A Perfect Marriage (22 page)

For the next several weeks she spent a lot of time on the office design project. Perhaps more than she needed to, but it was challenging enough to stop her thinking about other things for large stretches of time, although the constant aching regret she'd learned to live with never went away.

The sale of Ted's house went through and he was ready to move his things out of storage and into the small flat in the retirement complex.

"Max said he'll meet us there," he told Celine. Then, hesitantly, "You don't mind that he's going to help?" He

  
 
must
have been aware that she and Max had not had any contact for some time.

"Of course I don't mind." But Celine wondered if she would get over him better if she never saw him. It was what she'd told him she wanted, what common sense insisted she needed to get her own life together without him. Fate and perhaps Max himself seemed to conspire against it.

When she saw him climbing out of his car and coming towards them with a casual smile for Ted and a rather restrained one for her, she felt a deep sense of pleasure mixed with pain.

Max helped the driver of the removal truck with the heavy furniture, and after the truck had gone Celine took over the kitchen, filling the cupboards with crockery as Max opened boxes and cartons, and stocking the small pantry with tins and packets of food that they'd shopped for to start him off in his new home.

Later she helped Ted to arrange his books and a few ornaments onto shelves, and made up his bed. She'd brought some bread and salad vegetables with her, and at twelvethirty made sandwiches. "Where's Max?" she asked her father, interrupting him as he was hammering a picture hook into the bedroom wall.

"Putting my tools in the shed for me.
Hand me that picture, will you?"

She picked it up off the bed and stayed to help him get it straight. "Lunch is ready," she said. "I'll go and fetch Max."

The toolshed was small, but Max had Ted's gardening tools neatly stacked against the walls, and had erected some kit-set shelving. Boxes of nails, screws and carpentry tools were on the floor. "Do you know what he wants done with these?" he asked as Celine appeared in the doorway.

"I'd leave them for Dad," she advised. "He'll have his own ideas about where he wants them. I've made sandwiches."

"Heavens!
Is that the time?" Max glanced at his watch. "Is Kate expecting you?" she asked coolly.

 
He shot her an odd look. "No. She knows I'll be tied up all day."

Stepping out of the shed, he closed the door. "Ted may want a padlock on this," he said, sending the metal bolt home. "It's good that he's got some garden attached to the place. He enjoys it, doesn't he?"

"Mmm.
I'll miss him at home."

"Why don't you get a gardener? Ted tells me you're working pretty well full-time on this latest project. I'll pay for someone to come once or twice a week if you like. They can at least mow the lawns."

"I could do it, but I've already arranged for that. There's a teenager down the road who's been looking after the neighbour's lawns. He's quite good-and cheap."

He stood back to let her go up the two steps to the door first. "Tell him to send me a monthly invoice-unless he insists on cash."

Impatiently, Celine swung round on the top step. "I wish you would stop trying to salve your conscience with-oh!" She broke off abruptly as Max's face and the view behind him tilted, and she felt herself sway off balance.

"Celine!"
Max grabbed her arm, steadying her. "What's wrong? You've gone as white as a sheet."

She bowed her head and slowly lifted it again. Things were steadier now. Max still held her arm, and she was conscious of his familiar scent, and the faint line between his brows, the curve of his mouth as he bent close.
"Celine?"
He put an arm about her, and she fought the temptation to lean against him, to feel again the warmth of his body, the comforting strength.

Reluctantly, she drew away. "I'm all right. Just turned too quickly, I think, and I need my lunch." She gave him a pale smile.

But he kept his arm loosely about her waist until they entered the kitchen and he'd guided her to a chair. "You're sure you're all right?"

Ted, coming into the room, said, "What's up?"

"Celine's not well," Max told him. "Has she been okay until now?"

"I just got dizzy for a moment," Celine protested. "Once I've had something to eat and a cup of tea I'll be as right as rain."

"You were off your food yesterday morning," Ted said, frowning.

"Something I ate at the bridge club the night before," she said. "Maybe I'm not quite over it. Sit down, you two, and have your lunch."

