Love, In Writing

by Elsa Winckler

  Margaret stared at the door. “Damn Jen, damn the press, damn Louise, and double-damn Graham bloody Connelly.”

  Mandy peeked around the door. “Margaret! You’ve just used two bad words. What are we going to do with you?”

  Margaret groaned. She had actually said the words out loud. She sat down and dropped her head on her desk.

  Chapter 9

  Graham parked his car down the road from Margaret’s house. It looked as if she’d invited half of Cape Town, he thought irritably. Where did all these people come from? And why the hell was he here? He’d thought of phoning and cancelling, thought he could just inform Jen, but somehow he never got ’round to doing it. And here he was. With flowers and a bottle of wine. Like a bloody suitor.

  He swore and got out of the car. This madness was going to end today. On Christmas day. He’d have lunch and then he’d tell her she wouldn’t see him again. There were other surfing spots, nicer ones. He didn’t have to come back here. She was right. They wanted different things from life. And he could most certainly never live with someone who still believed in fairy tales.

  He took a deep breath. Good. This was good. He now knew exactly what to do. It was what she wanted as well, anyway. He should have done it earlier, but the lunch probably wouldn’t be too long. Afterward, he’d forget about this woman.

  And his manuscript was finished. He’d hardly slept the last week. Mags had taken over the story completely and all he could do was let his fingers do their thing. He wasn’t quite sure how and when he’d come up with the ending, but once he’d started, there was simply no other way for the story to end. Peter wasn’t happy with it, but was grateful it was finished.

  He knocked on the door and waited. Loud voices were coming from inside. And then she opened the door and he forgot to breathe. She was beautiful. Her hair was loose and curled around her face. She wore a light green wisp of a dress, almost flowing around her. It was short and his eyes dropped down to her long, brown legs. He nearly groaned out loud.

  “Hi, Graham. I was wondering whether you’d still show up. Come in,” she invited politely. Afterward, he couldn’t really explain his actions, but before he knew what he was going to do, he’d pushed the flowers into her hand, wrapped his hand around her hair, and devoured her mouth.

  She struggled and whimpered but he only deepened the kiss. He caught a soft sigh in his mouth and was lost. He pulled her closer until she was plastered against him and he could feel every centimeter of her long, slender body against his.

  Margaret tried to send the messages from her brain to the rest of her body. She shouldn’t be doing this, she should be cool and collected, not trying to get inside of him. But somehow her body wouldn’t listen to reason and was functioning as a separate entity.

  The sudden sound of a glass splintering had her gasping for breath. She stared at Graham. He looked at her for a few seconds, a stunned expression on his face. Then a slow smile lit up his face.

  “Well, Miss Margaret, you sure pack a punch. This is going to be an interesting Christmas, I think.” He took her hand in his and walked inside the house toward the noise.

  Stupefied, Margaret could only follow him. She looked down at the flowers in her hand. Wildflowers. He’d brought her a bunch of them. How was she supposed to ignore him when he did things like this?

  When they entered the big dining room, the voices stopped abruptly. Margaret took a deep breath, very much aware of the fact everyone could see she’d been thoroughly kissed. “Hi, everyone. This is Graham. Graham Connelly. I’m not going to introduce him to everyone. He’d never be able to remember all of you anyway.” She looked around frantically.

  “I think we should start. Please find a seat, any seat around the table. I have to put these flowers in water.” And she quickly made her escape. She needed oxygen, lots of it. She took a few deep breaths to try and steady herself. She opened a cupboard, got out a vase to put the flowers in, and tried to arrange them with unsteady fingers.

  “Oh, here you are, cousin,” Louise said from behind her.

  Margaret hadn’t been able to believe her eyes when her cousin arrived earlier as if nothing had happened. Empty-handed, as usual. She’d managed not to say anything, but the other family members conveyed their disgust. Louise didn’t like that, so she was probably once again out for revenge.

