Almost Perfect (19 page)

‘Where are you going?'

‘I'll only be a sec.' She disappeared into her room and grabbed a packet from her bedside drawer. She supposed she could have suggested they move into the bedroom, but she didn't want to break the momentum. She had Liam now, right where she wanted him. Besides, it was a little exciting out there in the middle of the living room.

She virtually ran back out to him, resumed position and handed him the packet. He regarded it vaguely for a moment. She saw the slightest hint of hesitation, of uncertainty, in his eyes.

‘So where were we?' she said, claiming his attention. Georgie held his gaze while she slid both straps off her shoulders and let the soft triangles of fabric fall away from her breasts. She slipped her arms out of the straps and the dress dropped into folds around her waist. She watched Liam watching her, taking short, shallow breaths, swallowing as though his mouth was dry. Georgie leaned forward, kissing him while she unravelled his tie and pulled it out from under his collar. As she dropped it over the side of the sofa, she felt his hands circling her ribs, then sliding up, slowly, to cup her breasts. She was trembling, but she focussed on unbuttoning his shirt, conscious of his eyes, his hands on her. She spread his shirt open and eased herself closer, pressing her torso against his chest and wrapping her arms around his neck. He held her tight while they kissed voraciously, as though they couldn't get enough of each other. This was the most exquisite, excruciating feeling. Wanting
him so bad it ached, but it ached in a such a delicious way. Georgie couldn't hold out any longer. She felt for Liam's belt buckle. He leaned back, watching her as she undid the buckle, pulling the belt up slowly, till it was free. She tossed it behind her and then started on the button of his trousers. Liam brought his hands to her thighs, sliding them up under her dress.

‘You're not wearing any . . .'

‘No,' she breathed.

And that was it. Any control either of them had, any restraint, any idea of taking it slowly was abandoned. They fumbled a little with the condom and finally Georgie lowered herself onto him, staring into his eyes. Their bodies began to move together in a hypnotic rhythm, faster as they rocked against each other. Georgie went with it, losing herself to the sensation till it was all she was conscious of. And then the rush came, thundering through her entire body as the blood coursed through her veins. Liam grasped her hips firmly and thrust once, and again, and then slumped back against the sofa, catching his breath. Georgie draped herself across him like a rag doll. They stayed that way, she was not sure for how long, but her breathing had calmed when eventually he moved, touching her softly on the cheek. ‘Where's the bathroom?' he asked, his voice husky.

Georgie shifted off him. ‘Just through there.'

Liam zipped up his trousers and got to his feet. She watched him walk into the hall and then she heard the bathroom door close. She sighed deeply and curled up against the back of the sofa. She felt a profound sense of contentment, but more than that,
an enormous surge of love for him. They were bonded now, and nothing could break the bond. Georgie had never been more certain of anything.

She had readjusted her dress and refilled their glasses and was sitting on the sofa, sipping her wine when Liam walked back into the room. He stood for a moment, contemplating her. Georgie thought he was going to say something, but then he turned abruptly and instead began to gather up his things.

‘What are you doing?' she asked in a small voice.

‘I have to go,' he said thickly. ‘You know, I've got that meeting.'

Georgie slowly got to her feet, watching him as he replaced his belt and jacket without saying a word, without even looking at her. He considered his tie briefly before shoving it into his pocket.

‘Is everything all right?' she asked tentatively. She felt sick; there was an ache in the back of her throat. He couldn't leave like this. He wouldn't.

But then he was saying, ‘Everything's fine' and kissing her lightly on the forehead and then, ‘Bye, I'll call you' and walking out the door and closing it behind him.

Georgie started to shake. They had finally made love, wonderful, sublime, breathtaking love. How could he walk out like that? She turned back to the coffee table, picked up her glass and gulped down the whole thing. Fuck sipping it. Fuck the strawberries or raspberries or whatever fucking berries it was supposed to taste like. She'd chug down car polish right now if it would get her drunk. She didn't want
to feel what she was feeling. She didn't want to feel at all. She picked up Liam's glass and started to empty it as well. She didn't hear the phone ringing at first, and when she did, her first impulse was to leave it. It rang out. But then it started again. It was her mobile. Georgie walked unsteadily over to the kitchen bench where it was plugged into the recharger.

She looked at the screen. It was Liam. She hesitated. It kept ringing. She picked it up and pressed
Answer.

‘What?' she said, her voice flat.

‘I'm sorry.'

‘Then come back.'

‘I can't.'

Georgie pressed her fingers to her eyelids to stem the oncoming tears. She felt like shit. He'd treated her like shit.

‘Georgie?'

She couldn't speak.

‘Georgie, please talk to me.'

