Love, In Writing

by Elsa Winckler

  “Margaret?” Graham asked, bewildered, and followed her.

  At the front door she turned around. She squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye.

  “It’s a good offer for a girl like me, Graham, an incredibly good offer, but I want more. I need more. Thank you for everything,” she said, and turned back to open the door.

  In the next instant Graham slammed his hand against it. “Are you saying no to me?” he asked incredulously, and she grimaced.

  “Yes, Graham, I know this will be a shock to you, but I’m saying no, thank you.” She tried to escape his arms, but he put his hands on either side of her and she was trapped. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she tried valiantly to swallow them.

  “But why? I want you, you want me, and we have great sex together. What is the problem?”

  She tried a smile. “Yes, the sex was great.” What an understatement. But how could she tell him she’d never experienced anything remotely like it before, for her it was so much more than just sex, her soul had been touched? For him it was just the “best sex ever”?

  She opened the door again. “I’ve told you before, Graham. I want it all. I can’t move in with you, share your life just for the sex. It could never work if love isn’t also involved. I want so much more than you’re willing to give. I want the fairy tale.”

  Graham stepped back, a look of utter astonishment on his face. “Are you serious? Do you actually believe the nonsense you write about love? Surely you know it doesn’t exist?”

  “You must have believed in it once. You got married,” she whispered.

  “Exactly. I tried it and it doesn’t work. There is no such thing as love for ever after and lust simply doesn’t last that long. I found her in bed with my best friend. You call that love?”

  Margaret sighed. She could tell him so many things, but the two of them were on such different tracks, there was no way they could ever understand one another. “Then we have nothing left to say to one another.” She stepped out onto the porch and moved toward her car, willing the tears not to fall before she was kilometers away from the farm. But as she drove through the gates, the tears began to fall and she was trying to wipe them away when a camera bulb flashed next to her window

  Chapter 8

  Margaret sipped her coffee while she stared out of the window in her office at the back of her shop. It was a week before Christmas and they were extremely busy. There was a continuous drone of voices in the bookshop. Miles still looked worried, but he seemed to think if sales figures could stay the same in January, they might be able to pull through. Then, if her book sold well and she could get just one more book launch... She had enough to worry about today.

  Much to Jen’s delight, the surfers were flocking to the nearby beach and throughout the day, half-dressed young guys were standing around in the bookshop. Normally Margaret also appreciated the rippling muscles of surfers, liked the people, enjoyed talking to everyone, loved to hear where they were from, and didn’t mind if someone browsed until well after closing time.

  But today was not a good day. In fact, the ten days since she’d last seen Graham had not been good days. They’d been horrible. She went to bed thinking about him, she spent every night dreaming of their lovemaking, and woke up every morning with wet cheeks, tangled sheets, and vivid memories of erotic dreams. She was tired of being unhappy, she was tired of being miserable, tired of crying and—she picked up a daily paper in disgust—bloody well tired of the press.

  A few days after she’d left Graham’s farm, the first pictures appeared. She didn’t usually buy tabloid papers, but Louise had of course made sure Margaret knew she featured on the front page of one of the more tacky Cape Town dailies. There were two photographs of her on the front page. One must have been taken when she drove toward Graham’s house. She had a smile on her face. The caption said, “I’m spending the night with Graham Connelly.” The other photograph had been taken when she was leaving the next day. Crying. The caption to this one read, “What did Graham do? What didn’t he do?”

  And after the initial photographs, details of her life, her writing, her bookshop were splashed all over the papers, day after day after day. One would have thought they’d run out of things to say about her by now. She had such an ordinary, boring life.

  There was a movement behind her. She glanced back. Mandy was holding a daily paper in her hand. She had a worried look on her face.

  “Another one?” Margaret asked.

  Mandy nodded and came closer. “I didn’t want to phone you after the first photos appeared and kept hoping this would go away. What happened? Are you okay? What does Graham say?”

