Death Actually Page 15

  “Sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I know you were just trying to be nice.”

  The shop assistant broke the awkwardness. “Can I help you?” she asked cheerfully, arriving beside them at just the right moment.

  “Yes, you can,” said Ben, taking charge while Maggie composed herself. “My friend in black needs some lightening up. Perhaps a shirt or a dress, but definitely something with colour. I don’t know, what would you suggest?”

  Stepping back, the young woman cast an expert eye over Maggie. “I have two things that would look fabulous, and which you could easily wear with the clothes you have on. You’re so lucky with your figure and your hair, you’d look gorgeous in any of the clothes we have.”

  Her high heels tapped on the white painted floor as she went to one of the racks and pulled out a cream shirt, and what looked like a patterned piece of material hanging limply on a hanger. Handing the items to Maggie, she showed her into one of the changing rooms and offered Ben a cup of coffee.

  The pieces the assistant had chosen looked fantastic on Maggie. The soft cream crepe blouse could be worn with the floppy bow at the neck done up or left open. She could see how well it would go with her skirts, or under a jacket for business meetings, and she could wear it with trousers and boots for casual occasions. The patterned silk turned out to be a tunic that could be worn alone or over trousers and leggings. It clung in all the right places, emphasising Maggie’s perfect hourglass figure and high breasts.

  Having tried them on, there was no way she couldn’t buy both pieces. She almost pranced out of the changing room, and watched while the assistant made a fuss of wrapping the clothes carefully in thick layers of tissue paper before easing the beribboned rustling packets into one of the store bags tied with gold ribbon and a red bow for good measure.

  Maggie sparkled with pleasure. The smile on her face was contagious as she twirled towards Ben. “Thank you for making me do that. Wait till Kate and Elka see me in these,” she said, laughing.

  Outside on the pavement she said, “I needed the push. I see that now.” And before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “I don’t suppose you’d like to come to Port Chalmers with me? The drive is beautiful and we could go to the Spit afterwards.”

  Ben looked at her quizzically. “The Spit?”

  “Aromoana,” she said. “When I was little, my family always called it the Spit. It’s an old Otago name.”

  “Not as old as Aromoana, I’d venture,” he said, straight-faced.

  Maggie stopped and smiled. “No,” she said thoughtfully. “You’re right again. You’re on a roll today, Dr Goodman.”

  “I can’t, Maggie,” he said. “I really do have to get back to the conference. It was only by chance I saw you shopping. Now that I have rescued the damsel from her black, I’d better go. You can thank me later.”

  “You are an idiot.”

  “Thank you, Madam,” he said, drawing himself up to full height. “You’re not the first person to notice. I have an ex-wife who often told me the same thing, but perhaps not as nicely.”

  Maggie winced. It was the first time she’d heard any flicker of self-pity from him. But in a strange way it was comforting to know he could be vulnerable too. And before she quite understood what had happened, he’d suggested dinner later and she had agreed.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  The restaurant on the esplanade overlooked the pounding surf on St Clair beach. To someone who’d spent her life miles from the sea, the roar of the waves was exotic, conjuring up images of ships and sharks.

  Although it was mid-week, the popular restaurant was fully booked and they had to wait for a table at the bar, where Ben ordered them both a glass of champagne.

  “To the new you,” he said, raising his glass. “You look very beautiful. I particularly like the earrings, which I believe may be also be a new purchase.”

  “The Port Chalmers gallery,” said Maggie, pleased he’d noticed them. “You’re a very observant man, aren’t you?”

  “Observe, Remember, Compare. It’s carved in stone on one of the lintels at the medical school, and I’ve always remembered it because it’s a useful maxim in life. It can be applied to almost anything: diseases, houses, wine – even women.”

  Maggie blushed and tried to deflect the direction of his conversation to something less embarrassing. “It suits you being a doctor, doesn’t it?”

  “I don’t know of another job which would have been quite so stimulating or which would have taken me to so many places – and I don’t just mean physically,” he said seriously.