She swallowed. ‘I don't know what you want me to say. I don't understand what just happened here.'

She heard him sigh. ‘I just . . . I had to go, Georgie, I told you that. You should have let me know what you were planning.'

‘I wanted to surprise you.'

‘It wasn't a surprise,' he exclaimed, ‘it was an ambush!'

‘What? Why are you talking like that, Liam?'

‘I'm sorry,' his tone softened. ‘I didn't mean to get angry, I'm just frustrated . . . I didn't want to do that to you but I have obligations, people counting
on me–'

‘What is so important that you couldn't stay for half an hour even?' Georgie cried. She'd had enough. ‘You screwed me and walked out the door not five minutes later! God Liam, it's a wonder you didn't leave money on the table on your way out.' A huge sob escaped from her throat, she couldn't help herself.

‘Georgie, don't cry.'

But the avalanche had started and Georgie couldn't stop it.

‘Honey, I didn't want to hurt you. I never meant to hurt you,' he continued over her sobs. ‘Please don't cry. I can't come back now, I'm expected. I need you to understand. Please stop crying, sweetheart.'

She sniffed, reaching for a tissue and dabbing her eyes.

‘I promise you I'm telling you the truth. I can't come back right now or else I would.' He paused. ‘Do you believe me?'

She hesitated for a moment. ‘I suppose.'

‘Can I see you tomorrow?'

She didn't say anything.

‘Georgie?' He waited. ‘Please?'

She cleared her throat. ‘Okay.'

‘When?'

‘After work, I guess.'

‘Do you want me to pick you up?'

Georgie thought about it. ‘No, come here . . . to the flat.'

‘If that's what you want.'

‘I do.'

‘Then I'll be there.'

Anna was sure that was the sound of Mac's car pulling into the drive. It wasn't even seven-thirty. This was unbelievable. She hurried up the hall and opened the front door in time to see him getting out of the car.

‘Hi!' she exclaimed.

He gave her a wan smile as he walked across the lawn towards her.

‘I can't believe you're here already,' Anna went on. So this was all it had taken? One tiny nudge from her and Mac was home even earlier than he said he would be. Maybe he was as keen as she was to put all this bad feeling behind them. She could only hope.

Mac stopped in front of her. Anna was standing on the threshold and their faces were level. She had to keep the effort up. She looped her arms around his neck and kissed him. He almost pulled back, not quite, but she felt his resistance. He was probably not expecting it, that was all. She stepped back out of his way as he walked inside.

‘It's cooler in here,' he remarked.

‘Mm, you look hot,' said Anna. ‘Is the airconditioning working in your car?'

Mac set his briefcase down outside the study.
‘Maybe it needs servicing, I'll have to get it checked.' He paused. ‘Is there time for me to grab a quick shower before dinner?'

‘Of course, go ahead. Take your time. I've got salmon and asparagus . . . I'll put it on right away and we can eat at a civilised time.'

He hesitated, one foot on the first step. ‘Really, don't go to any trouble, Anna.'

‘It's no trouble,' she insisted.

Anna walked down the hall into the kitchen, feeling positive. She could tell Mac was a little uncomfortable, but it didn't matter. He would come around, she just had to give him time. The main thing was that he was here.

When he came down the stairs half an hour later, everything was ready. Anna had set the table in the dining room earlier and she was placing the platter of salmon in the centre as Mac appeared at the door.

‘Anna, this is too much.'

‘Nonsense,' she chided. ‘I cooked it in the time it's taken you to have a shower.'

Mac surveyed the table. The food, the best dinnerware, the wine uncorked, the candles lit. ‘Have I missed an anniversary or something?'

Anna smiled. ‘We don't need a special occasion to have a nice dinner together, do we, Mac?' she said, indicating for him to sit. ‘Wine?' she offered, picking up the bottle.

‘Just a little, I'm not feeling all that great,' he grimaced faintly.

‘Oh?' Anna frowned at him. ‘You are looking a
little flushed,' she said, touching the back of her hand to his cheek.

‘I thought it was just the heat, but now I'm not so sure,' he said.

‘Do you want to go and lie down?'

He shook his head. ‘No, I'll be fine, let's eat.'

Anna served up the salmon, trying not to feel annoyed. It wasn't Mac's fault, he really didn't look very well. ‘You work too hard, you know,' she remarked as she sat down. She hoped that didn't sound critical. She'd been aiming for loving concern.

Mac shrugged, scooping up a forkful from his plate. ‘This is good, Anna,' he said eventually. ‘Really good.'

‘Thanks.' They ate in silence for a while, until eventually Anna cleared her throat. ‘So Mum and Dad have finally decided to come up for Christmas,' she began.

