by Fiona Lowe
Alex’s hands flew to his sides and he leaped back from the chair like it was suddenly spurting flames. Kelly threw herself forward, her hands gripping her desk as she skated the chair in close. Both looked at her, their eyes dark and wild and their faces pale with shock. Sarah caught the ‘holy shit’ look Kelly threw at Alex. Alex missed it; his gaze was fixed on Sarah.
Emotions swirled in his eyes. First, guilt. It faded fast, replaced by distress and dismay, but they soon vanished until only one emotion remained. Pity.
An uncontrollable and agonised sound left Sarah’s mouth, filling the loaded silence. Memories of Mother’s Day pummelled her like punches. Alex hadn’t asked Kelly to come into work on Mother’s Day as a gift for Sarah, he’d asked her so he could spend time alone with her.
‘Sarah.’ Alex spoke her name gently, invoking the same tone he always used with the kids when they hurt themselves. Only, instead of saying, ‘Let me kiss it better,’ he said, ‘We need to talk.’ There was no contrition in his tone.
This can’t be happening. This. Isn’t. Happening. But Alex’s four small words, worth so little in a game of Scrabble, were synonymous with life-changing heartache. Like the splintering of a wooden boat foundering on rocks, the words moaned and groaned in her mind with creaking finality. Loud, long and in painfully slow modulation, they dominated every thought. Her lips felt swollen and her mouth was full of cotton wool trying to choke her. A tremor started in her fingers, spreading quickly and turning her legs to the consistency of jelly, threatening to buckle her knees. Shock rendered her mute. Even if her stunned mind was capable of generating a command, nothing in her body had the ability to obey. All she wanted to do was slide into a heap on the ground, put her hands over her head and rock.
Don’t you dare fall to pieces in front of them. Don’t let them make you a victim. She summoned strength from God knew where, locked her shaking legs and dragged in a long, deep breath.
‘It appears we do indeed need to talk.’ The ice in her voice sounded eerily like Margaret. Sarah lifted her chin and looked directly at the other woman. ‘Kelly, Alex and I are going home. Unless one of the dairies catches fire or there’s a life or death situation, we’re not to be disturbed. Take messages. Are you clear on that?’
Kelly glanced at Alex, seeking confirmation, and he gave her a quick nod. ‘Yes.’ She licked her lips. ‘Sarah, we’re sorry. If it helps—’
Alex frantically shook his head at her and Kelly stared at her hands.
We? The word screeched around Sarah’s head like fingernails dragged down a blackboard before stabbing her multiple times in the heart. She balled her hands into tight fists as if that alone was going to keep her upright and in one piece.
‘Alex. We’re leaving now.’
‘I’ll be with you in a minute.’
No way in hell was she leaving him alone with Kelly. ‘If you want me to listen to you talk, we leave together. Now.’
‘It’s okay. You go,’ Kelly said quietly, touching his shirt sleeve.
Oh my God! Whatever universe she’d been catapulted into, it was completely wrong. Sarah was the person who got to reassure Alex, not their office manager. The woman Sarah had hired to make their lives easier. Their employee.
The irony whipped her and, out of nowhere, she heard her father’s wry tone, the one he had used when everything went to shit. That seemed to go pretty well.
* * *
Sarah didn’t know if she wanted to sit, stand, pace or be still. She loved Riverbend and the house to bits and it had always been her oasis, wrapping itself around her with a peaceful welcome whenever she stepped through the door. Not today. Not late on what should have been a perfectly ordinary Friday afternoon. Not when normal had vanished and absolutely nothing between her and Alex was familiar. She’d refused his offer of tea, coffee, juice, water and wine. Her throat was parched but she doubted she could swallow and if she could, she was certain the moment anything hit her stomach it would come straight back up.
‘Let’s sit down.’ Alex extended his arm towards the couch, where she’d snuggled up with him on thousands of evenings over the years, including just two nights ago.
She gagged and the acrid taste of acid scored her throat. ‘I can’t sit next to you.’
‘Jesus, Sarah.’ Alex ran his hand through his hair. ‘Take the chair then and stop jumping to conclusions.’
