Still Water (25 page)

“Ella,” her mother took both her daughter’s hands in her own. Ella noticed how fragile her mother’s were, her skin felt brittle to the touch. Over the course of only six months she had aged beyond her years. The stroke she had suffered after Ella’s father’s death had drained her strength, abruptly robbed her of her vitality and made her into an old woman before her time. She came from a Greek family who had prospered around Provincetown. In pictures of them the men stood straight with their chests thrust out, their chins forward, the women sat stoically staring at the camera. Helena had run away to marry Ella’s father when she was twenty-two, and hadn’t spoken to her own father since.

“I think we should tell him. I think we should tell Matt everything,” Helena said.

“No.” Ella shook her head firmly. Her night in jail had reinforced to her that what her mother was suggesting was something she couldn’t do. “It’ll be okay, Mom. It’ll work out, I promise.”

Helena looked into her eyes, searching to see if Ella was telling the truth. In the end she nodded gently, accepting for now that she was.

Ella couldn’t imagine how it would feel to not go out on the Santorini each day. She knew the coves and bays and headlands of the island like the back of her hand. She knew the forested slopes where the hills rose in a spine-like ridge, and the meadows in the north where cows grazed, she knew the cranberry bogs on the eastern side. She knew the changing palette of the island and looked forward to the seasons. The deep green of the hemlocks and cedars which held the high ground year round, the flowers that lit the meadows in spring with sparks of indigo and yellow and orange, and the scarlet fires of maple leaves and golden browns of oak in the fall. She saw it all from the sea. In the summer when the heat boiled and the deck planking burned bare skin, and in the winter when the seas rose in grey slabs of fluid movement and the sky pressed down and the water changed from blue to charcoal to pale grey flecked with white. When bitter winds whipped spray into her face which stung like needles, when hands grew so cold they became numb and turned blue and the pain as they thawed later was excruciating. All of this was part of life, of her life, and Ella had never wanted anything different. Even though it was hard to make a living, she survived as did many others. They were the last true hunter gatherers alive, part of the circle of life and death, of decay and renewal, and she didn’t ever want the island to change. She didn’t want the meadows ploughed under, and the island to be invaded by people wearing designer clothes, didn’t want fancy bars and restaurants springing up, or new roads for the summer people to drive their expensive cars and a yacht club where they could sit and watch their gleaming white boats. She wanted things to remain as they were.

The irony was that by keeping silent she risked it all, but she didn’t know what else she could do.

When she went down to the docks later Ella was aware of the curious looks people cast her way. She guessed by now everybody knew she’d been arrested and released, that speculation was running at fever pitch. Twice it seemed to her that people deliberately crossed the road when they saw her coming, but she told herself she was being paranoid. All the same she had the uncomfortable sensation of low conversations suddenly dying as she approached, and starting up again after she’d passed by and the back of her neck prickled all the way to her boat.

Gordon was working, mending pots while he sat on the deck of the Santorini. He grinned when he saw her. Hers was one of the few boats in the harbour. Most of the others were out again looking for the elusive bluefin.

“I heard some were seen south, in close to the mainland,” Gordon told her. “And there’s a story one was caught this morning near Bear Island.”

Ella went to Art Turner’s office, and when he saw her coming he jumped out of his chair and insisted she sit down. Then he pulled open a drawer and handed her a cheque. She read the amount, her eyes wide.

“You took your cut?”

“Fifteen percent. The rest is all yours Ella.”

She read the amount again, double checking the number of zeroes. The fish she and Gordon had caught had taken them a long time to beat, and so it hadn’t been in perfect condition. She’d figured to get less than half of what Art had paid her.

“Right about now that sucker will be making sushi in some fancy restaurant in Tokyo,” Art told her. “Beats the hell out of me how much those Japanese fellas’ll pay for one fish, but I ain’t complaining.”

“Neither am I.” She stood up and folded the cheque, then leaned over the desk and kissed Art impulsively on his cheek. “I have to get to the bank.”

