Her Man with Iceberg Eyes (10 page)

“How far does it go?”

“As far as I wanted it to.”

“How long have you had it?”

“Since I was sixteen. That was the start of
it.” He motioned her to sit down again, and took the chair beside
her. She’d recovered her composure, but a little more time away
from Hamish and Diana might be wise. “Dad was posted to Samoa for
several years. They have the most amazing tattoos there—especially
the chiefs and high born men. This is nothing...” He stayed silent
for a few seconds, remembering. “They start far enough up to show
above their lava-lavas and go right down to their knees. It’s the
mark of a brave man if he can endure the process. It’s
primitive.”

“And you endured it?”

Matthew shook his head. “Whole different
deal, Katie. I designed what I wanted and had it done while I was
at school in Auckland. A piece at a time as my pocket money
allowed. In a safe commercial parlour. Starting where my father
would never see it.”

“Surely they weren’t allowed to tattoo
schoolboys?”

“Borrowed Hamish’s I.D. We looked enough
alike in the photos. Each time I went home for the holidays, I wore
a bigger swimsuit to hide the evidence.” He gave a small snort of
amusement. “Dad probably thought I was turning into a prude.”

“And what did your friends think?”

“The boys at home were impressed. The
teachers at school were horrified. But it was too late by then. As
I told you, it’s for me—not for the rest of the world.”

“Everyone’s doing it now,” Kate said. “Not me
yet, but I wondered about a little butterfly or something.”

“A ‘butt’-erfly,” he suggested.

“Yes, maybe,” she said, getting the joke and
laughing softly.

They sat on in companionable silence for a
while, Kate no longer sobbing, and now obviously curious about how
far the tattoo extended; Matthew wondering if Hamish and Diana had
concluded their celebrations.

He glanced at his watch, angling the face of
it to the moon. “Almost one o’clock, Katie. We need some sleep so
we can look after Lottie tomorrow. You’re better now? I’ll walk you
back—okay?”

He held out his hand, against his better
judgment, and she rose like a graceful ghost and took it. It seemed
a very small consolation after their earlier full-body embrace.

He was no closer to discovering why she was
really in Queenstown. Her distress had certainly appeared genuine,
and there’d been so sign of any house searching. But had she been
simply testing the water? Experimenting to see how far she could
explore without being detected?

They returned, unspeaking, to their rooms.
When no other movements were apparent, the floor-lights gently
dimmed and switched off.

Without her wristwatch, Kate had no idea of
the time. She peeked through the heavy curtains and found the sun
up, the frost down. The world was white. Everything sparkled and
shone.

Fearing that she’d overslept (marvellously,
deeply, dreamlessly for once) she drew on the robe, found her
slippers, and retrieved her clothes and jewellery from the changing
room. Matthew’s gold chain glimmered at her, reminding her of the
serpentine curves of his amazing tattoo.

It was past eight-thirty, she discovered to
her surprise. They were due to collect Lottie around ten. She’d
better hurry.

She walked down the long main gallery to the
kitchen, and found coffee brewed but no other sign of habitation.
She filled a mug, and took it across to where big glass doors had
been folded open to the air.

It was totally still, crisp, and cloudless
again. Matthew threaded his way through the big clumps of frosty
tussock grass some distance from the house. She smiled shyly as he
drew nearer. “Good morning.”

“So Sleeping Beauty awakes?”

She sighed. “I slept really well. It’s so
quiet here.”

“Mostly,” he said with a grin.

Kate lowered her gaze, remembering the noises
in the night. “Have they gone?” she asked with trepidation.

“Dogs to feed. Speaking of food, what will
you eat? I brought breakfast to your room earlier but you were dead
to the world.”

Had he watched her sleeping? She supposed so,
from his Sleeping Beauty comment. Her skin prickled at the thought.
She’d feel more comfortable once Lottie was home and deflecting his
attention.

“Thank you. Just toast will be fine. I’d
better hurry now I’ve slept in.”

His eyes roamed over her with masculine
possession. Kate lifted a hand to the collar of the robe and drew
it more closely around her. Matthew’s smile grew wider, and she
turned and fled back to her bedroom.

