A Perfect Marriage (17 page)

  
 
Max swung the car out onto the road while she was still getting her breath back and fastening her safety belt.

"You had a call," she said. "I answered it, but maybe I shouldn't have."

"Why not?"
He glanced at her.

"She didn't give a name or leave a message, but I think it was Kate."

"Thanks," he said. "I'll call her back later."

"Perhaps it had better be sooner rather than later. I think I upset her."

He frowned. "What did you say to her?"

"She asked who I was. I told her." It had been
automatic,
she'd taken hundreds of messages for Max before. And what else could she have said? I'm his soon-to-bediscarded wife-his deserted wife-?

Max let out a breath. "I see."

Had it been so automatic? Celine challenged herself. It had been a short
conversation,
she'd barely had time to think about what she was saying. But hadn't she known, really, from the first syllable uttered in that young female voice, that it had to be Kate? And taken a certain pleasure in telling her, I'm his wife. Even if it was no longer strictly true.

She didn't much like the picture of herself she was seeing. Spite, vengefulness, was out of character for her. She said, "If you like, I can explain to her what happened."

"Thanks, but it won't be necessary. I'll explain to Kate myself."

"And tell her I slept in your bed?"

"I'll tell her anything she needs to know."

Which might or might not, in his opinion, include that information, Celine deduced.
She shrugged. "Well, if you need corroboration-"

"I'm sure Kate trusts me."

Celine couldn't suppress a small, cynical laugh. At Max's sharp glance, she said, "So did I
: "

 
She found herself taking a mean satisfaction in the flush that darkened his cheeks. A muscle twitched under the taut skin as his jaw tensed.

What a nasty person she was turning into, Celine thought bleakly. It was the first time in her life she'd been tempted to deliberately hurt someone she loved. She really felt that if she opened her mouth again it would be to say something horrible, as wounding as she could make it. She swallowed and clenched her teeth tightly together. For the rest of the journey neither of them said a word.

When he pulled into the driveway it was still raining. She said, "Do you want to come in, and take your coat back? You might need it."

She saw him hesitate,
then
he said, "Yes, I might. Okay."

Just as they got out and he closed her door behind her, the rain suddenly intensified, coming down in sheets, and Celine gasped as it hit her face.

Max's hand on her back urged her to the shallow steps and onto the partial shelter of the porch, but even there the rain drove in, and Max impatiently jabbed a thumb at the electric button a second time before Ted finally opened the door.

"Sorry," he said, standing back as they tumbled in, Max shoving the door closed behind them. "I was watching the cricket on TV, and wasn't sure I heard the bell."

"Never mind," Celine told him automatically. Her hair was dripping, and rain ran off the coat huddled about her, puddling on the floor. Max's hair was sleeked to his head, and his soaked shirt clung to his torso, his trousers moulded to his long legs.

She made to swing the coat away from her shoulders, but he said, "You'll have to dry your hair before you take that off if you don't want to spoil your dress."

He was right. "Yes, I will. You'd better come up and dry off, too." Hastily she added, "Dad won't mind you
using
the other bathroom."

"Help
yourself
," her father said. "It's pelting down out there, isn't it?"

"You can use the phone if you like," Celine offered. "Do you want to put your shirt in the dryer for a few minutes?"

Perhaps he recognised it as an olive branch. After the briefest pause, he said, "Thanks. I'll do that."

As he began unbuttoning it, the muted sound of the commentary emanating from the lounge was drowned by a cheer. Ted said, "Sounds like another wicket gone," and hurried back to the game.

Max stripped off his shirt as he made for the utility room.

Upstairs Celine wrapped a towel about her head and wiped the raindrops from her face before removing the raincoat and hanging it over the bath. After shedding her dress, she took off her bra, thankful to be rid of the restrictive, underwired garment, and slipped her green robe on.

If she went along to the spare bathroom now she could leave Max's raincoat in there. He'd no doubt take some time to soothe Kate's wounded feelings and allay her suspicions.

The coat wasn't actively dripping anymore, and she took it down and made for the door.

She'd already taken a step out of the room when she saw Max walking from the top of the stairs along the gallery towards her. He had taken off his trousers as well as his shirt, and was wearing only a pair of blue briefs.

Startled, Celine stopped dead, holding the damp raincoat in front of her.

Max stopped, too. "Shocked?" he asked sardonically. "Of course not-surprised, that's all. I didn't expect you to be up here so soon."

"It was a short call."

Did that mean that Kate had cut him off in pique? Or she'd accepted his explanation instantly? "Is everything all right
? "

"I've arranged to see her later." He looked down at his scanty clothing and said, "My pants were soaked, too. You don't mind my drying them off, as well?"

"Of course not.
Your coat," she said, thrusting it at him.

"Thanks. I suppose I could put it on in the interests of modesty. I think I'd feel a bit like a flasher, though."

 
Remembering a roomy towelling robe she'd been given by Nancy, luxurious but so heavy she seldom wore it, she said, "Just a minute."

Walking back into the room while he waited, she dragged the garment out of her wardrobe. "You could borrow this." It might be a bit short but at least it would cover him better than the skimpy underpants.

"Thanks." He took it from her, a hint of ironic humour lurking in his eyes. His hair was still wet, and his skin gleamed damp. "Ted says there isn't a clean towel in his bathroom. You won't mind if I take one from the linen cupboard?"

