Entwined

Entwined

By Emma Daniels

Copyright 2011 Emma Daniels

Smashwords Edition

Chapter One

Stepping back from the easel, Tara eyed the canvas with critical eyes. Something still wasn’t right. With paintbrush poised in mid-air she frowned at her work. The twilight sky over the abstract city skyline was too dark, she decided, also noticing that the light in the room was fading, which meant she’d have to stop work. She didn’t like working under artificial light. It wasn’t true to the colors.

It can’t be that late already, she thought. Her whole week revolved around the clock, but on the weekends Tara refused to be guided by the time of day. She discarded her watch on Friday afternoon, and didn’t look at it again until her alarm woke her on Monday morning. But now she wanted to know what the time was, since she was due at The Balmain Watch House for the opening of an art exhibition at seven.

A friend she’d met through university was holding her first solo exhibition, and Tara had promised to be there. She normally hated such events, preferring to view art in her own good time. Openings meant crowds; friends of friends wanting to be seen as art connoisseurs.

Reluctantly she dropped her brush into jar on the cupboard beside her easel, and left the room to retrieve her watch. As she made her way down the stairs of the terrace, Tara glanced out through the screen door into the street.

Above the row of similarly joined houses, strips of crimson, yellow and orange streaked the darkening sky. For a moment Tara stood poised on the balls of her slippered feet, her artist’s eye taking in the brilliant display of color. That was what she’d been trying to capture on her canvas, but as she gazed at the sky, the sun’s reflections faded, leaving only the deepening blue of dusk.

Tara hesitated, the urge to return to her work battling with the promise to support her friend.

The insistent ring of the telephone made the decision for her. She bounded down the rest of the stairs and into the living room to answer it. Flopping down on the worn plum-colored lounge, Tara snatched up the instrument. The moment she heard the long-distance pips, she knew who was on the other end.

Hello, she muttered irritably into the mouthpiece.

Tara? It’s Eve.

She sighed. Hi Mum.

Ever since Tara had turned eighteen, her mother had insisted on being called by her first name. Tara derived a small sense of pleasure in reminding her she had two adult daughters in their twenties. Tara was twenty-six and Della almost thirty. Perhaps there was also a subconscious need to remind herself of the nature of their relationship, because Eve had never been the warm, sensitive parent her school friends seemed to have. The men in her life had always taken precedence over everything else, including her children.

After her husband’s death, Eve had flitted from one man to another, preferring to chase the elusive romance to providing a proper home-life for her daughters, dragging them from town to town in search of a new relationship.

Tara knew part of her anger stemmed from her mother’s apparent lack of respect for her father’s memory. As she got older she’d come to realize Eve was one of those women who wasn’t happy unless she had a man in her life, something Tara could do very nicely without. Tara had had a boyfriend once, and decided maintaining a relationship was too much trouble, particularly when he wanted more from her than she was able to give, such as sex, and lots of it.

How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that? Eve complained over the phone. She had a high-pitched voice, which when irritated sounded whiny.

I’m about to go out, Tara told her.

You’re always so pleased to hear from me, aren’t you?

Overjoyed, Tara muttered, unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice. She wondered if she would ever forgive her mother for the tears and pain her neglect had caused her. Sometimes Tara still marveled at how well she’d managed to come out on top of life. She had a University Degree and was earning a comfortable living as an art teacher at an inner city high school.

Even her sister seemed to have done well for herself, although Tara knew Della had escaped most of the heartache of their teenage years. Being older, Della had sought solace from her peers. Della was too flamboyant and verbose, too much like their mother. That’s why it surprised Tara when she’d married Blake Steele, the only son of a rich businessman.

He wasn’t at all the type of man Tara thought Della would go for, although it was entirely possible she’d married him for his money. She’d always hankered for the big, tough, out-door type, not a pale-faced workaholic who drove a Mercedes and wore designer suits.

