A Perfect Marriage (28 page)

One morning there was a birthday card in the mail from Celine's older brother, and a parcel from Michelle. They were a couple of days early, she reflected, glancing at the calendar. She'd had so much on her mind that she'd totally forgotten the approaching date. Michelle's present was a selection of perfumed toiletries in small packs, ideal for taking with her to the maternity ward when she had the baby. She'd considered having a home birth, but her doctor said at her age it would be wiser to opt for hospital. Celine reflected that never before had she been so often reminded of her advanced years.

  
 
It was time she thought about preparing the case she was supposed to have ready. She'd find the list she'd been given and make a start on that today.

The following evening Max phoned. "Can I take you out for a birthday dinner tomorrow?" he asked.

"Did Michelle put you up to this," she asked, "or your mother?"

"Certainly not.
When have I ever forgotten your birthday?"

Never, Celine had to admit. But she'd always suspected that the womenfolk in his family had something to do with it. She knew very well that her brother's wife kept a note of family birthdays and nudged him into sending cards at the appropriate times. Her father seldom remembered.

"Well?" Max was waiting for an answer.

"Thank you," she said. "Yes."

Her suspicion that his mother had reminded him was dissipated by Nancy's call the next morning, to wish her many happy returns and ask how she was going to celebrate.

Knowing the query was a preliminary to making sure she didn't spend the day alone and forgotten, Celine smiled to herself. "Max is taking me out," she reported.

Nancy tried to sound casually pleased, but it was fairly obvious that she was delighted.

When he arrived, Max was carrying a bouquet of roses, carnations and fairylike gypsophila, and a small giftwrapped parcel.

She put the flowers into a vase and carried them back to the lounge where he was waiting, before opening the parcel.

Raising the lid of the velvet-covered box inside, she gasped. "Oh, Max! That's beautiful."

It was a silver filigree bracelet, intricately designed, with several small sapphires embedded in the pattern. "I hope it fits."

It had a clasp and safety chain. Removing it carefully from its velvet bed, she opened the clasp before slipping
the
 
bracelet
over her wrist, but had trouble fastening it onehanded.

Max said, "Let me."

She was on the sofa, and he sat down half facing her. She felt his fingers warm on her skin as he did up the clasp. And when he'd finished he took her hand in his, admiring the effect, then unexpectedly lifted her fingers to his lips before releasing her.

Immediately he stood up, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his dark suit.
"Ready to go?"

"Yes." She wasn't sure her legs would carry her, because her knees were shaking. When she made to get up she almost fell back, but Max shot his hands out of his pockets and steadied her, holding her arms.

"Sorry," she said, staring at the knot of his tie. "I'm clumsy these days:'

He let her go and stood back again. "It must feel odd, carrying that extra weight around."

"Well, it happens gradually, you know. I'm used to it now."

The restaurant he'd chosen was small and intimate. There were not many diners and they had a secluded corner to themselves. Celine felt almost shy, as though she were on a date with a stranger-a very attractive stranger. She found herself covertly watching Max as he ordered wine and studied the menu, spoke to the waiter and touched a lean masculine finger to the flowers in a crystal vase on the table.

"They're real," she said.

Max's eyes glinted as he looked up. "I'd have complained if they weren't. Tonight everything has to be the way you want it."

He knew she disliked artificial flowers. "Did you order them?" she asked him.

He shook his head. "No, but I figured a place like this ought to have real flowers."

"It looks expensive," she said.

"Only the best."

"I've never been here before." It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if he had, but she bit back the question. Perhaps she didn't want to know the answer.

The pause went on a fraction too long, and then he said quietly, "Neither have I. But it has a good reputation."

She smiled at him, a shade too warmly. Of course he wouldn't have brought her to a place he'd taken Kate to. Lightly, she said, "I'm sure it will live up to that."

There were few awkward moments after that. The conversation was mostly confined to the food, the plans for his new practice, and subjects that were in the news. Then he asked casually if she'd done any more design work, and she said equally casually that she'd two small projects going, and was hopeful they'd lead to larger ones.

Somehow they skated over the events of recent months. Gradually Celine relaxed, and when they left and he placed a hand on her waist as they returned to the car, it felt perfectly natural.

Her waist had expanded somewhat since the last time he'd laid a hand on it, she thought, reminding herself that he probably wasn't getting any charge out of touching her.

It had been a leisurely dinner and by the time they left it was quite late.

At the house he went up the steps with her and waited for her to unlock the door. "You're not nervous on your own?" he asked.

Celine shook her head. "Not since I got the burglar-proof locks." Wondering if he was obliquely hinting, she hesitated as the door swung open on the darkened entry. "Would you like to come in-for a while?"

"No," he said. "I'll go. Do you mind if I give you a birthday kiss first?"

She stayed mute and unmoving, and after a second or so he lifted his hand to her face and gently turned her to him. His fingers lay against her cheek, his thumb lightly caressing her lips until she couldn't help but part them. Then he tipped her head back further and, taking his time, bent his lips to hers.

Chapter 14

The taste of his mouth was so familiar, and yet it was like the first time. Initially it was a soft, almost tentative touch, as light as his thumb had been, then it became firmer, teasing and coaxing. She stood quietly, hardly daring to breathe, all her concentration on the sensations he was creating, the subtle movements of his mouth on hers. She wanted to throw her arms about him and bind him to her, but this delicate, tender seduction of her mouth wove too fragile a spell to be recklessly broken.

Just when she felt she couldn't stand it any longer, Max abruptly raised his head and his hand fell away from her face. Celine blinked with the suddenness of it. His expression in the dimness was unreadable. "I hope that hasn't spoiled your evening," he said.

"No," she said. "It's been a lovely evening, Max. Thank You.' '

He seemed to pause,
then
he was stepping down to the path. "Go inside," he said. "You don't want to get cold, standing about out here."

