by Liz Fenwick
She went under again and almost lost her hold on him. She had no strength left. Maybe she should just give in, let the sea take her. She had been living half a life for years. She knew that. Jaunty was dying and Gabe had no one. She could just stop swimming. The man might yet survive but she could stop trying. Gabe ceased kicking. This was the answer.
The man moved in her grasp. She came up, gasping for air. He was alive. He fought with her and she felt she might have to leave him to the river because he was going to drown them both. The words of the hymn wouldn’t leave her head. Mother of Christ, Star of the sea, Pray for the mariner, pray for me.
The storm continued to grow and he stilled in her grasp. Wind and rain whipped savagely about them, flashes of lightning showed Gabe how perilous their situation was. The darkness was better. She could imagine they were closer to shore, to safety. She struck out towards the nearest branch, kicking with full force. Eventually she was able to grab it. The holly pierced her hand, but she held on despite the pain as the water did its best to pull them back out.
Lowering her feet, she made contact with the bottom. Once her feet were secure, she released the branch and reached out for another, pulling them around until they were back in the creek where the force of the current lessened.
The man spluttered. Gabe was trying to get her breath back and to find the strength to get them out of the water. Her hand was bleeding but the water was so cold she couldn’t feel anything and didn’t care. She hadn’t thought this through. They were safe from the tide and protected from the wind but not saved. Far from it – the quay was still some distance from them and the bank was too steep to climb even if she had the strength. Now that she had stopped moving, shivering began to take over her body. Her brain echoed with Jaunty’s words that the river was at its warmest at this time of year, but right now it felt like the Arctic.
The stranger kept going in and out of consciousness. He was alive, but neither of them might be for much longer if she didn’t find a way out. Think, think, think. But her mind was blank except for the hymn. She didn’t want to pray. If they didn’t get out of the water, they would freeze to death or drown. Despite her lack of strength, Gabe knew she must get them out. She couldn’t walk along, as the footing was treacherous, so she grabbed another branch. Again the holly leaves pierced her hand. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, trying to distract herself from the pain with another pain. As she reached for the next branch she lost her hold on him. He turned and pulled away.
‘What the hell?’ she shouted and took in a mouthful of water. His arms flailed about and he bashed her on the head in his scramble. She went under. This was the nightmare she’d been dreading. Gabe fought her way to the surface, only to be pushed down again. He was going to drown her! She swam underwater, away from him. She couldn’t save him but maybe, just maybe, she could save herself.
She came up spluttering and looked around but didn’t see him. She was still close to the shore and she grabbed another branch, finding him caught in the holly. He was stuck, but at least he was caught above the waterline.
Lightning revealed the scene and she saw they were not far from safety. She had to make one more attempt to get them to the quay, but she needed him aware of what was happening. He had to be awake. There was no way she would have the strength to pull him on to the quay. She would be lucky if she could get herself on to it.
Gabe slapped his face repeatedly and finally he spluttered.
‘Come on, you bloody man! Open your eyes. I can’t do this without you and if I leave you out here you will die and I will have nearly killed myself for nothing.’
She began shaking and shock took over. She had been in the sea for what felt like hours, but had been only a matter of minutes she was sure. If she could wake him they could both make it.
‘Come on!’ He was breathing but not responding. She glanced around, hoping for some inspiration but nothing came. She looked up and let the rain blend with her tears.
‘Someone help me!’ she shouted.
The stranger, Fin, opened his eyes, staring almost through her. Gabe gasped. She didn’t know what he was seeing but she felt exposed. ‘Can you move?’
He nodded.
‘Right, we need to get out of the water and on to the quay. Follow me.’
She lay on the quay gasping for breath, trembling. They were both alive, which was a miracle because he’d damn near killed her. His shoulder pressed against her arm and his breathing was more like gasps, which shook her whole body. She had only enough energy to breathe and for her teeth to chatter. The trembling became violent shivering.
He moved and before she knew it he was on his feet, pulling her up out of the shallow water that was washed over the quay. Her legs shook so much that standing was almost impossible. He wrapped an arm around her and half dragged, half carried her to the cabin without a word. The thunder and lightning had stopped but the rain continued to beat down on them. By the time he thrust them through the door Gabe couldn’t speak even if she wanted to. It might be shock but it was certainly the cold that had turned her incapable. He looked around. ‘Bathroom?’ Gabe managed to point with a hand that was far from steady. He took the wobbly hand and led her through her bedroom. Everything in Gabe froze and she refused to move any further. He released her hand and went into the bathroom where he turned the shower on full. Steam followed him back into the bedroom. Gabe stood in a puddle of water. Her T-shirt, now transparent, clung to her. She tried to think, to move, to act in some way.
Fin approached and took her hand. Instinct took over and she fought, lashing out.
‘I’m not going to hurt you but you need to get warm, and so do I.’ He held both of her hands down and manoeuvred her into the bathroom and into the shower. Once he was sure she could stand he stepped out of the room and closed the door.
Gabe leaned against the tiles on the wall. Her skin stung with pin-like pricks of pain, but slowly the shaking began to subside. What had just happened?