Tara had an aversion to flashy people who flaunted their acquisitions at every opportunity, but despite his obvious wealth, Blake didn’t strike her as showy or shallow. In fact he seemed quite sensitive and rather shy, not Della’s type at all. But who was she to reason why. Della and Blake had been married for well over three years.

Tara remembered the way he’d stared at his bride on their wedding day. There had been such tenderness in his eyes it had touched something deep inside her. She recalled thinking she could fall in love with a man who looked at her like that. Afterwards she’d regarded it as a rather strange feeling for her to have, considering she didn’t like men or have much to do with them.

Tara suddenly realized what Eve’s call was about. Where are we having it this time? At Della and Blake’s?

Eve sighed audibly on the other end of the line. No, we’ve decided you should all come to Jindabyne for Christmas this year. Della is staying for New Year’s Eve. I thought you might like to do the same. Blake has to work between Christmas and new year, and I thought the three of us should spend some time together.

Is Lionel going to be there?

Of course.

Isn’t love grand? Tara remarked cynically.

You should try it some time. No point in asking if you’ll be bringing anyone this year.

No point whatsoever. Knowing Eve had gotten around to her favorite topic, Tara decided to terminate the conversation. Christmas was still three months away, but she’d come to accept that Eve liked to organize things way in advance.

All right. I can take a hint. Ring me back during the week. I need to know what you’re doing so I can keep a room free for you.

Okay, Mum. Speak to you then. With a heavy sigh, Tara sunk back into the lounge, noticing how tense her mother’s call had made her, since an uncomfortable ache had settled across her shoulder blades. Why did Eve always have that effect on her? She knew she shouldn’t begrudge her the happiness she seemed to have found with Lionel Evans, but why couldn’t she see how much her lack of attention after her father’s death had hurt her? They had all grieved for him, but Eve had acted as though she was the only one who’d suffered.

Tara ran her fingers through her short brunette curls in frustration. The only way to banish the painful memories was to do something.

Suddenly the art exhibition held a great deal of appeal.

Tara got off the lounge and headed to her bedroom at the front of the house. Scooping up her watch, she realized she’d have to hurry. Luckily she didn’t need to do much to make herself look presentable. The circle she moved in was so Bohemian one could get away with wearing almost anything. Make-up wasn’t a requirement, and Tara rarely wore it. Her large sea-green eyes dominated her pale, heart-shaped face. They were enough of a statement in themselves. Why attract even more attention by adding color to her full lips and round cheeks?

Rummaging through her wardrobe, she soon located the plain black dress she usually wore to such events. Tara slipped it on and stepped into her black and red pumps, then reached for the pair of gold hoop earrings lying on the dressing-table. They were as much part of her as the dark, oversized clothes she always wore.

Giving her reflection in the mirror a quick appraisal, Tara decided that she must have lost weight since she’d last worn the outfit. Once she’d considered it too clinging, but now it was loose enough not to draw attention to her curves. Good, she thought; men staring at her was the last thing she wanted.

Tara turned away from her reflection with an irritated shake of her head. It was all her mother’s fault such unwanted thoughts had wormed their way into her mind. She was adamant she never wanted to end up as needy and dependant as her. Tara had learnt at an early age to fend for herself, simply because Eve had spent more time searching for the elusive Mr Right than looking after her daughters.

Tara left the room, hurrying through the house to ensure the back door and all the windows were locked. At various stages parts of it had been redecorated, leaving it a mish-mash of old and new.

If Tara could actually afford to buy a house in Balmain, she would have pulled up the old carpet and returned the floor to polished wood, but being a tenant, she had to live with things as they were. It was big enough for her use, and the fact that a wall had been knocked down upstairs to turn two rooms into one, meant she had a good sized studio.

Finding somewhere to park in Balmain was a headache at the best of times. On a Saturday night it was virtually impossible, so Tara was grateful The Watch House was within walking distance. It would take her at least fifteen minutes, but she reasoned she’d spend exactly the same amount of time trying to find a parking spot.

