Be Mine: Valentine Novellas to Warm The Heart

by Nicole Flockton

  Meg helped with the vegetables and then excused herself to find her bag. Chris had placed it by the front door, ready to go. Chris sat on one of the chairs on the verandah, his leg resting on the low table, watching Ben and Rufus romping on the spacious lawn.

  Meg put her hands in her pockets and shrugged her shoulders. "Ben doesn't seem much the worse for wear," she said.

  Getting only a grunt for reply, she walked over to the steps leading down to the lawn and stood, surveying Ellen's roses. The chair behind her scraped and Chris's boots echoed on the tiled path as he came to stand behind her.

  His proximity sent a shiver running through her but he made no move to touch her.

  "Meg. About last night—"

  She turned to face him. "What about last night?"

  His face was quite still, expressionless. “I don't want you to get the wrong idea. It was a mistake."

  She schooled her face to match his and nodded. "Yes, a mistake," she echoed. "The stress..."

  He looked relieved. "Good. Just so long as that's clear."

  "Absolutely." She forced a smile. "Quite forgotten."

  Even as she said the words, a small part of her crawled away into a corner and cried.

  7

  On the train back to Melbourne, Meg stared out at the dark, quiet countryside. A tear dribbled down her cheek and she dashed it away.

  A mistake... a kiss when there should never have been a kiss and yet it had felt so right.

  A betrayal of not only Robert but also Sarah.

  Another tear escaped and she stared fixedly out of the window. Perhaps it was for the best that she would be leaving Melbourne, starting a new life, far away. It would be so much easier to put any feelings she may have for Chris behind her.

  She dashed the tears away. She had two weeks until her Christmas Eve wedding and she was determined to throw herself into the joy of the preparations and to give Robert the attention he deserved.

  Robert turned up on Monday night to take her out to dinner with a large, expensive bunch of roses. That was so uncharacteristic of him, Meg was completely taken aback.

  "What are these for?" she asked.

  "For you, because I love you." He screwed up his face in that self-deprecating way that had made her fall in love with him in the first place. "And because I am conscious that I haven't been there for you, when you needed me. I want to make up for it now, Meg. I will always be here."

  Dinner was at one of the best restaurants in Melbourne. Another surprise.

  "Have you had a bonus or something?" Meg asked Robert. He was usually so tight-fisted that she was always slightly surprised if she got more than a pizza.

  He grinned. "Something like that. I squared a terrific deal yesterday, which is why I ran back to town. Liz gave me the tip. Her firm wasn’t in a position to handle the case, so she recommended me."

  Liz? Meg looked down at her plate and poked the piece of salmon with her fork. She wondered when Liz would be returning to London, and if she now fell into the category of 'dear friend'.

  Robert leaned across the table and took her hand. "Have I told you how great you look tonight? I'm so lucky, Meg."

  Meg disagreed with the observation, if not the sentiment. She still had dark circles under her eyes from the strain of the weekend.

  Robert released her hand and sat back as the waiter poured the wine. "That was some weekend," he said.

  "I've certainly had better," Meg agreed.

  "I still feel terrible." Robert took a sip of soup.

  "It wasn't your fault," Meg said. "These things happen."

  Robert shook his head. "Chris must have been beside himself. I must catch up with him."

  "He's at Neerimbah until Wednesday."

  Robert dabbed his lips with his napkin. "When are you off to Sydney?"

  "Thursday. I'll be back on Friday evening. Are you going to be there this week?"

  Robert frowned as if trying to recall his timetable. "No, as luck would have it, I won't. I tell you what, if you leave me a key I'll feed your cat on Thursday night."

  "I'm sure Blackie will survive if I leave him overnight," Meg protested.

  "No, no. I insist." He paused. "I haven’t even asked what you are going to do with the animal when you leave?"

  The thought of leaving Blackie broke Meg’s heart, but she couldn't take him to England with her.

  "I'll be leaving him with Chris and Ben," she said. "Ben adores him and I'm sure he'll get used to Rufus.”