He knocked. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Yes.’ But she wasn’t so sure. Gabe pulled off the T-shirt then stepped out of the hot water. Securely wrapped in the towel she entered her room. He wasn’t there. Jaunty.
Gabe rushed through the kitchen and walked straight in to him, staring at Jaunty’s paintings. His hands steadied her, then she noticed he was naked except for a small towel around his hips and there was blood on his cheek. It triggered a memory and she went rigid.
‘I’m frozen too. May I use your shower?’
Gabe blinked. ‘Yes – yes, of course.’
He stepped around her. And sensations she had hidden away for years fought to come to the surface along with sheer panic.
Five
Gabe screamed but a hand came over her mouth. Aftershave. Cloying. Vodka. Music. Her voice. He’d asked her to sing for him and her voice rose with the music. This was her chance. All her passion went into it. Puccini’s wonderful ‘Vissi d’arte’. Her voice filled the room and while she was lost in the moment, he approached. She should have known, she should have known! She’d been warned. She had won. The world was hers. And then fingers circled her throat. His other hand pushed up her dress and ripped away her knickers. Gabe struggled and he slapped her face. His hand grabbed her breast, squeezing it until she screamed again. Why was he doing this to her?
‘You want this.’ He laughed as he threw her to the ground. ‘They all do. This will make you sing. It will colour your words and give them the passion you lack.’
‘No!’ He had her arms pinned above her head as he pulled himself out of his trousers and wedged her legs open with his knee. She twisted and turned but he brought his knee down on her thigh.
‘You’ve been begging me for it all night.’
‘No!’
‘You came here with me. Every move you made told me.’ He released her hands so that he could enter her. ‘You want it.�
� She beat him, clawed at him, but he didn’t stop. Finally she drew blood as her nails cut into his face.
‘You bitch!’
She screamed until she had no voice and no one came. All the time Puccini’s music played in a loop.
‘You whore! That’s all you are, teasing everyone. You’ll never sing again, Gabriella – you don’t deserve to.’
He finished and stood, pulling up his trousers. He touched his cheek and looked at the blood on his fingers. Gabe tried to scream again, but no sound came out of her mouth. He licked the blood from his fingers then walked out, leaving her on the floor sobbing silently.
Gabe woke in a sweat, her throat constricting, her skin crawling. She headed to the shower but then stopped. She couldn’t wash him away. She had tried, oh she had tried. She looked down at her body. The signs of the violation were long gone, but somewhere, on a police file, every bruise, every scratch, even his semen, was recorded. It was all there. It hadn’t gone away.
The storm was over. The air was cooler and the tension, which had been almost suspended in the air, had been released as if the world had sighed. Jaunty climbed from bed. It was six. Silence filled the cabin, broken only by the screech of crows and curlews rising from the creek. Pulling on an old cashmere cardigan, she sat at her desk, wondering where she’d left off and knowing it didn’t matter.
Jean.
I owe my life to Jean and I thought at the time it would be the other way around. Her French, although she had been in Paris for two years before I met her, was appalling – she just managed to feed herself. Her vocabulary when it came to art was different. This she knew. Even now, I think this was instinctive as was everything to do with art for her. I am still jealous of her talent.
I throw my brush down and walk to the window. Jean chuckles behind me and hands me a cigarette.
‘It’s in you.’
‘No. My work is pedestrian.’
Pierre joins us. ‘What is wrong?’
‘Self-loathing.’ Jean grabs the cigarette from my hand and takes a drag. Her red lipstick stains it. She hands it back.
‘Self-loathing is essential to learning and so is wine. So now is the time to drink.’ He takes my hand, then Jean’s, and leads us out on to the roof. My stomach growls.
‘Always hungry,’ He turns to me. ‘But for food.’
Jaunty’s stomach gurgled. As in the past, she was in the present. She was hungry but she didn’t want to take a break. She must stop simply remembering and write it down. Her hand shook as she put pen to paper.
She was jealous of my upbringing. There wasn’t a major museum in Europe that I hadn’t spent time in and, of course, money was never an issue. Despite the jealousy, our bond was tight. But I lacked her hunger then. I have learned her hunger since.
Jaunty put the pen down and walked through to the sitting room. Tea. She looked at the painting on the wall. At least the work was true. It was so different. She stopped in mid-step. There were large puddles all over the sitting-room floor and on the sofa there was a man. Fin. In sleep he looked even more like Alex than he had last night because the relaxed facial muscles made him appear younger. It was if her longing had brought Alex here.
The cheekbones. Jaunty’s fingers stretched out, but then she pulled them back. Someone was having a laugh with her. If there was a God, then he must be enjoying this.
His hair curled in the same way as Alex’s had.
Jaunty walked closer. A very different hunger stirred in her. She laughed. Who would believe that at ninety-two desire still existed, if fleetingly? She closed her eyes. Her hands moved, feeling Alex’s body again. It was so real but it wasn’t.
‘Morning.’ Fin rubbed his chin.
Jaunty stepped backwards. ‘Good morning. Tea?’