Tara set off at a brisk pace. Now completely dark, the night air was cool against her neck, but she soon grew warm, and before she knew it the distinctive old sandstone building came into view. It had once been a police holding centre for convicts and been declared a heritage site. It was now used mainly for community meetings and exhibitions.

The relief on her friend’s face was plainly obvious when Tara hurried through the front door. She didn’t even reprimand Tara for her tardiness.

You look splendid, Tara smiled down at her.

Carlie was a short, well-rounded woman in her late twenties, with a long mane of sleek black hair and chocolate brown eyes. Like Tara she preferred loose, comfortable clothing, but unlike Tara it was to hide her Rubenesque curves. Carlie loved food almost as much as she loved painting and sculpting, and seemed to have found the best of both worlds. She worked part-time at the information desk at the New South Wales Art Gallery, leaving her ample time to create the images of Sydney life she was exhibiting tonight. Something uniquely Australian was portrayed in each and every one of them.

A slender man in his early thirties, with harsh pointed features and lank brown hair tied back into a ponytail, approached them. As usual Angel Divine was over-dressed in a bright orange shirt, a shiny leather vest and skin tight jeans.

Tara shrugged off Angel’s welcoming hug. There was nothing angelic about him, making her wonder if in deciding on that particular name, his parents hadn’t been trying to counteract the inherent vulgarity in his nature. Or had he chosen it himself through deed poll? She didn’t want to get close enough to ask him.

Another friend appeared on Carla’s other side, and took hold of the shorter woman’s arm. Come, Carlie, Sandra wants you to meet a friend of hers from the States, she urged.

Oh, he did come, she exclaimed. She told me about him. He’s a lecturer in fine Arts and owns several galleries in Colorado.

That piqued Angel’s interest. Sounds like an interesting person to meet.

Carlie realized her mistake too late. Even Tara was unable to detain him from following her back into another part of the building. With a bit of luck the American would see Angel for what he was and treat him with the contempt he deserved. It did, however leave Tara free to wonder around, as most of the crowd had congregated around the food table.

With drink in hand, Tara made her way through the various rooms, and finally headed up the stairs where she found more of Carlie’s artwork on display. Her sculptures were constructions of man-made items, blended and molded to create images of nature. Carlie called them her ‘reversions’, and Tara wondered whether she could start a new art movement called The Reversionists. She smiled to herself at that thought.

Carlie’s paintings were a different matter altogether. This was where her personality really came to the fore. Carlie was an expressionist, looking for the positive in everything. No wonder the American had been impressed, Tara thought, as she stopped to admire ‘City Gardens’, a work she’d love to buy if she could afford it. The garden was laced with flowing shades of rich greens and earthy browns, then splashes of red, white and yellow which depicted flowering plants. Above it sharp geometric slashes of gray outlined the city skyline and a smog filed sky.

A sound compelled her to turn. She saw a dark-haired man enter the room. She’d never seen him before, and on glancing at his clothes, deduced he probably wasn’t a fellow artist. Clad in neatly pressed fawn trousers and a plain white shirt which could pass for business attire, she decided he was most likely someone’s acquaintance, or had merely walked in off the street.

Finally she brought her attention to his face, only to find him returning her appraisal with dark, assessing eyes. He was handsome, with even, well-proportioned features. Tall too, six feet at least, with broad shoulders and a strong lean body.

Tara turned away from him, annoyed that he’d distracted her from Carlie’s painting. Even though she’d been obvious about her dismissal of him, the way the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up told her he was still watching her.

She riveted her gaze on another one of her friend’s paintings, but her awareness of him continued to torment her. As she stood there, he moved into her line of vision. Tara focused her attention on the next picture, but couldn’t concentrate on its poignant imagery, and decided to leave the room. She could always come back later.

As she passed through the doorway, something compelled her to glance back in his direction, probably her suspicion that he was still watching her. Of course he was, and he caught her gaze again, but this time he smiled, the corners of his dark eyes crinkling.

