Seven Point Eight (28 page)

He turned to look at her and said something she didn’t expect at all.

“Marry me, Tahra,” he said.

***

In the morning, Max woke first. He felt at peace, as here was this beautiful young woman, asleep in his arms. What more could a man want? He stroked her skin lightly, and sleepily she opened her eyes, meeting his gaze with a smile.

Max made her breakfast and they sat together at the table, making civilised conversation. They both skirted the important topic raised in the early hours of the morning. She didn’t know whether to take his words seriously, the ones concerning marriage. Had he been sincere or had he said it in the heat of the moment? Was it the only way he saw to get something that he wanted? Would she accept a proposal of marriage from him?

However, a bigger issue tugged at her conscience. Who was Max Richardson really? He shared very little of himself and his life, and he was often emotionally distant. On the other hand, he often demonstrated kindness, never shied away from spending his money on her, and was capable of being a good provider. The key driving force was the growing physical magnetism. He
was
very handsome and she found him attractive, most women probably did, and she knew he was incredibly attracted to her.

They finished breakfast and Max became heavily preoccupied with something. Tahra felt awkward with the silence.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He shrugged and played with a spoon.

“Well, there must be something wrong, last night was wonderful, and now…”

“I’m just trying to think of a strategy,” he gave as an explanation, “to address our adversary’s remote viewers.”

“You can’t control the consciousness of another person,” she pointed out.

He gave her a wry look.

“That I’m well aware of,” he answered, sharply.

His mood shift unsettled her, but she decided to ride it through and cut through to the core of the matter.

 
“Did you mean what you said last night?”

He seemed unwilling to answer until she showed some sort of interest or commitment.

“Would you really marry me?” she pressed.

“Would
you
really marry
me
?”

He turned the question back on her, which she didn’t anticipate.

The words wouldn’t leave her lips, especially when put on the spot like that. It took a while to give him a response.

“I think we need to consider it carefully. You’re away on business much of the time.”

“It’s a necessity.”

“I – I don’t know anything about you,” she continued.

Max stood up from the table abruptly and disappeared into the bedroom. A moment later, she followed him and found him lying on the bed. She realised she’d hurt his feelings, and sat beside him, reaching out to touch his hand. He didn’t resist her touch, although he refused to make eye contact.

“This is a big decision for me, I’m still very young and it’s something I’ll live with for the rest of my life,” she explained.

He said nothing. She cuddled up to him and put her head on his chest. This was at least something she could do everyday for the rest of her life.

***

Max disappeared on business for a few weeks, which gave Tahra some thinking space. This time enabled her to acknowledge how much she missed him, and how she needed his touch and devotion. When he returned, he seemed relaxed, confident, and warm. He remembered her birthday and they dined out, enjoying fine food and wine although when she queried his business trip, he dismissed it and told her not to worry as it would only bore her anyway. Tahra came to understand that business and interpersonal relationships would always be two distinct entities in Max’s life. Maybe there was a reason for that, and maybe it was for the best.

As the evening progressed, she began to analyse what he had to offer. She drew up a list of the benefits and counted financial security, his undivided attention when he was around, and a potentially generous side to his personality. Max had style, poise, charm, sophistication, and last but not least, she was irrevocably attracted to him.

It was now or never.

“Max,” she began, “I’ve been thinking, real hard.”

He put his knife and fork down then looked at her hopefully.

“I know I said a lot of negative things a few weeks ago,” she continued. “I just didn’t expect you to say…anyway, marriage is a serious commitment.”

Instead of his usual silence, he reached across the table and took her hand.

“I know, you’ve only just turned nineteen… I’ve come to realise though, that after so many years as a bachelor, I do want a wife. You’re the woman I want to fulfil that role.”

Max pulled a little box out of his pocket and opened it, revealing a gold ring studded with what appeared to be diamonds.

“Tahra, I’m asking you to spend the rest of your life with me. Will you marry me?”

She gazed at the ring then to Max, recognising the sincerity in his eyes. Everything about this evening seemed so perfect, therefore she had to conclude it in a like manner.

“Yes, yes I will. We have all the time in the world to get to know each other better.”

She thought she caught a flicker of worry on his face, but relief and elation soon replaced it. They walked home arm in arm, slept in each other’s embrace and Max didn’t pressure her for sex. Before falling asleep, they decided to marry in the spring, sufficient time for him to set up contracts and deal with clients to ensure financial security, to enable them to enjoy a long honeymoon. No one else knew of their plans, least of all her father.

***

November 1963 granted us happy times and even though Max disappeared a few times, he didn’t remain absent for long, I didn’t ask where he went. We celebrated Thanksgiving with Marianne, who found it amusing that we arrived together, although we didn’t discuss our impending marriage with her. Max wanted to surprise everyone with the invitations to the wedding.

