Marriage & the Mermaid (Hapless Heroes) (10 page)

She was unpredictable, but Baz felt up to the challenge as he stopped outside her door. “Venus. I’m coming in,” he called softly. When there was no reply he unlocked the door to her suite and carefully peeked around it. The marbled entryway gave him no clues. “Venus?” he called again. The bathroom door directly ahead was open, as was the bedroom door to the left. No noises from either. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, then paced across the entry and scanned the sitting room to the right. She wasn’t on the couch. “Venus?” he called again, then stepped forward to glance into the bathroom and found her sitting on the toilet in only her red tee shirt, elbows down on her knees, her face resting in her hands.

She glanced up at him. “Oh. Hello.”

Baz threw a hand over his eyes and backed away. “Shit! You didn’t answer me.” What was
with
this girl? So much for him being in control!

“You didn’t ask a question.”

Baz backed up to the front door and was about to let himself out — to go and have a couple of pre–breakfast scotches probably, when she said, “I need to swim today.”

His hand paused on the doorknob. “In the ocean?”

Pause. “Yes…” as if she wasn’t sure where else she could swim.

Baz wondered if this was some ruse to get away and get pregnant. And even if it wasn’t, she might get disoriented and swim off. Besides, that rogue shark was still out there. “What about a swimming pool,” he said, then remembered she had no swimsuit. Problem number one.

“Do you have one?” she asked.

“A swimsuit?”

“A swimming pool.”

Concentrate Wilson.
“We’ve got a pool,” he said. Carlos kept it well maintained and always ready to be swum in, although no one ever did. “Do you want to swim now? Or can you do that later in the morning?”

The toilet flushed and he saw her move into his line of sight to wash her hands, still wearing only the tee shirt. Tall, muscular, lean, and completely unselfconscious. She leant forward to look at her reflection in the mirror, then bared her teeth and ran her tongue over them. “I should brush my teeth,” she said and turned to him. “I should have done that last night.” This was said accusingly.

He forced himself to ignore her bare backside and stepped forward to point to the tray on the marble vanity. “Toothpaste and a clean toothbrush there,” he said. “Do you want to put your shorts back on?”

She picked up the toothbrush packet and turned it over in her hands. “It is encased.”

“Take it
out
of the packet.”

She held it out to him. “You do that and I will watch.”

There were only so many times Baz could think her behavior was weird. “You’ve never unwrapped a toothbrush?” She simply waited, so he took the packet off her, retrieved the toothbrush which he gave to her, then said, “Rubbish goes in the bin,” and tossed the wrapper into the receptacle under the vanity. Then he picked up the shorts that she’d left on the floor. “You want to put these back on?”

She picked up the toothpaste tube. “Do I need to
unwrap
this?”

Just do it for her, Wilson.
He tucked the shorts under his arm and unscrewed the cap and careful put a smear on her toothbrush. “Wet that with cold water and you’re ready to go.”

She nodded, all serious attention, balancing the toothbrush on the way to the tap as though she was worried the toothpaste might topple off. She wet the end of it and raised it to her mouth.

“Away you go,” he said, and leant back on the doorjamb, crossing his arms, thinking this was actually funny.

She straightened and gazed at her reflection in the mirror, then carefully put the toothbrush against her bared teeth. Her hand jerked and she got toothpaste on her cheek. She growled and tried again.

“Close your eyes,” he said, trying not to laugh. “It’ll be easier if you don’t look at your reflection. Mirror image, that sort of thing.”

She did as he suggested and tried again. This time the toothbrush only overshot the mark by a centimeter so she kept with it, jerking back and forth against her front teeth.

“Don’t forget the back teeth,” he said.

She opened her eyes and slanted a glance at him. “
Ra rack?”
she gargled.

Baz broke into a grin. He shook his head. “You’re adorable,” he said, unable to help himself. She was like a big puppy he needed to housetrain. “You don’t have a clue, do you?”

She spat into the sink. “I am merely inexperienced,” she said.

“Inexperienced with brushing your teeth.”

She looked back at him, as though assessing his response. “So it would appear.”

He just gazed at her. “So what planet do you come from where people don’t brush their teeth, and still end up with beautiful pearlies like yours?”

