Mr. (Not Quite) Perfect Read online

‘What, no waltzing after all?’

  ‘No.’ Allegra’s smile was a little painful.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Max.

  ‘No you’re not,’ she said, sounding much more herself. ‘You told me you’d rather stick pins in your eyes than waltz.’

  ‘I’m sorry to let you down,’ he clarified. ‘I promised I’d do it.’

  ‘It can’t be helped. If you can make it to the Digby Fox preview I’ll have enough material,’ she said. ‘It’s a shame about the ball, but maybe I’ll ask William if he’d go with Darcy. I’m sure he knows how to waltz.’

  William? Max bristled at her careless assumption that he could be so easily replaced. The last thing he’d wanted to do was make a fool of himself at some stupid ball, but still...

  Allegra was being exasperatingly reasonable. Why couldn’t she go all dramatic and start weeping and wailing about the tragedy of her unfinished article? Max would feel so much better if she did. All this politeness was getting to him. They needed to stop this and talk about the night before.

  ‘Look, Legs,’ he began but, before he could finish, his phone started to ring. Max cursed.

  ‘Aren’t you going to get that?’

  ‘It can go to voicemail.’

  ‘It might be important.’

  Muttering under his breath, he snatched up the phone and looked at the screen in disbelief.

  ‘Who is it?’ asked Allegra.

  ‘It’s Emma,’ he said slowly.

  Allegra got up, dropping her left boot on the floor. ‘You should talk to her,’ she said. ‘I’m going to get changed anyway.’

  She left her boots lying as they were, and Max watched, churning with frustration, as she walked out barefoot. The boots looked as abandoned and forlorn as he felt, and Max bent to put them neatly side by side as he pressed the answer button on his phone.

  ‘Hello?’ he said.

  * * *

  In her room, Allegra leant back against the door and drew a deep breath. That had gone better than she’d feared. She’d been calm, cool. She hadn’t cried. She hadn’t thrown herself into his arms and begged him not to go, although it had been a close run thing when he’d told her that he was going to Shofrar next week.

  Next week.

  It was all for the best, Allegra told herself. Let’s face it, last night had been a one-off. It had been incredible, amazingly so, but they were still the same people as they’d been before, who had different lives and wanted different things. Of course it was tempting to imagine that they could recreate the previous night, but really, what would be the point? It would just make it harder to say goodbye in a week’s time.

  Emma had rung at just the right time. She was what Max really needed. Allegra hoped that she was telling Max that she had made a terrible mistake and wanted to go back to him. She really did.

  A nasty headache was jabbing right behind her eyes and her throat felt tight. Allegra pulled the clip from her hair and changed her tight jeans for a pair of pyjama bottoms patterned with faded puppies, sighing at the comfort. Wrapping a soft grey cardigan around her, she padded back down to the kitchen and poured herself a bowl of cereal. She was tempted to eat it there but it felt like avoiding Max, and that would make it seem as if last night was a big deal, which it wasn’t at all. Besides, she hadn’t heard his voice when she passed the sitting room door, so presumably he’d finished talking to Emma.

  Sure enough, when she carried her bowl back to the living room Max was sitting at the table once more, but he wasn’t filling in his form. He was staring ahead, turning his pen abstractedly between his fingers. He looked tired, and a dangerous rush of emotion gusted through Allegra.

  What would it be like if she could go over and massage his shoulders? Would he jerk away in horror, or would he let his head drop back against her breasts? Would he let her slide her arms down to his chest so that she could press her lips to his jaw and kiss his throat the way she had done the night before?

  Allegra’s chest was so tight that for a moment she couldn’t move. She could just stand in the doorway in her old pyjama bottoms and the sleeves of her cardigan falling over her hands, and when Max glanced up and their eyes met the jolt in the air was so unexpected that she jerked, slopping the milk in the bowl of cereal she held.

  ‘Allegra...’ After that one frozen moment, Max pushed back his chair abruptly and got to his feet, only to stop as if he had forgotten what he was going to say.

