I excuse myself as early as possible, pleading how busy I am with work for my exhibition, which opens in a few days. Harry walks me to the elevator, his arm draped affectionately across my shoulders.
“I’m sorry we won’t be able to make it to the opening of your exhibition.” He seems genuinely disappointed. “But the partners’ dinner has been in everyone’s diary for months. Still, Stella and I will call in over the weekend. We might be lucky enough to pick up something if it hasn’t all been sold.” The lift doors open. “Don’t be a stranger.”
“Thank you, Harry, for everything. I enjoyed working with you all so much.” I give Harry a tight hug, and then I’m in the lift, feeling like there’s a good chance I’ve left a large part of my heart behind.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Nick
ThefourdaysIspent in Melbourne seemed endless. Despite the twelve-hour days, there was a constant emptiness where Lulu belonged. But what made the whole trip a nightmare, made my blood run cold, was when she blindsided me with the suggestion we end things. I all but hung up in her ear. But my stomach was bottoming out, and I needed to get off that call and gather my thoughts. When it comes to legal matters, I have no trouble thinking on my feet, but hearing Lulu float the idea of ending things? I needed a plan.
When I arrive back in Sydney, things are tense. It all starts to make sense when she tells me she heard my mother’s comments. It was pretty clear my mother came to the office that day on a fact-finding mission. At the time, I was grateful there was no sign of Lulu. I thought I had dodged that bullet. Turns out I hadn’t.
The timing of all this couldn’t have been worse given my trip to Melbourne, and the fact I can’t go to her exhibition. It seems like things are all going belly up at once. What hurts is she didn’t trust me enough to call and ask me to explain. How she imagines I could be thinking about anyone else is beyond me.
I try to make it clear I’m invested in the relationship—because that’s what this is—without freaking her out. Lulu is clearly on edge, and I’m reluctant to push too hard. I know she’s under a lot of pressure and doesn’t need me to add to it by asking for things she’s not ready to give. Because she’s sticking to the ‘no-strings’ story, despite her freak out over Eleanor. Years of working in the law has taught me when to advance and when to wait things out. I know we can’t go on like this forever, but if we can get through the next couple of weeks, we’ll have the headspace to sort it out. It’s a band aid on a gaping wound, but somehow we muddle through the next few days.
It occurs to me her mood changed after our conversation about me going to the opening of her exhibition, but there’s no chance of me getting out of the partners’ dinner. Or maybe it’s because I hadn’t invited her to the dinner. I did consider it. But as the widow of the managing partner, my mother will be there. And given the way Mum is behaving at present, I don’t want them anywhere near each other. Especially when things are not settled between us. It was a stroke of luck the dinner clashed with the exhibition. Problem solved. Or so I thought. Now I’m not so sure.
On Lulu’s last day in the office, Harry puts on a cocktail party for the staff and makes a gushing speech about the hard work Lulu has done. Her cheeks are pink, and she seems delighted, but she also appears tired. She’s been running herself ragged the last few weeks. Honestly, I’ll be relieved when her exhibition opening is over and we can sit down and have an honest conversation about us.
As Buddha said—resistance to change is painful. I’ve been torturing myself by resisting the inevitability of a future with Lulu since the moment we first met, but if my four days in Melbourne and our first argument have taught me anything, it’s that I don’t want to be without her. At all. Ever. Because being without her, even for a few days, bled all the colour out of my world.
I need to find a way to make this work—awful partners’ wives, manipulative mother and all. I know it’s selfish, but I can no longer imagine a life without her. She brings a joy and warmth to my life that I didn’t even know I needed. I’ve changed, thanks to Lulu, and I don’t want to go back to the old me.
We were both clear at the outset we weren’t interested in a relationship, but I feel like that idea is a long way behind us in the rear-view mirror. For me, at least. And sometimes I catch Lulu looking at me in a way that suggests perhaps it is for her too. I certainly hope so. If not, I have some serious work ahead of me because I’m not walking away from her without a fight.
Her exhibition opening is on a Thursday night, so I book us a romantic getaway to the Southern Highlands for the weekend. Complete with massages, a spa bath and dinner at a two-hatted restaurant. I’ll lay all my cards on the table then and hope she does too.