  “I hope we don’t have to eat another of your gammon efforts. Really, Margaret, you can’t invite a man like Graham Connelly and expect him to eat your—”

  “And what did you bring to eat, Cousin Louise?” Graham asked.

  Louise sidled up to him and touched his arm. She batted her eyelashes. “I’m not very good in the kitchen, my dear. But in the bedroom...” She walked her fingers up Graham’s arm.

  Graham just looked down at her. “I’m amazed you showed your face here today after all the drivel you told the press. How did you put it? Margaret is so horrible, wouldn’t let you share her inheritance, and what was the other nonsense you told them?”

  “Oh, the press.” Louise giggled. “You know how they can twist facts, don’t you? And anyway, Margaret can’t stay angry with me, we’re family,” she pouted, still clinging to his arm.

  Graham extracted his arm, none too gently. “Maybe she can’t, but I can. What you did was really very low.”

  He turned his back on her and looked at Margaret. She was fidgeting with the flowers again. He took her elbow. “Let’s go and eat. I can’t wait to taste your gammon; Jen tells me it’s to-die-for.” He smiled down at her.

  For once in her life, Margaret couldn’t be bothered about her cousin and while Louise was still stuttering with indignation, Margaret walked toward the dining room, her hand in Graham’s.

  ***

  Graham sat back in his chair. They’d just finished eating. It was by far the best Christmas spread he’d ever had. The dining room had big windows and he only had to look up to see the sparkling blue of the ocean. It was a perfect summer’s day. There was no wind, not a cloud in the sky.

  But his eyes kept moving back to Margaret. She sat at the head of the table and he was on her left. She was simply beautiful. Each time he looked at her, she was smiling, her eyes warm. It was obvious she loved everyone around the table, including the obnoxious Louise.

  It was also obvious all the kids adored her. Throughout lunch, one or more of them found reasons to cuddle up to her, climb on her lap, kiss her. And it was equally clear she loved them right back. She sneaked away the things they didn’t want to eat and sweets would appear magically on their plates.

  And because he’d been looking mostly at her, he noticed she’d hardly eaten anything. She’d been running around most of the time making sure everyone else was happy. Louise had complained throughout the lunch. What a self-absorbed person.

  Suddenly people began to get up and search for handbags and car keys. Graham was stunned. Margaret had done all the cooking, everyone knew that. And now they were all going to leave her to clean up as well. He got up quickly.

  “Well, everyone. I don’t know about previous Christmas lunches—I’ve never been invited before.” He smiled down at Margaret. “But this was very special. I’m sure you all agree she who cooks, does not clean up afterward. So, I’m going to whisk Margaret away before she forgets this and leave you all to wash the dishes and to make sure her house sparkles when she gets back.” Jen and Mandy were nodding enthusiastically. “Louise, you’re in charge.” And he pulled an astonished Margaret up and had her in his car before she could blink.

  “Graham, what are you doing? It’s chaos in there, they never...I always...I don’t expect them to help.”

  “Precisely. You don’t expect anything from them, they always expect everything from you. Well, not today. Today, you’ve earned a rest.”

  Margaret sat in the car, completely stunned. She looked toward the house. Louise was standing in the doorway, her hands on her hips, scowling. The thought of how furious her cousin had to be made her laugh out loud and she
relaxed against the seat. Graham pulled away, laughing with her.

  “You’re right. They can clean up.” She dissolved into giggles. “I’ve never seen...Louise... Oh, she’s never going to forgive me for this.” She ended out of breath.

  “She’ll forgive you. You’re family, remember?” Graham mimicked Louise’s earlier words.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked, although she didn’t really care.

  “You’ll see,” was all he said. “Now lie back and close your eyes. You’ve earned a nap.”

  Margaret smiled and closed her eyes. Something warm had nestled close to her heart. She liked this feeling of being taken care of. She’d been so nervous about Graham’s presence that day, but ever since she’d opened the door for him and he’d kissed her, her day had been brighter. He made her laugh, made sure she had wine, looked after her. This was what she’d been looking for all her life, someone who would cherish her. She smiled again. Cherished.