  ‘How was Emma?’ Allegra rushed to fill the silence. She slouched over to the sofa and stretched out on it to eat her cereal, deliberately casual.

  Max hesitated. ‘She wants to meet.’

  ‘Hey, that’s great news!’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Of course it is.’ Allegra kept beaming, which was quite hard when you were trying to eat cereal at the same time. ‘Come on, Max, you want her back. You know you do.’

  ‘If I wanted her that much, I wouldn’t have slept with you last night,’ he said.

  ‘That didn’t mean anything. We both agreed that.’ Deliberately she finished her cereal, scraping around the bowl, not looking at Max. Just another slobby evening, nothing on her mind.

  ‘We knew what were doing,’ she persevered when Max said nothing. ‘It was meant to be a bit of fun, wasn’t it?—and it was, but it’s not as if either of us want a relationship. We know each other too well for that. We’d drive each other mad!’

  Allegra had been practising this speech all day, but Max didn’t seem impressed. He came over to the sofa, took the bowl from her unresisting hand and set it on the table. Then he nudged her legs so that she lifted them for him to sit down.

  Just the way she had nudged his that night she had looked at him and decided that he was perfect for her article. Allegra almost winced at the jab of memory as she settled her legs across his lap. She had thought she had known Max then, but she hadn’t had a clue. She’d known nothing about the clean male scent of his skin or the enticing scrape of his jaw. Nothing about the lean, lovely strength of his body or the dark, delicious pleasure of his hands. Nothing about how it felt when his mouth curved against her flesh.

  Max studied the puppies on her pyjama bottoms a moment then lifted his eyes to hers. ‘What if I did want a relationship, Legs?’ he said, and the last of Allegra’s breath leaked out of her lungs.

  ‘You’re...not serious?’ she managed.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because it’s crazy. You said it yourself last night. Madness, you said. We’ll regret it in the morning, you said.’

  ‘I know I did,’ he said evenly. ‘But the thing is, I didn’t regret it. I still don’t.’

  ‘Max...’

  ‘Do you regret it?’ he asked her and Allegra couldn’t look away, couldn’t lie.

  ‘No. No, I don’t.’

  He stroked one of her bare feet thoughtfully, making her suck in a sharp breath. ‘Then why don’t we try it again? We might not regret that either.’

  His hand was warm and firm and she could have sworn she felt his touch in every molecule. Unable to prevent a quiver of response, she made herself pull the foot away and draw up her legs.

  ‘It was just sex,’ she said, keeping her voice steady with an effort. ‘It was great, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t think we should read more into it than that.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Max. ‘So why don’t we have great sex until I leave?’

  ‘Because...’ Couldn’t he see? ‘Because it’s too hard to stop great sex becoming something else, and then where would we be?’

  ‘In a relationship?’

  ‘And what would be the point of that? You’re going to Shofrar next week?’

  ‘No, you’re right,’ Max said. ‘What was I thinking?’

  ‘I know what you were thinking with,’ said Allegra in a
n effort to lighten the conversation, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Maybe,’ he said.

  ‘It was lovely,’ she said, unable to keep the wistful note from creeping into her voice, ‘but I can’t see me in the desert, can you?’

  ‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘No, I can’t.’

  ‘You need someone like Emma,’ Allegra ploughed on, struggling to remember the script she had prepared. ‘Someone who can really be part of your life.’ Someone not like me, she added bleakly to herself. ‘I’m sure that when you meet her again you’ll remember just how important she was to you before. It’s only a couple of months since you wanted to marry her,’ she reminded him. ‘You need to think about what really matters to you and let’s go back to being friends.’

  ‘And last night?’

  No wonder she hadn’t spent any time being sensible before. Being sensible hurt. But it didn’t hurt as much as falling in love with him would hurt, or the inevitable moment when Max would realise that sex wasn’t enough, that she wasn’t enough.

  Just like she hadn’t been enough to keep her unknown father around.

  Like she was never quite enough to please her mother.