Kate showered and dressed at top speed, and
gulped another cup of coffee and a slice of whole-wheat toast and
apricot jam before they climbed into the SUV. Matthew drove with
care because of the ice-covered roads.

She looked everywhere but at him. She’d
stroked his naked hip! He’d undone his pyjamas and she’d drawn
closer instead of turning away. It seemed unreal now, but she knew
quite well it had happened. Her body knew, almost more surely than
her brain.

Each time she’d been close to him this
morning, some perfidious internal place had trembled, heated,
expanded, felt special. She wouldn’t be returning from Auckland
after Sunday. There was no other viable decision now. However
spectacular the surroundings, however desirable the job, Matthew
had made it impossible for her to stay.

She clenched her hands together and stared
out of the window. No hardship with such scenery. In the chilly
morning air, frost still covered each blade of grass and twig. The
low angle of the sun set everything sparkling. Drifts of mist rose
from hollows. Mountains thrust into the cloudless sky whichever way
she looked. The Remarkables with their distinctive jagged outline.
Coronet Peak with its heavier mantle of snow. Maybe there were
already keen skiers and snowboarders up there, enjoying the
fantastic morning? She cleared her throat, wondering if she should
ask, and then couldn’t voice even such an innocuous remark.

Matthew broke the silence when the lake
became visible. “Wakitipu’s looking great in this light.” He pulled
to the side of the road for a moment. As they watched, a bright red
boat burbled slowly out. “Shotover Jet. He won’t be doing that
speed for long.” Sure enough, a plume of spray eventually kicked up
from the stern, the boat shot forward, and they dimly heard the
roar of its powerful engine splitting the tranquillity of the still
morning.

Lottie was chafing to get home, already
seated in a wheelchair close to the reception desk.

“I thought you’d be on crutches,” Kate said,
surprised.

Lottie beckoned her to bend. “Sometimes it’s
okay to have the famous name,” she murmured. “I told them ‘really
big house—too far to walk on crutches—painter can work sitting in
the wheelchair... And so—” She looked very pleased with herself.
Kate laughed.

“I hope this folds up,” Matthew interrupted,
bending to inspect the other side of the chair.

“Oh ya,” Lottie said airily, patting his
shoulder as he crouched beside her.

He turned and kissed her wrist. “How’s your
head?” he asked.

“Little bang. Not so bad.”

“And the ankle?”

“Horrible.”

He flashed a big grin up at Kate. “Welcome to
the world’s worst patient.” He unfolded to his full height and
pushed the chair around to face the exit. “Anything I have to
sign?”

“All done,” Lottie said, leaning back,
content as a queen with her attendants. They proceeded out to the
parking lot.

“Will it be easier for you in the back or the
front?” Kate asked, surveying Lottie’s ankle.

“The back, maybe. I can go sideways.” Kate
helped her in to the SUV, flinching at each of Lottie’s dramatic
grimaces and groans. Matthew chuckled, and left them to it to while
he wrestled with the chair.

“He’s not very sympathetic, is he?”

“Always the same,” Lottie agreed, finally
settling. She turned her twinkling blue eyes to Kate’s. “Good idea
for a new painting today,” she said. “Quite different for me. Could
be woman, could be hillsides. Fun, ya?”

Kate nodded cautiously, not seeing what
Lottie saw.

“So my new assistant’s first job is model,
okay?”

“A portrait?”

Lottie waggled her hand in a maybe/maybe not
gesture. “Perhaps not your face at all. Your hips, your back...
keeping the panties on of course.”

Damn right!
Kate thought, caught
unawares. This wasn’t quite what she’d bargained on. And there
weren’t many panties to keep on, drat it. She hadn’t been able to
resist the tiny green lace thong. She needed to change into
something more concealing...the French knickers perhaps. She
relaxed a little at that thought as Matthew drove them back through
the icy-clear day.

He pushed the chair along the wide main
hallway of the house, then stopped at a door which was neatly
concealed just around a corner. He pressed a button. The door
folded sideways. Kate had her first view of Lottie’s private
elevator.

Lottie motioned her in and waved Matthew
away. The door closed and they ascended.