  ***

  Margaret rested her chin contentedly in her hand. They were sitting near the water’s edge at one of the restaurants at the Waterfront in Cape Town. Over the past few decades, part of the old harbor had been turned into a bustling tourist destination with shops, restaurants, and hotels.

  She’d fallen asleep during their drive and when she woke up, they were here. They’d walked around the little shops for the past hour and then Graham suggested they relax here for a bit. She didn’t mind what happened; as long as Graham was close to her, she’d be happy anywhere.

  He’d taken hold of her hand and had not dropped it until now. He was sitting across from her at the table.

  “What can I get you guys?” the waiter asked. “Beer?”

  “No, the lady doesn’t like beer. And too much champagne also isn’t good for her,” Graham teased. He looked at the wine list and ordered a bottle of Chardonnay.

  Puzzled, Margaret looked at him. “How do you know I don’t like beer?”

  He took her hand and played with her fingers. “I pay attention. You didn’t want a beer when you were at my place and you drank white wine today.” He moved his bushy eyebrows comically up and down. “And I know what champagne does to you.”

  Margaret groaned and hid her face in her free hand. “Don’t remind me. I still can’t believe you had to carry me out.”

  “Who told you that? At the time you weren’t...how shall I put it? Aware of what was going on around you,” he said, his eyes warm and smiling.

  “Jen took great pleasure in telling me how wonderfully sloshed I was. I don’t think I’ll ever live it down.”

  She looked up to see Graham was staring at her.

  “What? Is there something on my face?” she asked and laughed.

  His thumb rubbed over her hand and she could feel her blood heating. “No, there is nothing wrong with your face. It’s perfect. Have I told you about my latest book?”

  “You’ve finished another book? But we’ve just had your book launch. When did you finish this one?” she asked, amazed. While she wasn’t in his league, she knew exactly how much effort and time a finished book must have taken.

  Graham grimaced and looked out over the bay. “Well, I really struggled with this one. And then, ’round about when I met you, ideas just popped up from nowhere. And I haven’t been able to sleep much, I have these dreams, you know?” He looked at her. “And then there was this character, Mags, an alien, who looks just like you. Her skin...” He picked up her other hand as well. “Her skin is just as soft as yours. She has your smile, your laugh, she even kisses like you do.”

  Margaret’s breath had stuck in her throat and she had to swallow a few times before she could say anything. “She does?” she asked huskily.

  “Yeah.” And then he smiled, his eyes twinkling. “But she’s green.”

  Margaret stared at him for a full minute before she registered what he’d said. She’d been so caught up in the idea he’d based a character in his book on her. Then she laughed. “Green? Really? Well, I love green,” she said, pointing to her dress. She sat back. “Well, then I should tell you the hero in my latest book—”

  “...is based on me. I know,” he said with a smug smile. “I’m your hero.”

  “How do you know? No, don’t tell me. Jen?” She just smiled when Graham nodded.

  “I should have known. But remember, I just used your face and your, well, you know...um...anyway...” She frantically thought of something else to say, but Graham leaned forward, obviously intrigued.

  “My face and my what?” It was clear he was enjoying himself.

  Margaret waved a hand in his general direction, feeling the heat creeping up her neck. “Your well, your body,” she said quickly and looked away.

  Graham was quiet and she sneaked a peek at him. His eyes were on her.

  Quickly turning her head again, she tried to find something besides him to focus on. “But seriously, how could you finish so quickly? I mean the books you write are, what? Two hundred, three hundred thousand words?”

  He was still staring at her and just when she thought he was not going to let her off the hook, he sat back and answered her. “More or less. But once I got going, there was no stopping me. I’ve just been struggling to finish it. And when I saw you again, the story gained momentum and just wanted to be told.”

  Margaret nodded, not sure how to react. “Yes, I know the feeling. Sometimes you have no control over the story, it controls you.”

  “Yes, my mother used to say that,” he said, then stopped talking and sat back.

  “You still miss her?” Margaret said softly.