  Allegra drew a breath and summoned a smile. ‘Last night wasn’t real,’ she said. ‘It was lovely, but I think it would be easier if we pretended that it never happened.’

  * * *

  Pretend it never happened. Easy for her to say! Max yanked his tie savagely into place. Bloody Dickie had picked out another humdinger for him to wear to the preview of Digby Fox’s exhibition: a fluorescent green shirt with a red tie, and a tweed jacket in hunter green.

  ‘It’s bold, it’s assertive, it’s you,’ Dickie had assured him when Max had refused absolutely to consider any of it. ‘Just try it,’ he had coaxed and in the end, Max had given in for a quiet life. It was the last time he’d have to make a fool of himself, after all.

  Dickie had been on the verge of tears when he’d heard that Max wouldn’t be going to the costume ball after all.

  ‘I had such a marvellous outfit in mind for you too,’ he’d mourned.

  Another reason to be grateful that he was going to Shofrar early, Max decided as he dressed grimly.

  Allegra had cancelled their dancing lessons, which meant that he never needed to waltz again. And what a relief that was! He wasn’t missing those lessons at all. If he had found himself remembering the times he and Allegra had practised twirling around the room, it was only because he felt bad at letting her down. He knew how much she had been looking forward to the ball.

  Now she would be going with William.

  Not that he cared that Allegra had been able to replace him so easily, Max reassured himself hastily. He was well out of it.

  He regarded his reflection glumly. He looked a total prat. The neon-green shirt made him look as if he should be directing traffic. At least Dickie had had to accept his refusal to grow a designer stubble. Max rubbed a hand over his freshly shaven jaw. The truth was, he’d nearly given way on that too when he’d realised how disappointed Dickie was that Max wouldn’t be able to take him to a rugby match the way he’d promised.

  He seemed to be letting everyone down at the moment.

  With a sigh, he picked up the jacket Dickie had assured him was the last word in style and headed for the door. He was to meet Allegra and Darcy at the gallery. Max couldn’t say that he was looking forward to the evening ahead, but he’d done his homework. Allegra had pressed a book on modern art into his hands so that he would impress Darcy with his knowledge but, having ploughed through it, he was none the wiser. He would just have to wing it, he decided. He could look thoughtful and mumble something about challenging perceptions and that would have to do.

  And, after tonight, his obligations would be over. He could concentrate on handing over his projects at work and pack up the few belongings he’d brought with him when he’d moved out of Emma’s. Everything was already stored in the attic in his parents’ house. Max had been home to say goodbye to his parents that weekend so that he didn’t get in Allegra’s way, but it hadn’t been as restful as he’d hoped. His mother had an uncanny ability to home in on the things Max least wanted to talk about and she kept asking how Allegra was and how they were getting on sharing the house. Max tried an austere ‘fine’ in reply, but oh, no, that wasn’t enough.

  ‘What aren’t you telling me?’ she’d demanded.

  She didn’t seem to understand that there were some things you couldn’t tell your mother.

  He couldn’t tell her about the way his breath clogged every time he looked at Allegra. He couldn’t tell her about the memories that circled obsessively in his head, memories of the hot, sweet darkness, of the pleasure that had leapt like wildfire, consuming everything in its path. He couldn’t tell her how the feel of Allegra had blotted everything else from his mind.

  ‘Allegra is fine,’ he’d insisted to his mother.

  Allegra certainly seemed fine. She was doing a lot better than he was, anyway.

  She’d been bright and brittle ever since she’d sat on the sofa looking soft and oh-so-touchable in those silly pyjamas. Max’s hands had itched to slide beneath the faded material, to peel that baggy cardigan from her shoulders and lay her down beneath him once more, but the moment he’d succumbed to temptation and stroked her foot, she had pulled away.

  Last night wasn’t real, she’d said. Let’s pretend it never happened.

  Max hadn’t tried to change her mind. Allegra had made it clear that she didn’t want him to touch her again, and he wasn’t about to start forcing himself on a woman. She might have dressed it all up as wanting him to be happy, but Max wasn’t a fool. What she meant was that she wouldn’t be happy with him.