He sat up. He was naked to the waist and so beautiful, the latissimus dorsi appearing carved as he moved his arm. Jaunty turned away and walked to the kitchen. Filling the kettle she reminded herself he was not Alex, but all she could think of was how long it had been since she had made love. The kettle clicked. She shouldn’t complain. She’d had two brilliant lovers and some women were never that lucky.
Carrying a tray she walked back in to see his body outlined by the window. He was naked, a beautiful specimen, clutching a pillow. Broad shoulders down to lean hips; shapes, angles, shadows – but no colour.
He turned, adjusting the pillow. ‘I’m sorry, my clothes are still drenched.’
Jaunty smiled. ‘I’m not offended.’ She looked him up and down. ‘But you must be cold. Shall I have a look for something for you to wear?’
He walked back to the sofa and picked up the blanket. ‘This will do.’
‘Indeed.’
He glanced at the puddles. ‘I’m sorry about the mess.’
‘What happened?’ Jaunty poured the tea and handed him a cup.
‘The storm was bigger than forecast. I was asleep, then I heard a noise.’ He took a sip of the tea and looked at Jaunty. ‘Thank you.’
Jaunty settled in her chair and he remained standing with the blanket wrapped about his hips. He shook his head. ‘I put on my life jacket and went on deck. The creek looked like the sea and it was pushing the boat against the quay. I knew I needed to secure the boat, but before I could do anything a gust rocked it and I must have hit my head.’ He paused. ‘The next thing I knew I was fighting for air.’ He sat down on the sofa, cradling the cup in his hands. ‘I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for your granddaughter. How she found me I don’t know. I’m very lucky to be alive.’ He shook his head.
Jaunty’s breath stopped. Gabriella. Forcing air into her lungs Jaunty looked at the man her granddaughter had saved. She could have lost her granddaughter to the sea as well and that would have been too cruel. She looked at him again, pushing thoughts of death away. ‘What brings you here in the first place?’
‘I was at a bit of a loose end in my life.’ He shrugged.
‘A loose end?’
He gave her a lopsided smile. ‘It’s a simple way to describe a nasty divorce.’ He looked down at his hands while he turned the cup around.
‘I see.’
He looked up. ‘I think you might.’
‘So you are sailing around trying to find yourself?’
‘Maybe not myself, but something.’ He laughed. ‘I gave, no, I lost everything in the divorce.’
Jaunty raised an eyebrow. He had been saved for a reason just as she had. She wondered what it was.
‘It seemed easier at the time.’ He laughed. ‘Now, with hindsight, it’s tricky. After last night the boat is gone and I have nothing to return to.’
‘Are you ready to return?’
‘No.’ He looked at her closely. ‘Not at all.’
‘Well, maybe I can help, at least in the short term.’ Jaunty rose slowly, an idea forming in her mind.
‘Really?’ He stood, adjusting the blanket about his hips.
‘I can give you a place to stay.’ She smiled. ‘Follow me.’
Debris was strewn all over the path to the studio. Last night had been wild and had brought this young man more closely to them. She stopped and turned to him. ‘You should be able to stay in here.’
His eyes darkened. Jaunty knew pain when she saw it. He looked away. ‘Thank you.’
A large branch blocked the door of the studio, but it appeared not to have hit the building. She did worry about it. There was so much in here and she rarely came near it any more. Fin moved the branch for her and she opened the door. As always she stopped on the threshold and took a deep breath. It was as if filling her lungs with the right air allowed the muse back into her body. The muse was nonsense, but part of her still held on to the idea. Nothing had turned out as she had expected in her life. Because she had gone against her father’s wishes and returned to Paris to finish her studies, her world had changed for ev
er. She stepped into the studio. Desire swelled in her. The longing was almost physically painful. It was like being next to your lover but not being able to feel him, only see his ghost.
‘You’re an artist.’ Finn’s intense gaze scanned the room.
‘Once.’ Jaunty turned to the bed in the corner. His feet might stick out of the bottom, but it would have to do. She noted that Gabriella had put her piano in here. Well, they would just have to work around each other.
He turned to her. ‘So you are J?’
Jaunty nodded. The letter defined her now.
‘I love your work.’ He walked slowly around the room and Jaunty knew that he was not an uninterested viewer but a connoisseur. She watched his eyes as his glance studied each work, saw how they stopped on certain types of brush and palette-knife work. This man knew painting. She looked at his hands. No, he was not an artist.
‘Thank you.’
He stopped in front of the easel. A study in grey; well, Jaunty assumed it was. For that was all she could see now, and she wasn’t even sure if the colours she’d mixed were what she thought they might be. All she knew was that the depth and the intensity of hue was right. It had been in the middle of this work that she had known it was over. She’d put her brush down, hadn’t cleaned it, and walked away. This was the first time she’d been into the studio since that day.
‘Sorry about the smell, but I’m sure that within a few days of proper airing the intensity of it will abate.’
‘This is incredibly kind of you.’
Jaunty stopped and looked at him. It wasn’t kind, it was reckless, and both of them knew it. She did not know this man. He was a stranger who looked like an old lover, that was all.