‘Oh?'

‘They thought it would make a nice change for us not to have to travel, seeing as we've only just been down there, and they're going to Noosa, so we're on the way . . .'

Anna was watching Mac. He was pushing his food around on his plate, only taking very small amounts onto his fork at a time.

‘Have you given any more thought to us joining them in Noosa?' Anna resumed. ‘Mum asked again.'

He looked at her through glazed eyes that were slightly bloodshot. Anna could see a light film of perspiration on his upper lip and across his forehead.

‘Are you all right?' she asked.

Mac sighed, resting one elbow on the table and rubbing his forehead. ‘I've got a rotten headache.'

‘Anything else?'

‘My stomach's . . .'

‘Okay,' said Anna, standing up. ‘Enough, Mac.' She lifted his plate away from him. ‘You need to go up and–'

‘No, Anna,' he protested. ‘You went to so much trouble.'

‘Mac, it's nice that you care about that, I appreciate it. But you're obviously coming down with something. Now go upstairs and get into bed.'

He pushed his chair back and stood up wearily. ‘What are you going to do with all this?'

‘I'll wrap it up and you can eat it tomorrow when you're feeling better.'

He nodded faintly. ‘Sorry I ruined dinner.'

Anna put down the plates she was holding and reached her hand up to his face. ‘I'll take a raincheck,' she said as she leaned closer to kiss his cheek. But he stopped her, taking a step back.

‘You better keep your distance, Anna. You don't want to get sick as well.'

Her hand slid away from his face and she smiled up at him bravely. ‘Go to bed,' she insisted. ‘I'll come and check on you in a while.'

Anna cleared the table, blew out the candles and bundled up the tablecloth, leaving it in the laundry. She packed the salmon and the vegetables into separate airtight containers and stored them away in the fridge. She stacked the dishwasher, wiped down the benches and the stove, and then sat down to have
a cup of tea. Only then did she let herself feel the full weight of her disappointment. The one night when it felt as though she was breaking through, when he seemed to have his defences down. But maybe that was only because he was ill. She sniffed, tears pricking her eyes. She mustn't let herself think negatively. Mac had agreed to come home before he'd started feeling sick, and he seemed genuinely sorry that dinner was spoiled. She had to focus on the positive. Doug said it was all about how they handled it from here on in.

Anna pushed her cup of tea aside and went to the fridge. She picked up the bottle of wine she'd opened for dinner, poured herself a glass and walked into the sunroom. She took a cigarette from the drawer in the liquor cabinet and stepped out through the French doors. She lit the cigarette and drew back deeply, looking up at the sky. But Anna didn't see the stars. She only saw black nothingness stretching off into infinity.

Mac stood hunched over his desk, pushing files and papers around. He couldn't function in chaos, he was going to have to get Stella to sort this mess out. He would never find the Montano file at this rate. He reached towards the phone to buzz her and a stack of
files fell onto the floor.

‘Fuck!' he breathed. ‘Stella!' He watched the closed door of his office expectantly. ‘
Stella!
'

After a moment the door opened and Stella appeared. ‘Yes, Stanley?'

Mac frowned. ‘What did you call me?'

‘Stanley, as in Kowalski.'

He looked blankly at her.

‘
A Streetcar Named Desire
.'

‘What are you talking about?'

‘For a smart guy you're not very literate, Mac,' she said drily, walking into the office. ‘I'm referring to the play written by Tennessee Williams and famously made into a film starring Marlon Brando as the aforementioned Stanley Kowalski.'

‘This is going to start having a point some time soon?'

‘The celebrated scene to which I was referring–'

‘Apparently not,' Mac muttered, dropping back into his chair.

‘The scene I was referring to,' Stella continued undaunted, ‘has been imitated and ripped off so many times it's almost a cliché, except of course it could never be. You must have seen it, Mac. Stanley, played by Marlon Brando, is standing out in the street shouting “Stella” up at the window to his wife, who's fled to the upstairs apartment with her sister, Blanche, played by Vivien Leigh. You know, she was Scarlett in
Gone with the Wind.
Anyway she's hiding out up there because he lost his temper and belted her. Not Blanche. Stella. It's later on that he has his way with Blanche, but I won't go
into that now.'

Mac waited for a moment to make sure she was done. ‘Well, there're two minutes of my life I'm never going to get back. How did we get onto that?'

‘You were shouting my name just like Marlon Brando did in the movie.'

‘I wasn't shouting. I was just calling . . . in a loud voice.'

Stella folded her arms, unimpressed.

‘I had to shout because you didn't come,' Mac reasoned.

‘And I didn't come because you were shouting. You have an intercom, Mac. What if there was an important client in the outer office and they heard you bellowing like that?'