Celine was unsure if he was baiting her in some way or simply trying tactfully to find his way through the complicated nuances of their situation. He could hardly be classed as a guest, but he was no longer a member of the household, either. It seemed plain silly for him to be asking her permission to open the linen cupboard, and yet he had forfeited the right to treat this house as home.

"Help
yourself
," she said.

He nodded, his mouth quirking a little quizzically, his gaze for an instant looking beyond her shoulder. She realised she was standing in the doorway as though barring him entry to the bedroom they'd shared for twelve years. Max thought she was being ridiculously petty and prim-and she supposed she was.

They'd shared a bed last night. What was a bathroom between friends?
she
asked herself cynically, fighting a childish desire to slam the door in his face. Stepping back, she said, "Come in, for heaven's sake! I've finished with the bathroom here. There's a clean towel on your rail." She still kept one there because when the rail was bare its emptiness was a reminder of his absence.

"Thanks." He crossed the carpet without haste and disappeared into the bathroom.

Celine stood biting her lip, surprised at the sensations coursing through her body. She felt hot and breathless, and her breasts tingled. Just watching Max casually walk across

  
 
the
room, as he had done hundreds if not thousands of times during their marriage, had brought her to a pitch of desire that shocked her with its intensity.

She was sitting on the bed vigorously towelling her hair when he came out of the bathroom, a towel slung around his shoulders and the robe carelessly belted, showing a wide vee of chest. "Maybe you can return the favour and lend me a comb," he said.

Celine lowered the towel and flung back her half-dried hair. "There's one in your drawer." She dragged her eyes away from him, afraid he'd notice the longing in them, the desire to go to him and touch him, lean her face against that tantalising wedge of bare chest.

She must stop feeling this way. Max was not in the slightest aroused. That reaction was reserved for Kate these days.

Woodenly, she got up and went over to her dressing table, the towel draped about her shoulders. She heard Max open a drawer, and bent her head to find her own comb, starting with shaking fingers to pull it through the roughdried tresses.

The comb hit a knot and she heard the small snap of the plastic tooth. "Damn!" she said forcefully, venting some of her frustration in the expletive.

"What's the matter?" Max came into view in the mirror, strolling towards her. His hair was combed back, making his face look more starkly masculine than ever.

"I broke my comb." She flung it down on the dressing table. "I'm not used to having my hair so long. It's all tangled."

"It doesn't look broken." He leaned over from behind her and picked it up, running his fingers along the row of teeth. Two of them came away, and he said, "Mmm. I see. Do you want to use mine?"

He had it in his hand. As he proffered it, Celine shook her head. "I have a hard-bristled brush," she said, rummaging in the drawer. "I suppose I ought to have used that first."

 
She found it and began dragging it viciously through her hair. He was still standing there, looming behind her. She remembered the feel of his skin against her hands, the swell of his arm muscles under the warm flesh, the wiry hairs on his chest that tickled her palm.

The hard nylon brush caught, and she tugged at it impatiently, but it only turned in her hand and became more entangled. "Damn!" she swore again, trying to free it. "Damn, damn, damn!"

"Here." Max's fingers moved hers aside. "Let me try."

She sat still while he worked at it, slowly and carefully. When he lifted the brush away, instead of handing it to her, he began stroking it over her hair. "I'll do it," he said. "Just relax."

She couldn't relax. While the bristles massaged her scalp, she watched his face, his eyes down as they focused on what he was doing, a faint frown of concentration between his brows, and his chest rising and falling with his steady breathing. Her throat felt locked, and something inside her seemed to be melting, warmed by his closeness. His fingers touched her nape when he lifted a hank of damp hair and gently untangled the knotted strands, putting down the brush for a minute to separate them with his fingers. As he bent to pick it up again, she felt his breath on her temple. Momentarily, Celine closed her eyes, willing her own breathing to stay as even and unhurried as his.

He was brushing smoothly and rhythmically, only pausing now and then to struggle with another knot. "Why have you grown it?" he asked.

"I wanted a change," she said, matching his casual tone. If this was some kind of sweet torture for her, he obviously didn't share her feelings. On that thought, she added, "You know-you got bored with your marriage, I got bored with my hairstyle."

The brushing stopped for an instant, then went on in the same rhythm. "You know it wasn't like that," he said.

"Are you so sure?" she asked huskily. "Honoria said-"

"Honoria?"
His eyes flicked up briefly to meet hers in the mirror. "What made you choose her for a confidante?"

"She isn't a confidante. I just mentioned to her that we were separated, that's all. And that there was another woman involved."

"So," he asked after a second, "what did Honoria have to say?"

"Nothing much."

"That I find hard to believe."

"She said this kind of thing is common at your age. Ouch!"

"Sorry. There's a stubborn knot here." On a very dry note, he asked, "Did the phrase `male menopause' come into this conversation, by any chance?"

"No, actually."
She couldn't help a small twitch of her lips. Honoria did have a penchant for pat, if not cliched, analyses of personal and social dilemmas.

"You surprise me." Max placed the hairbrush carefully on the dressing table. He picked up his comb that he'd left there and drew it several times through the damp tresses, then replaced it on the polished wood. "There, all done."

"Thank you!' As he moved back, Celine stood up. Honoria had also said,
If
you want him back, you've got to get out there and fight her for him.

Right now she wanted him desperately, with a fierce sexual need that bewildered her. Sometimes during their marriage she had taken the initiative, but never had she felt this overwhelming desire before they'd even touched.