“Good to carry all sorts of things up, ya?
And maybe me when I’m older and don’t do the stairs.”

Kate nodded, impressed. “Good for big
paintings, too,” she agreed.

“My studio is the top floor. Lots of room.
Lovely light. Matthew designed it all as I needed.”

The door opened on another world. Kate stood
astounded.

The paintings were powerful, dominant,
fierce. Lottie may not have lived permanently in New Zealand, but
her love for the terrain was obvious—in every stroke and slash,
every line and gradation of colour. There were canvasses in all
stages of progress, leaning on walls and against furniture.
Bookshelves, storage cabinets, easels, tables...the litter of
painting paraphernalia was everywhere. Sketch pads, coffee mugs,
wine glasses, and magazines spread in a rising tide on every level
surface. A big book of Leonardo da Vinci’s exquisite life drawings
lay open on a chair. A tome of French impressionists had fallen to
the floor.

A circle of black leather recliner chairs
around a low oak table formed the only island of sanity Kate could
see in the huge space.

To one side there was a smaller room,
obviously set up for sleeping.

Along the back wall a kitchen counter had
sliding doors to conceal it—except they were not closed, and the
litter of unwashed plates, orange peel, and paint spatters looked
far from hygienic.

Lottie laughed at her reaction. “My eagle’s
nest,” she said with satisfaction, waving a hand toward the
surrounding views.

“Incredible,” Kate whispered. There was no
other word. The long line of windows had been positioned to frame
the up-thrust peaks of The Remarkables—for all the world like a
gigantic canvas on which a supremely talented artist had produced
their life’s masterpiece.

But Lottie allowed her scant time to admire
it. “So, we have the red couch there,” she said, pointing. “Can you
put those papers off? Anywhere will do.”

Kate shuffled them into a tidy heap, cast
around for somewhere clear, shrugged, and finally balanced them on
some magazines.

“And you pull it around this way a little?
Good.”

Lottie sat, considering, eyes narrowed. “And
Kate—in the bedroom there are lamps. Can you bring them?”

The bedroom was perfectly civilized. The
lamps were easy enough to retrieve.

“Ya—one there, one the other side. You find
the wall-plugs?”

Kate fossicked around as instructed.

“Now—you sit. Lean over. The other way. Onto
the cushions?”

She tipped her head on one side. “I think you
move this lamp further out, and bend its arm so it is low...”

Lottie took an elderly Polaroid camera from
the table beside her and inspected it. “Now the clothes off and we
see how the shadows fall.”

Kate was appalled. “I’ve never done this
before. I don’t know if I can...?”

“Ach—nobody sees,” Lottie said comfortably.
“Katie, if you had studied at art school you would know this is not
hot stuff.”

Kate giggled unexpectedly at the
description.

“Leave the bra and panties on. And on the
couch like before.”

“The panties are very tiny,” Kate said,
blushing, removing her jersey and the shirt underneath, and
standing unwilling in her bra and trousers. Lottie looked up with
expectation.

“Ya—off,” she said. Kate slowly peeled off
her jeans. Lottie didn’t blink. “And lying down...turning the head
away...”

Kate heard a click and a whir. “So—come and
look.”

The photo was all too revealing, but Lottie
seemed pleased enough.

“Again, Katie—and the legs stretched out more
this time. Can you reach out and bend the other lamp down lower,
too?”

Another shot. Another short wait. “Good. You
come and see?”

Kate looked most unwillingly.

“Ignore all the windows Katie, and half-close
your eyes. See the hills and valleys and shadows? Is she a woman or
not? Is different, ya?”

Kate scrunched her eyes up and suddenly saw
what Lottie saw. “Uh! That’s a real surprise.”

“Okay, so we do the real thing. With the bra
off and being very comfortable on the cushions...”

Kate returned to the couch, removed her bra
once she’d decently turned away, and settled down. She heard Lottie
readying her painting gear. The house was warm... the lamps added
heat of their own...this was not too bad.

“Hello—what have you brought for us?” Lottie
asked a few minutes later.

Kate’s blood turned to ice.

“Just some sandwiches,” Matthew said. “Katie
had very little breakfast, and it’s almost lunchtime. I thought you
could both do with them.”