Authors: H Ryder
“We didn’t know where you were Daniel, I saw you get into your car in Tokyo as I was driving away.” I watch him pour the tea, “we’d had a kind-of quarrel,” I shake my head, not quite sure what to call it. “And I went back home by myself.” I looked at my hands, wringing over and over in my lap, he looks too, frowns at my display of nerves. Then I remember, “I have the jeans Daniel, they’re in my office in the safe.” I look at him, wishing we were alone so I could hug him. So I could make the pain go away, just as much for me as for him. Waffling nervously.
“I would never have chosen to leave you Tharie,” he looks down at his feet, “I’m sorry you don’t realise that.” that told me didn't it?
Stan drinks tea, his eyes darting between us over the rim of unchipped crockery.
“Daniel,” Stan’s voice is clear and commanding, “rest now and we’ll meet in the morning and figure out our next move.” He looks at me, “do you need a lift somewhere miss…Tharie?” Looking over at Daniel he smiles weakly.
“No thank you Stan,” I say as I text Jinni to feed the horses and cats for me, she is such a great help, I vow to buy her something nice as a thank you. Stan nods his understanding and leaves us standing at the kitchen island in silence.
“I didn’t want to leave you there.” He doesn’t look me in the eye, but he shakes his head slowly, he really is sorry.
“I know” I say, trying to read him.
HXF extended canter.
What Daniels thinking is impossible to guess, his mood hard to define, a difficult silence passes between us and I just finish my tea. Trying not to spoil the spooky quiet with noisy slurping, it’s quite comedy to look at actually, but it doesn’t feel funny in the least. There’s a conflict going on in his face, it's like he's totally lost control of his emotions and has working really hard to regain them, his mask of calm is on, his face still and quiet. I’m not as good as that, Dr Shrink intimated I should lead a solitary existence if I didn’t want to deal with humans. But of course that’s impossible, and I like some people....not many, well a few anyway, I can count on one hand...
Horses are so uncomplicated.
“Is there any more in the pot?” I extend my arm with cup in hand. A metaphor if I ever wrote one.
Daniel has decided something in his head I can tell by the look that passes across his mask. Either I’m going to get a top up, or he's going to tell me what all this has been about.
I get a top-up first.
He looks at me with a clear expression, and comes over. He leans down to me as I sit on a barstool, I raise my face to his, so close, he kisses me gently on the lips, the connection is made. A pleasant tide of calm washes over me, must be the tea, yes, quite right. Then I hear his voice, “come baby, there’s things I need to tell you,” anticipation swells in my stomach, it begins to hurt me. My heart feels like it’s in cramp as my chest tightens, nerves? Sensing my fear he takes my hand, “come with me, things about me need explaining Tharie.” The use of my name
calms me, it sends rivers of sedative like a medication through my veins, travelling swiftly and sweetly around my whole body.
Note to self, when you talk to yourself try not to sound so dramatic, leave the Mills and Boon to those who know how to do it!
Bloody right.
He leads me into a living area off the kitchen, this cavernous place is magnificent, its bare bones clean and white and sparse, everything in its place but scattered about are objects of desire to stir the imagination. A deeply multi-cultural collection of beautiful objects hang, lean and are placed all around the room. Ancient in origin, intricately adorned iconography, motifs and long dead languages marked in the surfaces of wood, tile, textile and ceramics. The collection takes my breath away, and I stand central in the room transfixed by one piece in particular. A wall hanging of woven textile, complex in construction suggesting Mayan or Incan source. Surrounded by a rough-hewn wooden frame with markings I don’t recognise around the inside rim, edged in a fine overlay of gold.
Into my heart on air that kills...
Knotted strands of coloured wire are stitched into the fabric. But the one icon that takes my attention more than anything is the central image. Aged-old and faded but clear, an eagle with his huge powerful wings outstretched as if climbing up into the air. Massive sharp talons with gold threaded around them, and in the claws is grabbed an old wooden sailing ship with torn sails and broken keel.