She deposited two thirds of her share of the money in her account. Though a lot of it would go to cover the loan payments she was behind on, there would be enough left over to give her some peace of mind, for a while anyway. The rest she carried in a folded wad in her pocket, and when she got back to the Santorini she gave it to Gordon, enjoying the way his eyes goggled at the amount.

Before he could even think about arguing with her she clasped both of his hands around the notes. You keep it. You earned this Gordon.”

That night, after her mother was asleep, Ella sat by the phone, Kate Little’s number written down on the pad beside her, and several times she began to reach for the receiver, but each time she hesitated and let her hand drop. She rehearsed over and over what she would say, and each time she became confused, and forgot her words and finally she knew that she couldn’t make the call. In the end, she turned out the light and went to bed.

Part Three

Howard lay on the bed with his hands behind the back of his head, watching Amy Tucker as she came back from the bathroom. She was naked, her pale breasts jiggled and bounced as she hopped on to the bed. She retrieved the piece of gum she’d stuck to the bed-head earlier and popped it in her mouth. Howard caught a glimpse of her pink tongue, and seeing the way he looked at her she reached over and took hold of his flaccid penis.

“What’re you thinking about Howard, as if I didn’t know?” She straddled him, and he caught a glimpse of the dark cleft between her legs and felt himself harden.

“Whoa, Howard, look at this. You are an animal, I swear.” Amy leaned forward and kissed him, thrusting her hard little tongue between his lips. She tasted of juicy fruit and a lingering remnant of the cigarettes she smoked, which was less pleasant. With one hand she guided him, and settled over him, wiggling her hips like she was making herself comfortable in her favourite chair.

“Jesus Howard, you know how to hit the spot.” Amy closed her eyes, adopting a rapturous expression, her lips a little apart, uttering soft kittenish mewing sounds as she rocked her hips back and forth. “God, that sure feels good. I get so damn horny when I’m with you.”

Howard knew at least part of it was an act, and he wasn’t fooled, but maybe Amy knew that too and so it didn’t matter. It was all a game. Life was a game, full of winners and losers,

he thought to himself, pleased to consider himself one of the former. One thing about sex with Amy, no matter whether or not it was based on a little mutual deception, it was good, there was no denying that. He took her hands and guided them to her breasts.

She didn’t even falter, just carried on mewing and rocking and started massaging herself, caressing her nipples between finger and thumb. Howard started to feel himself build to a climax. Amy opened one eye, sensing him stiffen, and she ground herself down against the bone in his groin lest she miss out herself, and a few seconds later, slick with sweat she collapsed over him, the two of them panting like dogs in the heat.

“Whewee,” she said after a while, and rolled off him. “You’re a pistol Howard, you know that?”

He smiled with pleasure despite himself. “Plenty more where that came from, honey.”

She got up on one elbow and swept the hair back out of her eyes, one finger started tracing patterns on his chest. “We could do this every night if we wanted,” she said in what she imagined passed for a coy tone.

Howard sat up on the side of the bed, the mattress sagging underneath his weight. They were in Amy’s apartment over the hair and beauty salon she owned. The window was open and the smell of the harbour fish and salt and mud lay draped over the town in a limp humid haze. He could feel Amy’s sulk.

“Come on,” he said. “You know if we did this every day it wouldn’t be fun any more. We’d get sick of each other.”

“I wouldn’t get sick of you,” she pouted.

“You would if I wasn’t about to get rich.”

She crawled over to him and wrapped her arms around him, squashing her plump breasts into his back. “Is that what you think? I don’t care about your money. I don’t know why you want to stay with that wife of yours anyway. When was the last time she fucked you the way I do?”

Amy had a point, Howard had to concede. But what Amy didn’t understand and he could never explain to her was that his wife had more class and more allure in one shapely calf than

Amy ever would in all her fleshy, gaudy curves. Some women were built for fun, and some were built to marry. Amy was definitely the former. He knew she wouldn’t press her case. She brought it up now and again to see if he was weakening, but he didn’t really think she minded being his mistress instead of his wife. The truth was he suspected she liked it that way. She still got the benefits of his money without having to put up with the dull routines of domestic togetherness.