It changed his face completely, softening its angular lines. Her artist’s mind thought of what an interesting model he’d make. She visualzsed a grim, hardened man on one side or the canvas, and his contented, relaxed twin on the other. Like the two faces of Janus, the God of Ancient Greek Mythology, she could create a double image of the same striking face on the canvas.

That thought made her shiver, and Tara hurried from the room. Something about this man had gotten to her, but she had no wish to analyze it or its implications further.

Joshua didn’t smile again. Instead he frowned, wondering what made the woman in black flee from him. He’d been planning on talking to her about the painting she’d been gazing at; an ideal way of striking up a conversation he would have thought. Something about her had intrigued him from the moment he’d seen her, something more than physical attraction. She had a nice body, if a bit on the thin side, and a pretty face, which her lack of make-up only seemed to emphasize. He wondered if she was aware of this. In fact he was starting to wonder a great deal more about her than he should.

It had been a long time since a woman had had such a profound effect on him, probably the reason his body was reacting so strongly. He’d denied himself for too long, and Joshua hated himself for this longing.

Joshua lived by the strict ethical code that any woman he made love to would be within a committed relationship, and there were several very good reasons why he didn’t want to get involved with anyone right now. Besides, she doesn’t want to know you, he told himself. Didn’t you see the way she gave you the cold shoulder, and then made for the door? Joshua knew all about body language, and hers had issued a very clear message.

Nick off.

But why?

You don’t want to know. You don’t need someone else’s problems right now. Problems were what he saw every day. He didn’t need them in his personal life. They only clouded his professional judgement, and he had spent too many years striving to get where he was today to embark on the uncertainty of a love-affair.

But his body still wasn’t listening to the commands of his mind, as desire throbbed through his veins, pooling in his groin.

Joshua turned on his heel and stalked from the room. It wasn’t until he stood in the hall that he realized he’d barely even looked at Carlie’s paintings.

Perhaps it would be a good idea to actually let his cousin know he was here. She was the reason he’d come, after all.

Her real name was Caroline, but Joshua supposed she’d chosen Carlie because it sounded more exotic and artistic. They saw each other so rarely these days, he was surprised she’d even thought to invite him.

Maybe she wasn’t like her mother after all. His aunt believed it ran in the blood, and considering her nephews were twins, thought Joshua had been tainted with the same brush as his brother. She may be narrow-minded, but enough research had been done on twins to support her beliefs. His greatest fear was of ending up as emotionally unstable as Jason.

Joshua almost tripped on the stair, gripping the banister to steady himself. He should have known coming to see Carlie would bring the past back to haunt him. They had grown up in the same coastal town. Their mothers were sisters. One had married an accountant and was still with him. The other had married an electrician. For a while the electrician had made more money than the accountant - until his accident. Then he’d never made any money again. Instead of seeking employment in a different field, he’d taken to the bottle, wallowing in self-pity because he could no longer work in his trade.

Joshua could understood why his father had ended up the way he did, but it had taken years of inner anguish to get over the way he’d mistreated his wife and twin sons.

Then he saw his aunt and uncle. They’d only just arrived. Frowning, he watched them pass out of his line of vision into the first display room. Joshua should have known they’d fly up from Melbourne to see their daughter’s first exhibition.

It really is proving to be a trip down memory lane tonight, he thought with bitter irony, remembering the callous way Angela had shunned his mother after the court case. When Maria had needed her sister the most, she’d ignored her pleas for support, hanging up on her when she called and refusing to answer her letters. God, he felt like letting her have it! Joshua knew the best thing to do right now was head straight for the front door.

It was the only thing to do.

The exit was just down the end of the stairs, but Joshua never made his escape.

So you did make it, Drakie. I’m so glad.

Unable to ignore Carlie’s childhood endearment, he turned. She stood in the doorway with her parents right behind her, completely unaware that he had in fact been leaving.

Hi squirt, he responded, watching her mother’s horrified expression over her head. No wonder he’d recognized her so easily. Angela had changed little in over ten years, developed a few more lines perhaps, and he was certain the lack of gray in her hair was due to coloring. But she was still slim and impeccably dressed in the height of fashion.

