A Little Crushed

by Viviane Brentanos

“She’ll forget me.” Just saying those words was like a surgical incision to his heart. “I have to believe that, Fiona, or else I’ll go insane.”

  “Can I ask you something—and please don’t go ballistic.” She stood back, head cocked to one side, expression curious. “Do you have feelings for her?”

  Max felt the blood chill in his veins. Did he?

  The shrill ring of his cell cut into the tense, potentially dangerous moment. Cursing under his breath, Max pulled it from his pocket, irritation executing a quick turnaround to unease.

  “Peg? What’s up?”

  His father’s personal assistant delivered her ill tidings in a controlled monotone, but Max knew her well enough to pick up on her concern. He went rigid. His mind reeled. Not his father? Not the all-powerful Robert Jackson. He was supposed to be invincible.

  “When?” As if in a trance, he walked back to the sofa and slumped against the throw cushions. His brain threatened to explode out of his skull. “Okay, Peg. Thanks for letting me know. I’ll catch the first flight out.” Snapping his cell shut, he leaned over, elbows on his knees and head buried between his hands. “Well, Fiona. I don’t have to worry anymore. The decision has been made for me. I have to leave immediately. My father…he’s suffered a massive heart attack.”

  “Oh, Max.” Fiona rushed to his side and crouched in front of him, hand on his knee. “How bad is it?”

  “My mother is with him.” A dry laugh scratched his throat. “That’s tells me all I need to know. For her to leave her precious animals, the doctors can’t be too optimistic.” He jumped up. “I have to call the airlines. I need to pack. Hell, what time is it?” He glanced at his watch. “I should make the lunchtime flight. At least Kate will be happy. She gets her way. Again.” He let out a terse laugh.

  “What’s going on?” Tom returned, a sleepy Lucy cradled over his shoulder.

  “No time.” Movements agitated, Max searched his pockets for his key. “Fiona will fill you in. I’m sorry, Tom, for everything. Fiona, one thing,” he put his hands on her shoulders, “please, try to explain to Rebecca. Make her see reason.”

  “I’ll try, but she won’t thank me for it.” Fiona folded her arms and bowed her head. “Just go, Max, and don’t worry. I’ll sort out the house and send on your things if your father…I mean if you don’t come back.”

  Max looked into the faces of the two people who were more family to him than his father had ever been. “Thanks.”

  “Uncle Max?” Lucy stirred in Tom’s arms. “Are you going? Me no want you to go. Are you coming back? It’s my birthday party on Wednesday. You said you would come. You promised.” Bursting into tears, she held out her little chubby pink hands to him.

  Max took her from Tom and enfolded her in his arms, burying his face in her sweet smelling blonde curls. “I’ll try, honey.” He brushed a tear from her cheek. “Please don’t cry. You know it kills me when you cry.”

  Fiona took her from him. “Go on. You go home. It will all work out. Just concentrate on your father. As for Rebecca, I’ll help her through this.”

  Although she smiled, her eyes held no conviction.

  “I hope so.” He sighed. “You don’t know how much.”

  * * * *

  Rebecca lay in her bed, quilt pulled up to her nose, as stiff as a board in her Egyptian death pose, as Jack called it. She was scared to go to sleep in case when she woke up she would find herself back in yesterday time when she was still sensible, unemotional Rebecca Harding and not the bodacious girl who’d kissed her teacher.

  She brought her fingers to her lips. She could still taste his warm, brandy-coated breath, feel his smooth skin graze her cheek. Closing her eyes, she revelled in the memory of his tangy citrus cologne. Funny thing was she felt oddly calm. The expression she’d read in his eyes made her so. Warmth pooled in her stomach. No matter what he said, whatever well-worded phrases he’d used to dissuade her, she knew. He had feelings for her. For the briefest moment, the merest second, when she kissed him, he’d closed his eyes. Her chest pressed to his, she’d felt his heartbeat quicken. Rebecca rolled on to her side and rested her cheek on her palm. She wondered if he was thinking of her. She wished tomorrow was Monday.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Are you okay?”

  Emma’s concern did nothing to ease Rebecca’s disquiet. Something was off. She sensed it.

