A Perfect Marriage (26 page)

When the bell burred she forced herself to walk calmly across the hallway and open the door.

  
 
She stepped back to let him in, but he didn't immediately enter. His eyes examined her face, lifting slightly to her hair, which she'd twisted into a new, sophisticated style, and then he shifted his gaze to the gracefully flowing fine rose wool dress that was gathered lightly under her breasts for extra fullness. "You look ... wonderful," he said slowly.

"Thank you." She felt herself flush. The unexpected compliment appeared sincere.

In the lounge she offered him a drink that he refused. She sat on the sofa, expecting him to take one of the armchairs, but instead he remained standing, looking taut and almost brooding, his stance full of some tangible tension.

Finally she said, "What did you want to see me about?"

She saw his eyes wander again to the evidence of her pregnancy,
then
he dragged them away. "I saw-" He stopped and cleared his throat. "I met your friend Roland at a function I had to attend this afternoon. One of our clients unveiled a new computer database that they hope will revolutionise the business world, and invited half of Auckland to come and see a demo of the programme."

"I see." So far she didn't, and he seemed for once to be having trouble coming to the point.

"Do you?" His glance was almost hostile. "Did you know Roland has a fiancee?"

"If he has, it's recent," Celine said evenly. "But I'm glad for him."

He let out a breath. "Are you?" He sounded caustic now.
"Even though you're supposedly having his baby?"

She moistened her lips with her tongue. "I'm not," she said, "having Roland's baby."

"No, you're not, are you?" The rigidly controlled temper that she realised was the cause of his tension began to show through. "But you deliberately allowed me to think so."

A little angry herself, she said, "You can think what you want to. It's nothing to do with you."

His eyes narrowed suddenly. "What the devil does that mean?"

"Just what I said.
I told you, it's not your concern." "No? So, how much sleeping around have you done since we parted, Celine? Do you even know who the father is?" Celine stood up, her face flaming. "Whether I do or not, it's none of your business! You were the one who walked out, remember? You don't give a damn about me, or my baby.
My baby, Max.
That's all you need to know. I'm not asking you to pay maintenance, or have anything to do with it-or me."

His lips went tight for a moment. "How far on are you?" he demanded. Looking her over again, he added with deadly accuracy, "Five months?"

She didn't answer, but he must have read something in her face. "I'm right, aren't I?"

"What if you are? It doesn't prove anything." "Five months ago you and I made love."

"Did we?" Still smarting from his brutal suggestion, she said caustically, "I must have forgotten to mark the date.

Among so many, it slipped my mind:'

"You know I didn't mean that. I was being sarcastic." "You were being damned offensive!"

"All right.
So I was. You don't think
it's
offensive to give me the impression that some other man fathered my child?" "I didn't! You assumed..."

"For God's sake, Celine!
For twelve years I wasn't able to give you a child. What the hell did you expect me to think, when you're running around with another man and suddenly you're pregnant! Of course I assumed-and you just didn't bother to disabuse me."

Her hands clenched. "You seemed quite happy with the explanation you'd worked out for yourself."

He took a step towards her, his jaw thrust forward.

"Happy? Do you think I was happy to think you were car rying Jackson's baby?"

"It let you out," she accused him.

"Of what?"

"Responsibility for it-for me.
It's all right, Max. I can handle this. I'm sure Kate can give you a family. She's

  
 
young
and healthy, and no doubt she'll be delighted to have your babies."

Furiously, he said, "Leave Kate out of this! This is between you and me, Celine."

"Oh, no!"
Vehemently, Celine shook her head. "You brought her into the equation. You can't just leave her out when it suits you. You and I are separated, Max. We have no obligations anymore to each other."

"I have an obligation to my child."

"I'm absolving you! We don't need you, Max. Go back to Kate."

She thought he was about to shout at her, but instead he clamped his jaw tight for a moment, checking what he'd been about to say. "Is that what you would really like me to do?" His voice was quiet now, his face very serious.

