Our farewells with my parents were guarded and brittle. I hugged my mother and whispered, "I love you," in her ear. She hugged me hard, desperately, before letting me go. My father and I shook hands without saying anything, our eyes avoiding each other's.
Clara air-kissed Michael, dancing away from his clutching hands. "Goodbye, Mother, thank you for having us." Without kissing or hugging her she went and stood at the passenger door waiting for me to open it for her, her handbag held in both hands in front of her, her chin out, her nose up in the air.
I checked the car hatch was closed where I had loaded the cases, then went to the driver's side and climbed in, closed the door and started the car. Michael and Nellie stood looking at her. I put the car into reverse and started moving, then stopped. With a small squeal Clara jumped backwards, scrabbled for the door handle and fell in, all attempts at elegance forgotten as I reversed.
"You..."
"Shut up! Do you hear me? Just shut up!" I glanced at her. There were bright red spots on her cheeks as she slammed the door and put on her seatbelt. Not one word was said all the way to Port Elizabeth. At the airport I returned the car, fetched a trolley, loaded the cases and walked to the terminal building ignoring Clara completely.
There was a long queue at the check-in. When we finally reached the counter I placed the cases onto the scale, one at a time. "You're overweight," the check-in lady said.
"How much?"
"Fifteen kilos."
"No, I meant how much will it cost?" I asked.
The lady punched some buttons, "That'll be four hundred and twenty Rand."
"My wife will pay," I said loudly, looking away into the distance.
Next to me Clara started to say something. I interrupted, "It's your baggage, you pay!"
The check-in lady looked from one to the other of us, then said, "I think I can let this one slide." She looked down at her screen and asked, "Can I seat you on either side of the aisle? There don't seem to be any seats together." She did not look up.
Gratefully I looked at her; well, I looked at the top of her head, "Thank you. You are very kind." Her eyes flicked up then returned to the screen. The boarding cards printed and she stuck the baggage labels onto the cases. She handed the boarding cards over without the usual string of questions about sharp objects, explosives etcetera.
I thanked her again, handed Clara her pass and walked away. I was so angry with her that I could not look at her, be with her. I went through security, then to the restaurant where I ordered a glass of red wine.
I did not see Clara again until we were on board the plane; I was seated first and watched as she approached, her makeup bag in her hand. She was reading the seat numbers as she walked. When she reached her seat she stood there looking around. The man in the seat behind hers stood up and asked whether he could place her bag in the overhead compartment. "Thank you!" she said breathily, her nose in the air. I smiled to myself.
The three weeks that followed were difficult to say the least. I moved into the spare bedroom, we started living completely separate lives
On Monday evening, twenty two days after our return, when I got home from the office, I found that there were candles lit in the dining room, flowers on the table. There was a delicious smell coming from the kitchen, soft music playing. I kicked my shoes off and looked around; I hardly recognized the place. Everything was in place, neat and tidy. During the previous weeks I had not made any effort to tidy up after myself, and Clara certainly never cleaned up after her! That was for servants.
I walked into the kitchen; Clara was standing at the stove stirring a pot with her back to me. I was shocked! This was the first time I had ever seen her cook anything. She had not heard me enter. I looked at her; she was wearing a little black dress I had never seen before; short, tight fitting, sexy. She had on a red apron that seemed to go with the dress.
I did not want to give her a fright and have her burn herself or something, so I retreated to the front entrance of our apartment and made a noise opening and closing the door. I picked up my shoes and dropped them; they clattered on the floor.
Clara emerged from the kitchen, removing the apron. Without saying a word she walked up to me and put her arms around me, snuggling against me, molding her body to mine. You could have knocked me down with a feather! "I've been thinking," she started, "It's ridiculous that we're living this way. You're always at the office or in your studio. I stay away to avoid seeing you. I think we need to make an effort, a new start; try and make things work. Besides, I miss this." Her hand snaked between us and she softly caressed my cock.
My heart sank! What now? She had never missed sex; not with me anyway. Maybe she missed teasing me, but that's not what I thought she meant.
I had been without sex for three weeks and my body responded despite myself. "I can feel you've missed it too," she whispered seductively. "Go and take a shower, then we can have a little drinkypoo and then some dinner. And then... and then who knows what?" She simpered. Alarm bells were loud in my ears.
It is not in my nature to be hurtful or vindictive and I had spent the last three weeks examining my conduct towards Clara and was feeling desperately guilty. I went and showered, brushed my teeth, then pulled on a loose track suit.
When I returned to the dining room Clara had poured two glasses of wine, white for her, red for me. "Sit down, I'll serve you from the kitchen." She disappeared through the door and I heard pots rattling, cutlery. "I hope you're hungry," she called.
She returned with two plates, one piled high with food, the other with a Spartan helping. We ate in silence for a while; the food was delicious and I wondered where she had procured it. In all the time I had known her I had never seen her do anything in the kitchen besides open a can or make a cup of coffee or tea. I said, "This is a surprise. Hidden talents."
She fluttered her eyelids at me, "There's lots about me you don't know," she said in her baby voice. I shuddered faintly feeling like vomiting. "It's time you found out..."
The dinner passed smoothly, it was almost like our early dating days where I had hung on every word she uttered. Now I mistrusted everything she said, looking for flaws, lies, inconsistencies. Surely a person cannot change that much overnight? Perhaps she was a witch.
Clara kept my wineglass topped up while pretending to drink from hers. Sweets was ice cream with some kind of liqueur poured over it. When the plates had been cleared away she said, "Go and sit in the lounge. Can I bring you a cognac?"
"I don't think we have any."
"I bought some today. Would you like some?" She asked, eyebrows raised.
