Yesterday's Husband

by Angela Devine

  ‘All right, Richard,’ she said evenly. ‘You’ve made it clear what you want. Now it’s my turn to state my demands. I am not a whore. I’m your wife. But if you can’t accord me the respect and love that should go with that position, at the very least there is something else that I demand from you.’

  ‘What’s that?’ growled Richard suspiciously.

  Emma flashed him a bitter smile.

  ‘Common courtesy,’ she replied. ‘Whether we’re alone or in public, from now on you treat me with as much courtesy as if I’m an honoured guest. Otherwise I’ll walk out, bargain or no bargain. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Perfectly clear,’ sneered Richard. ‘You’ve come on a lot, Emma, since the days when you were a bashful teenager. I must say I find it hard not to admire you.’

  ‘Try,’ invited Emma coolly. ‘I don’t want your admiration, Richard. Just simple good manners. Now, do we have a deal or not?’

  He gave her a long, hard look that was compounded of resentment and a reluctantly dawning amusement. Then unexpectedly he offered her a formal handshake.

  ‘I suppose we do,’ he agreed.

  Yet it wasn’t a complete victory for Emma, since Richard’s notion of courtesy and hers seemed to be poles apart. On the drive to the airport he remained silent and uncommunicative and even on the flight back to Australia there was no improvement in his temper. Whenever Emma spoke to him, he either ignored her or snapped her head off. At last, feeling hurt and infuriated, she was driven to raise the difficult topic of what they were to do when they reached Sydney.

  ‘Look, I think it would be best if I just took a taxi from the airport to my place when we arrive. I know you said we should stay together but I—’

  She got no further.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ retorted Richard. ‘You’ll come to my house as we agreed, so there’s no more to be said. In any case, I’ve already arranged for Amanda to move your belongings there and meet us with a car when we arrive.’

  An inexplicable feeling of apprehension gripped her.

  ‘Who’s Amanda?’ she asked.

  Emma found out the answer to that question when they arrived at Sydney Airport. A tall, blonde woman of about thirty in an expensive and deceptively simple cream linen dress came gliding across to meet them with a welcoming smile pinned to her lips. Close up, Emma saw that her hair was cut rather short and spiky in a fashionably aggressive style and that her blue eyes were shrewd and assessing.

  ‘Hello, Richard,’ she said in a husky contralto. ‘Did you have a good trip?’

  ‘Very nice,’ confirmed Richard non-committally. ‘Amanda, I don’t believe you’ve met my wife Emma. Emma, this is Amanda Morris—a lawyer with my firm.’

  Emma thought she saw Amanda flinch briefly at the mention of the word ‘wife’, but her smile was pleasant, although it did not touch her blue eyes.

  ‘How do you do, Emma?’

  ‘Hello,’ said Emma uncomfortably.

  Amanda looked fresh and crisp and elegant, the wellcut dress showing off her deep suntan and her face carefully made up. In contrast Emma suddenly felt more crumpled and sweaty and travel-stained than ever. She was not feeling well either, although it was probably just jet-lag—long flights always did upset her—so she didn’t protest when Amanda simply took over the organisation of everything. And she had to admit that Amanda was efficient. Within five minutes of leaving the main terminus building they were ensconced in a large white limousine with their baggage stowed in the boot.

  ‘You might be more comfortable in the back, Emma,’ said Amanda, opening the door for her. ‘You’ll have more room in there. And I’m afraid I’m going to have to talk shop with Richard on the way.’

  What she was saying was reasonable enough, but Emma could not help feeling a spurt of annoyance as she was bundled into the back like a piece of extra luggage, while Richard climbed into the front next to Amanda. The young woman drove fast and skilfully, but she seemed to have the capacity to do two things equally well at the same time. As the streets of Sydney flashed past them, the talk flew backwards and forwards between Richard and Amanda of a new shopping centre in the outer suburbs, a hitch in the exchange of contracts and a possible need for expensive litigation. Emma leaned back in her seat and shuddered. She was perfectly well-qualified to join in the discussion herself, having attended countless board meetings on similar topics, but she simply couldn’t be bothered. At this moment business was the last thing on her mind. What was making her stomach churn nervously was pure and simple worry about her relationship with Richard.

  Deep down she still felt stubbornly convinced that the old, familiar fires of love raged in both of them. That last night in Bali she had been certain that Richard loved her as passionately as ever. Not that he had told her so in words, but how often had Richard ever done that? His spoken admissions of love had never been anything but rare and grudging, as if torn out of him by forces beyond his control. Yet there were other ways of communicating than by mere words. And the way Richard had hauled her so violently against him, the fierce, intent light in his eyes when he’d gazed at her, the urgent pressure of his lips and hands had all told her in their own secret way that he still loved her. Which had made it all the more of a shock to be woken the next day to meet with hostility and sarcasm.

