A Perfect Marriage (10 page)

She would have to tell her father that they were separating, that Max wasn't going to live here anymore.

She went down and served Ted's breakfast, finding her movements oddly dreamlike, slow. But he didn't appear to notice anything unusual.

When Max entered the kitchen later she saw that he was a little pale, the bones of his face seeming more prominent. Perhaps he hadn't slept well, either. Good, she thought involuntarily, immediately shocked at her own vindictiveness.

She turned away before her eyes caught his, and slotted some bread into the toaster. She didn't want toast but she needed something to do.

The men exchanged their usual morning greeting, and Max came over, holding two slices of bread. "Oh, sorry," be said, realising the toaster was in use.

"You can have these," Celine said, hastily backing away. "I'll eat later."

"No, you go ahead. I haven't had my cereal yet."

He always put the toast in before he ate his cereal so that it was ready for him.

"It's all right," she said, "really." They were like two strangers, awkwardly trying to be polite and considerate. "I put them in for you," she lied, "because I thought you were running late."

"Thank you." He looked at the clock. If anything, he was a little earlier than usual. Probably, Celine thought, he couldn't wait to get out of the house. She moved away-and spooned instant coffee into a cup, then went to the fridge and opened the door, staring at the contents for several sec-

  
 
onds
before remembering that the milk was already on the table.

Max ate his breakfast quickly, while she alternately sipped at her coffee and pretended to be busy clearing Ted's breakfast things.

When he finally stood up, he brought his dishes over to the sink, like a guest being helpful. She muttered, "Thank you," and as he turned to go, added, "Are you going to be here tonight?" Her hands closed hard on the cup she held.

He hesitated. Dropping his voice as he glanced at his father-in-law, he said, "I'll pick up some of my things, if that's all right."

"Of course."
But he wouldn't be staying, sharing their bed with her. He would never share it again. "I'll expect you in time for dinner," she said brightly, glancing over at Ted.

Max looked uncomfortable. Under his breath he said, "I didn't mean-you don't need to-"

Her voice brittle, she said, "No problem. I'm cooking, anyway."

"Thank you," he said, his brows low over his eyes as they searched hers, apparently looking for something, before she flicked her glance away.

Max lingered as though uncertain whether he ought to kiss her. She couldn't have borne it if he did. She picked up his cup and concentrated on rinsing it. He turned away at last, and she heard him say goodbye to her father before the door shut behind him.

All day she thought she ought to break the news to Ted, but didn't. Perhaps some small part of her wanted to believe that Max's decision was not irrevocable. She told herself that it was better to wait until he'd gone, anyway. It was bad enough the two of them being awkward with each other. Involving a third party could only make things worse.

She went upstairs after doing the breakfast dishes and walked into the bedroom.
And stopped, her heart pounding, at the sight of an open suitcase, half packed with Max's clothes, sitting on the floor by his wardrobe.
Thoughtfully
,
 
he'd
placed it in the corner of the wall and the wardrobe so that it didn't get in the way.

The delicate peignoir she'd worn last night lay across her dressing table stool. She'd made the bed this morning but hadn't tidied the room. Turning her back on the suitcase, she walked over to the dressing table and picked up the flimsy garment-Max's gift to her, that she'd worn last night when she'd hoped to lure him into bed. She thought about all the lovely garments he'd bought for her over the years, and shivered with revulsion. His studied selection of glamorous, expensive presents was no longer an intimate, loving gesture. Instead she saw that he'd been trying to turn her into the kind of woman who attracted him, because she wasn't interesting enough as she was. Perhaps he'd needed fancy packaging to make
himself
desire her at all.

She found her hands had closed hard on the filmy material. Suddenly hating it, hating all those beautiful, sexy things he'd bought for
her, that she'd paraded in for his benefit,
she lifted the seductive garment in her hands and pulled hard until her hands hurt and first the stitching, then the material gave way. Deliberately, viciously, she tore it in two, then four, dropping the pieces on the floor. Panting, she stared down at the ruined garment, then scooped up the ragged remnants and went into the bathroom, where she stuffed them into the rubbish bin near the basin.