She took a sandwich from the heap on the table, realised that she didn't really want it but determinedly bit into the fresh bread. If she didn't eat, the men would start fussing again.

They hardly allowed her to pick up anything heavier than a feather duster after lunch. At about two-thirty, stowing some linen in the narrow hall cupboard, she somehow dropped a small stack of pillowcases and bent to retrieve them. Straightening, she found herself waver, and hastily leaned against the wall, the pillowcases in her hand.

Max, helping Ted to store a few bottles of whisky and wine in a high cupboard, caught sight of her through the kitchen doorway and came striding over to her. "That's it," he said, removing the pillowcases from her loosened grasp. "Lie down."

He pushed her into the bedroom and onto her father's bed, while Ted hovered anxiously in the background.

"You should have said you were crook," Ted told her sternly. "I would have managed all right without you."

"I wasn't," she said weakly, hoping the room would soon keep still. "Honestly."

Max said, "You look awful."

"Flatterer!" she murmured, trying to focus on his face, seeing the faint answering grin before she closed her eyes because there seemed to be more than one of him.

"I'll get her a nip of whisky," Ted offered, and she felt Max's weight on the bed as he sat beside her and put a cool hand to her forehead.

"You're not feverish," he commented.

Daring to open her eyes again, she saw that there was only one of him again. "I'm okay."

"Your colour's coming back, but you're obviously not okay. What have you been doing lately? Overworking? Is that project of Jackson's too much for you?"

"No, I'm enjoying it." She sat up cautiously as her father returned with a small amount of whisky in a glass. Max adjusted the pillows behind her.

Ted said, "
This'll
brace you up a bit!'

"Shouldn't it be brandy?" Max demurred.

"Never drink it," Ted told him.

The whisky did brace her, bringing some warmth into her cheeks. But there was no chance the men were going to allow her to do any more work. Even driving, apparently, was out of the question.

"I'm taking you home now," Max told her.

"Maybe I should come with you, stay the night," her father suggested.

But she firmly vetoed that. He was quite excited about his new home, and she didn't want to spoil his first night in it. Max said, "I won't leave her until I'm sure she's all right," and Ted subsided.

"It really isn't necessary," she argued, but admitted she probably shouldn't drive if she was likely to have an attack of dizziness at any time. "What about my car?"

"It'll be quite safe here overnight."

"Yes," Ted agreed. "You go on home and get into bed. Maybe," he added to Max, "you should take her to a doctor."

"No!" Celine protested. "It's probably just a tummy bug of some sort. I promise I'll rest, but there's no need to be bothering a doctor."

When they got to the house, Max followed her inside. "Can I get anything for you?" he asked.

"Oh, make me a cup of coffee if you like," she said. "I was going to offer you one, anyway."

"Right.
You lie down and I'll get it."

  
 
She compromised by sitting on the sofa in the lounge with a cushion behind her and her feet up.

The coffee was welcome, but he'd found some of her favourite fruit biscuits and arranged half a dozen on a plate. The sight of them made her stomach turn over. She shook her head and hastily looked away. "Not just now, thanks. It isn't long since lunch." Remembering lunch, she swallowed an unexpected nausea. What on earth was wrong with her?

Max sat on one of the chairs, nursing a cup
of his own
. "You still don't look too good," he told her critically.

She didn't feel too good, either, she thought, making an effort at sipping the coffee.

Then, as quickly as it had come, the sick feeling passed off.

But Max seemed in no hurry to leave. He talked in a desultory fashion about Ted's new home, his family, the news headlines from the morning paper, watching her all the time.

Finally she swung her feet to the floor and stood up. "I'm sure you have things to do," she said firmly. "Thanks for bringing me home, but there's no need to stay any longer."

"I hope you don't have any plans to go out tonight," he said, standing up with apparent reluctance.

She didn't, but it was Saturday and she supposed that he did. "I'm not going anywhere," she told him.

"Good. I could stay and make you a meal."

