A Little Crushed (22 page)

“Oh, Max.” Fiona’s soft reproach wounded him more than as if she’d yelled at him. “How could you have allowed it to get out of hand? Surely you saw this coming?”

“Excuse me? This is Rebecca we’re talking about. She is a master at hiding her feelings and keeping secrets. Christ, she’s kept all of you in the dark for the past two years, pretending all was fine, not admitting to anyone how damaged she is by what happened to her. So excuse me if I missed she was falling in love with me.”

“Oh twaddle.” Tom dismissed his outburst with a wave of his hand. “It’s a schoolgirl crush, nothing more. She’ll get over it.”

“Don’t be so bloody pompous, Tom.” Fiona turned on him. “And so unfeeling. You don’t know her as well as I do. She is a very sensitive girl and as Max points out, so psychologically broken. I don’t believe we can just write this off as a crush. We have to tread carefully. As a counselor, I know how much damage rejection could cause an impressionable young woman. Rebecca is so emotionally immature, Max—”

“If this is you trying to make me feel better, it’s not working.”

“At this moment, I don’t give two monkeys if you feel better or not.” Fiona shot back. “My concern is for Rebecca. Can’t you see what has happened here?” She let out a weighty sigh. “It’s what we therapists call transference.”

“I’m hardly a therapist.”

“But in a way, you were, and I imagine you certainly acted like one. I think Rebecca chose you to confide in because you represented neutral territory. This happens all the time, Max. Young people, even older people, fall in love with their therapists because, like you, they listen, care, show affection, understand, and nothing is more appealing to a young lady than that.”

“No.” Max shook his head. “I understand your rationalization, but I think it’s more.”

“You think it’s real love? Oh, come on, Max.” Tom laughed.

“Shut up, Tom.” Fiona held up her hand and urged Max to go on. “What exactly did that animal do to her, Max? Explain.”

“I can’t.” Avoiding her unrelenting gaze, Max stared into his glass. “Not without betraying her confidence. I won’t repeat what she told me. I promised her. She doesn’t want anyone to know. She says it was bad enough she had to go through it without making her parents suffer.”

“This is all well and good, you both playing psychoanalyst, but we have a more pressing problem facing us—or at least facing you, Max. How are you going to handle Rebecca? I think you’ve become too involved. You can’t go on teaching her. I have to assign you another class.”

“Sometimes you amaze me.” Fiona stared at her husband, consternation all over her face. “You don’t get this, do you? Do you think that is going to solve the problem?”

A high-pitched shriek broke through the tense atmosphere. “Mu-mmmy!”

“I’ll go.” Tom made for the stairs. “Don’t leave, Max, and please, I’m not judging you. This isn’t your fault. We’ll sort it.”

Max watched his retreating back. Despite his words to the contrary, Tom, he knew, was disappointed. It left a sour taste in his mouth, but it was nothing compared to the pain he felt at disappointing Fiona. Her opinion of him had always meant so much. She stood before him, arms folded around her slim waist, tears glistening in her eyes. Without Tom acting as buffer, tension permeated every molecule of the atmosphere: so many unspoken words and too many old emotions bubbling below the surface. Max knew where Fiona’s head was. She proved his intuition where she was concerned was as sharp as ever.

“You know, Max,” she reached out to touch him, her fingertips lightly caressing his jaw, “you seem to have this knack of breaking girls’ hearts, even if you don’t mean to.”

“Fiona. I didn’t—”

“I know you didn’t.” She smiled, but her eyes still bore a hint of the pain he and Kate had caused her. “I got over you. I love Tom. You know that, and so in a way, you did me a favour. I wouldn’t have fitted into your world, but I won’t lie to you. It hurt. Actually, it was Kate who hurt me more. I confided in her. I thought she was my friend. She knew I had feelings for you, and then she swooped in and snatched you out of my arms. I’ll never forgive her for that. She doesn’t deserve you, but you’re blind to what a manipulative bitch she is, and do you know what the sad thing is? You don’t really love her.”

“That’s not fair. I do.”

Fiona smiled. “No you don’t, or else you’d be with her.”

“Funny.” Max touched her cheek. “Rebecca said the exact same thing.”

“Poor Rebecca, still such a sensitive child. How will she get over you? First love and all that.” Fiona turned away and walked toward the French windows. Back turned to him. “You’re a tough act to follow.”

“Fiona,” Max swallowed against a hard lump of panic, “please help me out here. I want to do the right thing, and more than anything, I don’t want to hurt her, but I know I’m going to have to.”

“Yes.” She turned to face him, arms folded, a sad smile on her face. “You are. Tom’s right about one thing. You can’t go on teaching her. God, Max, this is such a mess. Of all the girls in the school, why did it have to be her?”

“You know what the scary thing is, Fi?” Max joined her by the window. “She was so calm, so controlled. She stood there with this serene smile and told me she loved me, and then…then, she asked me to kiss her.”

“Please tell me you didn’t.” Fiona put her fingers to her lips.

“She kissed
me
.” He tried to erase the memory of her innocent lips. “It wasn’t even that. A chaste brush of the lips, but…she offered herself to me. She asked me to let her stay.”

“Wow.” Stepping back, Fiona put up her hands. “This changes things, Max. It tells me Rebecca is in too deep with this. I think—”

“I have to leave.” Max voiced the only option open to them.

“Oh Max, I don’t know what to say. It seems so drastic.”

“At least it will kill any hope she may cling to, but hell, it will seem such a betrayal. I will have let her down.” Groaning his confusion, he buried his face in his hands. Why did this have to fucking happen? Damn that arse Brendon.”

Reaching up on tiptoes, Fiona kissed him. It was the briefest of embraces and yet it told him so much. “You’re a decent, kind man. With the exception of Tom, you mean more to me than any other man I’ve known. Please don’t shatter my illusions. I know you believe you’re doing the right thing by Rebecca but just to walk away?”

“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.

“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.