As she trailed down the gently sloping, curved streets of the old town, she looked in through the small-paned windows of the cottages that crowded the pavement. Two hundred, maybe three hundred years old some of them, especially here, clustered around the abbey. Maggie caught glimpses of dark polished tables, a bowl of fatly overblown roses scattering their petals on a windowsill cluttered with antiques. She heard people’s dogs barking and children shouting down stairs.
It was all these small, ancient slices of English life that she had longed for as a little girl, that she had dreamt of. Her life back here hadn’t been exactly what she had imagined it would be, but it had been better than it was, at least. Her mum hadn’t had her hair bobbed and joined the WI, but at least Maggie knew where she was most of the time. Nor had her dad bought two suits and gone to work every morning on the train, but at least he had created some order and routine in their lives, even if it did always revolve around last orders and no one ever sent her or her brother to bed.
Her childhood had still been fairly chaotic: Jim and her packed off to school with unironed shirts and a pound note each instead of a lunch box. When they got in, it’d be either her mum or Sheila waiting for them in the kitchen with two sandwiches on a plate and a can of fizzy pop bursting with E numbers. Gradually she’d found herself hoping it would be Sheila, with her tales of a wartime childhood and her no-nonsense take on life. Her mum would ask them about their day, but while Jim chattered on about painting or PE, somehow, for some reason, Maggie would clam up into a tightly balled little fist of silent fury. Her mother made her furious. She never really knew why, except that she just wished her mum was less of a person, all kooky and original, and more of just, well a mum.
When Christian had first kissed her on her third week of working for him, part of her, the only part that wasn’t singing with joy, thought, ‘Well, about bloody time. Finally I’ve got someone in my life who can take me out of this disjointed craziness, who can make me normal, who can make me happy.’
During her three years at university, before Christian, she had found the space to create a little order for herself and to shape the person she wanted to be out of still raw material. She’d discovered that she loved organising, arranging and creating success out of nothing. She was a meticulous planner and seemed to be able to generate ideas amongst her fellow students; she felt in control and fulfilled. But after she’d graduated she’d had no choice but to return to The Fleur, for a while at least. And she’d found she resented its freestyle oppression even more. Her relationship with her mother had disintegrated into Marion’s passing flurries of attention and Maggie’s steadfast rebuttals. She got her own studio flat as soon as she could, and worked her way through a variety of jobs, none of them offering the challenge and opportunities she wanted.
Then Christian gave her a position and her whole world opened up into a beautiful vista full of possibilities. She’d moved into his flat at his first invitation, eagerly, almost greedily. She thought that after a year or two they might find a cottage with wisteria climbing over its windows. There might be children. She might give up Fresh Talent then and stay home with them. She might bake. Six years later she had still been waiting; they had still been talking about it as some distant future they would one day amble into together, and Maggie had always been certain that it would come one day. Now she had the pub, the cottage and the children and the wisteria were further away from her than ever, but she could still have the promise of a future, she could still have her heart intact if she only had Christian. He was really all that she needed – all her other dreams could just melt away.
Maggie glanced at her watch: she still had half an hour to wait. She wondered what Christian was doing right now, if he was shaving or picking out a shirt. If he was making excuses to Louise or practising what he was going to say to Maggie. She walked into the abbey grounds, and although it was getting on for eight the light was still bright and the heat still strong enough to penetrate the cloth of her dress and prickle her skin as she walked up the abbey steps. The cool dark interior of the immense building was very welcome. Inside the choir was singing and there was a service going on. A small collection of people had congregated and were singing, almost silently, in unison with the choir.
Maggie walked quietly along the right-hand aisle and past the main service to the Lady chapel at the back of the abbey. One other woman sat on the last row of wooden chairs, her head bent, her closed fingers pressed to her forehead, her lips moving silently. Maggie sat gingerly on the end of a row and looked up at the high, vaulted ceiling, and let the coloured light dazzle her.
She had been confirmed here, in the mid-eighties, in a boxy white suit with black plastic buttons from Etam. She had told her mum she wanted to be confirmed like Sarah, and her mum had told her it was up to her how she wanted to connect with her inner spirit, but that she’d probably need to get christened first, because she was fairly sure it was a prerequisite. Maggie had been mortified and ashamed. It had never occurred to her that she hadn’t been christened. Everyone was christened, surely? Sarah’s mum even had a picture of Sarah’s christening framed on the wall in her hallway.
Sarah and at least three others in her class were starting the confirmation classes that term, and Maggie really wanted to be the same as them. Sarah, who couldn’t stand the thought of it, had earnestly begged Maggie to wag it with her in the park instead, but as Maggie had pointed out, her mum was bound to find out if they did. And if she found out, Sarah would be dead. Besides, Maggie had wanted to be confirmed. She wasn’t sure it was because she believed in God; in actual fact the idea had terrified her. But she liked the idea of being confirmed in its most literal sense. She wanted someone important and good resting his hands on her head and telling everyone, even God, if he existed, that she was really there. That she was real and that she mattered. In the end she’d arranged her christening herself, and it took place quietly at the end of the regular Sunday service, with just her parents. Sheila and Sarah there to watch her.