  “From what I’ve heard,” Maggie said, unsure how he would take this, “you don’t need to work. So why do you, and why something as demanding and I would imagine restricting as medicine?”

  The maître d’ interrupted them to say their table was ready, and the conversation lapsed until they were seated and had ordered food and more wine.

  “So,” she said, returning to their previous conversation. “Why do you work?”

  “Brought up to it. I come from a family that believes in work, and I know this is corny in today’s world, but my parents also brought me up to believe that with privilege comes responsibility. As the oldest I swallowed their reasoning hook line and sinker, and never regretted it. My younger sister, on the other hand, was totally resistant to their indoctrination and is completely work-shy, but she gets away with it because she’s fun to be with. Work shy but fun. All sorts of people have tried to take advantage of her over the years, and as her big brother it’s been up to me to get her out of some very tricky situations.”

  He stopped smiling. “I believe you met my wife, Sarah. She was very like Laura, my sister, when I first met her, but without the money. Once we were married and she had access to unlimited funds for the first time in her life, it went to her head. I understood how exciting it must have been to be able to buy anything she wanted for the first time, and I let her go wild. I waited for the novelty to wear off, but it never did. And despite all the promises she made before the wedding, afterwards she made it clear that she didn’t understand my need to work, or why we couldn’t travel the world living in one hotel after another. She ended up making it very difficult for me. No doubt my friends told you. They’d tried to warn me, but love makes you do silly things.”

  With the arrival of their meals, the conversation stopped until Ben said, “What about you? Why is an attractive woman single and working as an undertak–” He stopped and corrected himself, “a funeral director in Queenstown?”

  “Married too young, both Andy and me. Babies too quickly and too much responsibility for him. He couldn’t play beach volleyball and be a dad, so he left. I haven’t seen or heard from him since the divorce, which was arranged through lawyers after I came back to New Zealand. Both my parents were killed in a plane crash, and I had to come home. Kate was eighteen months and Nick was just six weeks old. Simon, my older brother, is a lot like your sister sounds. He handed me the keys to the house and the business the day after the funeral, and left to go travelling. I had no choice but to get on with it and look after the three of us. No one else ever offered.”

  They smiled ruefully at each other.

  “Let’s talk about something else, something more cheerful than failed marriages and disappointing partners,” said Maggie.

  “What do you suggest?”

  “Politics?”

  “I thought you wanted us to be more cheerful. I know – why don’t you tell me about Lizzie? She tells me you were at school together.”

  “We were, but why were you discussing me?”

  “We were talking about Nick, actually, and you’re his mother, so … I know, let’s talk about skiing. That’s not going to make your hackles rise, surely? You can tell me where the best back country runs are.”

  Maggie enjoyed the rest of the evening. They shared a similar sense of humour, as well as a love of skiing and mountains. Ben regaled her with tales of his clim
bing expeditions and travels to out-of-the-way places around the world, while Maggie filled him in on the more amusing exploits of the local identities in Queenstown.

  It was late when they got back to the hotel. Tonight the lift seemed very small, and Maggie found it impossible not to be acutely aware of Ben standing tall beside her as they watched the numbers count off one by one before the door finally opened on the fifth floor and the corridor stretched in front of them.

  “I thought I should see you to your door,” said Ben.

  Digging in her bag for her key, Maggie wished she hadn’t had so much wine. She felt hot, and the door to her room swam in front of her. She felt his hand on her shoulder, gentle but insistent as he slowly turned her towards him. Her heart beating hard in her chest, she looked into his eyes. Neither said a word, aware of the other’s breathing and the tension and heat rising between them.

