A Little Crushed (30 page)

In the bathroom, Rebecca sat on the edge of the huge, marble tub, watching as the swirling water turned blue from the bath oils. Her emotions were as the water, a swirling mess. Looking around the ostentatious bathroom, the luxury of it lost its attraction. It was all so alien—nothing to do with her and Max. Guilt inched its way into her heart. It wasn’t the time to burden him with her petty insecurities.

She heard him come into the room and quickly wiped at her cheeks, hoping he hadn’t seen the tears.

“You’re upset.” Kneeling down, he wrapped his arms around her waist. “I’m sorry. Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on in that gorgeous head of yours. I don’t want there to be any walls between us.”

Fingers wound in his hair, she pulled his head in against her chest. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I’m behaving like a child. It’s just…I feel so lost. I can’t come to terms with this other side of you, the rich, sophisticated Max. I don’t understand your world. I want to fit in but—”

“Hey…” He raised his head and cupping her face with his hands, he forced her to look into his eyes. “I don’t need you to understand my world. I don’t want you to change. God, that’s what I love most about you—your simplicity, your honesty. I love you as you are, and I don’t need you to fit in—whatever that may mean.”

“Max, I love you for trying to make me feel better, but I’m in the grown up world now. Maybe…” she struggled to keep it together, “maybe it would be best if I left. Me being here now, I’ve just added to your problems.”

“You think that’s what I want?”

He kissed her, a deep kiss aimed at reassuring her but only serving to increase her unease. She loved him so much, and the thought of leaving so soon killed her.

“Let me get through today and tomorrow, and it won’t be so bad. I’ll have more time for you. I’ll take you out somewhere spectacular—”

She cut him off with a kiss. “Max. I don’t do spectacular. I just want to be with you.”

“And you will. I promise. Rebecca, one thing—and I’ll understand if you don’t want to—but come with me tomorrow. I want you by my side.”

His request blindsided her. She didn’t relish facing a crowd of people she didn’t know. This was Max’s world, not hers. And then there was Kate. Would she be there? Of course she would. Max had said she and his father were close.

“Okay.” He gave her a rueful smile. “Dumb request.”

“Will Kate be there?”

“She will.” His expression read amused. “But don’t you worry about Kate. She is no threat to you. Our relationship came to an end a long time ago. She’s just a friend.”

Although she believed him, jealousy niggled. “She doesn’t intimidate me. No. I’ll do it…for you.” She sniffed her rancor.

Throwing back his head, he laughed. “Oh, God, you still do that. Your nostrils are flaring. Thank you, my love.” He sobered up. “You don’t know how much it means to me. But for now,” sighing, he stood, “I have to leave you. But first, I have to shave.” He grinned, at once appearing boyish. “You jump in the tub, and then, before I go, I may just join you.”

Spirits revived, Rebecca slipped off the robe; the decadent tub had just regained its appeal. She slid into the scented water, watching him while he stood shaving at the double sink—naked. It was all so domesticated and somehow comforting and too sexy.

He caught her eye in the mirror. “Now what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking you’re a pretty impressive guy.” She pinged a handful of bubbles at him. “I mean not that I have much experience of the male form, but you’ve a kind of Gerard Butler bod thing going on there.”

“Ah, yes.” He nodded, expression deadly serious. “The Scots guy with the penchant for leather underpants. I’ll take that as a compliment then. Thank you. Another A, Harding.”

“Oh thank you, sir. That makes it how many?”

“Well, let’s see now.” He joined her in the tub, imprisoning her in his long legs. He picked up a sponge. “Your first A. That would be for downright cheek, the first day I met you, when you queue jumped and called me a colonial.”

“It wasn’t meant—”

“Silence in class, Harding.”

She didn’t have much breath left for talking. He kissed it all away.

“Second A for sheer audacity.” Touch as light as air, he soaped her shoulders and breasts. “Walking into my lesson late and then back-chatting me.”

“You were a bully.”

“Don’t interrupt. Third A is for unmitigated recklessness jumping into a river but a bonus A plus for bravery. Oh, the list is endless.” Holding her tight, he nuzzled against her neck. “A plus plus for last night, and my sweet, beautiful Rebecca, A triple plus for doing me the honor of becoming my best friend, lover, and soul mate, and for loving me as much as I love you. God, now I’ve made you cry again.”

“Yes.” She gulped as she pinched his arm. “You pig. Rebecca Harding never cries.”