"Not at all necessary."
She discovered a temptation to pretend she was really unwell, simply to keep him by her for a bit longer. Annoyed with
herself
, she said, "Will you just go.

"

He stiffened, his face changing from concern to a blank mask. "I suppose you're expecting company."

Company?
What was he talking about? She blinked at him.

For a moment she thought he was going to say something else. Then he bit off whatever it was and headed for the door, quite fast.

 
Celine followed, but he flung over his shoulder, "You needn't see me out. I do know my way!"

She stopped in the middle of the entry hall as he threw open the door. "What about my car?" she asked.

His look was impatient. "I'll call you tomorrow. We'll sort it out then." From being inclined to linger, it seemed now he couldn't wait to get away.

Celine nodded and he stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

In the morning she was throwing up in the bathroom when the telephone by the bed rang. She didn't get to it before it abruptly stopped. Sinking down on the bed, she wondered if that had been Max. She waited a few minutes, then gingerly got off the bed and returned to the bathroom to clean her teeth and have a shower, fighting down nausea. It took her longer than usual to get dressed, and she roughly tidied her hair without bothering to tie it up, too drained to care.

After cautiously negotiating the stairs, she went to the kitchen for a cup of tea. She made toast and ate it dry, shuddering at the thought of butter.

Afterwards, feeling slightly better, she put the dishes into the sink. Now that she was on her own it didn't seem worthwhile to use the dishwasher. The doorbell burred, and she turned hastily, then gasped and grabbed the edge of the counter for a second.

The bell had rung again by the time she got there. She opened the door and found Max staring at her. "You didn't answer your phone," he said.

"I was in the bathroom."

He looked relieved. "How are you feeling?"

Celine shrugged. "Okay."

"Well enough to come with me and pick up your car?"

"Yes, sure," she said brightly. "I'll just run up and get my handbag."

  
 
She started up the stairs as he watched from the marblefloored entryway. Halfway up, she faltered and clung with both hands to the stair rail, her head hanging over it.

Everything was going black, and her head was swimming. She heard Max's sharp exclamation, and his footsteps heavy and quick on the stairs. He must be taking them two at a time. Then his voice was in her ear, and she was swung up into his arms.

Dimly she was aware of movement, and then of softness beneath her. As the blackness and dizziness receded, she was conscious of him at her side, holding her hand, talking to her.

She hadn't realised her eyes were closed. She opened them, and Max, his own face pale, said, "Thank God."

"It's just a faint," she said. She had fainted only once before in her life, when she'd been sickening for some childhood disease.
"Nothing, really."

"There must be a reason. Well, this settles it-I'm calling Harry Parr."

Harry was their G.P. "It's Sunday," Celine protested. "He may not be on duty."

"Someone will be."

"Look, I'm not that ill. I felt fine last night after you'd gone."

Max's brows rose. "Is there a connection?"

"I didn't mean that. But I'm sure this is nothing serious. Maybe I'm a bit anaemic or something. If it doesn't pass off, I'll make an appointment on Monday."

He looked about to override her, but after a while, he said, reluctantly, "See that you do. Meantime, you shouldn't be alone."

"I can't ask Dad to come back now. He hasn't had time to settle in yet."

"I wasn't suggesting your dad should come back. I can stay.

"

"I wouldn't dream of expecting you to-"

"Don't be silly. You'll have to eat sometime. Did you have breakfast?"

"Yes, just before you came. I can get myself meals."

"Oh, yes? Suppose you got dizzy again going down the stairs to the kitchen? You could fall and break your neck."

They argued some more but it was obvious he was going to win-there was no way she could physically evict him. He stayed, and ordered her to remain where she was, and he got her meals and in between left her pretty much alone. Celine napped, and ate, and read a book, and in a half-guilty fashion enjoyed being waited on.

Once she heard the ping that meant the phone downstairs had been picked up, and she wondered if he was calling Kate, explaining perhaps why he couldn't see her today.
Or cancelling an arrangement.