  Maggie felt his hand move tantalisingly slowly from her shoulder to caress the side of her neck before he reached behind, cradling the back of her head, guiding her even closer before leaning down and softly brushing her lips with his. Maggie closed her eyes as his lips became more insistent for her response, his tongue curling around hers curiously and delicately. She could hardly breathe as she leaned into him, her world contracting to the feeling of his breath on hers, to the softness of his mouth, to the smell of him and the power of his arms as he wrapped them around her, pulling her deeper against his body. She almost fell into him when he stepped back, and holding her shoulders with his hands, examined her face hungrily before taking in the rest of her.

  “Who are you really, Maggie Potter?” he asked quietly, fixing her eyes in his gaze.

  “I’m just me,” she breathed, wishing he would stop talking and kiss her again.

  He did, but this time more slowly, his whole body pressed against hers, leaving her in no doubt as to his attraction to her. He turned away from her mouth, sliding his lips down to nuzzle the pulse on the side of her neck, till she was barely able to stand.

  “Would you like to come in?” she whispered beside his ear.

  It was if she’d hit him. His arms fell to his side and he stepped back, away from her. “I hardly know you, Maggie.”

  She turned, trying to put her card in the door so she could get away from him, to be anywhere but here, feeling so very very foolish. Overwhelmed by her own stupidity, she fumbled, and dropped the card in her confusion. “Go. Just go,” she said unable to look at him.

  “I didn’t–”

  “I said go. Get away from me or I’ll scream.”

  She listened as the sound of his footsteps on the thick carpet faded away down the hall and the door to the stairs swished open and shut. Only then could she bend down, pick up the card and escape into the safety of her room. Only then could she let her anger explode, as she screamed her disappointment and hurt into the soft hotel pillows.

  She was a grown woman who knew what had been happening between them. So did he. He was no innocent virgin. He must have known she would ask him to come in. What did he expect? A handshake? A quick peck goodnight, after what they had just been doing in a public hallway?

  “Bastard, bastard,” she said, flinging herself onto the bed. “Who the hell does he think he is?”

  Embarrassment, and most of all fury at her gullability took their turns in no particular order in a long queue of emotions raging through her. He must think I do this with every man I have dinner with. And he’s rightdamn it,I do! “Precisely because,” she yelled into her pillow, “he’s the only man I have had dinner with in years – and he is the goddamned last.”

  Maggie held the pillow around her head as she sobbed and raged at his rejection. Finally, when she could cry no more and the pillow was soaked with mascara-stained tears, she pulled herself up and sat on the side of her bed, before peeling off her new shirt. Being cream, it too was streaked with make-up. Even the shirt somehow conspired to make her feel inadequate, something a black shirt would never have done, for damn sure. She hurled the offending garment into a corner, wishing she’d never bought it, along with the dreams of a different life that had seemed to go with it.

  In the bathroom she soaked her face in cold water and brushed her teeth between sobs. Slapping night cream carelessly in the general direction of her eyes and cheeks, she dared to look at the red-eyed woman with the puffy face looking back at her.

  “Never again,” she said to the person in the mirror. “Don’t you ever, ever trust a man with your feelings again.”

  Turning off the light, she went to bed and tried unsuccessfully to sleep.

  In his room on the third floor, Ben Goodman had the good grace to feel absolutely awful about what he’d just done to a woman he had started to like very much.

  “How could you?” he asked the man in his bathroom mirror brushing his teeth. “How could you be such a complete and total arse to someone who is one of the most decent people you’ve met in years? Not to mention beautiful.”

  Ben pointed his toothbrush at his reflection. “Because, you idiot, you know what will happen. You know you will get trapped into a relationship with her before you are ready. They always seem fine at the start, but eventually it’s your money they want, not you. They use and abuse you and you’re left with the bill. You know that.”

  OK, he thought, brushing furiously again. She may be different. She certainly seems different … so far! And she does have such lovely soft lips and she smells so good and she is very beautiful.

  One part of him wanted to march straight back to her room, bang on her door, apologise for his rudeness, sweep her into his arms and kiss her again.

  The other part – the part that had grown stronger with each unhappy relationship – said, “The way you handled it is to be regretted. But you don’t know her and you certainly don’t know her well enough to get that close to her. How would it look in such a small town?”