  “Yeah. She died right after my divorce. She would sit with me, you know, just sit, not say a word. And I’d feel better, less of a failure. She had the ability to bring out the best in everyone around her. And then she just died. She had a stroke. She was fifty-eight, far too young to die. And I...” He swallowed and just stared out over the quay.

  “You felt she also deserted you?” Margaret asked.

  Graham looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “What is this, Psychology 101? Yeah, I felt lost for a while, but I like to think I’m over it now.”

  Before Margaret could answer, the waiter brought their wine. Graham changed the subject and they laughed and joked and talked until the setting sun painted the bay red.

  She didn’t want to spoil the moment, but there was something she had to say. She hesitated another minute. “By the way, I wanted to thank you,” she said.

  “For what?” He looked surprised.

  “The press seem to have miraculously disappeared from my house, from my life. I don’t know what you did, but thanks. And I can only apologize again for Louise, although I can’t promise she won’t do it again.” She looked warily at him.

  “I called in a favor. They won’t bother you again.”

  “Do you ever get used to them? I mean, you don’t have much privacy. Doesn’t it bother you?”

  Graham grimaced and emptied his glass of wine. “When I agreed to be a judge on the reality show, I had no idea what the consequences would be. But hopefully the press’ interest in me will wane one of these days. I’m sorry for what happened to you, though.”

  Margaret just nodded. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to them. They seem to be everywhere. I didn’t even know there were so many newspapers in this country.” She shuddered. “It’s like living in a fish bowl. Horrible.”

  Graham gave her a long look. “They crawl out of walls, I think.” He looked at his watch. “You think it’s safe to return to your house?”

  Margaret smiled. “I’m not sure what to expect. Louise probably dumped everything on the kitchen table and left.”

  “My money is on Jen and Mandy. Something tells me they’d have made sure Cousin Louise did her bit. Come on, you must be tired, it’s been a long day. When did you do all the cooking?” He helped her up and they walked toward his car.

  “I did most of it yesterday. Some things I could do earlier and put in the freez
er. And I enjoy cooking. I love to see people around my table, enjoying my food. And I love my family. They drive me insane at times, but they’re family.”

  “There were a lot of kids. Are they all family?”

  Margaret’s smile got wider. “Yes, I love them. I love everything about kids, you know? They’re so honest, so open, so trusting, so—”

  “...noisy and loud,” he completed her sentence.

  She stopped and looked up at him. “Don’t you like kids?” she asked.

  Graham took her hand and resumed walking. He smiled down at her. “I like kids, especially if they’re someone else’s,” he joked.

  Margaret was quiet all the way to the car.

  ***

  “Would you like to come in?” Margaret asked, her voice husky. They’d just stopped in front of her house. For the past few weeks she’d thought she was never going to see him again and now here he was, sitting next to her.

  What if he came in? What would happen? She couldn’t remember whether she’d made her bed this morning. She suddenly realized he was quiet and her heart sank. Not again. Wearily, she turned toward the door. When would she learn? “Don’t worry—”

  “Margaret,” Graham said, but she didn’t turn around. “Margaret,” he said again and touched her arm.

  She tried what she hoped was a smile. “Graham, it’s fine. I know. You’re not interes—”

  Graham growled and pulled her closer. “Don’t tell me what I am. I’m interested. You know I am. I asked you to move in with me, remember?” She nodded, her eyes huge. She could only stare at him. The smiling Graham of that afternoon was gone. In his place was a brooding, serious man.

  “Nothing has changed, though. You still want the impossible. I want you. I’ve just told you I wrote a whole book because you came into my life. But I could never give you what you want. The caring, the wooing, the romance. I just don’t have it in me. You haven’t reconsidered the invitation to move in with me?”

  Margaret licked her dry lips. Graham groaned, pulled her closer still, and covered her lips with his. With the speed of light, heat immediately travelled through her entire body until she worried she might go up in flames. His hands slid down her arms to her legs and she was lost. She pulled him closer. His hand moved up her leg to slip underneath her dress.