‘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?’