Celine swallowed. This was one of the hardest things she'd ever done. "I don't want you here, Max." Not this way, her heart cried. Not out of guilt and a sense of obligation.

His expression was bleak. "I can't go back to Kate," he said flatly. "That's over."

Chapter 13

“ Over
?"
For a tiny, infinitesimal moment her whole being blazed with hope.
Sternly, she quelled it.

Over.
But he loved Kate. He'd given up everything for her.

Behind the rigidity of his expression she could see stark pain. "Oh, Max!" she said, her arms instinctively going out to him. "I'm so sorry!"

A ripple of shock passed over his face. He didn't walk into her offered arms, instead taking both her hands in a strong grip. "You're sorry?" he said in a strange voice. His eyes probed hers.

"Of course," she said in soft distress. She looked down at his hands holding hers. He didn't want her embrace. He still wanted Kate, and Celine was no substitute. "You must be feeling dreadful."

"It ... wasn't easy," he admitted, his voice sinking almost to a whisper. His thumbs absently caressed the backs of her hands, and then he released her, raising his eyes. "I can understand you not wanting me anymore, but the baby-that's not something any woman should have to face
       
 
alone. I let you down badly, Celine. At least let me, try to make some amends. Don't children need two parents? You've always believed so."

"What do you want?" she asked him, on a breath of despair.

"To be allowed a part in our child's future. I want to help with the expenses-people say babies cost a lot.
And anything else that you need.
And ... I know this may be asking too much but ... if you can bear it, I'd like to be there when he or she is born"

In the early days when they'd been confident that once she'd stopped taking the pill conception would naturally follow, Celine had broached the subject of his presence in the delivery room. Max had grinned then and said, "Try to keep me away! It'll be the highlight of our lives."

Did she want him there, now? "Yes," she said, thinking aloud. "Yes, all right."

"Thank you." The rigidity of his shoulders relaxed slightly. "If there's anything you want," he repeated, "anything I can do for you-or for the baby, you will let me know?"

She hesitated,
then
spread her hands. "I'll let you know."

He'd wrecked their marriage, and now he'd lost Kate. It had all been for nothing. He must feel that the baby was the only thing he had left-and Celine had the power to deny him that. She knew that she couldn't do it.

Taking a quick breath, she said, "Are you sure it's all over, between you and Kate?"

"Yes," he said curtly, his face closing. "There's no doubt of it."

She felt a tight ache about her heart for him. If he was suffering half as much as she had since he'd told her their marriage was over, he must be in agony.

The only way to deal with that kind of heartbreak was to keep your life so full of other things that the ever-present pain couldn't completely swamp you. Maybe he needed lots of things to do.

 
She said, "I'm turning your old study into a room for the baby. This-" she put a hand on her front "-will make climbing ladders to hang wallpaper a bit difficult, and I suppose I shouldn't be painting the ceiling in my condition." Was she mad?
she
wondered, but went on steadily, not giving herself a chance to let doubts stifle her instinct. "You can help if you like."

He could have paid a professional to do the job, she knew. But his face instantly lightened. "I'd like that," he said.
"Very much."

Neither of them suggested that Max move back into the house, but he spent a good deal of time there. Over several evenings they stripped the walls of the study, not talking much but working in silent partnership, and then Max painted the ceiling and they repapered the walls in a cheery nursery print, with Max doing the climbing and fixing under Celine's critical supervision.

One evening he arrived with a large parcel under his arm, and invited Celine to open it.

She
unwrapped
it in the kitchen and opened the box inside, revealing a mobile featuring a dozen felt clowns suspended from an umbrella-shaped awning that turned while a musical box fixed above it played a gay little tune.

"It's great," she said as the music slowed. She was holding the mobile up by one hand, watching the clowns revolve. "Where did you find it?"

"I was passing by a toyshop and they had one in the window. You said something about getting mobiles for him."

