Chapter 10
S till pleasantly tipsy, Rosie returned to the Forget-Me-Knot , humming to herself as she wandered the streets of Amsterdam, admiring the city at night.
Some of the bridges had lights around the semicircular arches that shone in the sapphire blue night sky.
The glow of the street lamps was mirrored on the water, making the city sparkle.
She approached as quietly as she could, careful not to disturb her neighbours. One cranky neighbour in particular. She wasn’t entirely sure anyone lived on the other side of her; she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of them.
Hide nor hair . That was a funny phrase.
She started giggling to herself and as she stepped onto the deck, forgetting it was a boat, she squealed as it rocked.
Hurriedly shooshing herself, she pushed the key into the lock and braced herself to open the door.
Just as she was ramming her shoulder into it, knowing it would stick and need a good shove, a voice over her shoulder called: ‘Don’t do that, I’ve—’
But it was too late.
Rosie shrieked as the door gave way easily and she fell through with alarming speed. Luckily, she kept her balance and leapt down the steps. ‘Aargh!’
The voice sounded again, and she looked over to see Max watching her, a look of alarm on his face.
‘It’s okay. I’m all right. Did you...?’
‘Yes. You left it unlocked this morning when you went out. I assumed you’d only be gone a few minutes but then you didn’t come back so I stayed in to keep an eye on the place and I decided to plane the top where it was sticking.
I was going to tell you, but you found out for yourself before I could. ’
She must have been so nervous she’d forgotten to lock it in her haste to get to the flower market.
‘Don’t worry, I didn’t go inside or snoop around. All the colours made my eyes hurt.’
She looked over to see him retake the seat on his deck, a steaming mug in hand.
A small lantern and a few tealights lit the darkness around him.
He looked like a work of art himself, like a statue of a Roman or Greek warrior.
His body was just so strong-looking it made her want to stroke his chest and grip his arms. Gosh, she really was drunk if her mind was going there so quickly.
Straightening her hair and clothes, she walked back out onto the deck. ‘Good evening,’ she replied, knowing she sounded ridiculously formal. For some reason, she gave a small bow. ‘Sorry if I was noisy.’
‘You’re always noisy.’
‘And you’re always grumpy!’ She clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘Sorry! Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.’ To her surprise, Max’s beard twitched as though he was smiling. ‘Right, well it was very kind of you to fix my door. Thank you and... night, night.’
‘You could do with a coffee. He stood and walked to the edge of his boat. ‘Come and sit down. I’ll make you one.’
For a moment she didn’t move as her brain, slow to contemplate his offer, didn’t send any signals to her mouth.
‘Well?’ he asked, swiping his hand out towards the chairs. ‘Are you coming?’
‘Sure.’ She stepped back off her own boat and down a few paces onto his.
Zoon was asleep in his dog basket, placed out on the deck in the cool evening air.
She gasped as her eyes fell on the painting that had previously been covered with a cloth.
It was an abstract of blue and grey swipes and blocks of paint.
‘I knew you painted abstracty stuff!’ she declared as he came back with two cups of coffee.
‘It’s called abstract.’
‘That’s what I said. Abstracty.’
He sighed.
She wasn’t sure if it was the wine, but something about it made her think of sadness and grief.
The black slashes made with a smaller, slimmer brush, made her think of anger and frustration.
She’d never had that sort of response to a painting before.
Perhaps it was the colours. Perhaps it was just the wine.
Max, who had gone back into the galley for milk, came out and picked up the cloth to cover it.
‘Please don’t,’ Rosie said, her voice quiet. ‘It’s beautiful. Wonderful. What does it mean?’
Surprised, he didn’t move for a second but studied her as though she’d been teasing him. Then he dropped the cloth. ‘It means whatever you want it to mean.’
‘But what did it mean to you when you were painting it?’
‘I—’ He stopped mid-sentence as though checking himself. ‘I’ll get some sugar.’
She wondered why he wouldn’t answer her question but knew better than to push.
She let the subject drop. Rosie sat on one of the low camping chairs on his deck.
