Dark Oil (32 page)

He pushed his way in, thrusting forward the roses. “Here. For you.”

She crossed her arms. “I don't want them.”

“Shame. They were over two hundred bucks.”

She let out a sound of disbelief. Trust Tim to mention the cost of a gift! “You have five minutes. I have to get to the airport.”

Suddenly, with the expression of a bad actor in a small theatre production, Tim dropped to his knees. He raised the flowers towards Lara and put his left hand on his heart. “Darling, I'm so sorry. It was a mistake. I never loved her. You have to believe me. I told her stuff to get her off my back.”

Lara's eyes widened. Here was a fully grown man who believed he could mistreat his wife for years, turn up with a bunch of flowers and a bad speech and go back to start for another game. If she hadn't been so humiliated she would have found it funny. “She's left you already? I suppose she figured out she wouldn't get any money.”

“No. I left her. Honestly. I still love you, Lara.” He looked up at her, his eyes pleading.

She held her head. He'd been a traitor of the worst kind. She'd never thought her marriage would come to an end. She'd worked at it, hard. She'd never betrayed him and God knows there had been temptation and opportunity along the way—in the form of Jack Norton. And now here was Tim, insulting her intelligence once again. She said the words clearly, crisply, staccato. “I don't love you anymore, Tim.”

He stood up, tossing the flowers across the floor. “But you do. Ten years together, Lara, you can't wipe the slate clean just like that. You want me back. You're still wearing my rings, aren't you?”

She looked down at her finger, at the engagement ring and gold wedding band, once the promise of eternal love. “I don't fancy men hitting on me, that's the only reason. I'm not interested in any man right now, least of all you.” She took off the rings and threw them. They landed on Tim's bunch of flowers, and she noticed then a couple of blooms were already wilting. She was sure he hadn't paid two hundred dollars for them. He was even lying about that.

“You're angry, that's all. You know you love me!”

He was right about one thing. She was angry and getting angrier by the minute. Her words were ice. “I love you less than if we'd never met. I must get ready or I'll miss my flight. Leave. Now. This is the last time I ask you nicely.”

“I've been a good husband, Lara. I've provided for you. I'm ready to take you back, but only because I love you. Other men want women half their age, you know. Take a good look at yourself in front of that mirror. You're not twenty anymore.”

The words stung. She knew she wasn't as fresh faced as Frankie. She knew her lips weren't quite as pouty, her breasts not nearly as perky. She had other things, though—her mind, her heart—that made up for not being twenty. They did, didn't they? And she was still pretty. She believed that. She believed it because of how Jack looked at her. Jack. . . She had tried not to think of him lately but a sudden need to see him gnawed at her. Maybe her mother was right after all. Maybe she couldn't close the door on love, wouldn't ever be perfectly happy without it.

Tim rubbed his chin. “Sorry. That didn't come out right. You're very attractive.”

She smiled in the most cynical manner she knew. Tim, and his cruel, manipulative ways, couldn't have been more pathetic to her. “Get out or I'll call the police. I mean it.”

“What? So that's it? You're giving up on us? Who wouldn't forgive a fling? That's all it was, you know. A fling. I'm a man. I'm not made of stone. He grabbed her wrist. “Oh, come on, Lara. You can't blame me for asking for forgiveness.”

She pulled her hand, wanting to get away from him, but he held on tight. “Tim, you're hurting me. Let go.” The pain shot up her arm, he was squeezing her so tight.

“Say you still love me.”

“I don't!”

“I'm not a monster. You have a rock for a heart? What kind of woman are you, for God's sake?”

With one mighty tug Lara managed to free herself from Tim's grasp. She opened the door and pushed him out with the strength of a wrestler delivering the final blow to his opponent. “The kind who doesn't want you and never, ever will.”

Tim lost his balance, falling backwards onto the veranda. Lara watched him crumble.

“Two bitches! How could I have been so unlucky?” He stood up, dusting off his designer pants.

Lara smiled, enjoying the show more than any she'd ever seen. “So Miss Fish Lips did leave you, or you wouldn't be calling her a bitch.”