"She'll love it," Celine said.

Max's grin was the first spontaneous smile she'd seen since the night he'd told her his affair with Kate was finished. "Whichever," he conceded. "Do you care?"

Celine shook her head. "Not in the least. I just hope for a healthy baby."

A shadow crossed his face. "Is there any cause for concern?"

"None," she said firmly. "I'm being expertly monitored, and so far everything is going just as it should. Come
on,
let's hang this in the baby's room."

They went shopping together for a cot, and discovered a new model that rocked at the baby's slightest movement. "It imitates the movements of the mother's body that the baby's grown accustomed to in the womb," the saleswoman told them. "So a restless baby sort of rocks itself to sleep. It was invented by a New Zealand woman."

Intrigued, Max gave the cot a gentle shove and watched it sway. He turned to Celine. "What do you think?"

They bought it and he stowed it in the back of his big car, along with a large teddy bear he hadn't been able to resist, and a plastic baby bath. Celine had given up arguing about who was to pay for the baby's needs. Max was determined that those expenses were his department.

By tacit agreement they never mentioned Kate. Sometimes he looked grim, bleak and older than his years, and Celine's heart went out to him in sympathy, but at the same time she had to suppress a hard core of resentment that never quite went away. She didn't like to see Max suffer, but knowing he was suffering over another woman sometimes made her want to hit him.

That, and the fact that she knew if he took her in his arms she'd immediately melt like chocolate in the sun, made her edgy with him. There were times when she knew her voice held an acerbic note, and if he came near enough to touch her she'd stiffen and move away. She was damned if she would allow herself to be used as some kind of consolation prize, or as a substitute for Kate.

Not that he seemed to have any such idea, she admitted to herself, ruefully surveying her burgeoning figure. He didn't comment or appear to even notice her acute sensitivity to his nearness. Compared with Kate's youthful slimness she must be a very unattractive-looking package, anyway. He'd find it difficult now to close his eyes and imagine she was Kate.

 
In fact, Max was careful to avoid touching her. She wondered if the idea repulsed him.

In every other way he was attentive and thoughtful, a model father-to-be. He noticed if she was extra tired, and would leave early, urging her to rest. When he found her folding newly washed sheets and towels he made her sit down and finished the job himself. He wouldn't let her carry anything heavier than a cup and saucer, and would be at her side like a shot to relieve her of any burden. He got into the habit of making her a hot drink before he left, and one for himself, and they'd sit at the kitchen table together making quiet, desultory conversation. It was almost, Celine reflected wistfully, like being properly married again.

Except that after he'd collected up their cups and rinsed them, Max would say good night, smile at her casually and leave, while she went slowly up to bed alone.

Sometimes she wondered how he felt, encountering Kate every day at work. Did he experience the same exquisite torture that his almost nightly visits caused Celine?
The same yearning for a small caress, an intimate word, a loving glance across a room?
Celine hardly dared look directly at him these days for fear that he'd read that yearning in her eyes and turn away from it, embarrassed that he couldn't give her what she so desperately needed.

It seemed he'd give her anything else. She made an idle mention one night of a particular brand of hand cream she'd always used that had gone off the market. Two days later he handed her a box of half a dozen bottles. He'd found a shop that still had some and bought the entire stock. When she remarked that she'd like to own a copy of a book she'd borrowed from the library, he bought it for her the very next day. An idle reminiscence about his mother's delicious banana cake brought Nancy round for lunch, carrying a freshly baked sample. Celine laughed and said, "When did Max talk to you?"

"Last night." Nancy grinned. "I think he expected me to get up and bake it for you there and then."

"You were in bed? Oh, Nancy, I'm sorry!"

"Not your fault. I was reading, anyway. At least you have a craving for something reasonable, not chalk dust or strawberries with mayonnaise."

Celine grimaced at the bizarre combination. "It wasn't really a craving at all. I just mentioned how good your banana cake was. But I'm not turning it down, thanks."