at the piece of paper. "You're renting it?"
"Yes. It's partly furnished."
So he could move straight in, she surmised. Convenient. Max said, "You'll be able to have your father with you, after all."
As if that could make up for losing her husband. She didn't answer, afraid that if she opened her mouth it would be in an undignified howl of anger and hurt.
"Do you want me to say goodbye to him?" Max asked.
"No. I'll explain later."
"Right." He hesitated a moment longer, then turned to pick up his bags. "I'm sorry, Celine."
"I know, ". she said. He was, and she knew that this wasn't easy for him, either. But it was his choice, and her happiness was the price he was willing to pay for his own ... and Kate Payne's.
"I couldn't have gone on pretending," he said. "I thought for a while that I could. I tried."
Yes, she supposed that he had.
"Sooner or later," he said, "this was inevitable... once I'd met Kate." He was telling her that her happiness couldn't have lasted, that she'd been living in a fool's paradise. Not for the first time, he'd picked up on her thoughts.
"You don't have to explain," she told him distantly.
He wanted her to understand. She didn't. They'd had something good, something worthwhile, solid, loving . It might not have been all moonlight and roses, but they'd had those, too, from time to time. And he was throwing it all away for the sake of some kind of emotional high. Because he'd fallen in love.
Perhaps she should tell him she'd wait for it to blow over, that there was no need for him to leave. But even if her own emotions hadn't balked at the prospect of turning a blind eye while he conducted a raging affair, she knew that Max would never have accepted that. His sense of integrity wouldn't allow it.
"Let me know if you need anything," he said. "I'll always care for you, Celine. That won't alter. Only, this is ... different."
Tightly, she said, "I don't want to hear this, Max. It would be better if you'd just ... go!"
He bowed his head slightly. "If that's what you want. I'll be in touch."
If he kisses me, I will scream, Celine thought, clenching her hands at her sides.
His eyes searched hers, and she looked back at him stonyfaced. He nodded again, jerkily, and turned to the door.
Burdened as he was, he'd have to put down the bags to open it. Celine stepped in front of him and did it for him.
"Thanks," he said, not looking at her as he passed through. Watching him walk along the gallery and disappear down the stairs, she hoped her father wouldn't choose this moment to come out of the lounge where he was watching TV.
She heard Max's footfall on the marble floor. He must have left his car in front of the house, because he went out
the front door. It snapped to behind him, and a few minutes later the car started and went off down the drive. She listened until the engine note died away, standing very still as though that would hold her together, her mind oddly blank, her emotions temporarily in a blessed limbo.
"Max gone out?" Her father glanced up from the paper as she entered the lounge.
"Yes." She ought to tell him now, of course. But instead she sat down and pretended to be watching the television while he rattled through the paper, glancing up now and then to comment on what was on the screen.
She'd tell him tomorrow. She didn't think that tonight she could cope with questions, comments and helpful suggestions.
Once she might have looked to her father for comfort, but now their roles had reversed. She looked at him and saw how his cheeks had sunk inward below his cheekbones, and his eyes were dulled behind his spectacles. She saw the prominence of his wrist bones as he turned the pages of the newspaper, and watched him squinting to read the print, even though he wore his reading glasses. Maybe it was time for a new prescription. She remembered how he'd been when he was younger, when she'd thought him a big, strong man, although now he was scarcely taller than herself .
"Yes. It's partly furnished."
So he could move straight in, she surmised. Convenient. Max said, "You'll be able to have your father with you, after all."
As if that could make up for losing her husband. She didn't answer, afraid that if she opened her mouth it would be in an undignified howl of anger and hurt.
"Do you want me to say goodbye to him?" Max asked.
"No. I'll explain later."
"Right." He hesitated a moment longer, then turned to pick up his bags. "I'm sorry, Celine."
"I know, ". she said. He was, and she knew that this wasn't easy for him, either. But it was his choice, and her happiness was the price he was willing to pay for his own ... and Kate Payne's.
"I couldn't have gone on pretending," he said. "I thought for a while that I could. I tried."
Yes, she supposed that he had.
"Sooner or later," he said, "this was inevitable... once I'd met Kate." He was telling her that her happiness couldn't have lasted, that she'd been living in a fool's paradise. Not for the first time, he'd picked up on her thoughts.
"You don't have to explain," she told him distantly.
He wanted her to understand. She didn't. They'd had something good, something worthwhile, solid, loving . It might not have been all moonlight and roses, but they'd had those, too, from time to time. And he was throwing it all away for the sake of some kind of emotional high. Because he'd fallen in love.
Perhaps she should tell him she'd wait for it to blow over, that there was no need for him to leave. But even if her own emotions hadn't balked at the prospect of turning a blind eye while he conducted a raging affair, she knew that Max would never have accepted that. His sense of integrity wouldn't allow it.
"Let me know if you need anything," he said. "I'll always care for you, Celine. That won't alter. Only, this is ... different."
Tightly, she said, "I don't want to hear this, Max. It would be better if you'd just ... go!"
He bowed his head slightly. "If that's what you want. I'll be in touch."
If he kisses me, I will scream, Celine thought, clenching her hands at her sides.
His eyes searched hers, and she looked back at him stonyfaced. He nodded again, jerkily, and turned to the door.
Burdened as he was, he'd have to put down the bags to open it. Celine stepped in front of him and did it for him.
"Thanks," he said, not looking at her as he passed through. Watching him walk along the gallery and disappear down the stairs, she hoped her father wouldn't choose this moment to come out of the lounge where he was watching TV.
She heard Max's footfall on the marble floor. He must have left his car in front of the house, because he went out
the front door. It snapped to behind him, and a few minutes later the car started and went off down the drive. She listened until the engine note died away, standing very still as though that would hold her together, her mind oddly blank, her emotions temporarily in a blessed limbo.
"Max gone out?" Her father glanced up from the paper as she entered the lounge.
"Yes." She ought to tell him now, of course. But instead she sat down and pretended to be watching the television while he rattled through the paper, glancing up now and then to comment on what was on the screen.
She'd tell him tomorrow. She didn't think that tonight she could cope with questions, comments and helpful suggestions.
Once she might have looked to her father for comfort, but now their roles had reversed. She looked at him and saw how his cheeks had sunk inward below his cheekbones, and his eyes were dulled behind his spectacles. She saw the prominence of his wrist bones as he turned the pages of the newspaper, and watched him squinting to read the print, even though he wore his reading glasses. Maybe it was time for a new prescription. She remembered how he'd been when he was younger, when she'd thought him a big, strong man, although now he was scarcely taller than herself .
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