  Robert toyed with his wine glass. “I nearly forgot. Mum's organised a big family lunch on Sunday. I think she wants us to open the early wedding presents."

  Conversation turned to the wedding and the final arrangements and they parted with a kiss on the footpath outside the restaurant.

  That night Meg remained wakeful, her mind wandering on to subjects far removed from her bedroom. She mentally went through the list of things she needed to do before the wedding, before they boarded a plane for London on Boxing Day. It all seemed so final. In a few weeks, she would be in chilly London, setting up a new home in a flat in Chelsea, making new friends, exploring all the wonderful art galleries, something she had done with Sarah on their big overseas adventure at the end of university. So long ago...

  She closed her eyes and turned over, resting one hand on Blackie’s soft fur, letting his soft rumbly purrs soothe and comfort her.

  New beginnings, she thought and let sleep claim her.

  8

  Meg's presentation in Sydney had been well received, but with so much to do in Melbourne, she flew home late on Thursday night, rather than remain for the rest of the conference on Friday.

  The plane had been delayed leaving Sydney and it was nearly midnight before the taxi drew up outside Meg's block of flats. She paid the driver and grabbed her bag from the boot. It had been a long day and she yearned for the peace of her flat and the comfort of her own bed.

  She turned the key in the door, stepped inside and froze. Music played from somewhere. A bottle of wine and two glasses stood open on the kitchen bench. Faint light curled around the half open door to the bedroom.

  For a moment, the world roared in Meg's ears as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. Burglars did not play music or drink wine.

  She set her bag down and quietly closed the front door. Blackie wound around her legs, complaining that he had not been fed. Odd. The bowl sat empty. He could have been telling the truth.

  Steps muffled by the carpet, she tiptoed over to the bedroom door, her heart hammering beneath her ribs.

  She pushed open the door and stared at the two writhing bodies on the bed, illuminated by the soft light of the bedside lamp, completely oblivious to her presence.

  "Excuse me," she said at last.

  Robert rolled over, his eyes widening with horror. Liz sat up, screamed and pulled the sheet up to her chin.

  Completely calm and faintly amused by the ridiculous scene in front of her, Meg folded her arms. "Well, Robert, shall you tell your mother, or shall I?"

  "Meg!" Robert had turned a fetching shade of beetroot. "This isn't what you think."

  Meg raised an eyebrow. "It isn't? You mean I haven't arrived home unexpectedly to find my fiancé, the man I am marrying in less than two weeks, in my bed with another woman?"

  Robert's mouth opened and closed several times.

  Liz piped up, "We were going out for dinner to discuss the client and Robert said he just had to call by to feed the cat and one thing..."

  "...led to another?" Meg finished for her. She took a breath. "I'm leaving now, Robert. No, I’m feeding the cat first. Then I’m leaving. You know, the cat? The lie you told me about feeding Blackie, so I’d hand over the keys? Yeah.” She was babbling now, but also, it was her flat. Why should she be the one leaving? But she wanted to get as far away from ‘this’ as possible.

  “When I come back I don't want to find either of you here." She turned to go but looked back. "Change the sheets and leave my key on the k
itchen bench."

  Summoning all her dignity she closed the door and gave Blackie his favourite pouch of chicken in jelly, the one she usually saved after a visit to the vet. Then she grabbed her handbag and left the flat, shutting the door firmly but not slamming it.

  Still completely calm, she unlocked her car, climbed in and switched on the engine. Only then did she feel a creeping chill of horror. She leaned her head on the steering wheel. It was one o'clock in the morning. Where could she go?

  Mechanically she drove the car out of the garage and let her heart lead.

  When someone knocks on your door at one in the morning, it is never good news and Chris, woken from a deep, dreamless sleep, jolted awake. His heart hammering, he almost wondered if he’d dreamt the hammering.

  It came again, less sure now.

  He swung out of bed and pulled his robe on, padding to the door in bare feet. He opened the door as far as the security chain would allow, and looked out into the dark.