I leave the farewell party half an hour after Lulu. I’d intended to leave straight away, but was cornered by the most boring of partners and couldn’t get away. Letting myself into her loft with the key she shyly gave me weeks ago, I expect to find her watching television or painting, but all the lights are out except for the bedside lamp. Lulu is curled on her side, her Kindle clutched in one hand, sound asleep. With the way the light is hitting her face, I can see the shadows under her eyes. It should feel creepy watching her sleep, but instead, it feels like, in this moment, everything is right with the world. I’m right where I was always meant to be.
I undress quietly, turn off the light, put her Kindle on the bedside table, and slip into bed beside her, even though it’s not much past ten pm. Lulu sighs as she squirms back against me and I wrap an arm across her body, taking her hand in mine and burying my face in the wildflower hair I adore.
“I love you,” I whisper, even though I know she’s too sound asleep to hear me. Those words have been circling in my head for a while now. It feels good to have said them out loud. I can’t wait to be able to say them when she can hear them.
* * *
Over the next few days, Lulu becomes increasingly exhausted, and it’s no wonder since she’s working furiously to finish everything for the opening. I wish there was something I could do to help, but other than making sure she eats a decent dinner and trying to coax her to bed at a reasonable hour, there’s not much I can do. Her appetite seems to have vanished along with her energy, and I find myself worrying about her to the point I order food to be delivered in the middle of the day in the hope she’ll eat.
She’s a little crabby too. No. Not a little. Quite a lot. It’s not directed at me, though, but at herself. Every one of the paintings she was previously happy with comes in for criticism. I’m grateful for Sebastian, the gallery owner, who calls in to collect the paintings she’s still fussing over. They have a tussle over whether they’re ready, but he insists if they aren’t photographed ‘tomorrow, my darling’ they won’t make it into the catalogue, which was due at the printers yesterday. I’m glad to see the paintings go. The less work she has around her, the less likely she is to stress over whether it’s good enough.
The series of paintings she did after our weekend on the boat are breathtaking, but neither Sebastian nor I can seem to find enough superlatives to convince her of their worthiness, although his enthusiasm can sometimes coax her out of her anxiety. I understand why she’s fretting. For Lulu, this exhibition is about establishing herself in her own right. We haven’t discussed it much, but I understand her father is also an artist, and she wants to stand on her own, not ride on his coat-tails. If anyone understands the need to prove yourself worthy to your father, it’s me.
I couldn’t be prouder of her. She puts her heart and soul into everything she does. She’s talented and professional and determined, and those qualities shine so brightly that I can’t believe it took me so long to recognise them. Somehow, someway, I will find a way to have her in my life. And if it means turning mine upside down or reinventing myself to do it, then so be it. Claire’s right—it’s my life and it’s time I started making choices based on my happiness.
“Are you putting our painting in the exhibition?” I ask—bravely, I think—one evening as she fusses over a painting she picked up from the framers today. She had been unhappy with the frame and insisted on having it redone, even though it had already been photographed.
“No.” Well, that told me. I can’t help but feel relieved. I would never ask her not to include it, but for me, it’s an intensely private and special piece. If she had included it, I would have called Sebastian and arranged to purchase it before the opening because there’s no way it wouldn’t have sold. And there’s no way it should belong to anyone else.
Taking my life into my own hands, I continue. “Why not?”
“Because …” She sighs, closing her eyes and scrunching up her face as if in pain. “Because it’s personal. Private. And it doesn’t fit with the rest of the body of work.”
I kiss her forehead, hope blooming in my belly. “Would you like me to make you a cup of tea?”
It seems coffee has gone out of favour, and just as well since the last thing she needs is to be any more strung-out. I can’t help but smile as I remember our conversation at lunch the day she took the job at CPM. I get it now.
As I boil the kettle, it occurs to me I have never had the urge to take care of someone the way I do with Lulu. Well, apart from Claire, I guess. If I didn’t already know how much Lulu meant to me, this would be a dead giveaway. A cup of tea seems such an inadequate thing to do for someone who has taken me over, body and soul.