  As they walked along the crowded corridor to their English lesson, Rebecca tried to banish the unease that burned in her gut. It was so odd. She’d sat for most of yesterday huddled outside his front door, and he hadn’t shown. She knew he often spent Sundays at the Blacks’, but he was usually back by six p.m. She knew that for a fact. She’d spent enough time clocking his movements. Wally had never been walked so much in one day. He must of thought he’d died and gone to heaven, but come nightfall, even her trusted pooch had grown tired of stalking Chez Jackson. Fighting against tears of frustration, she tried to be rational. Perhaps he and Mr. Black were watching a game together.

  But that didn’t explain why his BMW was not in its usual school car park spot that morning. Mr. Jackson was never late.

  “Are you worried about facing Brendon?” Emma misinterpreted her restlessness. “Don’t be. I think, after Saturday, he won’t dare bother you again.”

  “What? Yes...no.” Heart hammering out a timpani beat, Rebecca pushed through the chattering throng of pupils.

  “What did your dad say?” Emma continued to puff away at her side. “I bet he wants to sue Brendon’s arse off.”

  “I didn’t tell them.” Rebecca wished she’d stop. Her apprehension was growing into full blown dread. “No point worrying them. Besides, I was okay.”

  “I bet you were.” Emma giggled. “Mr. J. swooped in like a caped superhero.”

  Brain on shut-down, Rebecca walked into Mr. J.’s classroom and stopped dead in front of his desk.

  “Wow!” Emma let rip with a whistle. “I’m impressed. He must have had a clear out.”

  Rebecca’s trickle of disquiet roared into a raging torrent, and her stomach contracted into a tense ball. The devastation that masqueraded as his workspace now lay bare of all papers, pens, and books. She stared at the dusted surface as if, by doing so, his desk would again fill with teacher debris, and he would materialize in his chair. Her classmates pushed past her, oblivious to her distress.

  “Settle down.”

  Turning, she caught Emma’s puzzled glance. Miss Steele—Thamesford’s answer to Miss Trunchbull—strode into the room, briefcase tucked under her arm, sensible square heels clicking on the worn wood floor. She patted at her blue-rinse, clucking away like a disgruntled hen.

  “What’s old Warthog doing here?” Emma verbalized Rebecca’s concern.

  Miss Steele put her briefcase on the desk and removed its contents as if she intended staying.

  “Are you girls planning on standing there all day?” Miss Steele’s bosom quivered.

  Emma asked the million-dollar question. “Excuse me, Miss Steele, but where is Mr. Jackson?”

  “Mr. Jackson has gone home—not that it’s any business of yours.”

  “Home?” Emma pressed her. “Why? Is he sick?”

  “Home to Australia, you silly girl, and very inconsiderate it is of him, too, leaving me with all this extra work. As if I haven’t enough to do.”

  Rebecca’s insides turned to ice. It was a mistake. It had to be. This is not happening, she told herself. It’s only a bad dream. I’m going to wake up any minute.

  Willing her shaking legs to obey her, she ran from the room.

  She raced through the corridors and up the stairs to Mr. Black. Her heart pressed against her chest wall, her lungs expanding with each torturous breath as she barged into his office. Not even doing her the courtesy of looking up from her labored keyboard bashing, Miss Jones, Mr. Black’s secretary snapped. “It’s customary to knock.”

  Ignoring her, Rebecca rushed into the headmaster’s inner sanctum and placed her hands on
his desk.

  “I’m sorry, Tom…”

  Mr. Black waved Miss Jones away. “It’s all right. I’ll deal with this. Rebecca, sit.”

  “I don’t want to sit.” Rebecca waited for the door to close, and then she turned on him. “Where is he?”

  Mr. Black took time to put down his pen, as if deliberating what to say almost as if—Rebecca drew in her breath—he’d been expecting her. He leaned back in his chair, his expression guarded. “Mr. Jackson—Max—has gone back to Sydney.”

  She grabbed the edge of his desk. “But he can’t have. He wouldn’t leave just like that. Is he coming back?”

  “Rebecca, I’m sorry. I understand this is upsetting for you, but Mr. Jackson felt it was for the best. He said it was impossible for him to continue here, knowing how you felt.”

  Rebecca caught her breath, his insensitivity a knife through her heart. “He wouldn’t have said that. You sent him away.”

  Mr. Black looked uncomfortable. She didn’t care.