She surprised him by smiling back at him – a funny smile with toothpaste all around the edges. “My teeth remind you of pearls?” She seemed genuinely pleased by that.

“Absolutely,” he said, “Beautiful, lustrous, white pearls, all strung together in a perfectly even curve.”

She turned back to her reflection. “Beautiful,” she said, as though testing a theory, and bared them again to check.

“Stunning,” he said, and wasn’t lying. That hundred megawatt smile would make any man remember he had a libido. Baz, standing at close quarters to her gloriously half–naked body, wasn’t likely to forget his, drugs or no drugs, and that helped remind him that he needed to keep things
appropriate
between them if he wanted to treat her like one of his students. “You need to get dressed,” he said, slipping back into teacher mode. “Shorts.”

She ignored that and stuck the toothbrush back into her mouth and poked and prodded. With a few directions from Baz, made a creditable job of brushing her teeth, then after she’d spat and rinsed he handed her a towel and she wiped her face. “Twice a day,” she said to him, as though testing. “Morning and night.”

“Correct.”

“And showers?”

“As often as you want,” he said, then thought he’d better add, “But it’s usually twice a day.”

She frowned, and he suddenly realised she was trying to work out whether to have a shower now.

“After your swim?” he suggested.

“I’m hungry,” she said, and licked her lips. “The food in the cold box is gone. Is there more where it came from?”

Baz held out the shorts. “Clothes first.”

“Are you sure —”

“I’m not having sex with you,” he reiterated, just in case she’d forgotten that from yesterday.

“Because we are strangers,” she said. “But that was yesterday.”

“It’s still true today. Plus you’re too young,” he added, “however, the main reason is that you’re going away. I’m not prepared to make a baby with someone who takes it away.”

She gazed at him with what looked like defeat in her eyes. “My sister told me not to land here,” she said.

“Your sister?” This might be a good time to have that conversation he’d been planning.

But before he could think of a way to open it, she said, “I need to swim,” and made to push past him.

Baz held out the shorts again so she took them and struggled her legs into them. Baz had to tie the drawstring for her. When that was done he reminded her, “Every time you step outside your rooms you need to be dressed.”

“Modesty and decorum among strangers,” she replied, as though reciting a lesson. “But you are no stranger to me,” she added. “So I don’t need to be modest around you.”

Baz was about to tell her he’d never met
anyone
stranger than her, but instead he replied, “We
are
still strangers so I would appreciate you being dressed around me, and there are other people in the house, so please be respectful of their sensibilities. They might be offended.”

“Who are they?” she asked, and Baz thought he heard carnal curiosity in her tone.

“My father lives here with me,” he told her. “You saw him in the library. Then there’s the groundsman Carlos, who is also old.” That was a an exaggeration but he didn’t want her getting ideas. “And a cleaning lady who comes once a week. Her name is Glenda. The linen service people only pick up and drop off, so you won’t meet them. The old housekeeper, Elsie is gone so you won’t meet her either.” He opened the door of her suite and gestured for her to step through into the hallway where he pointed left.

She obeyed his directions and walking off down the carpeted hallway while he shut her door. When he’d caught up with her she said, “You told the policeman that I am the housekeeper, so do I have Elsie’s job?”

“Well, for the purposes of – “

“What does a housekeeper do?”

He thought about that for all of three seconds then decided that the farce of housework would keep her busy so he said, “She cooks mostly –”

“I can’t cook.”

“And orders in the groceries –”

“I’ve never done that.”

And doesn’t jump into bed with the postman.
Baz caught himself before he said that out loud. This was so much more frustrating than he’d thought it would be when he first woke up. “It’s actually not that difficult,” he said, and turned right when they reached a junction of hallways. They set off down the tiled walkway that led to the kitchen. “I’ll show you what to do —”

Baz was about to add,
and it’s only pretend anyway,
when she said, “I am eager to learn,” and glanced at him pointedly.

“Learn … cooking?” he asked, wondering whether he’d missed part of the conversation.

“Learn
everything,
“ she replied enigmatically, slanting him such an obvious come–hither glance that he had to smile at her persistence. But just when he was about to say
Give it up,
she turned away from him and said, “Are we at the kitchen?” pointing at the swinging door.