  “I spent the night on Graham’s farm. One lone journalist was camped out at his gate but apparently this one judge from last year’s television reality show is still news. I’m fed up, but I’m okay and I haven’t heard from Graham and I won’t hear from him. He wants a fling; I don’t.” She sat down, tired and irritable.

  “Have you spoken to the press since?” Mandy asked cautiously.

  Margaret glared up at her.

  “Sorry, stupid question. So where do they get their information?”

  Resignedly, Margaret handed her one of the Sunday tabloid papers. Mandy took it and scanned the page quickly.

  “Louise? Your cousin Louise? After everything you’ve done for her? She should be ashamed of herself. How could she do such a thing? This is such drivel. You wouldn’t share your inheritance with them, you’re so selfish, argghh!” Mandy threw down the paper.

  Margaret tuned out Mandy’s ranting and closed her eyes. Everything Mandy was saying, she had already told Louise herself.

  “You know, she actually phoned one newspaper after the first photos appeared. She thought she would share some family stories with them, she was delighted to tell me.” Margaret waved one hand in the air. “Oh, Mandy, just drop it. Louise was angry with me. She is just being spiteful. It’ll blow over. Eventually. I hope. The press still camp out in front of my house, but I was able to obtain a restraining order preventing them from entering the shop. I’m actually fine during the day.”

  Mandy dropped down beside her on a chair and put a hand on her arm. “Come home with me tonight, please? This is ridiculous. You can’t live like this...”

  There was a commotion in the corridor. Both she and Mandy looked toward the door. Graham appeared, his hair tousled, his face unshaven, his eyes burning. Her heart was beating frantically as it always did when she saw him. Her hands trembled and she quickly put them under her legs.

  “Graham. What can I do for you?” She was grateful her voice didn’t break, she didn’t dissolve into tears, and she could actually look him in the eye.

  He narrowed his eyes. “Where do they get this?” he growled and held up a stack of newspapers.

  Margaret got up angrily and crossed her arms. “Surely, you don’t think I—”

  “This is the last thing I need right now,” he said in a clipped voice.

  Margaret narrowed her eyes. “You want to blame me for this mess? I’m not the famous one here, but the press is camped out on my front lawn. I can’t sleep. They’re outside all night!” she cried. She was so angry, she wanted to throw something at Graham. She’d just about had it with him, the press, and this whole mess. If she never saw him again, it would be too soon.

  Mandy got up quickly. “I’m going to help Jen, I think she’s swamped.”

  Graham waited until Mandy had left the room, then he turned to Margaret. “I’ve been in Johannesburg for the past week to see the publishers. We didn’t see any papers until yesterday. Peter heard about the photos from someone, but I didn’t quite believe him.

  The Johannesburg papers only had short reports. I came back this morning, saw your face splashed all over the newspapers at the airport. I drove straight here. Why the hell did you speak to the press? They’ve been looking for something to write about me for ages and you’ve just handed it to them on a plate. Thank you so much!�
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  Margaret opened her mouth to answer him, but no sound would come out. She couldn’t remember ever being this angry at anyone.

  “Oh, now you can’t get anything out? When you had to keep quiet, you couldn’t stop talking!” Graham bellowed.

  “Get out,” she said quietly. “I can’t believe you thought I’d do something like this.” Graham opened his mouth, but she pointed toward the door again. “Leave now, or so help me...” She got the last words out through clenched teeth.

  Graham stared at her for a moment longer, his anger palpable, then he turned around and stormed out of her office.

  Margaret quickly sat down on the chair and dropped her head into her hands. Her anger quickly vanished and a big hole opened inside her. She hurt. She hadn’t thought Graham could hurt her more, but he just did. She rubbed her hand against her heart.

  Mandy came into her office again. “Did you tell him? Did you tell him Louise was the one who talked to the press and not you?”