In the dim light she could see splashes of paint on the fabric of the armrest and ran her hand over it to make sure it was dry.
The cool night air brushed her face, and she closed her eyes, listening intently to the gentle lapping of the water against the hull.
‘You’re smiling,’ he said a moment later.
Was she? She hadn’t realised it. Contentment flooded her body, calming her mind after the last few days.
‘You’re always smiling,’ he clarified.
‘I try to.’
‘And talking to yourself?’
‘Don’t you?’
‘Not really.’ He took the mug in both hands. ‘Sometimes, I suppose.’
‘There then. We’re not so different after all.’
‘Most of the time I talk to Zoon.’ He signalled to the dog, who opened one eye, noticed Rosie and wagged his tail but was obviously too tired to move.
A number of other, smaller paintings were stacked against the side of his boat. They were similar in design– all abstract– but in various colours and shapes. Some blocky, some with gentle, curving arches that reminded her of the canal bridges. ‘Do you display your work anywhere?’
He shook his head and didn’t elaborate. Rosie sipped her coffee, feeling the tipsiness of earlier subside. After her walk in the fresh air, the alcohol was working its way out of her system. ‘Have you lived here long?’
‘A few years.’
Did he always answer with such short, sharp phrases or was it just with her? ‘Do you like it?’
He cocked his head. ‘Yes.’
‘Jesus, this is like pulling teeth.’
He didn’t laugh and instead, stared down into his mug.
Feeling slightly guilty for being so blunt, she tried once more to start a conversation. ‘Did you have a good day?’
‘Why are you asking?’
‘Oh, forget it.’ She stood up and placed her mug down on the table with such force that some of the coffee sloshed out over the side.
‘Look, if you don’t want to talk that’s fine.
We can sit here in silence, or I can take this coffee and dr ink it on my own on my boat. You didn’t have to offer it to me.’
Max looked shocked, his eyes wide, catching the moonlight. Then he laughed. A loud, booming sound that filled the quiet night more than anything Rosie had said or done.
‘You might be all sunshine and rainbows but you’re steely too, aren’t you?’
‘I am. I like being cheerful. I like singing and talking to myself. I like dancing around while I clean and looking on the bright side– most of the time– but that doesn’t mean I’m a pushover or that I’ll put up with someone being rude to me.’
‘Okay,’ he said with a firm nod. ‘Point taken.’ Max gestured to the seat, and she took it again. ‘I’m sorry. Nothing exciting happened in my day, but yours must have been better. I’m assuming so as you’ve been out all evening, or are you drowning your sorrows?’
‘You heard all that yesterday, did you?’ she asked, referring to her conversation with her dad.
‘I tried not to, but you had your door open, you were on speakerphone, and you are quite loud sometimes. Queen of the Idiots.’
It was her turn to laugh. ‘That’s me. But today was a lot better, thank you for asking.
And tomorrow will be just as good. Which makes me think I should probably go to bed.
I’ve got another early start, and I might have a bit of a sore head if I don’t get some sleep.
’ She stood, leaving her half-empty cup.
‘Drink some water first and take two painkillers now. It’ll help.’
She hid her surprise at his helpful, almost kind advice. ‘Okay, thank you.’
‘Goodnight then.’
She walked away, swaying slightly, and as she went to step onto the dock, she suddenly felt the weight and warmth of his hand in hers as he steadied her.
Rosie’s breath stilled in her body. It was very Mr Darcy, impossibly romantic, and the rush of emotion it started forced every thought from her head.
She turned to look at him as she stepped over the gap, trying to catch his expression to see if he’d meant the gesture to be as gallant as it had felt.
But as his hand fell away, all she saw was the back of Max’s head, his thick hair parting as he pushed a hand through it and stepped back into the galley.
Rosie continued on unsteady feet; sure it wasn’t the wine making her so wobbly. She filled a glass of water and took two painkillers, her hand still tingling at his touch as her head hit the pillow and sleep overcame her, her last thought of his skin touching hers.