‘You're right,' he surrendered.

‘I know. Now what was it that you wanted?'

Mac sighed, rubbing his forehead. ‘Buggered if I know any more.'

Stella came closer to his desk. ‘Well, no wonder. Look at this mess. You can't work like this, Mac.'

‘That's why I wanted you,' he said, relieved. ‘I have to do something about this mess.'

‘When you say “I”, I assume you mean me?'

‘Well, before anything, I have to find the Montano file.'

Stella frowned at him. ‘Mac, you gave me the Montano file yesterday afternoon. You asked me to type up that memo and I needed to check details, remember?'

He looked up at her, perplexed.

‘What's up, Mac?' Stella said plainly.

‘What do you mean?'

She pulled a chair closer and sat down. ‘You're distracted, on edge, you're missing appointments, meetings, and then you sit here half the night catching up. People are noticing.'

‘Who's noticing?'

‘Bob was down here the other day asking questions. Don't worry, you're still his golden-haired boy. He's concerned about you, that's all.' Stella paused. ‘What's going on, Mac?'

He slumped back in his chair, thinking. ‘Have you ever had the feeling you're living the wrong life?' he said eventually.

She laughed. ‘Only every other day.'

Mac looked at her, intrigued.

‘I'm quite certain I was supposed to be Jennifer Aniston,' Stella explained. ‘I was supposed to have her looks, her hair, her husband, her career . . . her husband. I thought I should have been Gwyneth Paltrow for a while there, until she dumped Brad Pitt. I mean, who does that in their right mind, which clearly she wasn't, because then there was the whole Grace Kelly wannabe debacle at the Oscars.
Please
.' She rolled her eyes. ‘No, it was Jennifer Aniston who stole my life, and I ended up with the ordinary one she was supposed to have.' Stella regarded Mac. ‘Look at that, you're smiling, I hardly recognise you.'

‘Have I been that bad?'

She shrugged. ‘I have been starting to miss the dynamic young exec who walked into this place seven years ago like he was going to own it one
day.'

Mac twirled a pen between his fingers. ‘It's just not doing it for me any more, Stella.'

She sat back in her chair. ‘What do you mean?'

He breathed out heavily. ‘Ever since I was a kid, this is all I ever wanted. Status, respect, to be an important person doing an important job. But this job isn't important. What good am I really doing? If Morgan Trask folded tomorrow, would it make one iota of difference in the scheme of things?'

Stella was frowning. ‘Well, I'd be out of a job, along with a few thousand others around the world.'

‘Sorry, I didn't mean to imply . . .'

She waved it aside. ‘Where's all this coming from, Mac?'

‘Maybe it's not coming from anywhere, maybe it's always been here, inside me, but I ignored it, pushed it out of the way so I could keep climbing the ladder.' He paused. ‘But you know, Stella, when you get to the top of the ladder, there's nothing to hold onto any more, and it's such a long way down, you realise you've lost perspective . . .' He stared across the room.

‘This sounds serious,' Stella muttered.

He focussed on her then.

‘I believe you may be coming down with a bad bout of social conscience,' she went on. ‘And I don't know if that's entirely compatible with your role here.'

‘This is what I'm thinking.'

Stella leaned forward. ‘You know, Mac, sometimes when things are going, um, badly, in one area of our
lives,' she suggested carefully, ‘well, it can make everything look bad.'

He looked at her directly. ‘Or perhaps it makes everything suddenly clearer.'

She lifted her eyebrows. ‘So what are you going to do?'

‘That I don't know,' he said plainly.

‘Well it seems to me that if you think you're living the wrong life, you've got a few changes to make.'

‘Easier said.'

‘Oh, don't make excuses,' Stella chastised him.

He blinked at her.

‘Do you really want to look back in twenty years, nursing a whole truckload of regrets because once upon a time you knew you were unhappy but you did nothing about it because it was too hard?'

Mac was staring at her as though he was in a trance.

‘Mac?'

Nothing. Stella was about to wave her hand in front of him when he roused.

‘You're right.'

‘Pardon?'

‘You're absolutely right,' he said, picking up his briefcase. Then he reconsidered. ‘I'm not going to need this,' he muttered to himself, dropping it down beside the desk again.

‘What are you doing?' Stella asked gingerly.

‘Making some changes,' he announced. ‘Starting with knocking off early on a Friday,' he added as he strode determinedly to the door. ‘You should do the
same, Stella.'

‘But what about all this?' she asked, stunned, pointing to the chaos on his desk.

Mac shrugged. ‘It'll still be here Monday. Have a good weekend, Stella.' He paused, tapping the door frame. ‘And thanks,' he said before he walked out the door.