  “He didn’t give me a chance to say anything. He’d decided I was to blame and that was it. Typical Graham Connelly: there is no other explanation than the one in his head.”

  Mandy opened her mouth to answer, but Margaret waved her hand in the air. “Oh, Mandy, just leave it. If that’s what he thinks of me, let him. You would think, after...” She just shook her head. What had happened between them wasn’t something she could share with anyone.

  He’d made love to her, made her feel like it meant something to him; he’d even asked her to move in with him. And he didn’t even know she would never, in a million years, do what he’d just accused her of.

  “About my earlier offer...” Mandy began, but the sound of footsteps stopped her and both she and Margaret stared at the door. She got up from her chair.

  Graham strode in. He crossed his arms, looked uncomfortable. He glanced at Mandy. “Could you give us a minute? Please?” he added.

  Mandy hesitated.

  “I know I was a bastard just now, you don’t have to tell me. I’m sorry. Please give me a minute with Margaret. I won’t upset her. I want to grovel.”

  Mandy smiled thinly. “Well, in that case.” She looked at Margaret. “If he says anything you don’t like, you yell.” She left only after she’d received a nod from Margaret.

  “You have good friends,” Graham said.

  Margaret didn’t trust herself to say anything immediately. She walked to the window, took a deep breath before turning around. She was awfully proud of herself when her voice didn’t betray the turmoil inside of her. “You know, only a few months ago, my life was ordinary, calm, peaceful. Probably boring for someone like you, but I was happy. I had my writing, my shop.

  “And then you erupted into my life, shouted at me, turned everything upside down, made me cry, made me so angry I could scream, made me drink too much...” She swallowed hard. “You made me feel things I haven’t felt before.” Margaret put a hand to her heart, tried to clear her befuddled brain. She looked at him again. “And now you are the reason my face is splashed over all the newspapers, as you’ve so eloquently put it. And then you storm in here, accusing me—”

  He stepped closer and took both her hands in his. “I’m sorry I stormed. I’m sorry I shouted. I’m sorry. When I got to my car, I realized what an ar...sorry, how horribly unfair I’ve been to you. I know, I’ve actually known all along you wouldn’t do something like this, but let’s just say this tactic has been used before to get back at me.” He took a deep breath. “This was the kind of thing Christy, my ex-wife, would pull if she didn’t get her way.”

  “I’m not your ex-wife,” Margaret said quietly and stared down at their clasped hands. She couldn’t meet his eyes. She was so hurt, so angry he could think the worst of her.

  Graham lifted her chin with one hand. “I know. Believe me, I know. I’ve hurt you. Just now, I don’t like myself much. And...” He shook his head. “Lately, I’ve actually liked myself around you. I’m a better person when I’m with you.” He touched her hair. “I’m sorry I’ve been such an idiot. I don’t know who spoke to the press, but I know it would not have been you.”

  Margaret turned around and handed him the paper she had shown Mandy earlier.

  He stood up while he read it and swore. He threw down the paper. “Your own cousin?”

  Margaret nodded.

  “What the hell was she thinking? And to tell them all this nonsense...” He picked up the paper again and slammed his hand on the article.

  “Don’t you believe her?” Margaret asked. “It seems to me you would easily believe—”

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her up. “You would never do something like this. I know.”

  Margaret turned her back on him, crossed her arms, and stared out of the window again. She breathed in steadily, willing her heart to behave; it was beating so loudly she was worried Graham might hear it.

  “Margaret.”

  She tried to ignore him. He took her arm, turned her around to look at him. “Look, I’m sorry about this. I’m used to them sniffing around in my life, I should’ve warned you. I should have seen it coming, but I just saw red and reacted, said all the wrong things.”

  Margaret walked around and sat down behind her desk. Much better if there was something wide between them. “I haven’t spoken to them, I can’t believe you thought I did. Louise...I’m sorry, but I just can’t explain her. But, as you’ve told me before, they will get tired of the game. Maybe Louise will too. It will blow over.” She pulled her laptop closer. “If there’s nothing else? I have work to do.”