Straightening up, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her eyes were brilliant and her cheeks flushed. She put a hand to her hair, the familiar sleek bob. As yet there was no grey in it, but the dark brown colour was unexciting. There were tiny lines fanning from the corners of her eyes, a faint crease on her brow, and a smile line by her mouth. She thought of Kate Payne's smooth, unlined skin, her abundant blond curls and lush young breasts. The flush died from her cheeks, and she turned away.

When he'd come home from that conference Max had asked her why she didn't wear her hair long anymore. And later he'd mentioned "Katie something" so casually.
And denied that he wanted to see her jumping out of a cake.

  
 
No, he wouldn't want that, she thought, going back to the bedroom. Max preferred a bit of sophistication in his entertainment, and he wouldn't enjoy watching any woman cheapening herself, especially a woman he cared for.

The day dragged by. Alice came in to clean the house, and Celine, recalling the half-filled suitcase in the bedroom, said she'd do the upstairs today.

Not that Alice would have commented-she was far too discreet, and anyway, Max did go away occasionally for conferences or to attend to legal business elsewhere. Still, it gave Celine something physical to do, cleaning bathrooms and vacuuming carpets.

When she went downstairs again Tied was chatting to Alice, who was cleaning the stove. He had the paper open in front of him at the real estate pages.

"Shall we go and see some flats?" Celine asked him, desperate to keep herself busy, stop herself thinking.

He was lukewarm about the idea, but she persuaded him to fill in a few hours looking at flats that he thought too small for comfort, too close to a noisy road, too big for one person, too isolated from the shops and public transport, too damp, too hot Celine in the end lost count of their various faults. She reminded herself that this would probably be Ted's last home and he was entitled to be happy with it. "There's plenty of time," she assured him, "to find the right place."

They were late getting back, and she found herself disorganised for once in the kitchen. Max arrived as she and Ted were sitting down for dinner.

"I'm sorry," he said awkwardly, hesitating in the dining room doorway, his eyes taking in the empty place at the head of the table. "I expected you'd have finished eating by now. I tried to phone to say I wouldn't be here for dinner after all, but the machine wasn't on."

The answering machine was in his study, and she hadn't wanted to enter that room today.

"You haven't eaten, have you?" Celine asked.

"No, but-"

Celine got up. "I've kept it warm."

He followed her to the kitchen. "I thought you'd prefer, really, that I didn't come in for dinner. I can get something later-"

"There's no need. It would only get
wasted,
you may as well have it!'

In the end he excused himself for a few minutes and then joined them at the table.

Celine sat opposite him as usual, trying to act normally. Their eyes kept sliding off each other. Ted concentrated on his food, and Celine, desperate to fill the silence, told Max that she and her father had been flat-hunting.

He looked at her then as though he was surprised, but his voice was neutral. "Any luck?"

"Not yet. We'll know when we find the right one, won't we, Dad?"

Ted looked up and said something noncommittal before returning his attention to his plate.

"What exactly do you want?" Max asked, persevering.

Ted deliberately chewed and swallowed a mouthful of food, then said, "I'm not fussy."

Max turned a quizzical look from him to Celine. She'd exchanged a discreetly smiling glance with him before she remembered, and the smile in her eyes died.

She saw pain in Max's eyes, too, and she dropped her gaze to the tablecloth, clenching her hands on her knife and fork. The plate in front of her went fuzzy, and she took a hasty forkful of vegetables, chewing fiercely to keep the tears at bay.

After that she gave up the effort to make normal conversation. Max could try if he liked, she thought resentfully. And he did, asking Ted more questions and eliciting some kinds of reply. She wondered if he was listening to them.

She took their plates to the kitchen and carried in the apple pie and cream. When they'd been alone she and Max hardly ever had a sweet course, often preferring to finish
        
 
with fruit and cheese or just coffee. But Ted was accustomed to a pudding. He'd have missed it.