  
 
It was the beginning of a new phase. She lived in a curious kind of limbo, hopeful and yet wary. Max believed that Kate didn't want him anymore, but if she changed her mind would he be able to resist? Would he even want to?

And yet he seemed now to be centring all his attention on Celine-her and their child. He phoned several times a
week,
and sometimes called in after work just to check that she was all right. He brought her flowers, and at weekends he'd take her to lunch and then drive to the top of Mount Eden or One Tree Hill to admire the views of the city, or make a leisurely trip on Tamaki Drive, winding along the edge of the harbour. He took her to a concert and a couple of films, and to supper afterwards. Twice they spent Sunday afternoon with his parents, who treated the occasion with rather careful nonchalance.

Nancy, Celine could see, was dying to ask what it all meant. But she didn't know any more than they. Sometimes she thought she saw
a warmth
in Max's eyes that gave her hope.
Hope of what?
she
asked herself. That things would return to the way they'd been before?

That was an illusion, she knew. There was no way of wiping out the past; they would have to live with it. She didn't know if she
could,
or whether Max even wanted to. Perhaps all he was capable of giving her was this rather aloof kindness, a tepid affection left over from a lifetime of friendship and twelve years of marriage-and spurred by a guilty conscience. He had spent all his deeper emotions on Kate, who finally hadn't wanted him anymore.

Sometimes Max kissed her in an almost brotherly fashion, not holding her close but simply touching his lips briefly to hers. And sometimes his lips lingered, tantalised, tasted before he withdrew, his eyes quizzical or simply enigmatic.

At those times she thought he was waiting for her to respond, reciprocate. It should have been easy, because those kisses set her pulses racing and liquefied her bones, and yet something held her back.

She'd told Honoria that in wanting what she wanted she was crying for the moon. Shouldn't she grab what she
could
 
get
, for fear of being left with nothing after all? But some stubborn core insisted that she couldn't be satisfied again with half a loaf. If she didn't have all of Max's heart, all of his passion, she wouldn't settle for the small part of it that he could offer her.

Celine had been attending antenatal sessions at the hospital. Some of the women had brought their partners along from the beginning, and the instructor had suggested that the father or another helper should accompany them whenever possible. "The father or a friend can help you through the early stages if they know what to do."

She knew that Max, too, ought to be prepared, as he wanted to be with her at the birth, but she'd been reluctant to involve him to that degree.

Then he brought the subject up himself. He'd called in after work, "Just to see if you need anything, check that you're okay," he said, and she'd offered him a cup of coffee.

"Are you going to classes or something?" he asked her.

"Andrew and his wife are having another baby, and they've been practising for weeks."

"I'm attending classes," she told him, "every week." "Don't they like the father along, too?"

"Yes, if possible. It ... is supposed to help, if the father is planning to be there."

"You haven't changed your mind about that?"

Celine shook her head. "I haven't changed my mind."

She hesitated,
then
took the plunge. "Do you want to come to the next session with me?"

Max collected her and they travelled to the hospital together. After that he never missed a session. They practised correct breathing, and he learned how to rub her back, firmly but not too hard, and what to expect when the time came.
And how to change and feed and bath the baby after it arrived.
Most of the
class were
first-time parents, all of them younger. "Just kids," Max commented ruefully one

  
 
night
as he drove Celine home. "I look at them and think they're too young to be parents."

"Some of them are only teenagers," Celine said. "That girl who comes with her
mother,
and the couple who sat in the corner tonight. We're old enough to be their parents."

"Don't remind me," Max begged. Sobering, he said, "We'll do a good job, though, won't we, Celine? There must be some advantages to having a bit more experience than most before starting our family."

A family.
Were they a family? Celine asked herself, if she and Max weren't living together? What sort of family was that for a child? It wasn't what they'd planned when they'd talked about having children.

Max drew up by the house and got out to open her door. Nowadays he had to help her from the car. He held her arm as they walked up the steps. "Want some coffee?" she asked him. It had become a ritual.

"Thanks." He took her key and opened the door. He might as well have his own key, Celine reflected. In fact, maybe she should give him one, just in case. If she went into labour and found it difficult getting to the door...

As had happened before, he seemed to read her thoughts. "If anything goes wrong, does someone have a key to get in to you?"

"You know the doctor says-"

"Yes, you're fine, everything's progressing normally. I still lie awake at nights worrying about you."

He did? "There's no need. But I've been thinking-" "Yes?" he said quickly.

"If you're going to be driving me to the hospital, perhaps you'd better keep a key."

"Thanks. Has it occurred to you that you should have someone in the house?" There was a slight pause before he said, "I could move in any time you like."

Celine couldn't answer him. One part of her wanted to leap at the chance, tell him yes, yes! Another part warned her to use caution. Did he mean this as a permanent thing, or would he move out again once the baby was born?

 
His voice roughening, he said, "I promise I won't bother you with unwanted attentions. I'll sleep in the spare room."

"For how long?" she asked at last.

"As long as you need me," Max answered.

What if she needed him forever? What if she could never bear to let him go again? And could she bear being in the same house but not in the same bed? Having a husband who wasn't a lover?

"Well," he said finally, "whatever you decide."

"I'll ... think about it," she said. "Meantime you'd better keep this key."

The following weekend he took her to a wild, west coast beach where blustery winds savaged the waves into creamy crests and sent spiked spinifex seed-heads bowling along the sand.

At this time of the year the beaches were the domain of the hardy and the fanatic. Surfers in wetsuits sometimes braved the waves, avoiding the deceptive calms that signalled a rip that would drag them remorselessly out to sea, and fishermen cast dangerously from rocky outcrops where a rogue wave was likely to sweep them into oblivion.