  And, anyway, she was right. It was all for the best. He couldn’t imagine Allegra in Shofrar. She wanted to stay in London, in the gossipy, glamorous world that was Glitz. What could he offer compared to that? A prefabricated house on a compound in the desert. Big deal.

  So Max was doing his best to behave normally. He wasn’t going to follow her around making puppy dog eyes. A man had his pride, after all. He met Emma for lunch and thought about what Allegra had said about Emma being what he needed. It seemed hard to remember now, but Max was prepared to try and Emma herself was dropping hints about the possibility of getting back together. Max told Allegra that he and Emma were ‘talking’ and she seemed delighted, he remembered sourly.

  At least he’d made someone happy.

  His mood was not improved when he made it to the gallery and found Allegra already there with Darcy and a smarmy-looking man who Allegra introduced as William.

  Max disliked him on sight. William had the lean, well-bred air of a greyhound. He had floppy hair and tortoiseshell glasses, which Max privately decided were fake and designed purely to make him look intelligent. And God, the man could talk! Darcy hung on his every word as William pontificated. He had an opinion on everything, as far as Max could make out. Max would have liked him a lot better if he’d taken one look at the pile of pooh on display and admitted that he didn’t have a clue what it was all about.

  Every surface in the gallery was painted white which was disorientating. Max was glad he didn’t suffer from seasickness or he’d have been desperate for a horizon. Not that anyone else seemed to notice how weird the décor was. The gallery was jam-packed with trendy types clutching glasses of champagne. They were all talking at the tops of their voices and vying for the accolade of most pretentious comment of the evening. Clearly it was going to be a stiff competition.

  Max himself was profoundly unimpressed by the so-called ‘art’ on display. As far as he could see, the ‘artist’ had run around gathering together as much junk as he could find, thrown it into piles and called it an installation. There was more art in a beautifully designed bridge than this claptrap, in Max’s
humble opinion.

  William disagreed. He appointed himself guide and insisted on explaining every exhibit. Phrases like ‘implicit sexual innuendo’, ‘aesthetic encounter’ and ‘anthropomorphic narratives’ fell from his lips, while Darcy hung on every word. Allegra seemed distracted, though, and Max couldn’t help wondering if she was jealous of the way William was so obviously basking in Darcy’s attention.

  That evening she was wearing a floaty skirt, clumpy boots and short tweedy jacket. Max wanted to think that she looked a mess, but somehow she looked as if she belonged there in a way he never would, neon shirt or no neon shirt. She had plenty of her old pizazz about her, but there was a tight look around her eyes and her smile wasn’t as bright as usual.

  ‘You okay?’ he asked her as William steered Darcy on to the next exhibit.

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. You look a bit...tired.’

  Great. Everyone knew that looking ‘tired’ meant you looked a wreck. The chatter bouncing off the white walls was making Allegra’s head ache. She felt like a wreck too.

  Usually she loved these gossipy, trendy affairs, but there were too many people crammed into the gallery and it felt claustrophobic in spite of the attempts to make the design feel airy and spacious. She had to squeeze her way through the throng. Digby Fox could pull in some A-list names. So far she had muttered ‘sorry...excuse me...’ to minor royalty, a prize-winning author and a celebrity chef. Ordinarily, Allegra would have been thrilled, but the only person she had eyes for was Max, who was looking resolutely out of place.

  How on earth had Dickie persuaded him into that shirt? It was so loud it wasn’t doing anything for her headache.

  Allegra had had a tiring day listening to Dickie moaning about how much he was going to miss Max. Max had shown him how to order a pint in the pub; Max had introduced him to takeaway curry; Max had promised to take him to a rugby match. He seemed to hold her personally responsible for Max’s promotion.

  Max made love to me! Allegra had wanted to shout. I’m going to miss him much, much more than you.

  She didn’t, of course. Dickie was still Dickie and her career was all she had to hold onto at the moment.