“Yes we are,” he replied, and stepped forward to hold it open for her. She walked into the polished timber room and he followed her. “How did you know?”

“I could smell food,” she said, and walked straight over to the bin. “In here.”

“No, no.” He held out a hand, thinking his tentative plan to just write her out a timetable was going to be hopeless. He’d clearly have to walk her through everything. “That’s the scraps,” he said, which was probably patronizing but it was impossible to know what she was familiar with and what she wasn’t. She clearly came from a society that was very different to his. “It’s the waste that we throw away.”

She turned back to face him. “But it’s still here.”

Good point. “I forgot to empty the bin. That’s the housekeeper’s job, which I have been doing, but I was busy with –”
you in fact,
“– something else and I forgot.”

She nodded and continued looking at the white plastic bin.

Baz made himself turn away and walk to the pantry. “What do you usually have for breakfast?” he asked, and pulled a packet of cornflakes off the shelf for himself.

“Lobster,” she replied. “Or crab.”

He turned and raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid all I have in the freezer are sea shanties and fish fingers.” A girl with expensive tastes. Maybe she wasn’t a poor refugee after all.

“Fish don’t have fingers.”

That made him smile. “Ours do,” he told her.

“Then they are mutants.”

“I’ve often wondered about that.” Baz brought cornflakes to the table along with a bowl and a spoon, then he went to the fridge for milk. “If you like seafood,” he said, “you and my father will have nothing in common.”

“It’s all I eat,” she replied, then glanced away as if she shouldn’t have said that.

Baz put the milk on the table and said, “Well a fish diet makes sense. You are
Venus from the sea
. It’s only natural.”

“You are being sarcastic.”

“I am being sarcastic. Sorry. Would you like me to show you how to cook fish fingers?” he asked. “They’re crumbed pieces of fish.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Crumbed?”

He tipped cornflakes into a bowl and plucked one out. “Crumbs taste like this,” he said and handed it to her.

She raised it to her nose and sniffed it, then her little pink tongue came out to lick it. Baz watched as she slipped it into her mouth and crunched tentatively, then more vigorously until she swallowed.

“Acceptable,” she said and he had to smile. One of them had definitely slipped off the edge of the map. He just wasn’t sure if it was him.

Chapter Eleven

L
iam Moor parked his police issue four–wheel drive in front of the Crystal Cove Police Station under the bottle tree that would protect it from the already–scorching mid–morning heat. He turned off the motor but stayed where he was to go over the points he wanted to raise with Waikeri when he went in, making sure it would all sound plausible. The shark hunter Vigo Skeyne would be arriving soon and it was Moore’s job was to feed him as much information as he could, and that was his excuse for ordering the autopsy within twenty four hours of the death, and also for attending it personally at the Bundaberg Hospital, a two hour drive away.

Waikeri would have the pathology report in an email by midday, although that had taken some arguing. The smart arse pathologist had tried to delay it, saying he was ‘busy’ but Moore had seen tanned calves below the kid’s obligatory white coat – probably poking out of board shorts. The hospital was only fifteen minutes from Bargara Beach where the kid had probably been hoping to go for a lunchtime surf, and knowing the salaries these yuppie scientist types snagged, he probably had an apartment there as well, while Moore was stuck with a bungalow on the beach at Crystal Cove — middle of nowhere: pub, post office, police station and a general store. Backwater central.

The disparity really pissed Moore off, but he had more important things to consider so all thought of strangling the pathologist with his own dreadlocks were past. It was time to maneuver Waikeri into allowing him to investigate the Dalrymple girl, because there was something distinctly fishy about her. Moore had sensed it the moment he’d seen her.

So he let himself out of the truck and went through the wilting humidity into the air conditioned bliss of the station, feeling that sense of calm that came from walking into a space that was all white walls, countertops and furniture. Their spanking new police station with its functional masculine décor and distinct lack of clutter reflected the state of his bungalow. Minimalist. And after five years in
shabby–chic
hell that had ended in ‘leaving you for another man’ heartbreak, Liam Moore never wanted to see another quilted/crocheted/lace trimmed item in his life. Illogical though it may seem, he was now firmly convinced that clutter was trouble.