coffee, breakfast at the weekend. He’d found it far more relaxing than he would have thought. The idea of such domesticity before would have made him come out in a rash, but somehow with Maggie it didn’t feel like that. When he thought about it now, despite having other mistresses in the past, he’d never invited them to live with him. Maggie was the first woman he’d spent so much time with. Which was ironic.
He opened the doors and they made no sound. The cool night breeze swirled around him; the sounds of traffic came up from the streets. Lights twinkled across the city. And there was Maggie. Curled up on a deckchair, in an old comfy track-suit, a shawl wrapped over her. A mug of something beside her. She’d fallen asleep.
And in a flash Caleb knew exactly what had been bothering him from the start. Maggie had never once dressed like she had that night of the seduction in London. In fact, she displayed an effortless, timeless style and everything she wore complemented her unique colouring and figure exactly. So why had she come to him dressed so cheaply that night? Yet more questions rushed in and he couldn’t halt the onslaught. Why didn’t she ever want to go clubbing? Which he personally abhorred, but still, usually had to indulge in. Why didn’t she call ten times a day just to be reassured that he still desired her? Why, when he offered to take her to the newest, most exclusive restaurant, had she screwed up her nose? And why was she so content just to stay in…and read…or watch TV?
It didn’t make sense. But, as these questions begged for his attention, he brutally used the desire rushing through his body to drown them out. He walked over and pressed a light kiss to Maggie’s lips. Her eyes opened—dark and greenly mysterious against the black night.
‘Caleb…’
‘Maggie…’
‘Where were you?’
‘I had to go out…’ And why did he feel like such a heel when he said that?
She just put her arms around his neck and allowed him to lift her against his chest. He carried her into the bedroom, where she buried her hurt and allowed him to undress her. He was back so late. Where had he really been? He’d never say and she’d never ask because he didn’t have to tell her. He owed her nothing. She meant nothing to him.
‘I have to go to New York for a few days.’
Maggie looked at Caleb reluctantly from over her morning coffee cup in the kitchen. She felt tousled and unkempt in her dressing gown next to his pristinely suited, clean-shaven appearance.
‘You’re going…alone?’ She held her breath.
‘Yes.’ He was terse. He needed to get away—from here, from her…from too many questions, making his head sore.
She suddenly felt a weight lift off her shoulders; the thought of a few days’ respite from the bitter-sweet ache of seeing him, sleeping with him every night, was like an oasis in the desert. Her eyes gleamed with relief and he couldn’t fail to notice it.
‘You don’t have to look so pleased, Maggie.’
She rapidly schooled her features, saying flippantly, ‘I’m missing you already.’
‘Maybe you should come with me…’ he taunted, but he knew she couldn’t. This deal was important and she’d be far too much of a distraction. But he’d never tell her that and didn’t like the way she tensed at those words. ‘Relax, Maggie, you can’t.’
He drained his cup and left it in the sink, picked up his coat. Despite the feeling of relief that had invaded her, now as she watched him walk away, about to go out the door, she felt a huge well of loneliness surround her. This was ridiculous. They didn’t even get on.
But…they did when they forgot themselves for a moment and had something approximating a normal, easy conversation. At times, they did have a remarkable accord, an easiness in each other’s company—something she’d never felt with anyone else. But yet, each time it seemed they might actually get close, one or the other would say something and the past would rear its ugly head. Then bed would conveniently take the need to talk further out of the equation. And she knew she couldn’t bear to see him walking away because she knew that one day very soon he’d be doing it for good.
‘Caleb.’
He stopped at the door and she walked up and pulled his head down to hers. She pressed her mouth to his and kissed him with desperate fervour. With a groan she felt him drop his case, wrap his arms around her back and pull her up, off her feet and into him. He kissed her back with a raw hunger, almost as though they’d been separated for days already.
Shakily he lowered her back down his body and put her away from him. ‘Is that so I don’t forget you?’
‘You’d better go.’
He stepped out and the door closed. Maggie leaned against it but couldn’t hold in the shaking that took hold of her body. She would not cry. She could not cry. She went over to the couch and sat down, hugging her arms around herself.
Just another few weeks, that’s all…
She was useless, pathetic. She thought back to when Caleb had come home last night and found her asleep, in a track-suit. She’d meant to change…She was doing so well at maintaining that all-important front…she hoped. But last night, when he hadn’t shown, hadn’t called, she’d been so weary. She had felt the fight leaving her. And in a way she hadn’t cared. He’d never know the full truth and he didn’t seem to mind enough to question her. He hadn’t even cared enough to tell her he was going away…
She stood resolutely and vowed to enjoy the few days of freedom. Even as she realised that she was already missing him. So much for her facetious mocking words. She may as well have been mocking herself.
For the next few days Maggie painted herself into a frenzy, trying her best to block all thoughts of Caleb. He rang every night but the calls were quick, brusque and she felt as though he was just checking up on her. One night she went to bed in one of his T-shirts, breathing his scent in deeply, ashamed of how badly she missed him.
By the weekend it didn’t look as if he was going to make it back. The time stretched ahead of her, yawning, empty. Her feeling of giddy relief at having some time alone had long gone. By the time Monday rolled around, missing him was an ache in her chest. Tuesday came and went. At one stage Maggie thought hysterically that perhaps this was it. She’d get a call from Ivy one day to say that Mr Cameron had shipped everything back to England and could she please vacate the apartment by noon.
The phone rang late on Wednesday night. She nearly dropped it, her heart was beating so fast. Her hands were slippy.
‘It’s me.’
‘Hi.’ Why did she have to sound so shy?
‘I’ll be back tomorrow.’ He sounded deathly tired. His voice raw.
‘Okay. See you then.’
The phones clicked down. Not another word. No I miss you or Can’t wait to see you. Even so, Maggie couldn’t help springing up and wrapping her arms around her body, her blood fizzing with treacherous happiness. He was coming back. He wasn’t leaving just yet.
The following morning she answered a knock at the door; it could hardly be Caleb already? Her pulse speeded up anyway and promptly slowed when she saw John, his driver. He looked terrible and his skin