  Before Graham could say anything, Jen stormed into the office. To Margaret’s irritation, she smiled coquettishly up at Graham. “How are you, stranger? You sure stir things up, don’t you?” she teased. “I don’t have time now, but you can tell me all about you and the press on Christmas day.”

  Graham stared at her. “Christmas? What—”

  Jen looked at Margaret, her eyes wide and innocent. “Surely you’ve invited Graham to your famous Christmas lunch?” She turned back to Graham before Margaret could utter a word. “You’re in for such a treat. This woman,” she pointed toward Margaret, “can cook. You’ve never tasted anything like it, I promise.”

  “Jen.” Margaret finally got her voice back and stood up. “Graham is not interested in Christmas lunch at my place. He’ll have a bunch of other invitations, I’m sure.”

  “If you’re inviting me, I gladly accept,” Graham heard himself say. The only reason he was there was to yell at her about the publicity. It wasn’t as if wanted to see her again. She’d made it clear what she wanted, needed, and he didn’t want the same thing. Now he’d apologized for yelling at her and had just accepted an invitation to her Christmas lunch. He didn’t even do Christmas, hated the fuss. What the hell was happening to him?

  His eyes fell on the papers again. He should’ve known they’d publish something. He should’ve looked out for Margaret, not blame her. He’d been so incensed when he saw her face all over the papers. He hadn’t thought, just reacted. He’d immediately remembered all the devious tricks Christy had used to make his life miserable and had been angry at the wrong person.

  He had no excuse for his abominable behavior. He hadn’t been able to function properly since the night he’d spent with Margaret. The last ten days, he had been incapable of thinking logically about anything.

  Margaret had been all he could think about, night and day. Each day he woke up, hoping that would be the day he would think about her less, would want her less. And each night he went to bed, aching for and needing her, wanting the soft, generous lover he’d had in his bed. He could still smell her on his pillow and, like a lovesick teenager, didn’t want to wash it. How pathetic could one get?

  And he’d not been able to write anything since he last saw her. His story still needed an ending, but he just couldn’t think of anything. Peter was apoplectic at this stage. He’d hoped the trip to Johannesburg would give him some inspiration, talking t
o the publishers would somehow help him to start writing again. He had hoped he’d be so busy he wouldn’t have time to think about her.

  But he caught himself staring into space, dreaming about her, when he should have been talking money. These things used to be so important to him, but somehow they had lost their appeal. He’d signed a contract, even though the book wasn’t finished yet. So on top of everything else, he now had a deadline.

  But this craving for the woman in front of him... He looked at her. The sun filtered through the lace curtains in the window and she was spun in a cloud of gold, shimmering, glowing. He swallowed. What was this unfamiliar feeling in his gut?

  He realized Margaret was talking to him and he blinked. “Sorry, what did you say?” He looked around and saw Jen had left—he hadn’t even noticed.

  “I said, you really don’t have to come. We don’t have anything left to say to one another and surely—”

  Before Margaret could finish her sentence, Graham stepped forward, hauled her against him, and took her mouth. The minute their lips met and she tasted him, his scent, his maleness seemed to seep into her very being. She’d missed him, missed this. Before she knew it, her hand was around his neck, his pulse jackhammering against her palm. But he only wanted sex, something simple, something that would only last until the lust ran out.

  He wasn’t going to stay and she needed more than he was willing to give. She deserved more. She pushed at his shoulders and dragged her mouth away from his.

  “Graham, no. Please d-don’t,” she stuttered, looking up at him. His eyes were clouded, passion still simmering in them.

  He touched her hair, turned away quickly. “I’ll see you next week,” he said, and walked toward the door.

  “You don’t have to come.”

  He turned around and just looked at her. Her words dried up. “I want to.” He left, closing the door with a quiet click.