Tim pointed his index finger at her. “You know what? You'll come crawling back to me. Next week, next month. You'll be the one begging me to take you in. And I'll have a twenty year old with breasts as big as Mount Everest hanging off my arm.”

She spoke through her teeth. “Don't worry, I won't. I might have been able to forgive a fling, if that's really what it was. But I'll never forgive you for waiting for my mother to die. And for the record, you were not a good husband, Tim. I wasted ten years with you.”

He put on his best suave look, softening his tone. “I'll never let go of you, darling. Let me kiss you. Just once. Remember how good we used to be together?”

Suddenly he threw himself at her, pinning her against the wall, his hands above her shoulders. He was far too close, invading her personal space, his breath warming her face. “Kiss me and you'll remember we're meant to be together.” Lara turned sideways, disgusted. She didn't want Tim's lips on hers.

“Oh, all right. Let's play games. I'll beg. Here it is, Lara. I'm begging you. Please let me come home. It's my house as much as yours, but please. I belong here with you. You know that. And I'm begging you. Happy now?”

Bewildered, she shook her head looking everywhere except into Tim's eyes. Even the scent of his skin disgusted her. “You can't show up and expect me to feel fine. You can't change my feelings at the flick of a switch. Get away from me.”

“Not until you promise me you'll at least think about taking me back. We can work it out. Things will get better. You'll forget this fling with Frankie. Promise me.”

Lara sighed, staring down at her feet. This was more oppressive than she'd imagined. “I have to get to the airport, Tim.”

“You'll think about it, right? Promise or I'm not going anywhere!”

“I promise,” she yelled. “Now move away. I'm going to miss my plane.” If time hadn't been against her, if she hadn't been flying out to Paris, she would have resisted him, and she certainly would have called the police at the first opportunity. He wasn't worth missing a flight for, though, wasn't worth any kind of effort.

Tim trotted off down the driveway with a spring in his step, as if none of this had touched him, as if it were all a big game. She sighed with relief as he slid into his shiny black sports car and drove away.

The visit had surprised her, and now she felt ever so drained, but perhaps it was good, after all, that Tim had come to see her. She had faced her anger and articulated it. She had said out loud Tim had never been a good husband. She had told him she'd wasted her time with him, made it clear she didn't love him and never would.

She picked up her rings. She held them in her palm. They were nearly weightless, a few grams of metal that had weighed heavily on her life. She would never put them back on. She might take them to the second hand store next time she drove by. She dropped them into her handbag, which was hanging in the entrance. She scooped up the flowers, too, and dumped them without so much as a hint of regret in the kitchen bin, before hurrying back to the bathroom.

Yes, it was a good thing Tim had paid her a visit. Maybe now she could forget the past and move on. And maybe, just maybe, she could allow herself to dream of a better future.

Lara stirred in her sleep. Jack took in the beauty of her luminous skin, the light on her hair, her petal pink lips. He wanted to cradle her in his arms, kiss her all over gently, with the innocence of a child. And after that, not so innocently.

She had spent most of the flight her eyes firmly shut. A sleeping tablet had seen to it. She was badly in need of catching up on her rest, he knew that. Still, he wondered whether she hadn't also wanted to avoid the conversation they might otherwise have had.

The very first thing he'd noticed about her as they'd boarded the plane was the white mark around her left index finger where her rings had once been. He'd barely been able to contain his excitement, had wanted to talk to her about it right away, but she'd turned her back to him as soon as they were seated, and immediately dozed off.

Well, it wasn't too late. They would be landing in Paris in half an hour and she wouldn't be able to escape him then. He needed to know what was happening with Tim. Was there hope for him and Lara? Or did she want her husband back? Was she ready to move on?

Most of all, Jack needed to know if Lara could love someone like him. If there was a chance, he would wait for her, for as long as it took her to feel ready. If there wasn't, he would have to leave. He would move far away to let time and distance dampen his feelings.

The thought suddenly crossed his mind that Lara might have taken her rings off for another reason. She might have forgotten to put them back on after doing the dishes, or perhaps they'd become loose. She seemed to have lost some weight. His heart sank.