The death of President Kennedy dominated the news later that month, when Lee Harvey Oswald shot him in the head from the Book Depository. I wondered if any psychics at The Observatory or The Institute had foreseen this. How it would affect world politics didn’t cross my mind at the time though.

On December the 13
^th
1963, we celebrated Max’s 43
^rd
birthday. He said it was only the second time in his life that he’d shared his birthday with someone, but when I asked him about the first time he’d spent it with someone special, he clammed up and didn’t want to discuss it. Perhaps he’d been hurt in the past, and one day he might tell me about it but I think it was a long time ago. I’ve never seen any pictures of a previous lover, not even his mother come to think of it.

Christmas in New York was a charming experience, I enjoyed the festivities, as I had done last year at The Institute. If anything, this Yule proved even more special. I must admit, I did start to feel homesick for The Institute, even though in many ways it had been a prison, but I sent gifts there for everyone to show that I remembered them. I hadn’t written to Oscar as much as I promised, so I bought him something extra to address my guilt.

I spent the New Year with Max on an excursion to
Philadelphia
, where he met with an old business friend, someone called Thomas. The men discussed business, so I made conversation with his wife. Often, my hearing strayed towards their discussion though, as my prying mind wondered what business my husband-to-be and Thomas conducted. I caught snippets of conversation that aroused suspicion, such as ‘Don’t worry, he’ll be dealt with, like the others’. The way he said it sent a chill down my spine.

During the next few months, Max alternated between business absences and making wedding plans, such as choosing my dress, flowers, a place for the ceremony, and a location for the reception afterwards. He made a long list of invitations that needed sending out, almost like it would be a celebrity event.

Suffice to say, I felt nervous yet excited. Max proved to be the perfect gentleman, respecting my wishes to remain a virgin until my wedding night, and making my life wonderful in every way. He was perfect. Everything was perfect.

 
Before long, February arrived and our wedding date drew nearer. In between all the planning and assignments at The Observatory, I happened to catch an iconic broadcast on the TV on the 9
^th
of February 1964. The Beatles made their first appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show at 8:00pm that evening. They played ’All My Loving’,‘ She Loves You’ and ‘I Saw Her Standing There.’ These songs would later remind me of the time I made wedding plans with Max, and exemplified the latter days of my time in
New York
.

 
Everything happened at such a dizzy pace, that I felt apprehensive as well as invigorated. I was going to marry a wealthy and handsome man, what more should I want? The truth was, I wanted to know who Max really was. Where did he go during his absence? What did he do whilst away from me?

 
He kept appearing in my dreams, emerging out of shadows to receive cash in suitcases, pass fat envelopes of information to dangerous looking people, oversee shipments of unknown goods or speak on the phone to faceless people, securing deals. Was I unconsciously following him by remote viewing without realising it or were they simply dreams, fuelled by my suspicions? For so long, I’d avoided using my gift to observe him and his life, but should I still procrastinate, considering I was about to spend the rest of my life with him?

One night, when he’d been absent all week, I decided to investigate. I needed to prepare myself for the nature of his business and be absolutely positive I wasn’t making a mistake. It became essential to understand my future.

Reclining on the sofa, TV volume low in the background, I closed my eyes and held a clear picture of Max in my mind. Once I’d done that, I allowed my consciousness to drift and focus on his face. It brought me to an apartment not far away.

I discovered he’d attended a party without me, and wondered why. Everyone drank wine and smoked joints, and they appeared to be having a great time. Feeling sore about it, I considered retreating from the scene, as I loved parties and wished I could be there but instead, I decided to fulfil my objective.

In the corner of the apartment, I saw Max chatting with a dark haired woman, who touched him affectionately and leaned in far too close for my liking. What annoyed me more was the fact that Max reciprocated.

Looking around, I noticed Marianne although when I realised what she was doing, I almost jolted back into my body. She sat on a man’s lap, her skirt around her waist, moving up and down in a rhythmic motion. Surely she wasn’t…? Oh…she was! What the hell..?

I started to feel wary. Returning to Max, I discovered he’d moved elsewhere so I scanned the apartment, wondering where he’d gone. I located him in the kitchen of all places, and when I realised what was happening, my consciousness froze. I saw the dark haired woman bent over the table, her skirt hitched around her waist and her bare buttocks on display. Max stood behind her with his fly unzipped, and… I felt something stick in my throat…a scream.
 

I wanted to throw up. My heart sank, my stomach lurched, and a part of my soul died in that moment. Unable to bear watching the expression of pleasure on their faces, I withdrew my consciousness.

Why was he doing this? I asked myself this question over and over. For what reason did he need to satisfy himself inside this woman? All this time he’d been the perfect gentleman, kind and affectionate…but had he been doing this on a regular basis? I couldn’t bear to think of Max…my Max enjoying sex with other women. For the rest of the night, I sobbed, wishing I hadn’t spied on him now. There was no going back. How could I give myself to this man now?