Chapter Sixty-Eight
Sixty-Eight
Quaddra flew back to San Francisco on Sunday morning, and he and Mary spent the rest of the day together… in bed. On Monday, he left the house early, as he had a full day of meetings in his office downtown, but these were all for real.
Mary had just come back home from her daily morning run by the Bay when Antonia, the senior housemaid, walked into the kitchen carrying a full basket of laundry.
‘Miss Smith,’ she called, grabbing Mary’s attention.
Mary had asked her countless times to call her ‘Mary’, but Antonia never did. To her, it would be disrespectful to address her employers by their first names.
Mary lifted her eyes from the magazine that she was reading. ‘Hi Antonia.’
‘Did Mr. Buckner cut himself while he was away?’ Antonia asked.
Mary frowned at her. ‘Cut himself? What do you mean?’
Antonia reached into the laundry basket to retrieve a gray, long-sleeved sports shirt that belonged to Quaddra.
‘Maybe I’m wrong,’ she said, walking over to where Mary was sitting. ‘But this looks like a little blood, doesn’t it?’ She showed Mary the tip of the shirt’s right sleeve, where a few small dark-red specks could be seen. ‘Or is it wine?’
Mary recognized the shirt as one of Quaddra’s moisture-wicking running shirts. Its materials reduced perspiration and kept body moisture locked in. She had a couple of similar tops herself.
Mary took the shirt and looked at the dark dots on the sleeve from several different angles before stretching the fabric and bringing it to her nose.
All she got was a faint scent of Quaddra’s usual cologne.
She then rubbed her thumb and forefinger against the stains for a couple of seconds.
The fabric under them had hardened a touch. Like it would’ve had with dried blood.
‘He didn’t mention anything to me,’ Mary finally replied, her tone a little concerned. ‘But you’re right. This does look like blood, not wine. That’s strange.’
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Antonia said, reaching for the shirt. ‘I can use Tide Oxi on it. That thing is like magic. It gets rid of all sorts of stains.’
‘Actually, no,’ Mary said, holding on to the shirt. ‘Leave it with me, Antonia, and I’ll ask Quaddra when he gets in this evening.’
That evening, Quaddra got home just a few minutes past eight o’clock. Mary was sitting in the study/library room, reading a book on psychology.
‘Hey babe,’ Quaddra said, poking his head through the door. ‘How was your day?’
‘Hey honey.’ Mary put down the book and walked over to Quaddra to kiss him. ‘All good… easy. Dropped by the gallery this afternoon to sort a few things out and that was about it, really. How was yours?’
He put his arms around her. ‘One meeting after another.’ He kissed her again. ‘Same old, same old, but I do have some great news.’
‘Really?’ Mary smiled. ‘Do tell.’
‘As discussed.’ Quaddra kissed her again. ‘Vienna – tickets bought and hotel booked. Europe baby.’
They had talked about their trip last night, with Quaddra insisting that they flew in his private jet.
It was way more practical and convenient than a commercial airliner, but Mary told him that she’d heard too many stories about things going wrong with private jets, especially during long-haul flights.
Quaddra did try to explain how safe private jets really were and that his pilot, Bill Stoneheart, was ex-military, with over twenty years of flying experience, but Mary really wasn’t having any of it. In the end, Quaddra simply gave in.
‘When?’ Mary asked.
‘Friday,’ Quaddra told her. ‘Just like we agreed. Flight departs at 7:45 p.m. We’ll make a quick stop in Frankfurt because we’re flying Lufthansa, but from there to Vienna is a quick one-and-a-half-hour hop.’
Mary’s fake smile was flawless. ‘I guess I better start packing then.’
‘Start packing?’ Quaddra frowned and chuckled at the same time. ‘It’s Monday, babe. We’re going on Friday… and we’re only going for eleven days.’
‘I don’t like leaving things until the last minute,’ Mary replied, reaching for Quaddra’s hand and pulling him away from the study. ‘Are you hungry?’ They started walking in the direction of the kitchen.
‘Starving.’
‘Great. Antonia made her famous roast chicken with Mediterranean vegetables. It’s in the oven.’