How had he got himself into this mess? How had he fallen for a woman who was married? He'd always sworn he wouldn't. And after Ange he'd been ever so careful, avoiding married women like the plague—until Lara. She made him feel so alive.

The captain announced their imminent arrival. The weather in Paris was cold but sunny and there was a plethora of things to do and see. A short video had reminded him of some of the more famous attractions: the Eiffel tower, the Champs Elysées, Notre Dame, the bâteaux-mouches, those long, flat excursion boats lazily exploring the Seine.

Jack imagined holding hands with Lara on one of those cruises, kissing her as they strolled through the Jardin des Tuileries, laughing together as they feasted on refined pâtisseries. Instead, he was condemned to watching her from afar, only breathing in her sweet fragrance. A stranger to her touch. But maybe, just maybe, she'd left Tim and if not now, would one day want Jack.

Lara sat up suddenly, no doubt brought back to reality by the captain's cheerful voice. She rubbed her eyes, checked her watch.

Jack waited for a few minutes. She said nothing. He had missed their conversations, even the most mundane ones, so he started. “Paris here we come! I'm expecting better accommodation than in Zakra.”

“Yes. At least we'll be able to shower without worrying about getting sick.”

“How are you feeling?” She was as beautiful as ever, but he could tell she still wasn't quite her old self.

“Fine. I could do with a strong coffee.”

“Let's grab one at the airport, if you like. Or if you can wait until we get into Paris, we could find one of those charming French cafés. After all, we don't have a meeting until tomorrow.”

In fact, that would be perfect. They would take in the sights, relax a little together. Then, as naturally as you drink or breathe, they would share their thoughts. Lara would tell him what had happened with Tim. Jack would tell her how he felt about her.

She shrugged. “I'll just grab take-away at the airport.”

His heart sank. He needed so much to know. She was torturing him. Not intentionally—she probably hadn't the faintest idea she was twisting and turning the knife in his fresh wound. He couldn't stand it anymore.

“So, how are things at home?” He'd been meaning to ask ever since they left Australia, but hadn't had a chance. He'd held his tongue patiently, so patiently, waiting for the right moment. Now he'd gone and blurted it out without careful preparation.

There was no context to his question, except the context in his mind—which was that he thought about it all the time. But how was Lara to know?

She frowned. “Sorry?”

He glanced down at her finger, hoping she would understand. She didn't, or didn't want to. She turned away, probably annoyed at his male clumsiness.

He screwed up his face. He wanted to be someone else right now, someone suave, sensitive and. . .whatever Lara wanted him to be. Instead, he was just an ordinary guy trying his best. He felt so hopeless, the exact opposite of refined, sophisticated, intelligent. Yes, he was probably the exact opposite of what Lara was looking for in a man. He shrugged. “I mean, you seem worried lately.”

“I am.” She said the words softly, without bitterness or resentment. Perhaps he hadn't upset her as much as he thought. Perhaps he still had a chance of reaching her again.

“Anything I can help with?”

She looked away. “Nothing anyone can help with. I'm sorry, Jack. I haven't been very sociable lately. I'm not feeling that way inclined.”

Jack was relieved that the plane's wheels touched the ground at that moment and the engines roared as the jet came to a halt. The deafening noise covered up his long, heartfelt sigh, a sigh that could have too easily transformed into a wail had he let himself express his sorrow.

He felt he'd somehow blown it with Lara. She was shutting him out, he knew it for sure now. What could he do—what
wouldn't
he do—to see her face light up again the way it used to?

He'd give anything to feel her smile warm his heart, but it wasn't going to happen, was it? He would be staying in Paris with the woman he loved. She was free, he was nearly sure of that. And she was more distant than ever. Instead of a whirlwind romance he was heading towards nothing less than a shattered heart.

They queued in silence as they waited to get off the plane. The giant doors opened with a suction noise that reminded him of the glass jars his mother used to fill with his favourite lollies. He could do with one now, would appreciate any kind of sweetness. He stood aside, letting Lara go first. Then he shuffled his way down the aisle behind her and out through the already cold gangway and onto French soil.