Anger bloomed, spreading through her hot and thick like treacle. ‘Conclusions? That woman wore adoration in her eyes and you were massaging her neck!’
‘That doesn’t mean anything’s happened.’
‘If nothing’s happened, why did she apologise?’
‘Because she’s kind and you were upset.’
‘Of course I’m bloody upset!’
Alex winced. ‘Look, Sarah. I promise you, nothing’s happened between Kelly and me.’
The image of his hands on Kelly’s neck and shoulders flashed in her mind like a beacon. She was used to women flirting with Alex but his constant lack of reaction to them had always been a reassuring balm. His touch on Kelly’s skin was a massive betrayal.
‘You’re telling me you haven’t had sex?’
Relief filled his face. ‘Yes. That’s exactly what I’m telling you.’
Yet again, the picture of the two of them burned brightly, starkly at odds with his words. ‘Why not?’
‘We didn’t want to hurt you.’
‘Hurt me? Are you serious? If that’s your definition of not hurting me, you’re an idiot.’ Changing her mind about the wine, she sloshed pinot grigio into a glass with a shaking hand. ‘Let me get this straight. You haven’t had sex with her but you’d like to?’
Haggard lines pulled at his handsome face. ‘Sarah.’ He sounded as if she was the one being difficult.
‘Don’t “Sarah” me. I’m trying to make sense of this. I mean, why wouldn’t you want to have sex with a woman fifteen years your junior? Hell, her body hasn’t popped out three kids and sunk or spread in all the wrong places.’
‘You’re still an attractive woman.’
His words flailed her. ‘Oh, a compliment? Thank you so very much.’ She thought about their sex life, which despite twenty-two years of marriage, had always been regular even if there were periods when it was perfunctory and lacked a bit of spontaneity. Recently though, they’d been enjoying a renaissance and things in bed had been great. Her stomach rolled, wine shot to the back of her throat and she felt herself sway.
‘Oh God. Have you been having sex with me and imagining I’m her?’ Say no. Please, Alex, say no.
Alex rubbed his face with his palms but didn’t speak.
A silent scream shrieked in her head. She bit down hard on her forefinger, welcoming the pain; needing it to prevent an anguished sound from escaping into the room and declaring her devastation. She gulped more wine.
‘Does Kelly want to have sex with you or are you just deluding yourself?’
‘She was the one who suggested we wait. She’s very considerate of your feelings.’
‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ Sarah screeched. Alex flinched. He hated it when she swore and ‘got all emotional’. Over the years, she’d tried hard not to give in to the outer parameters of her feelings and she rarely shouted or cried because she knew it made him excruciatingly uncomfortable. Well, bugger that. ‘God, Alex, you should have slept with her.’
‘You don’t mean that,’ he said wearily as if he was dealing with a child who’d just said, ‘You’re not my friend any more.’
‘Oh, but I do.’ She pointed her wine glass at him. ‘You’ve thought about having sex with her. You’ve obviously fantasised about having sex with her. The two of you have talked about it, right?’
‘Yes.’ He spoke slowly and deliberately. ‘But it hasn’t actually happened. Surely that counts for something?’
She stared at him, totally lost and disoriented in the maze of his thought processes. ‘What does it count for?’
He jerked to his feet. �
�I’m trying to do this the right way.’
‘The right way?’ Hysterical laughter burst out of her. ‘Who knew there was a right way to destroy trust and break my heart?’ She sobered as her mind grappled with the cascading foundations of a marriage she’d never once doubted. ‘You want me to give you absolution because you’ve kept your wedding vows and nobly abstained from adultery? Except you haven’t, Alex. You’ve been mind-fucking her while you’ve been using my body.’
‘Look, Sarah, I’m sorry.’ He opened his hands. ‘I didn’t want you to find out this way. I’ve been trying to find a good time to tell you for weeks.’
‘Believe me,’ she said bitterly, ‘there was never going to be a good time to tell me.’
His shoulders fell and he looked diminished in size, no longer the vital man she knew and loved. ‘I’m not happy, Sarah.’ His softly spoken words fell like granite boulders. ‘I haven’t been happy for a long time.’