  “Rebecca, I know this is hard for you to understand now but believe me, this…well, what you are feeling…it will pass. And Max’s contract was due to terminate at the end of the year anyway. It was never meant to be a permanent position.” He paused, as if going in for the kill. “He has gone home to be with his family and Kate, his fiancée.”

  “I know who Kate is,” she fired back, itching to pick up his neatly arranged pile of papers and throw them in his face. “Kate is in Peru.” Avoiding her gaze, Mr. Black pretended to search his desk for something.

  “Actually, Kate is home in Sydney. I wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t set a wedding date soon.”

  Rebecca stared at the headmaster, wishing she could slap his face for sitting there and so calmly destroying her life. Bitter bile rose up into her mouth, and her stomach went into spasms.

  “Rebecca, you shouldn’t really be worrying about this.” Slipping into benevolent mentor role, he softened his tone. “You have been through enough, and it’s time to focus on your education. Exams are not far off, and you need to get your head down. You have your whole life ahead of you.”

  “Oh my God, you are such a pompous arse.” Rebecca stared at him, shaking her head, not believing this man could be Mr. Jackson’s friend. Head held high and clinging to her last vestige of dignity, she stepped away from his desk. “Do you want to know what you can do with your education and your precious Oxford? You can stick it where the sun doesn’t shine.” Blinded by tears, she turned and walked from his office straight into Mrs. Black.

  “Rebecca, are you all right?”

  Anger raging out of control, Rebecca pushed the extended hand of concern off her shoulder. “Do I look as if I’m okay?”

  “Ah.” Mrs. Black gave a knowing counselor nod.

  Rebecca wondered if she practiced it. If she did, she needed to work at it more.

  “I’m so sorry, Rebecca.”

  “Of course you’re sorry. Everybody is always so sorry for me.” Rebecca gave her a hard stare. “He told you as well, did he? How nice to know that I made for interesting dinner conversation.”

  “Please, let me drive you home. I don’t think you’re in any state for lessons. We need to talk.”

  * * * *

  They drove to Rebecca’s house in silence, Rebecca staring out of the window, fighting against the churning nausea in her stomach. At least she wasn’t crying. She didn’t want his friends to see her cry.

  “Will there be anyone at home?” Mrs. Black parked outside the gate.

  “I’ve got my key.” Not looking at her, Rebecca yanked down on the door handle and jumped out of the car.

  To her consternation, Mrs. Black followed her up the path, through the door and into the kitchen. She stood and watched, while Rebecca went to the fridge for a bottle of water.

  “Would you like to talk about it?” Mrs. Black placed her bag on the worktop and leaned against it, arms folded.

  Bottle half way to her lips, Rebecca couldn’t keep in a dry laugh. “Oh my. Ten out of ten on trying to do your job, and thanks for bringing me home, but I’d rather discuss my problems with my dog. He, at least, makes sense. Could you go now? I want to be on my own.”

  “Rebecca, I don’t think—”

  “I don’t care what you think.” Rebecca threw the bottle across the room. It hit the back wall before splitting and spilling water all over her mother’s colourful array of herbs.

  Mrs. Black stood her ground, although for a brief second, Rebecca caught the fear in her eyes. Probably thinks I’ve lost my mind. Which I have. She hugged herself against the chill crawling through her body. “I don’t need you to do a counseling number on me. I don’t believe in all that pseudo-psychology rubbish.”

  “Not even when Max was dishing it out?”

  Rebecca drew in her breath. “I may be mistaken, but for a counselor, wasn’t that a touch below the belt?”

  “Rebecca, whether you want to accept it or not, I’m on your side. I’ve come as a friend so, please, let’s just talk.”

  Rebecca stared at her, debating whether to whistle for Wally and allow him to indulge in a little ankle gnawing. “Sorry, but there’s nothing to discuss.” Rebecca pulled out a stool and perched at the island, elbows on the surface, chin resting in clenched fists. Suddenly she was too tired to protest. “I suppose you’re going to tell me how stupid and naïve I was, believing…” she swallowed, “he had feelings for me.”

  “You’re hurt. It’s understandable but—”

  Rebecca cut her off. “You’re doing it. I told you, no analysis twaddle, or you can leave right now.”