My phone hums, it’s silent on vibrate, and journeys its way across the counter top where it’s plugged in recharging.
EC: “Remember me?” Hello Mother, not now.
TC: “Can’t talk now, I’ll call you” write a note on my wrist with an ink pen. ‘Call Mum’, yes, it's subtle but that should do it, as it turns out I am wrong about that too of course.
EC: “I’ve been abducted by aliens” heard that one before, but just in case.
TC: “What colour are they?” Test.
EC: “Green of course, my favourite colour” she watches too many stupid programmes.
TC: “It’s not a real one then Mum,
real
aliens are grey” true story.
EC: “’Real’ aliens? Oh Tharie” this is the longest conversation we’ve had in weeks.
TC: “Love you, call later” I check my wrist, yep.
EC: “I wonder if my alien implant will take messages?” Stupid, can’t believe we share genes, they'll be on a completely different network!!
Daniel is looking at the tapestry still, I join him and appreciate its intricacy, the boy, and the wall hanging.
From yon far country blows...
It’s the logo for RANDom. I turn and look at Daniel, he is staring too as if he’s seeing it for the first time, or does he want to see it with fresh eyes? No, more like a jigsaw he still can’t get the edge pieces to fit...it’s a puzzle! “Sit down” he tells me softly, I have the feeling he’s going to depart something difficult. His strong beautiful, hot sexy body, in complete control, I have never seen Daniel like this before, usually we'd be at each other by now. Maybe we need a relationship not based on amazing sex, perhaps we should get couples counselling. What would Dr Shrink have to say about it? Maybe I should go see her? Last I heard she was in rehab, we all have our problems don’t we?
“This place....Daniel” I take a long slow scan around the room, taking everything in, as is my way. “it’s...just magnificent,” the collection of antiquities, rare and exotic....”I'm speechless.”
“That's not like you.” he sniffs. True story.
I slowly sink into the white square shaped leather sofa. It feels new, or just that nobody ever sits on it. Daniel selects a single chair, a jacquard of faded complex pattern covering and old almost black woodwork, carved with scrolls and curlicue. It faces the tapestry, he is comfortable sitting there, as if it gives him strength. I get the impression he spends a lot of time here, contemplating the imagery of the hanging artwork. He's sat in an attempt to reconstruct the meanings behind the symbols and markings, trying to make sense of the story the piece is trying to tell. “This place Daniel, I’m going to need more tea!” I really do.
Ha! “I don’t bring anyone here Tharie, this is where I hide from life when I need to.” His eyes remain transfixed on the wall, I wish he’d just spit it out. My impatience is beginning to show, guessing it he says warmly, “I’m having a hard time communicating....it’s difficult.” I take his hand, it’s cold.
“Daniel, whatever it is, whatever you’re going to tell me, it’s me...I Love you.” what! Yep, that's right, I do. What! Where did that come from? Bloody hell, out now, and I didn't even realise it. He looks down at me, his eyes sad and intense, as if he’s going to break my heart. A deep feeling of doom creeps unwanted through me, The Lady of Shalott, infecting me, Tennyson wrote it best, beginning to turn everything light into dark, 'the doom has come upon me cried the Lady of Shalott'.
He looks intense, his eyes dark and staring at me, searing into my brain, his breathing very slow. His fists clench to white knuckles and release repeatedly. How bad can it be?
That is the land of lost content...
There’s always someone worse off than yourself, don’t you think?
I love you, what was I thinking?
“No one has ever said that to me before,” he blinks and I get the feeling he’s snapping out of a melancholy, the fog in his eyes clears, and he’s back with me, in this room. “Tharie” he whispers my name, “you didn’t leave, you're here.” He looks relieved, calm and I can feel his tenseness melting away as if I had been the flame.
“Daniel, just tell me everything babe.” I squeeze his hand and he begins the story and doesn’t let me go. “It was obvious from the beginning you weren’t going to be any normal boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend?” Suddenly I’m a little embarrassed, it was an assumption. “I like that.” Thank goodness.