Her heart tore at his pain while her mind valiantly tried to absorb this unexpected news. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘No.’
It was the first thing he’d said to her that hinted at a reason for his uncharacteristic behaviour. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she asked softly. Carefully. Hopefully.
He shrugged. ‘Life’s busy.’
I’m your wife! Confusion and hurt overrode her sympathy. ‘But you told Kelly?’
‘She understands me.’
‘She understands you? And what? After twenty-two years, three children and running a business with you, I don’t?’
For the first time since they’d arrived at the house, he looked her straight in the eye. ‘At home you treat me like one of the kids.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
His head tilted and his brows rose as if to say, I rest my case. ‘I need space, Sarah.’
‘Space?’ This time she snorted and wine ran up her nose. ‘We live on a farm, Alex. You’re surrounded by space.’
‘I need space from you.’
The words lanced her, ripping through her like a jagged saw leaving no part of her untouched. ‘We run a business together, Alex. We have children together. How do we manage all that with space?’
‘I’ll move out,’ he said purposefully. Suddenly, he was a man with a plan and his regretful tone vanished. ‘We can work the rest out as we go.’
‘No!’ Agitation rocked her but she didn’t know if it stemmed from fear, anger, grief or shock.
‘Right now, it’s for the best.’
She fought for equilibrium as a revelation burst into her mind, raining down on her with the clarity of crystal. ‘Can you hear yourself? You want space. Your wife doesn’t understand you. You’ve taken up cycling. You’re contemplating an affair. You’re a 47-year-old walking, talking cliché of a midlife crisis.’ She reached out her hand and grabbed his arm. ‘Alex. Don’t throw away everything we’ve achieved for a hormonal imbalance.’
He shook away her touch. ‘Jesus, Sarah. This is exactly why I didn’t tell you.’
‘I think I’m entitled to make a scene when my husband announces completely out of the blue that he’s leaving me for another woman. You’ve missed a few steps along the way, buddy. What happened to talking to me and trying marriage counselling?’
‘Look,’ he said crisply, his annoyance sharpening. ‘I’m not moving in with Kelly, okay? And I’m not ruling anything out. Just understand that I need some time on my own.’
Time on my own. When had Alex become so selfish? God, how she wished she could ignore everything and everyone and put her own wants first. After all, who in their mid-forties, sandwiched between teenage children and ageing parents and with so many people making demands on them, didn’t crave time on their own? The concept of space sounded pretty bloody wonderful.
She hadn’t lived with Alex for two decades without becoming intimate with his foibles and strengths. Tenacity, determination and a drive to win was an asset in the business world. In a relationship, not so much. Obviously, he’d made his decision weeks ago and it was pointless standing here arguing and begging until she was blue in the face. It wouldn’t change his mind. He wanted space and time alone and he’d take it no matter what she said or did. Every part of her screamed to throw herself at his feet and grip his ankles so he couldn’t take a single step towards the door, let alone walk through it. Once Alex moved out of Riverbend, returning became an option, not a rule. But despite knowing that as well as a cop knows the law, she was done prostrating herself. What she did know was that she needed time to process the shock of Alex’s bombshell. Time to work out her next move.
‘Fine.’
Alex’s eyes narrowed, his expression suddenly guarded as if the word was a bomb that was about to explode in his face. ‘Fine?’
She drained her glass and swallowed hard. ‘You’re telling me you want space. I’ll give you that space.’
‘Thank you.’ He sounded grateful and his shoulders straightened.
Sarah squashed an errant flash of guilt that threatened to penetrate her fulminating rage. ‘You’re welcome. I promise you’ll have your space in an hour. That’s how long it will take me to pack my clothes.’
‘What?’ Bewilderment widened his eyes. ‘Why are you packing?’
‘Because I’m moving back to the old cheese factory.’
‘Sarah, you don’t have to do that.’
She couldn’t decide if he was begging her or being considerate; either way, she didn’t care. ‘Oh, but I do. You were quite specific that it was me you needed space from. Not Gus or the business or Riverbend. So it makes sense that I’m the one to go.’ She put down her empty glass. ‘Oh, and Alex, if I hear that Kelly has so much as set one foot inside this house, I won’t be as understanding as I’m being now. I’ll come at you, guns blazing, and hit you with a financial settlement that will jeopardise your share of the business.’