“Rebecca Harding never used to do a lot of things.” He grinned.

The harsh ring of his mobile broke through the bathroom door, and his grin vanished, his mouth now set in the severe line that used to intimidate her.

“I have to go. I’m so sorry.” He buried his face in her hair. “I hate leaving you. God I wish this day was already over, so we could be alone together, away from all this friggin madness.”

“Go.” She stoked his cheek. “I’ll be fine, here. I shall sleep all day and dream of you.”

Without another word, he stepped out of the tub and left the bathroom, closing the door behind him. A fat tear rolled down her cheeks and fell with a quiet plop into the bath water. “It’s just jet lag,” She rubbed at her eyes. “It’s all going to be okay.”

One hour later, still wrapped in Max’s bathrobe, she stood at the immense window spanning the back wall and pulled at the blinds. Blinking, she gasped in awe. Sydney harbour shimmered in the late August sun. Almost surreal in its architectural perfection, the amazing opera house rose up against an azure sky. At first it thrilled her, but then a wave of homesickness gripped. How she longed to transport Max and herself back to his little Victorian house.

* * * *

Max’s parched throat cried out for a cold beer. Loosening his tie, he forced himself to concentrate; hard to do when his father’s chief lawyer droned on and on with about as much enthusiasm as a corpse. Stupid allegory. His dead father probably had more life.

Anticipating his need, Peggy, the ever-efficient PA, pressed a glass of iced tea into his hand. “Sorry,” she mouthed. “It’s the best I could do.”

He nodded his appreciation.

Mr. Payne looked up from his report, frowning over his John Lennon specs. “Max, we still have a great deal to cover. If you please?”

Max closed the file in front of him. The words swam before his eyes. Leaning back in his chair, he fixed the slightly balding man with what Peggy termed his psychopath look. “Why do we have to do this now? I get the general gist of things. I’m now so rich I could buy Africa and put Bono and Geldof out of a job. It’s obscene actually, so what is there left to talk about?”

Mr. Payne cleared his throat, clearly unnerved by Max’s unprofessional approach to business matters. He glanced at Peggy, beseeching her for support. “There is the
small
matter of the company? You own seventy percent of Jackson Media, and as the major shareholder, you take on all the responsibility. The Market will want to know if you are planning to take control yourself, as did your father, or will you be appointing a CEO? These are very important decisions, decisions that will affect a great many people. Your work force is extensive, Max. You must resolve this as soon as—”

“Max is well aware of the problems facing him, Adrian.”

Lucky Peggy jumped in, pre-empting his strike. He just itched to squash this officious bug of a man.

“A board meeting is scheduled right after we finish up here, but please—Max hasn’t even buried his father yet. A little compassion, please?”

“Yes, yes, of course.” The lawyer had the decency to back off. “I apologise. We’ll set another meeting up for Thursday, shall we? Is that convenient for you, Max?”

Max had shut off. He realized it wasn’t going to work. How could he concentrate, knowing Rebecca waited for him, several floors above? His thoughts turned to his father, lying in his coffin at the funeral home. Even in death his old man reached out to destroy his happiness. He wondered if this nightmare of a day would ever end.

“We’ll be late, Max.”

Rebecca watched him dress in traditional black. He appeared so withdrawn, and her heart broke for him. The day was already taking its toll. She only wished she could do more to ease his misery.

“I don’t care.” He pulled at his tie, cursing under his breath. “My father isn’t going anywhere.”

Rebecca took control. “Let me.” Deftly, she tied a perfect knot.

His drawn features relaxed into a smile.

“Impressed?” His raised eyebrow made her smile. “I do my dad’s all the time.”

“Thanks.” He bent to kiss her. “Sorry I’ve been such a bloody bastard this morning, but I just want this to be over.”

“It will be.”

Taking her hands, he held her out at arm’s length. “You look gorgeous. Who would have thought Rebecca Harding could brush up so well?”

“I hate it.” She tugged at her bra-strap. “This contraption is killing me.”

“Well, I will help you remove it when we get done with all this. But…” Face set in a grimace, he reached around the back of her hair and deftly removed the pins from her perfectly wound chignon. Catching a handful of her hair in his fingers, he brought up to his lips before letting it tumble down her back. “Who did your hair?”

“Peggy.” She giggled at his disregard for his assistant’s handiwork. “She said I should aim for sophisticated.”