Joshua felt a dark jab of anger knife through him. Here was one sister living in middle class luxury, pampering herself with youth-enhancing agents, while the other had aged beyond her years from stress and worry.

Although no longer impoverished, his mother was still suffering the psychological aftermath from all those years of abuse. The final straw had been losing one of her sons to the prison system. Anxiety had become a way of life, and no matter how much Joshua tried to console her, he doubted she’d ever be whole again.

So have you had a look at my work? Carlie asked, bringing him abruptly back to the present.

Yes, but to tell you the truth I can’t make much sense out of it, he responded, trying to sound casual.

I’m not surprised. Intelligence doesn’t run in the family. Angela was quick to let her contempt show.

It required all his self-control not to retaliate with an equally as damming comment. Remember your training, Joshua told himself. Tact and equanimity was what was required here.

Hello Aunt Angela, Uncle Max. Joshua didn’t offer his hand to the stony faced accountant. He too had changed little. Still the imperious autocrat clad in gray business suit and tie, he merely nodded in response.

Sensing the animosity for the first time, Carlie shot her parents a reproving look. It surprised Joshua they hadn’t succeeded in poisoning her against him as well, but perhaps the friendship they’d shared as teenagers made her realize her parents had been less than fair to the Drake family. Why else would she have invited him tonight?

Surely you don’t mean Josh? Carlie exclaimed. He’s a community health psychologist.

Despite himself, Joshua grinned at the way his aunt’s mouth dropped open in amazement.

Well, isn’t that a turn up for the books. Whoever would have thought it! I don’t feel quite as sorry for Maria after all. Angela’s sarcasm didn’t go unnoticed by anyone, and Joshua’s good manners and years of training were unable to prevent him from lashing out.

You don’t feel anything for her at all. If you did, you would have – He stopped in mid-sentence when the woman in black passed through his line of sight.

Carlie made the most of the distraction by taking hold of his arm. Joshua went with her, suddenly thankful he hadn’t said any more. The angry red blotches on Angela’s cheeks were enough to show he’d succeeded in ruffling her immaculate feathers, but it was Carlie he was concerned about now. This was her night, and here she was seeing the need to diffuse a potentially explosive situation. Joshua felt ashamed of himself for his lack of control. Anger had always been Jason’s prerogative. He’d had enough for both of them.

I thought I might introduce you to some of my friends, Carlie’s nervous voice interrupted his negative thoughts. God, it had been weeks since he’d thought about Jason. Was this his subconscious mind’s way of reminding him of his brotherly duty, to finally go and visit him?

Yes, good idea, he agreed. I’m sorry about that.

It’s all right. I know our mothers had a falling out about Jason. Mum’s not a very understanding person. I know I’ve never had the opportunity to tell you how sorry I am about what happened. It must have been awful for you. I still can’t believe it myself.

Neither could Joshua. That was why he couldn’t dredge up the courage to see his brother. Why had he done it? He’d asked himself that question over and over, and none of his training had helped explain what had possessed his twin, his mirror-image to do what he did and feel absolutely no remorse.

Carlie spoke again. Don’t go, Tara. I’d like you to meet my cousin, Joshua Drake. Josh, this is Tara Sinclair.

He should have known she’d have an exotic name, Joshua thought, as he came face to face with the lovely vision from upstairs. She was even more attractive close up. She had the most amazing eyes, big and deep green like the ocean, fringed with thick dark lashes that would never need make-up to enhance their beauty.

Tara wished Carlie hadn’t introduced her to the stranger, because it meant he wasn’t a stranger any more. Now the dark-eyed man had a name and a connection.

He had Carlie’s straight black hair and striking features. Glancing at her parents, she saw this similarity in the whole family. She also saw something else; they didn’t seem to like Carlie’s cousin. Perhaps it was a sign not to trust him. What woman in her right mind would trust a man with black eyes anyway? Neither did she like the way he looked at her. It was far too intimate, something reserved for couples rather than two people who had just met.