  Meg stood on the doorstep. He undid the chain and swung the door open.

  "Meg? Are you all right?"

  She stood looking at him, her eyes huge in the dim light thrown from the front hall.

  "No," she said and the tears began to flow. Great gulping rapids that overwhelmed her. She stumbled across the threshold and into his arms and he held her close as she sobbed into his dressing gown.

  "What's happened?" he ventured as the sobs slowed to gulping hiccups.

  "Robert." Her voice was muffled by his robe. "I found him in my bed with... with Liz."

  "Liz?" He stifled a laugh. "Is that all?"

  She sniffed. "What do you mean?"

  "I thought someone had died."

  Her lip trembled and the tears spilled anew. "Only my future."

  "If ever two people deserved each other it’s those two. Can you imagine two more self-centred people on this earth then Robert and Liz?"

  "Robert's not that—"

  "Yes, he is," Chris said. "Don’t bother defending him. It's always been about what Robert wants, you just went along with him."

  "I loved him!"

  He noted the past tense.

  "You may have once, but you don't anymore," he said. "Be honest, Meg. You've been miserable since he got home."

  Meg nodded, her hair falling across her face.

  Chris seized the advantage. "Better it happen before the wedding than afterwards. Now, let me pour you a drink. You need it."

  Chris shut the door and walked Meg down the hall to the living room. He deposited her on the sofa and poured two large whiskies. He handed one to her and she took it, taking a tentative sip before consuming the contents of the glass in two gulps. He poured her another and sat down beside her, slipping his arm behind her, drawing her in to him. She snuggled up against him and he closed his eyes.

  This felt right. To hell with Robert.

  "Now tell me what happened," he said.

  Meg recounted the events of the evening. When she had finished, Chris laughed. "I wish I had been there to see his face. Did you really tell him to change the sheets?"

  She nodded.

  He rumpled her hair. "You are so bloody practical!"

  Her face was serious. "But it’s terrible Chris. The wedding—all those people. Diana will be simply furious."

  "I bet she will, but it's hardly your fault that your fiancé, her son, decided to have some extracurricular activity."

  She looked down at the empty glass. "But it’s my fault. I have been pushing him away ever since he came home."

  He sighed and shook his head. "No, it is not your fault. Not in the least. You tried, Meg, but face it your instinct knew that it was wrong." He took her face in his hand, compelling her to look up at him with her sombre, puffy, red rimmed eyes. "Admit it, Meg, you're relieved."

  "Relieved?"

  "You didn't really want to marry Robert. Sarah always said you only got engaged out of habit and you just didn't have an excuse not to go through with it. Now you have one."

  He knew her so well. He'd never realised before just how well he knew her, but in marrying Sarah, he had known she came as a team - MegandSarah - and since Sarah's death, it had become MegandChris. The realisation hit him with the force of a blow. He hadn't wanted her to marry Robert and move to London, any more than she had wanted to go. They just lacked the courage to admit it to themselves let alone each other.

  He smiled at her. "At least Ben is spared the indignity of a green velvet suit and holding hands with Lucy." He traced the line of her cheekbone with his thumb. "You poor thing, you look all done in."

  "I should go home," she said. "They will have gone by now and Blackie..."

  "...is well-fed and can wait until the morning. You are welcome to stay here tonight. Take my bed. I'll sleep on the spare bed in Ben's room."

  "Are you sure."

  "Quite sure."

  She managed a wobbly smile. "Just as well I brought a toothbrush."

  Meg woke to the smell of coffee. It took a long moment to remember where she was and the helter skelter events of the previous night that had ended with her in Chris Kingsley's bed - by herself.

  She sat up, pushing hair out of her eyes, her gaze scanning the untidy room. After Sarah had died, she had lived in this room, moving in to look after Ben while Chris was in hospital, only returning to her flat when Ellen and Bill came down to relieve her. Clothes were strewn over the furniture and shoes had been kicked into corners. A pile of books teetered uncertainly on the bedside table. She smiled to herself. For six months, it had been her home and that was how it felt now—home.