‘Oh my god, it’s like she read my mind. I love her roast chicken. I’ll go get the wine.’ He pointed in the direction of the cellar. ‘Any preference?’
‘Not really. Surprise me.’
Quaddra did, choosing a South African Pinotage Reserva – it paired perfectly with roast chicken.
They sat at the kitchen table.
‘Honey,’ Mary said, as Quaddra poured some hot gravy over his chicken. ‘Did you hurt yourself while in LA?’
Quaddra’s forehead creased. ‘Hurt myself? What do you mean?’
‘Antonia was doing the laundry today,’ Mary explained. ‘And on one of your running shirts – gray, long sleeve, sweatproof – there appears to be a few speckles of blood on the right sleeve.’
‘Blood?’ Quaddra put down his fork. ‘Are you sure?’
Mary nodded. ‘Yeah, let me show you.’ She got up from the table and went into the laundry room.
‘Fucking stupid, Quaddra!’ Quaddra whispered through clenched teeth, his hands clenching into fists. ‘Fucking stupid!’
Seconds later, Mary walked back into the kitchen with Quaddra’s shirt.
He took it and just like Mary had done earlier, looked at the stains from different angles before stretching the fabric and smelling it.
‘That’s odd,’ he said, his gaze still on the shirt, his expression intrigued.
‘I don’t remember… ohhhhhh!’ His eyebrows arched as he looked back at Mary. ‘James, the bleeder.’
Mary looked somewhat confused. ‘James, the bleeder?’
‘Yes,’ Quaddra explained. ‘At the Marina.’
Mary gave Quaddra a subtle shake of the head, followed by a half shrug.
‘Yesterday morning, I was up by 5:00 a.m.,’ Quaddra clarified.
‘Just couldn’t sleep anymore. I thought about giving you a call, but it was way too early, so I decided to go for a run at the Marina.
Like I said, it was early, not that many people out and about, but there were a few, mainly on the Ocean Front Walk.
Anyway, I was right at the end of my run when an older gentleman, who was just a few feet ahead of me, got a pretty intense nosebleed. ’
‘Oh god!’ Mary grimaced.
‘It was weird too because he didn’t fall or bump into anyone, or anything like that. He just started bleeding, mid-run.’
‘How old was he?’
‘Not young… late sixties, I think, but in pretty good shape.’ Quaddra put the shirt down on the table.
‘Anyway, I did what I could to help – tipped his head back and told him to breathe through his mouth. Someone else saw it as well and came over to assist, so we both got the guy to the nearest bench and sat him down. By then, it was almost six in the morning and the beach lifeguards were getting to their posts. The other guy stayed with the bleeder, while I ran up to a lifeguard post and got someone with a first-aid kit to come and help.’
Mary picked up the shirt again. ‘You never told me any of this.’
‘I had actually forgotten about it,’ Quaddra said back, matter-of-factly. ‘But the funny thing is, I had my sleeves pulled up.’ He mimicked the gesture.
‘So was the guy OK?’
‘Yeah, he was fine,’ Quaddra replied, reaching for his fork.
‘I hung around until the lifeguard had stopped the bleeding, just to check if he needed any more help, you know? Maybe I could get him a cab home or something, but he didn’t live too far, so, to be on the safe side, I walked back with him.
His name was James, and he told me that he used to box in his younger years.
That’s why he gets those nosebleeds every once in a while.
His nose has taken its fair share of punches during his boxing days. ’
‘Aww, that was so very kind of you, honey.’
‘We all need a little help every now and then, babe, no matter who we are. Anybody would’ve done the same.’
‘No, they wouldn’t,’ Mary said, with a shake of the head.
‘They would’ve taken out their phones and recorded everything for their social media, but not everyone would’ve helped…
and even fewer would’ve stuck around like you did just to see if you could be of any more help.
You’re amazing, do you know that?’ She stepped closer to kiss him again.
Even though he was lying, Quaddra did feel somewhat proud because he knew that if the bleeder scenario had really happened, he would’ve helped, just like he told Mary.
‘I don’t think I am,’ he replied. ‘But I think that we’re living in a pretty shitty world when being kind is considered to be an exception.’