Tara’s an artist too, as well as a teacher, Carlie continued.

A woman of many talents, hmm? Joshua remarked, flashing her another charming smile. It made Tara revise her assumption. Most women would cast aside their suspicions on the basis of that smile alone, black eyes or not. There was genuine warmth in it. And that deep, husky voice; it was very sexy, like the rest of him.

What on earth did he want with her? Men like him never showed an interest in her. She was too distant, too detached; ‘a frigid block of ice.’ For the first time since they’d broken up Michael’s frustrated words took on a new significance. Suddenly it seemed to matter that she was only half a woman, another one of Michael’s whining insults, before he’d given up and moved on to a more responsive partner.

It really should be the other way around, she explained, keeping her eyes on her friend. Joshua’s unrelenting regard was too unsettling. I’m an art teacher, and I paint in my spare time.

But that’s a talent in itself. Teaching isn’t an easy job at the best of times, Joshua said. She didn’t trust him. He felt it emanating from her in waves - tidal waves - but he could stand there all night staring into those beautiful green eyes of hers.

It has its moments, Tara murmured.

Sandra appeared suddenly beside Carlie beaming with excitement. I think we’ve made our first sale.

Really? Carlie cried.

They want to hear about the inspiration for the work first. Come on. The two women started to walk away, and Tara smiled after them.

Sounds like good news, Joshua remarked.

Tara turned back to him. He’d moved closer, too close for comfort, and reflexively she took a step back. She couldn’t cope with the way he made her feel. Hadn’t her one disastrous attempt at romance taught her anything? She’d met plenty of tall, handsome men, but they had never sent her senses reeling like this. Why was she so drawn to this one? As soon as he found out she didn’t like sex, he’d drop her like the proverbial hot potato.

I was wondering if you could take some time to explain to me what some of them mean. I’m afraid I don’t understand all this abstract stuff.

She had her answer.

He wasn’t full of himself like most men seemed to be. His admission showed not only his lack of knowledge, but his interest to learn more. Most people liked to see themselves as art-critics, even when they knew absolutely nothing about it. It also made her aware that Carlie and her cousin weren’t particularly close. Judging by the way her parents had looked so nastily at him, it was hardly any wonder that Tara had never heard of Joshua Drake.

It isn’t abstract. It’s called expressionism, she explaind.

Well, that’s a start. He smiled again. It was actually her ‘City Gardens’ that had me stumped, and for the first time she smiled back at him. It did crazy things to his system. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t, but he longed to kiss her softly curved lips.

By the time she’d finished explaining it to him, Joshua still wasn’t any wiser, simply because he’d paid barely any attention to what she was saying.

For a professional psychologist of almost thirty, he was acting just like a love-struck teenager. But then he’d never had the opportunity to be a love-struck teenager.

He’d been the shy twin, the twin who had lost any potential girlfriend to his out-going, more experienced brother. He couldn’t even pretend he was Jason to win them back again. The worse their lives at home got the angrier Jason became, and when Maria finally dredged up the courage to leave Brian, Jason disappeared.

Joshua thought once they were away from their abusive father, Jason would settle down, but the brothers didn’t see each other for almost ten years. By then it was too late for reconciliation, Jason’s hatred for his family was too ingrained and his life a complete shambles.

There you are Tarakins. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Angel called out, and a second later he materialized beside her, draping what he obviously thought was an affectionate arm around her shoulders. I brought you a drink.

Tara accepted the glass of wine, her throat having suddenly gone rather dry. She knew it wasn’t from excessive verbalizing. It was all due to the presence of Carlie’s handsome, dark-eyed cousin and the way he seemed to hang onto her every word. Most men were more interested in talking about themselves than listening to what she had to say.

When she didn’t shrug off the other man’s arm, Joshua wondered if he’d misinterpreted the nature of their relationship. He could have sworn the flamboyant man was gay. She can’t possibly prefer him to me? he thought, his stomach churning with jealousy. You’re a real case