When finally the day of the confirmation had arrived, in those few brief moments kneeling alongside Sarah Maggie had felt special, had felt at home and at peace. Twenty years later, and still the abbey was somewhere she could go, somewhere she felt at home. She closed her eyes and dropped her head a little and listened to the sounds of the choir echo in the vaulted ceiling. She closed her eyes and waited.
Christian was late. But it didn’t matter.
Chapter Twenty
‘Maggie.’
His voice rich beside her made her jump out of her reverie. Ten minutes before, she had re-emerged on to the abbey steps and had become gradually lost in her thoughts and her day-dreams. Now he was here in the flesh and for real, Maggie found she could not look him in the eye. ‘God, you look fantastic!’ he told her, and she dipped her head instinctively as he bent to kiss her cheek, forcing his mouth to graze her hair. As if sensing her discomfort, he took both her hands in his and turned her to face him.
‘Look at me, Mags,’ he commanded softly.
Gradually Maggie allowed herself to look into his face once more, her breath catching and her heart pounding.
‘Oh, Maggie,’ Christian breathed, his eyes roaming the length of her body before returning to meet her eyes. ‘It’s so good to see you. I’ve missed you, you know. So much.’
Maggie smiled. ‘Me too,’ she managed to say.
Christian’s smile broke into a grin and, dropping one of her hands, he began to lead her briskly through the back of the abbey grounds and out into the centre of the town.
‘Come on, I’ve booked us into Luigi’s. I called him earlier, he’s going to cook for us off menu. He’s got in new season asparagus and some French truffles – it’s going to be fantastic.’
Maggie followed him, her hand securely slotted into his familiar grip. For a moment the world around swam with dizzying lights and she felt as if Christian were leading her into thin air. She took a deep breath and followed him anyway.
After all, this was what she wanted more than anything – whatever it took.
Maggie’s head swam with Pinot Grigio, and as another mouthful of dark chocolate torte melted in her mouth, she felt that all the anguish of her separation from Christian had been worth it for this perfect moment of bliss. He was so attentive, so sweet, so kind. He made her feel like she was completely precious to him, priceless. His hand covered hers and she smiled back at him.
‘I always did love the fact that you ate what you wanted and didn’t stress out about a bit of cake or chocolate – it’s so sexy,’ he grinned, leaning in a little closer. ‘Lou is always at the gym and always stressing out about calories. Apparently fat runs in her family. I mean, she looks fantastic, but it can wear you down after a while.’
He smiled as he spoke about Louise for the first time that evening, and Maggie squirmed uncomfortably in her chair, unsure if it was her betrayal of her fake friend or Christian’s obvious fondness for her that made her feel uncomfortable. She’d almost forgotten all about Louise, sitting at home on her own, with no friends nearby and about to have no boyfriend. Maggie took another draught of wine and put Louise out of her mind.
‘So, are you seeing anyone?’ Christian asked her. His eyes crinkled a little around the edges as if he thought the idea of Maggie seeing someone was faintly amusing.
‘Well,’ Maggie said, determined to prove him wrong. ‘Declan Brady asked me out a few times, but I, well, I didn’t really want to see anyone else but you.’ At the last minute her resolve crumbled away. She smiled weakly, the distress of the last few weeks reflected clearly in the sheer black of her eyes.
‘Oh Maggie.’ Christian squeezed her hand. ‘I’m sorry for what I’ve put us through. I really am.’ He paused and withdrew his hand from hers. ‘I like Louise, you know, she’s a great girl. Lots of fun and very warm, but she’s … well, she’s not you, Maggie. She hasn’t got your class, and sometimes I wonder if she’s not a bit too frail for the world.’ Christian grimaced.
Maggie wanted to be pleased, but actually she felt that he was being a little too tough on Louise. She’d seemed like the epitome of class to Maggie, and as together as anyone was in these days when falling apart was practically obligatory.
‘It’s funny,’ Christian continued, ‘but when we were together I felt like our relationship was suffocating me. Now, when I look back on what we had, I realise exactly how much you meant to me and to Fresh Talent. It was you who allowed me to breathe and to grow. I miss that, and it’s been hard adjusting to life without you.’
Maggie opened her mouth to speak just as Christian reached into his top pocket. He pulled out a long cream envelope. Maggie closed her mouth again, feeling an unbidden sense of foreboding.
‘Anyway, here’s your cheque. There’s a rumour going around that you’re going to take on The Fleur. Good luck! You’ll need it!’
He laughed as he slid the envelope across the table to Maggie. Her finger withdrew from it as if it was red hot, and she stared at it, a cold horror creeping up her spine.
‘But surely now that we’re … I mean, this was when we were splitting up. I mean, it would come in handy, sure, but you don’t need to give this to me now, not now that ––’
Christian cut across her. ‘Luigi, the bill please, maestro!’ he called out with his usual theatrical embellishment. He turned to Maggie, his tone gentle but firm.
‘Now look, no one is more pleased than I am that we can sit across a table from one another and talk like old times. I think the thing I’ve missed about you most, Maggie, is your friendship. To have that back is really precious to me, really special. Lou’s got a lot going for her, but conversation isn’t really one of them, if you know what I mean.’
