You're Worth Dying For Ch. 03

Harriet waited for a response; it came a little slower and without aggression this time.

"What a hero he is," Maggie said in a small voice. "I've been so self-centered mum; have I always been like this?"

"I think the first signs showed before you turned two."

"Oh mum, I'm ever so sorry. I was just being me and you never gave me any bother."

"True, but I guess now we both think I should have being more of a guiding parent."

"Mum?"

"He'll be in a motel. You could go looking until you see his car, then go in and say you're so sorry."

Maggie fought back the tears. "But you think I shouldn't do that?"

"Think hard, Maggie. "Try to listen to your inner-self."

Maggie tried and didn't like the thoughts rattling her mind. "I should rant and rave and try to emerge as a more thoughtful person. I should leave him alone to get on with running the company, not go near the place. I should wait here until he comes for me."

"Darling, that brain of yours works beautiful in which ever direction you point it; I'm so proud of you. Yes, that's more or less what I would do. I'll bring lunch for us tomorrow. You stay in bed and have a mental holiday."

"You said that's more of less what you'd do. What would you do?"

"I'd prefer not telling you darling; we're all different and people expect us to act differently. Just do what your instinct tells you – not everything is driven by applied intelligence."

"I'm feeling better, mum. You've rarely talked with me like this."

"That's because I've usually been expected to listen. Consider yourself on a new learning curve darling. Rule number one: listen to other people, really listen. Go to bed now with a smile on your face."

Maggie laughed. "You used to say that to me when I was sad. There's not too much difference between being a little girl or a big girl when things go wrong, is it?"

"Indeed. Goodnight darling. Max is groaning to me to shut up."

"Tell Max I'll try to love him."

Maggie hastily switched off her phone, wondering what on earth had made her say that; her stepfather was little short of being a beast. Then she recalled in that split second after she said that, hearing her mother's sharp intake of breath: that wasn't an unhappy sound, no way.

"I'm trying to be community," Maggie half-sung as she went lightly to the kitchen to make a sandwich to take to eat in her lonely bed.

Early next morning Maggie phoned her PA and advised Cathie she wouldn't be showing up at work for a while until things settled down. She briefed Cathie about the shareholder's meeting and told her to refer any matters of importance to Ryan. She could phone Maggie for information if necessary but not to explain her non-appearance to anyone; all she should say was Mrs de Lacey was not available this week. Cathie asked could she call in on the way home some evenings and Maggie said she'd welcome that.

Ryan had gone to a motel on the far side of the city feeling very unhappy; Maggie had attempted to shaft him and the company and its clientele without good reason. It was just a power thing with her; an opportunity had presented itself and she attempted to seize it and to move on to a bigger challenge. To hell with people; that was her attitude.

The Australian Ross Abbott had said if the takeover proceeded he'd invite Ryan to join the corporate office team to be groomed as management trouble shooter as the success of turning around Maggie's company revealed his finger-prints everywhere. If that posting came about and Maggie was appointed acquisitions director, Ryan would probably take over each acquisition and adapt it to the group's culture. Ryan had made polite noises but he had no intention of working with Australians, at least not people like this mob; he wouldn't be a good fit.

At the apartment he suddenly felt he no longer had the desire to be in the company of Maggie. He suspected it would be a temporary thing but it would be sensible to clear out for a few days instead of rowing with her. He thought of resigning from his job but then decided he was needed as the split over the vote had indicated a split in company loyalty so he'd be needed to help mend fences. Or was that rebuild bridges?

When Maggie didn't appear at work he checked on her schedule with Cathie. He pushed hard but all Cathie would say was Maggie wouldn't be in this week and had asked her to refer any important matter to Ryan. He was impressed at the woman's sense of loyalty and wondered if Maggie appreciated that? Probably not; trust Maggie to have recognized the best PA in the establishment and taking her for herself. That was a bitchy thought, wasn't it? He sighed hoping no-one picked a fight with him as there'd be blood on the floor.

Michelle the graphic artist handed Ryan here new design of the masthead for theEcho – something that incredibly was overlooked in the push to expand its circulation. The updated artwork was excellent but he told her to scrap the new slogan: 'We Service Our Region'.