  But God, she felt good, all of her.

  He stripped off and lay on the bed. You’re too old for another casual fling and too bloody old to make another mistake.

  Turning off the light he lay awake, tossing and turning, for most of the night.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  The rumble of tyres on cobblestones woke Elka.

  “We’re home,” said Maggie, shutting off the engine.

  “Why are we at your place?”

  “You remember, your surgeon said you needed someone with you for the next week. We both know that if you went home you’d wouldn’t rest. We’re going to look after you. Kate can keep you updated about the restaurant so you won’t feel left out, and Nick can run any errands. The Potter Family convalescence service is at your service.”

  “Please, I don’t want to make a fuss. Take me home, Maggie. I’ve planned for this. It’s OK.”

  “Absolutely not. Doctor’s orders.”

  Maggie walked around to the passenger door and helped Elka out of the car. Kate must have dashed home and got the spare bedroom ready after Maggie’s text from Cromwell, because there was fresh linen on the bed and the heater was on. A bunch of yellow daffodils sat in a jam jar on the bedside table, a reminder that it was spring even if the weather was still cold.

  “You know where the bathroom is. Call out if you need help. I’ll make some tea and bring it up,” said Maggie when Elka was sitting up in bed, resting comfortably on the bank of pillows behind her.

  Elka lay in bed, listening to a series of bangs and thumps downstairs. Something wasn’t right, but Maggie wasn’t letting on. At the start of their journey, when she’d asked how dinner had gone the night before, she’d got no response. Maggie, her lips tightly pursed, had started fiddling instead with the radio tuner, trying to get a station. When Elka could stand the hissing noises no longer she pressed the seek button, and the dulcet tones of Katherine Ryan could be heard introducing the author of the latest cookbook.

  “You should do that,” said Maggie.

  “What?”

  “Write a cookbook.�
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  “I’ve thought about it, but I haven’t had the time.”

  “Maybe you could think about in the next few weeks, while Kate’s here,” said Maggie.

  “I’d rather think about why you sound so flat today.”

  “I’m not flat. Just tired,” said Maggie, firmly closing out any further conversation.

  Elka took the hint. Her medication was starting to kick in, and although she tried to listen to the interview, within minutes she was fast asleep. She had woken outside Lawrence, the town marking the half way point of their journey. Initially she thought it was the pain deep in her groin that had disturbed her, but that wasn’t it. She had been woken by the sound of Maggie crying. Elka kept her eyes shut and her breathing even. Maggie wasn’t ready to talk.

  The banging in the kitchen got louder. The kitchen door slammed shut and from outside came a muffled curse before it opened and shut again, this time more quietly. Elka pretended she was asleep when Maggie brought her cup of green tea upstairs, setting it down next to the daffodils. She heard Maggie walk over to the window and sigh loudly.

  Elka sat up yawning. “Oh good, green tea. Just what I felt like.”

  “Sorry about the noise downstairs,” said Maggie.

  “I’ve been asleep. What noise?”

  “Nothing. It’s just …”

  “Didn’t go well last night, I take it?”

  “Nope. Disaster. Then I spent the whole night awake. I couldn’t believe–”

  “What? Tell me. It might help.”

  “I can’t, Elka. I can’t say the words. But if you ever tell me what a nice man Ben Goodman is, ever again–”

  “I won’t, I promise. I thought he was nice, but look at the state of you, Maggie. He didn’t hurt you, did he? Force you, I mean?”

  “Oh no, it’s nothing like that. I wish he … No. Of course I don’t. I just don’t understand how he could have … Elka, that’s the last time I give any sort of love any sort of chance. I’m no good at it. I’m terrible in fact. Whatever I do or whatever I say, it’s wrong. I don’t know if I can face him. At least when Andy left me I didn’t have to see him again, I didn’t have to work with him. God, I wish I lived in a city.”