His grin was less than subtle and Maggie felt every muscle and tendon in her body freeze with fear, her mind racing to catch up with the words that Christian was saying. Suddenly the whole world had been turned on its head, and this was all wrong, like a scene from Alice in Wonderland. Her world was shrinking all around her into a single point of nothing. She had followed Christian off the precipice and he had failed to catch her.
‘If I could get you back on board at Fresh Talent I would, but I don’t really think it’s fair on Lou – she’s already so intimidated by you. And besides, it’s about time you had a crack at your own business. God knows I trained you long enough! And even if we are friends now, Mags, even if we can put all of that stuff behind us, you still deserve the money. You put a lot into that business over the years. The best employee I’ve ever had by far.’
Luigi arrived, and Christian tucked his credit card into the bill with a wink. ‘This one’s on me,’ he finished.
Maggie forced herself to move, forced her brain to fire up her muscles and nerve endings and her lungs to breathe again. Even as every part of her rational self screamed that she should keep her mouth shut, her heart got her tongue working, with only partial success.
‘But I thought all this was … I mean, when you wanted to see me. I thought it was because … you said you missed me?’
Christian looked at her. ‘I do, I do miss you. Louise drives me up the bloody wall sometimes with her incessant chattering, she’s so jealous of you – it’s like she can’t accept that you and I are in the past! I do miss you, Maggie, but …’
He stopped mid-sentence, a look of horror washing the colour out of his face.
‘Oh Christ, you thought that I wanted to … that we were going to … Oh fuck. Oh Maggie. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I never meant you to think that! God, I’m so crass. I’m an idiot. I was just so pleased to see you, so pleased we were getting past the split and you were going to be OK. And … Oh Maggie, I’m sorry. I don’t want us to get back together.’
Maggie pushed back her chair and rose from the table.
‘I know,’ she said stiffly. ‘Of course I know. Now if you’ll excuse me … Thank you for the meal.’
Leaving the cheque on the table, she stumbled towards the door, the deliciously drunk feeling she had felt only minutes earlier now a painful hindrance to her exit.
‘Baby!’ she heard Christian call out after her. She ignored him, and after weaving her way though the closely-packed curious diners, she finally made her way out on to the street. Christian was at her side almost immediately, his eyes blazing with some kind of emotion that Maggie could only guess at. He caught her by the shoulder and stared down at her.
‘Maggie, please … Don’t be like this, please,’ he said. ‘If you only knew how hard it is for me to sit across a table from you and not be able to …’
Maggie took a confrontational step closer to him, her mouth set in an angry line.
‘And not be able to what? Humiliate and embarrass and hurt me any more?’
The anger that she realised had been waiting to ignite ever since the morning he had first told her bubbled up in her chest like red-hot lava.
‘When will it be enough for you, Christian? When will you have finished hurting me? You can’t have both. You can’t have me as your “little friend”, looking on benignly as you rebuild your life, our life, without me. It doesn’t work that way!’
Maggie was breathing hard, her finger pointing sharply at the centre of Christian’s chest. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. She was supposed to be easygoing and charming, not some bitter harridan out for her pound of flesh. She shook her head and took a step back.
‘Oh God … I’m sorry,’ she said, but as she turned away from him he grabbed her arm hard and pulled her close into his chest. Maggie shook her head.
‘Maggie, it’s me that’s sorry. I never meant to make this worse for you, I was trying to make it better. If you only knew how much I wanted to kiss you all through that meal … but …’
Maggie pulled away from him, trying to resist the urge to collapse right there in his arms and weep. ‘Please, I just need to go,’ she said, but she couldn’t move.
Christian shook his head. ‘Maybe I’m crazy, I don’t know. I look
at you, Maggie, and I want you, I still want you so much, and I think about you all the time … but I just don’t think we can work together any more, I don’t think that we can. I don’t think I’m good for you – you deserve more than me, but …’
Without warning, he crushed his lips against hers and kissed her hard, and her body gradually melted under his touching, melding into his hard, metallic passion. Aeons might have passed in those few seconds, and for the first time since he’d left her, Maggie felt at home. When they parted at last, Maggie felt as if all the air had been sucked out of her, and she was numb, spinning gratefully in a vacuum.
‘To be honest, Maggie,’ his voice was hoarse, ‘I just don’t know what I think. I don’t know, and because I don’t know … I need some time. To think about all of this and the way you make me feel, and how I feel about Lou. Is that terrible? To treat you like this? I don’t mean to, you know. I really don’t. It’s just that whenever I think I’m in control I look at you and …’
Christian shook his head, and Maggie detached herself from his embrace by sheer force of will. As she stepped back he handed her the cheque, and this time she took it. There was something here, a chance – a faint hope glimmering in the dark confusion of her mind. Whatever happened she mustn’t blow it, because she was certain she would not get another. She composed herself and measured each word before she spoke it.
‘Obviously,’ she said carefully, ‘there’s a lot of chemistry between us still. But I think you’re right Christian – for now at least we need to keep it just friends. We need space to discover what our real feelings are.’
River Deep Page 17