 “You, my sweet,” his fingers worked her hair loose, making her scalp tingle with his butterfly touch, “are perfect as you are. Tell her to mind her own business, and one more thing, if you ever cut your hair, I’ll kill you. Okay.” Pulling away, he picked up his jacket from the back of the dressing table chair. “I’m ready. Let’s get this show on the road. It’s time for me to give the performance of a lifetime. ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, the role of grieving son will now be played by Maximillian Jackson. Applause, please!’”

* * * *

Rigid with tension, Max fixed his gaze on the magnificent oak coffin containing the body of his once seemingly invincible father. His mother sat to his left, clutching her over-sized handbag, as if patiently waiting for a bus. Her face devoid of all expression, he guessed her mind was far away, probably at the next up and coming dog show.

“I wonder if I made a mistake,” she said to no one in particular. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have entered Simon for Post Graduate. He really isn’t mature enough.”

To his right, Rebecca hid behind her hymnbook, working hard on keeping a straight face. Max threw her a wink. She and his mother had hit it off immediately. He’d always known they would.

Behind them, a hundred mourners waited, friends and colleagues of his father’s. So much for a simple affair. Dotted amongst the stiff-backed congregation, Max picked out two or three unfamiliar faces, all female, all clutching handkerchiefs. Even in death, his father threw his philandering in his mother’s face—not that she seemed to care.

Kate sat, two rows back, with her parents and obnoxious brother. He knew she smarted from his gentle but firm refusal to allow her to sit in the family row, but as he’d politely informed her, the remaining seat was reserved for Peggy. She was more part of his family than anyone.

Rubbing at the bridge of his nose, he closed his mind off from the dismal whine of the organ. “So where is the bloody vicar?” Reaching for Rebecca’s hand, he squeezed it. “He better not think I’m going to pay him overtime. Oops, here we go. Kick off.”

Throughout the service, Max cradled Rebecca’s hand in his lap, his fingers tightening around hers when the minister began to speak of his father’s role as loving husband and doting father. He wanted to be sick. “Who hired this clown?”

His mother was not so reticent. “Load of bloody bollocks.” Pulling out a packet of mints from her pocket, she leaned over him. “Do you want one, Rebecca? Get the taste of hypocrisy out of your mouth. Oh, good.” She stood as the final hymn rang out, and the bearers carried the coffin up the aisle. “It’s done.”

“When I die,” Max groaned into his hand, “bury me in the garden, please. What a bloody farce! Come on. Graveyard and then it’s party time.”

“You go with your mother.” Rebecca seemed nervous. “I’ll go with Peggy.”

“Oh, no.” He slipped a protective arm around her waist. “You are staying with me and my mother. I want you by my side.” Cupping her face in his hands, he grazed her lips with his own. The grieving crowd sat up, and the room hummed with intrigue. Suddenly the mourners seemed far more interested in Rebecca than their dear, departed friend.

“Max. Sissi.” Kate stepped forward and put her arms around him. “I’m so sorry, darling,” A lone tear trickled down her cheek. With a cursory nod to Rebecca, she moved on.

His mother let out a contemptuous snort. “Who does she think she is—Julia Roberts? Right, let’s go and get the old bugger in the ground and get on with our lives. I’ll meet you back at the conference room. I don’t like graveyards. So depressing. Besides, I have to collect Simon and Garfunkel. And, by the way, Max, you do talk rubbish.” She looked Rebecca up and down. “There’s nothing tomboyish about her at all.”

* * * *

Max pressed a glass of chilled Chardonnay into her hand before downing a brandy, his second in quick succession. Rebecca watched him closely as his gaze roamed the room. He was wound tight as Emma’s granny’s perm.

“Bunch of hangers on,” he said, with ill-restrained rancour.

He helped himself to another drink from the passing tray. A hard glint burned in his eyes as he followed the mourners who conversed in hushed tones whilst they helped themselves to vintage brandy and wine. Max slipped his arm around her waist. It was going to be okay. His mood worried her a little. She’d never seen this side of him, so angry…so hurt.

“Hey.” Turning to her, he tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear before leaning in to kiss her. She felt a swarm of gossip-hungry eyes on them. She didn’t care. With him by her side, she could face a horde of Taliban. “Thank God for Peggy.” He raised his glass in her direction. “If it had been up to me, I’d have sent them home with a sandwich.”