She didn't want any herself tonight, but was unfairly irritated when Max said he'd skip it, thanks. She cut herself a small piece of pie to keep her father company, and ate it in tiny spoonfuls.

Max said, "If you'll both excuse me, I have things to do."
Like packing his bags.
"Don't you want coffee?" she heard herself say, as though that might delay him. "Not now, thanks," he said.

He'd probably found this meal just as excruciating as she did. She ought to be glad that he was ending it. But as she heard him cross the hallway and start up the stairs, she wanted to run after him and beg him to reconsider.

Perhaps he had? Perhaps if she did go after him he would tell her that he'd changed his mind, hadn't meant it after all. Her muscles tensed, ready to rise from the table, but she quelled the impulse. Pride wouldn't allow her to plead with him.

She forced down the rest of the pie, almost screaming with frustration as her father finished his generous portion with what seemed infinite slowness. The moment he'd spooned down the last mouthful she grabbed his plate and said, "I'll make the tea." Ted seldom drank coffee, and she'd taken to sharing a pot of tea with him.

When she finally was able to go upstairs, she entered the bedroom to find Max had closed the suitcase and was taking things from his dressing table drawers and placing them into an overnight bag.

He glanced up and she closed the door quietly, leaning back against it because her legs suddenly seemed wobbly. Then he went on methodically removing folded underclothes and a pair of pyjamas and placing them in the bag.

"You'll give me an address, won't you?" she asked in a detached voice. "For mail and ... so on."

"Yes, of course." He closed a drawer, then picked up the bag and went into the bathroom.

 
She followed, putting a hand on the doorjamb, watching him take his toothpaste-they favoured different brands and toothbrush, then his electric shaver and his shampoo and after-shave from the shelves of the mirrored cupboard, leaving his side of it empty. His hands, she noticed, were perfectly steady. As he shut the mirrored door she briefly glimpsed her own face, surprised to find it looking quite composed, although there was a tightness round her mouth. Deliberately, she relaxed the muscles. "You're going tonight, then," she said.

He looked calm, too, as he turned to face her. "I thought it would be easier for you if I didn't hang about."

"Thank you." Would it be easier? She didn't know.

"I'll have to come back for my other things. If you like, I can make it sometime when you're not here."

"That won't be necessary." She was really doing quite well, she thought. No one would know that inside she felt like a fragile piece of old china, riddled with tiny cracks but somehow still holding together. She stepped back as he came to the doorway.
"Any time."

"I'll phone first. You can tell me if it's not convenient." He placed the overnight bag on the bed and glanced about the room before zipping it up, checking for anything he might have forgotten. The set of silver-backed brushes, her wedding gift to him, was still on top of the dressing table. She saw his eyes skip over them. Perhaps he didn't want to be reminded...

Turning to her, he said, "You haven't told your father?"

'
 
Celine shook her head. "Not yet."

"I suppose it will be easier when I've gone."

She nodded, not trusting her voice.
When I've gone.
It sounded so final.

Max placed the overnight bag with the suitcase and said, "I need a few things from my study."

When he came back holding his bulging briefcase, she was standing by her dressing table, fiddling with a crystal perfume spray, his latest Christmas present. She put it down with a small thud and turned to face him.

"Here," he said, offering a square of paper to her. "This is where I'll be, for a while, anyway."

She took it, resisting the urge to tear it up. "Is it her address?"

She thought he flushed slightly. "No. I thought you'd find it more
..
.
acceptable
if I stayed on my own for a while. You can tell our friends that we've made a mutual decision to part. Or tell them it was your choice, if you like. Later..." He shrugged.

She ought to be grateful. He was giving her a chance to salvage some pride before he moved in with Kate, announcing his new love to the world. She looked down at the paper in her hand. It was an apartment in downtown Auckland. The city centre, once deserted between five, when the shops closed, and seven, when the entertainment centres and restaurants drew people back to its heart, was becoming a fashionable place to live, especially for business people without families. He would be only a few streets away from his office.