Numb with rage, she stormed out to pack.
CHAPTER
7
Anita had never taken ecstasy, but if it felt only half this energising, she could understand why people were tempted. She rushed into the house, flinging her arms around Cameron’s neck and kissing him full on the mouth. ‘The class was amazing! I loved every minute of it and it’s given me a totally new idea.’
‘What’s that?’
‘One of the women peeked in the dining room and said it was the perfect setting for high tea. And she’s right. Margaret’s got all that glorious china and the full silver tea service. Of course, along with tea, ribbon sandwiches, macaroons, cupcakes and scones, jam and cream, I’d offer champagne. Oh, Cam, Mill House offers so many possibilities. Thank you for making it happen.’
He gave her an indulgent look as he squeezed her behind. ‘You did all the hard work, baby girl.’
She thought about the long hours spent scrubbing down Margaret’s greasy kitchen. The accumulated grime surprised her given how fastidious her mother-in-law was with her clothes and the fact Rita came in to clean. It appeared, however, that between cleans, Margaret didn’t mop up any spills.
‘But without your idea and bringing Margaret on board, I wouldn’t have a cooking school.’ She glanced around at her own kitchen and noted that Cameron lacked the clean-as-you-go gene just like his mother. ‘Where are the girls?’
‘Tucked up in bed watching a movie. Between the playground and the footy, they’ve been on the go all afternoon so I fed them early. You got any food left over from that class? I’m starving.’
‘You poor man.’ She kissed him again. ‘Help me unpack all my containers and then I’ll feed you.’
He pulled her in close. ‘Is that a promise?’
She giggled. ‘Absolutely. I know the way to my man’s heart.’
Later, when everything was stowed away, Anita sat on Cameron’s lap, sipping celebratory champagne and sharing an enormous slice of chocolate cheesecake. ‘One of the women enjoyed today so much she’s planning a girls’ weekend. She’ll book out a class and wants it to incl
ude dinner and wines to match each course.’
‘I hope you got her number so you can follow up.’
‘Of course I did. It’s sales one-oh-one and I was taught by the best.’
‘Damn straight.’ He refilled their glasses. ‘Talking sales, I uploaded those photos we took of Mum’s clothes. They’re live on eBay.’
The spoon paused on its way to Anita’s mouth. They’d only photographed ten outfits. ‘I thought the plan was we’d photograph everything and then load them up so shoppers can see the full collection.’
Each week night after the girls had gone to bed, she’d written up detailed notes on two outfits before modelling them. Initially, Cameron had been reluctant to give up his evening to take photos, suggesting she wait a few weeks until the big girls were home on their school holidays so they could help, but she’d talked him around. With some guidance from her, he’d got the hang of taking shots from all angles, showcasing the minute details of the clothes. They’d laughed at the serendipity that Anita was the same size Margaret had been when she’d worn the outfits.
‘It’s not like a physical store, Annie,’ Cameron said with a hint of exasperation. ‘You don’t need to fill it with stock so it doesn’t look empty. Shoppers browse using specific keywords. Besides, it will be weeks before we’ve photographed everything. It makes sense to load the photos in batches. This way we can iron out any bugs and see if Vintage Glamour can generate some money.’
‘I think we should stick to the original plan.’
‘Let me convince you otherwise.’ His hands cupped her waist. ‘You know that red evening dress?’
Anita knew exactly which gown he was talking about. It fitted her like a glove, narrowing her waist and lifting her breasts. When she’d seen herself in the mirror, she’d flashed back to her childhood— sitting on the lumpy and fraying couch with her mother and watching re-runs of Dynasty. While her mother slowly drank herself into oblivion, Anita lost herself in the show, weaving daydreams about wearing glamorous and expensive gowns just like Joan Collins and Linda Evans. Only in Margaret’s dress, she was living the real deal. She’d laughed and twirled, stuck out her boobs and pouted at Cameron, Dynasty style.