She let go and flopped back on the bed and reached over for her cigarettes. Howard pulled on his socks and stood up looking for his shorts. He caught sight of his pale bloated belly and his thin legs and was vaguely repulsed. Like most people he nurtured an image like an air-brushed picture of himself in his mind and he resented being confronted with the truth.

“You’re not exactly Rockefeller you know, Howard,” Amy said.

“You won’t be saying that a year from now. Once I win the election and get the go ahead on that marina the money is gonna pour in. I’ve got investors dying to get in on this thing.”

“If you win the election.” Amy blew smoke into the air.

“Don’t you worry about that. Didn’t you hear about Ella being arrested? Who the hell is going to vote for her now?”

“But she was released Howard. And nobody knows where the hell Jerrod Gant is.”

Howard started to say something, then stopped himself and grinned.

“What are you looking so pleased with yourself about?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Anyway, doesn’t matter that she’s been released. Ella doesn’t have a chance of winning next week.”

Amy took a drag on her cigarette and eyed him speculatively. “Is this thing really gonna make you rich Howard?”

“Oh yeah. You can bet on it.”

“How rich? Does this mean we could go on a vacation together like we used to talk about. You know, on a cruise to the Bahamas or something?”

“Why the hell not? Soon as things have settled down that is. I’m going to be pretty busy for a while, Amy.” He found his shorts and pulled them on. As a matter of fact he’d been thinking he might have to get rid of Amy. If things turned out the way he hoped he couldn’t take the risk of someone finding out about them. He was going to have wealthy friends, contacts, important people. They would be friends with his wife, he couldn’t take the chance of embarrassing her. It was too bad. Amy was without doubt good in the sack.

She sidled over the bed. “When will I see you again?” “Couple of days,” he said. No point in letting her go yet.

He let himself out the back door, cautiously checking the street before he left. His car was parked near his office on the waterfront. It was dusk and the harbour was full. The bars and restaurants in town were doing a roaring trade from the swarm of people who’d descended on the island from nowhere. They hadn’t wasted any time getting here. Once the news had leaked out about the bluefin Ella had caught people had begun arriving the very next day. Boats of all kinds were turning up by mid-morning. Some of them were carrying charter groups, others were professional fishermen; draggers and lobster boats from the mainland, and many more were just opportunists; vacationers with their launches and yachts of all sizes. Even the ferry had been fully booked, people coming over on the off-chance that they could buy their way on to a boat. Everyone hoping they might get lucky and catch themselves a ten-thousand-dollar fish. It was incredible. Like a goddamned gold rush.

Howard paused to watch a man painting a crude sign on a piece of wood offering charter fishing for two hundred dollars a day per person. The man wore a faded T-shirt and old jeans, and as he worked his brow was creased in a concentrated frown. Howard recognized him. He’d worked at the plant for a few months last year, but he’d been fired because he was often drunk when he turned up. Lucky, people called him, which Howard guessed was an ironic nickname.

“You spelt that word wrong,” Howard said. Lucky looked back at him, half vacantly, dripping black paint on his jeans.

“Huh?”

“Charter. It’s “e r” not “u h”.” He had spelt “Charter’, as “Chartuh’. Lucky gazed at his handiwork, and made the correction.

“Thanks.”

Howard looked at the crabber that was tied to the dock. The paint was blistered and all but gone, and the engine on the back was rusted. He figured Lucky would need to pay him to go out in that thing, and he hoped the man’s fortune lived up to his name for once when he went out in it. You had any takers yet?”

Lucky looked back at him. “Sure. Couple of guys from Connecticut who were on vacation over on the mainland.”

Howard shook his head in wonder. The things people would do for the chance to make a little money.

Matt had spent a frustrating afternoon trying to track down Jerrod Gant, but without much success. He called in at the harbour master office and got a list of Tom Spencer’s opposite numbers on nearby islands, but after eventually speaking to them all and following up on the leads they gave him, he drew a blank, Gant was well known, and several of the people Matt spoke to had hired him in the past, but none had seen him during the last few days.