"Replace it with this, Michelle," he said, scribbling the motto he wanted, 'We Think Small; We Think Local'.

"Are you sure, Ryan," she said uncertainly. "Isn't everyone in power these days attempting to think big?"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean they're right."

"Fine, I'll bring back a proof for you to authorize."

Ryan knew that Michelle lived at home; she's just gained her advance diploma in graphical arts. "Michelle – how many of your family live at home?"

"There are four of us."

"If it were possible, would you double the size of that number?"

"Oh goodness no, we like being a small unit, at least I do. We only have the one bath, so imagine lining up for a bath if there were eight of us."

"Many of us have reason to think small, Michelle."

She looked at the motto. "You're a clever guy, Ryan."

That was a pleasing incident, but Ryan had an uncomfortable day and knew it painfully well; he missed his darling.

During a coffee break Ryan thought about her smile – the special smile she had for him; at least he'd not seen her smile with that soft intensity to anyone else. Their offices were next to each other so they should shout to one another or come together for a quiet chat over coffee, or leave to go to business meetings together. Those times were not always quite because she was rather a rowdy person – full if life, rich in personality. A cardboard cut-out she was not – that was him. He missed hearing her laugh and she was probably missing him. Why the hell had she brought this black cloud over them!

Well, she was to blame and when she was ready to apologize he'd listen and make up his mind when he'd go back to her. He couldn't help grinning; she'd only have to say 'Come' and he'd rush her like a dog called to eat. He loved her, he was so lucky to have her. Then the phone went and his mind was torn away from her; it was back to business.

* * *

At first Maggie suffered horribly, racked with guilt and feeling imprisoned being up so high in the penthouse and alone. She tried watching TV but it was so banal with an intrusive ad about buying a set of kitchen knives that went on forever. It was only 9:30, too early to open the bar she thought and then scolded herself about blatantly intending to break her rule about never drinking alcohol alone. The rule was to help reduce her alcohol intake but the truth was she knew other people had a better sense of when to drink so she was riding on their back, so to speak.

As time dragged on she look at the time and remembered that the two commercial cleaners would arrive in another hour. Enthused about her idea she phoned their office and cancelled them, saying she was not requiring a refund as the cancellation was give late; it was only for this week. Maggie changed into her old gardening shorts – she no longer had a garden but used them to clean her car looking for scratches – and removed her top. Admiring her working woman in the mirror, in barefoot and clad only in shorts and bra – oh, panties of course – she tied a scarf around her hair and dragged out the hose, fitted it into one of the built-in suction outlets, and went to work; soon she was humming.

Harriet came with lunch and left early – a blessing really because she knew when to drink and arrived with a half bottle of divine light-alcohol French wine. Then Maggie was trapped in another depressing vacuum so tried TV again. The only half-decent thing to watch was a cartoon-type program for toddlers, about Mrs Frog telling Mr Frog he couldn't go to the frog games because he had to look after the baby as she was going to mother's club. "Puerile rubbish but beautifully drawn and great facial expressions," Maggie the armchair critic decided. But then realized she was watching an adult-conceived cartoon for young kiddies who were being unknowing immersed in moral teachings hidden under the entertaining story being screened. Mr Frog was loyal but he ended up going to watch the games, taking baby frog with him. A typical male solution, thought Maggie. Oh, they could use their brain when it suited them and she noted with a smile the credits revealed the program had been conceived, written and directed by a woman.

Dinner was hours away. What could she do? She decided to call Lillian Marks for a girl-to-girl chat but switched and phone Beth Trotter instead. She'd lunched a couple of times with Beth whom she met at the blind-date-for-Maggie dinner at Lillian's home and on the second occasion she'd taken her mother along and over the months Harriet and Beth had become friends.

Smart Beth caught the quaver in Maggie's voice and asked if she was all right.

"Not really, but I'll survive."

"Are you not at the office; the background seems awfully quiet."

"No, I'm at home. I was wondering if you had time to talk."

"Um, I'm off to the Pilates studio – I can give you five minutes."

"No, I need longer."

"I'm coming over."

"No you go to that thingy of yours; call here on the way home."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Well bye then, I'll see you in just over an hour."