  The door creaked open and Chris looked in. "Sleeping beauty is awake! Come on, Ben."

  Ben entered first holding a tray or, rather, balancing it on his plaster cast. With great care he wobbled towards her, ensuring that the mug of coffee did not slop. A plate of singed toast lathered in vegemite completed the treat.

  "Dad said you had to have breakfast in bed. I made it all by myself."

  She reached down and relieved him of the tray before the coffee spilled. "Thank you, Ben."

  Ben climbed up and sat, leaning against the wrought iron bedstead at the foot of the bed, watching her as Chris leaned in the doorway, one foot crossed over the other.

  "Dad says you're not going to marry Robert any more. Is that true?" Ben asked

  She nodded, afraid he would ask her why.

  An oddly triumphant look crossed the boy's face and he shot his father a sideways glance, "That's good 'cos it means you won't go to London now, doesn't it?"

  Everything about her future had changed.

  She looked from Ben to Chris and as the realisation sunk in, she said, "That's right Ben. I don't have to go to London now. I can stay here."

  Still holding her gaze, Chris perched beside his son. "What do you want to do? Hide out here or beard the lion in his den?"

  She smiled, sorely tempted to snuggle back down under the generous doona and forget about the world. "I have to face Diana," she said. "Tell her the wedding is off."

  "Want me to come?"

  She shook her head. "No. But it would be lovely if you were waiting here afterwards, with another large whisky."

  After she finished breakfast she returned to the flat to change into something suitable for facing Diana Ahearn. To her amusement, all trace of the previous evening's activities had been expunged. Not only was the bed neatly made with clean sheets but the wine and glasses had disappeared and there even appeared to be fresh kibble in Blackie's dish.

  She dressed carefully in a white linen dress, put her hair up into a chignon and applied power-dressing make up. She took a few minutes to search the flat, collecting everything of Robert's that she could find and dumping it in a box.

  Wearing her highest heels, she tottered down to the car, placed the box on the back seat and drove to Camberwell.

  An ominous silence hung over the house. She knocked but there were no approaching footsteps. For a brief, cowardly moment, she hoped no
one was at home. She should leave the box and flee. Drat, footsteps. Robert's sister, Helen answered the door.

  Helen regarded her with hostile eyes. "They're in the living room," she said.

  Diana sat slumped in one of the armchairs, her eyes red and puffy, a large middle-aged representation of tragedy. Robert sprawled on the sofa, his nose in the newspaper. The atmosphere in the room could have been cut with a knife.

  "Good morning," Meg said cheerfully.

  Robert gave up the pretence and jumped to his feet, his face flushing scarlet. She walked up to him and handed him the box.

  "Yours, I believe."

  He set the box down on the couch. "Meg—"

  She spared him. "I have nothing to say to you Robert."

  As a final gesture, she twisted the engagement ring off her finger and handed it to him.

  At that Diana rose to her feet. "You can't just call the wedding off like that, you stupid girl."

  Meg turned to look at her. "I can't? Why not? I found your son in my bed with another woman a week before my wedding."

  "Robert has explained. It was all a silly misunderstanding."

  "I'm sorry, Diana," Meg said. "I am afraid there was no misunderstanding in what I saw."

  Diana's eyes narrowed. "It's no different from the way you've been carrying on with Chris Kingsley since his wife died. Don't think people haven't noticed."

  All Meg's bravado evaporated and a cold hand closed over her heart. "What do you mean?"

  "That was uncalled for, mother," Robert snapped and Meg glanced at him, thankful for his intervention.

  Diana subsided into the chair again, placing a hand to her forehead. "You have no idea what is involved in calling this wedding off. The cost, the embarrassment, the inconvenience—"

  "I told you, I will reimburse anything you have spent," Robert said. "All that is left is the embarrassment and I can wear that. As far as I am concerned, Meg is entirely blameless. This is all on me."

  Meg looked at him, seeing the Robert she had first liked, had first fallen in love with, not the self-centred, career lawyer he had become.