with someone.”

  “Oh,” Fliss said off-handedly. “And how will you know that?” He touched his finger to the side of his nose. “I’ll just know. At the moment you’re heart-whole.”

  “That’s amazing, Marcus. If only you could bottle that talent, you’d make a fortune.”

  “Sarcasm in a woman is very unbecoming.” He pursed his lips. “And you’ve tried, unsuccessfully,” he emphasised, “to sidetrack me. What’s with dinner and John Macrae?”

  Fliss shook her head. “If you have to know, Mr. Nosy Parker, I’m having dinner with John Macrae and his sister.”

  “Oh. So it’s not a date then?”

  “No, I think we’ve established that it’s not a date.”

  “Phew.” Marcus wiped his hand across his brow. “That’s a relief. There’s still hope for me then.”

  “You want to be careful, Marcus O’Leary. You know what they say about things said in jest, not to mention be careful what you wish for. I just might take you seriously. You could be staidly married with six kids before you know where you are.”

  “Six kids?” He looked thoughtful. “Is that negotiable.”

  Fliss chuckled. “One would desperately hope so. Six kids like you would be a cross for any poor woman to bear.”

  “But think how cute we’d all look in the family photograph.” He posed looking into the distance. “Can’t you just see it?”

  “No. And it’s giving me indigestion.”

  “You’re probably hungry.” He looked at his wristwatch. “I’ll pop next door and see if Chrissie’s got some scraps for us.”

  “Thanks, but I’m still full from Chrissie’s big breakfast so don’t worry about anything for me.”

  Marcus headed for the door. “I’ll probably be a while. Chrissie will want to interrogate me about the famous TV star. She’ll want a blow-by-blow account. She said. You said. I said. Anything you want censored?”

  “Censored?”

  “That you don’t want me to tell Chrissie?”

  “What on earth would I not want you to tell Chrissie?” Fliss asked, her mouth suddenly dry.

  Marcus shrugged. “Oh, you tell me. Your hot date with the aging author? That she’s going to be godmother to our children?” He shot out the door before Fliss could reply.

  The afternoon flashed by and Fliss had no time to think about Bailey Macrae or dwell on
the dinner that evening. Two major tour companies were booked and a smaller unscheduled tour bus kept Fliss busy. Petra breezed in before she started work at the café to tell Fliss she’d probably stay with their father and Annabel again. Apparently, Liam was taking her to the movies on the mainland after work and they’d be late home.

  The second tour bus was late arriving so Fliss didn’t get away from the gallery on time. Not that she should complain, she told herself. A couple from Germany bought two of Petra’s watercolors and it took some time to get the shipment details from them in between serving other customers who wanted jewelry and some pottery.

  Although the sky was heavy with grey clouds, at least it had stopped raining for the moment. Fliss was grateful for that as she cycled home. She stopped off at Gayton’s General Store to buy some chocolates for the Macraes and Joy Gayton assured her there’d be more rain later in the evening as her lumbago was playing up. Her husband nodded. His wife’s lumbago was famous as a weather vane.

  As long as it held off until she walked over to Allendale Cottage, she reflected as she raced inside, shedding her clothes as she headed for the shower. After she toweled herself dry she stood in front of her wardrobe trying to decide what to wear.

  Jeans were dressier but it was still hot and humid so shorts would be more comfortable. She decided on a pair of new black cuffed shorts and a loose black tank top with small beads lining the V-neckline.

  She ran her eyes over her reflection. Was the neckline too low? The point of the V nestled in the valley between her breasts. Would Bailey—?

  Fliss turned aside. She had no interest in whether or not Bailey noticed what she was wearing. She pulled a tailored short-sleeved shirt out of her cupboard and slipped it on like a light jacket. It was white with thin black line checks and paint blobs and splashes in rainbow colors all over it. Shabby chic, Fliss heard it was called, and it was her favorite.

  She ran a brush over her hair. Freshly shampooed and blown dry, it fell to her shoulders in natural waves. She touched a light subtle perfume to her wrists and at the base of her throat before she realized she had done it and she paused and looked at herself in the mirror again.