Five minutes later the door bell went. Through the peep hole Maggie saw it was Beth and opened the door.

"Why are you dressed like that?"

"I was doing the cleaning this morning and thought I would redo it again."

"Look, I have a visitors pass. Put on a T, tracksuit pants and sneakers – I'm taking you to Pilates."

"But..."

"Get dressed please, and hurry. They don't like you being late as it disrupts the rhythm of the class."

In the car Maggie said, "Thanks Beth, I needed saving."

"My God, Maggie, is this you talking, perhaps the most self-contained and assured woman I've ever met? Oh God, it's man trouble isn't it. But have faith; I understand more than eighty percent of them who run off with another woman..."

"It's not like that."

Beth reached for Maggie's hand. "Well leave that until we are sitting in front of the gin bottle, right?"

"What's Pilates?"

"Nice to have you back, Maggie. This afternoon I shall be doing floor-mat routines but the studio offers everything from weights to yoga. Midday through the session the instructress will invite you to go beside me and join in."

"Oh really?"

Beth laughed. "There's no other person I know who can say "Oh really?" with the variations of nuances you can put into saying those two words. Have you trained in theatre?"

"No, and I've never done exercise training before either."

"My girl, I see a whole new world opening up for you. Now this is very, very confidential – you are not to breathe a word, not even in your sleep."

"Okay."

"Promise."

"I promise," said Maggie feeling the anticipation sweeping through her and acknowledged her emotions had returned to her.

"With my total consent, Harriet took Philip away to a resort hotel for three nights and she brought him back a changed man."

"You didn't...you didn't allow your husband to be seduced by my mother. Beth, how could you?"

"Oh they had sex and Philip said she'd amazingly good and he'd been upgrading me on my techniques. But it's what she did to him mentally – she loosely called it 'reprogramming' but told me over lunch when reporting back to me she found very little to reprogram, that my husband's understanding of women was abysmal. For instance, he had no idea I was faking my orgasms just to make him feel better about myself and he had just assumed when he'd finished so had everyone else – I mean so had I."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, and she found he really had no sense of community, that he was just an island to himself."

"My mother said that?"

"Yes but primarily she taught him about how to react to me when I had mood swings – he'd always assumed a clip over the ear or at the very least a growling were needed to sort out that problem. As your mother put it to me, he assumed that women were basically like men but with enlarged breasts and no lower appendage and they didn't much like sport and regarded compulsive talking as an assert rather than being in need of a lobotomy.

"Lobotomy – my mother knows that word."

"Well, I'm not sure she did use it; I was just giving you the gist of what she said."

Maggie digested this and said, "How did you feel when you first met my mother again knowing she'd been repeatedly banging your husband?"

"Well, she was tight on the actual details about that, not even mentioning how many times they did it. But I guess I felt no more upset than when he'd return home smelling of another woman and I guess he felt the same knowing I'd been with another woman. But that's not correct, I felt more at ease, knowing he'd been receiving instruction."

Beth then confessed she appeared no longer interested in woman and had severed the bedtime relationship with her current new friend thought they still lunched together. "I seem satisfied at home now there's sex plus emotion plus tenderness," she said. "Philip's been a good boy and is allowing me to complete his education."

Pilates were an eye-opener for Maggie. She really hadn't been within a bunch of friendly, similar aged women – give or take ten years – since university days and had forgotten how it felt. Everyone greeted Beth with hand waves, huge smiles and a couple kissed her. Everyone seemed so friendly and they all gathered round to be introduced to Maggie, most of them knowing who she was through photographs of her in the social pages of theEcho and two of them had told her they knew she 'owned' theEcho. It astonished Maggie that none of them mentioned the much larger and very profitable commercial printing division.

Opening a new bottle of gin at the apartment, Maggie told Beth the afternoon had been a real bonus for her. She told Beth about the events leading up to the problem, and about the problem herself, but she no longer was desperate for advice. Her mother had already given her guidance and now she really realized she'd been pushed in the direction of finding her own solution. "My mother is really gifted," she said in awe.

"Bottoms up," Beth said lifting her glass.

"Oh really?

They rolled about cackling, trying desperately not to spill their drinks.

TO BE CONTINUED