“Baby,” he begins, and exhales sharply as if the final breath of badness leaves his body, leaving him cleansed, but I get the feeling it’s a story that leaves him ashamed, is that it? “My family is old, very old.” He breathes normally and looks directly at me hoping I’m listening, which of course I am, something this important to this incredible man, I’m desperate to hear it. “And since we were children,” he continues with added strength, “we have lived with these old pieces.”
I’m hungry though.
He speaks with a reverence, gesticulating around the vast size of the room. “We have studied their origins and meanings for hundreds of years hoping to solve the family puzzle, an inherited enigma so deeply ingrained into the woven fabric of our ancestry it’s part of us all.” He takes a calming gulp of air as if beginning the tale has given him courage to finish it. I sit on the floor in silence, whatever the story, the chapters need to be paced.
I wonder what's in the fridge?
“Two of my Uncles went missing trying to solve the puzzle.” He swallows, “and my Dad,” the words stick in his throat, “we discovered he’d probably been murdered.”
“Murdered?” I ask astonished, “god Daniel, I had no idea” what happened?”
“It's what our investigator told us, he could only find a paper trail, which concluded likely, murder.”
“And?” A familiar feeling of paternal loss creeps and seeps.
“And nothing, that’s it.” His hands fly into the air in frustration.
“There must be a story Daniel, there's always a story.” Suddenly the tip of my nose itches, it does that at the crux point in an Agatha mystery, I scratch it. “What else do you know?”
“We don’t know. No story, the body was never found.” He fiddles with his fingers.
“No body?” It's a story alright, a familiar one too, “yet you assume murder.”
“Simpler explanations are,” he lectures me, “all things being equal, generally better than complex ones.” my brows leap up.
Toast would do.
“You’re quoting ‘Occam’s Razor’ to me?” My Dad was a scientist, he often spoke of these things, no-one quotes: ‘Occam’s Razor’ under fifty years old. Who is this man?
“I’m impressed.” adds Daniel
“Don't be, then what?” I ask quickly, steering the subject back to the story.
“It was concluded that,” he taps his mental storage facility for the right words, “after close scrutiny, and every possible explanation having been discounted, whatever was left, however inconceivable, was likely the truth” it's hard when you can't Google your brain, maybe one day?
“Occam? The principle of simplicity? I like it, Agatha wouldn’t. “Where's the twist?”
“There's no twist, story ended, we never really knew anything,” that must have been hard.
Yes, cheese on toast, which would be perfect.
“How long ago?” Remembering my own Dad, and now he's not here, and he'd be so proud I remembered the Razor. “Cut away all the crap Catharine.” he'd say. “And what are you left with?”
“The truth?”
“Yes, what's left is the truth.” I miss him.
“We haven’t seen or heard from him in years Tharie, what other explanation is there? We don’t know anything.” There's always something, bloody crime drama!
“Tell me the story from the beginning,” I’m good at making connections, my 'Spidey' senses are on high alert, despite being peckish.
“During the 1570’s, my family were sailors, they ran shipping lines for the Spanish and as the kings fleet worked their way around the new worlds conquering and plundering as they went. I’m sure that sounds more romantic than it actually was. We were able to accrue a small collection of important finds and valuable antiquities ourselves. Well-funded by a small fortune already in the family from selling these pieces to collectors and the royalty of Europe, it was a mission of a single persons passion to hunt for lost civilisations and discover their histories and learn their cultures, and collect trinkets and icons to wonder and sell.”
“Is that what all this is?” I gesture around the room, “to wonder and sell?”
I hope he has HP sauce, can't have cheese on toast without HP.
He stands and walks over to the tapestry, this man is so hot, I try to stay focused. “No, these are mine.”
I want to lick him and bite his lip, the way he talks with such passion with a slight undertone of sadness? No, it's an enigma he can’t control, so what I see is frustration, I get that feeling but could make him feel less frustrated. Focus!