Seven Point Eight The First Chronicle - By Marie A. Harbon Page 0,56
He’d never needed to in the past, as all his protégés and women had done as they were told. Tahra was different though. She wasn’t afraid of him, she wasn’t besotted by him. Maybe that excited him, and maybe that scared him too. With trepidation, he began to wonder what the hell he’d got himself into. It was beginning to look as if he’d opened Pandora’s Box.
***
The next day, Tahra heard a knock at her door, the key turned in the lock and Max entered. He looked a lot calmer and found her feeling rather depressed.
“Have you made your decision?” he asked, with a cool and rather arrogant demeanour.
She gave him a stare of resentment.
“Yes.”
“Have you realised the futility of your interest in modelling?”
“I’ve realised the futility in thinking you care about what I want,” she answered.
Max sighed.
“Have I got to lock the door again?”
“No,” she said, face deadpan, “I’ll ring him.”
He looked unsure if he could trust her but nevertheless, she followed him downstairs to the office, where he showed her to the phone. Max sat in the chair while Tahra dialled Malcolm’s number. She felt sick with remorse as she told him the bad news.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t model for you anymore.”
After a long silence, Malcolm responded.
“What do you mean by ‘can’t’?”
“I…have other commitments and responsibilities.”
At that point she started to cry, despite her urge to suppress the tears and she sobbed into the phone. Max looked on nonchalantly.
“What’s wrong?” Malcolm enquired. “You’ve got me really worried now.”
“I just don’t have any choice at the moment, it’s not my decision to make.”
“Of course it’s your decision, you’re a grown woman.” The concern in his voice sounded genuine. “Tell me what’s wrong, please.”
“I can’t tell you,” she sobbed.
“Tahra, hold on, I’m coming over.”
“No, no, please….”
He’d already hung up. Tahra didn’t say anything to Max. They just stared at each other; she through her tears and he with a sternness that disturbed her.
“Are you happy now that you’ve ruined my life?” she said, with scorn.
“I think the term is ‘saved it’. As I said, you relinquished your choices when you came here.”
Miss Tynedale entered the office at that point, and offered a total lack of sympathy. In fact, she’d alerted Max the day Tahra stumbled in drunk. It turned out that the night she tripped up the stairs, Miss Tynedale awoke, fearing a burglar and just caught sight of Tahra in her dress as she staggered into her room. She knew of Tahra’s hangover and had phoned Max in the States. He’d responded by flying back to London the following day.
“Tahra,” Max said, “you’re going to have to accept a few home truths. What you’re doing here is vitally important, too significant to throw away on a modelling contract.”
“Did it occur to you that I wanted to see the world?”
She’d stopped sobbing but still wiped the tears away from her eyes.
Max sighed.
“A strange thing to escape the lips of a very talented remote viewer.”
She sniffled, crestfallen then told Max exactly what she felt about him.
“I hate you.”
The words were toxic to him. She saw him swallow hard and a look of panic briefly flickered across his face, but then he brushed it aside, leaving the office in silence. Tahra wandered into the communal living area, slumped in a chair and stared out of the window, wondering what could have been. Max returned to his office for a short while, shuffling papers and preparing to get back to business as usual.
Half an hour later, she heard a knock at the door and because Max lingered in the hallway at that moment, he answered it. Tahra watched from the doorway of the living area.
“Hello, Tahra lives here, doesn’t she?”
Malcolm had remained true to his word and come to her aid. Tahra was touched by this and stepped into the hallway.
“I’m here,” she said.
He saw her, face still tearful and stepped inside, much to the chagrin of Max. Looking around the hallway of The Institute, he wondered what on Earth this place was.
“You all right?” he asked, moving towards her.
She couldn’t answer and he put his arms around her. Max stepped forward, anger rising again.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“What have you done to her?” Malcolm demanded of Max, who tried to contain his indignation.
“Merely told her the truth.”
Malcolm looked exasperated.
“What is this place?”
“I can’t tell you,” she replied.
“Why? I don’t understand.”
Malcolm looked at her, finding a tearful silence then he looked at Max, accusingly.