  Mrs. Black pulled up a stool and perched next to her. “Don’t hate him. He never meant to hurt you.”

  “Hate him?” She shook her head. “Oh no. I could never hate him.” With trembling hand, she tugged at the curtain of tangled hair. Suddenly she seemed to want to talk. “How can I hate him when he gave me back my life? I love him. But I am angry with him—very, very angry! I thought he lov—well, at least had feelings for me.” She struggled to compose herself.

  The older woman reached over and took her hand.

  “Don’t you dare feel sorry for me.” Rebecca snatched it away. “And don’t look so worried. I’m not going to cry. I don’t think I can. I want to but— Anyway, it doesn’t matter now, does it? He’s gone. Now that’s the part that hurts most. Why couldn’t he come and tell me himself. Why leave it to Mr. Black. I’m sorry if he’s your husband, but his sensitivity stinks.”

  To her surprise, Mrs. Black smiled. “Agreed. Sometimes Tom can be an arse. What did he tell you exactly?”

  “Not much.” She slid off her stool. “Would you like some tea, the great British healer of all ills?” Without waiting for answer, she threw the kettle switch and pulled two mugs out of the dishwater. Bloody Jack. It was his turn to empty it, and he’d copped out as usual. Strange time to be thinking that, but it helped calm her nerves.

  “Your delightful husband seemed to take great joy in telling me how Mr. Ja—Max. Can I call him Max now?” She heaped sugar into the two mugs. “I suppose I can. He said Max has gone home to be with his family and Kate. Now that, I don’t get. He doesn’t love her. Men are weird, don’t you think? Biscuit?”

  “Yes, men are weird, and no to the biscuit.” Mrs. Black took the offered tea. “And just for the record, I agree with you. Max doesn’t love Kate, and I doubt very much he will marry her.”

  “I think your lovely husband disagrees.” Rebecca hoisted herself up on the worktop.

  “Tom is clueless when it comes to affairs of the heart.” She winced. “God, too much sugar. To be fair to Tom, he acted in what he believes to be your best interests. Listen to me, Rebecca, I know you don’t want to hear this, but believe me, it will pass. This is what being an adult all is about…learning to live with disappointment, picking yourself up and getting on with life.”

  “Don’t you think I’ve had plenty of practice at that?” Rebecca curbed the urge to throw h
er tea in the woman’s face.

  “Yes, you have. I can’t imagine what you went through, and before you ask, I know you talked to Max, and for the record, he kept all your secrets. But now, just when you’ve caught up with your schoolwork, with exams coming up, you need to focus. Look…” she pressed on, “I’m not saying you’ll forget him but—”

  “Oh my God, is this what your mission of mercy is about?” Rebecca laughed. “You think I’m going to throw away my future because of him?”

  “All I know is Max would be devastated if you allowed your chance at Oxford to suffer.”

  “Nice try, and just goes to show you don’t know Max as well as you think. He knows it was never really my dream. He said I must make my own choices and live my dream and not my father’s, nor your husband’s, so please don’t try and use Max as psychological warfare. It’s insulting.”

  Mrs. Black smiled. “Yes. That sounds just like the kind of reckless thing Max would say. Okay, serious adult pep talk over. And if you repeat what I am about to tell you to my husband, I shall deny it. Max’s return to Sydney is a little more complicated than Tom made out.”

  Jumping down from her perch, Rebecca leaned on the island, gaze fixed on the counselor. “Go on. I won’t blab.”

  “Promise this goes no further than this room?”

  “Oh, get over the drama.” Rebecca glared. “That’s my job. Just tell me. Tell me Max didn’t want to leave me. Please.”

  “That, I cannot say for certain.” She stared into her mug. “All I know is he was confused as to how best deal with the…situation. He told me the last thing he wanted to do was cause you pain.”

  “So why did he?” She couldn’t help the bitterness. “Why just take off like that?”

  “Because that night, after he took you home, he received a call. His father has suffered a major heart attack, Rebecca. He didn’t go home to be with Kate as Tom suggested, but because, as sole heir to his father’s business, he had no choice. Now do you understand the need for the secrecy? Max called us with an update. His father is still in intensive care, and until he and his lawyers work out where to go from here, there must be no leak to the press. The stability of the company must be protected. If his father does not pull through, Max will have to take up the reins.”