  Emma grimaced, recalling the scene. Could she possibly have been wrong? What if Richard didn’t love her any more and his own explanation was the simple truth? Could he really be so vindictive as to seduce her purely for revenge? And did he seriously expect her to go and live with him for the next three months? Would he stick to his agreement to treat her politely or would he go back to hurling cruel, unfounded insults at her? And what was his relationship with Amanda? Was she only his employee? Or did she mean more to him than that?

  It was a relief when at last the car turned into a driveway of a Mediterranean-style villa set in an acre of gardens overlooking the harbour. Through a tangled wilderness of overgrown trees, bushes and flowering plants Emma caught tantalising glimpses of a large house with pumpkin-coloured stucco walls, green shutters and an orange pantile roof. The gravel driveway was overgrown in places with weeds, but to Emma’s experienced eye it was immediately clear that the garden had once been beautiful and cherished. Palm trees stood like architectural columns amid a lawn of buffalo grass whose centrepiece was a stone fountain with a statuette of a boy and a dolphin in the centre, although weeds choked the dry pool beneath. Pale blue plumbago flowers rioted in a sort of hedge along one boundary of the lawn, while the air was sweet with the fragrance of numerous frangipani bushes. Fortunately, at least while Amanda was with them, Richard seemed to be mindful of his promise about courtesy.

  ‘It’s gone to seed a bit,’ he remarked, twisting in his seat to look at Emma. ‘So I thought you might like to advise me on restoring it and also find a suitable place for those Balinese garden statues we bought. There’s a conservatory too at the back of the house overlooking the harbour. Half the glass panes are smashed but they could be fixed up. Maybe you can organise some tradesmen to tackle it.’

  Emma was silent for a moment, chewing her lip. It made her feel deeply uncomfortable to have Richard trying to draw her into his plans for restoring the house and garden, especially when she knew they were only going to have three months together. Was it just some malicious game he was playing with her? Or did he really want to involve her in his life? She longed to demand the truth from him but felt constrained by Amanda’s presence in the car. Instead she fell back on safe, neutral ground.

  ‘How long have you owned the house?’ she asked.

  ‘Only three months. It was a deceased’s estate. An old lady lived here and she was too feeble to keep the place up near the end. But I think once it’s restored it will be a fine home.’

  Emma couldn’t help agreeing with this assessment when Richard led her inside the house. The interior had the same air of rather shabby grandeur as the garden. A huge
chandelier lit the vast, mosaic-tiled entrance hall and a marble staircase with black wrought-iron banisters led to the storey upstairs. But the cream, embossed wallpaper had large patches of damp and was torn in places while the air held the stale, musty scent of long disuse. Richard dumped their suitcases unceremoniously on the floor in front of an ornate, carved Italian credenza topped by a flamboyant, gilt-edged mirror. Then he turned to Amanda.

  ‘Thanks for meeting us at the airport,’ he said pleasantly. ‘I guess it’s time you got back to the office now, though.’

  ‘I can stay if there’s anything else you need done,’ offered Amanda.

  ‘No, that’s all right,’ replied Richard, smiling in a way that made his eyes crinkle at the edges. ‘You’ve done far too much for us already.’

  Emma felt a pang of jealousy as fierce as the stabbing of a knife at the look Amanda gave him at these words. She’s in love with him, she thought. It’s written all over her. But what does he feel for her? As the door closed behind the other woman, Emma tried to hide her misgivings. If Richard really was in love with Amanda, Emma knew she would be a fool to give free rein to her own feelings for him. Their reunion in Bali had shown her vividly that their sexual passion still blazed as fiercely as ever, but she was no longer a nineteen-year-old bride. These days she wasn’t fool enough to think that love and sex were the only keys needed for a happy marriage. All the love and sex in the world wouldn’t save her from heartbreak if she still couldn’t trust Richard. And was it really likely that she could? She thought again of the look that had passed between Richard and Amanda and a mounting sense of uneasiness rose inside her.

  ‘How will she get back to the office?’ she asked abruptly.

  ‘Well, she left her own car here,’ replied Richard. ‘She often does. Now, do you want to look around the house?’

  ‘Not right now,’ protested Emma. ‘What I’d really like at the moment is a shower and a cup of tea.’

  Richard nodded. His earlier surliness in Bali and on the flight home had vanished. Yet in its place there was now an elaborate courtesy in his manner which she found equally off-putting. It was as if he had finally subjugated his hatred for her and could now view her quite calmly as if she were nothing but a temporary guest. But the thought didn’t bring her much comfort. Damn it! She didn’t want to be treated as if she were a business acquaintance. She was his wife, not a visitor! And if it took one of their rip-roaring, tumultuous quarrelscomplete with upraised voices, slammed doors and swinging picture frames—to break down the barriers between them, then so be it. For an instant she yearned with all her heart for the old, familiar Richard, raging from room to room like an angry bear. Then her eyes met his and the hope died. An awful, twisting misery gripped Emma’s stomach as she realised she was staring at a total stranger. Someone who happened to share her husband’s tousled, blond curls, vivid blue eyes and towering physique, but who looked at her with an indifference that was wholly alien.

  ‘Come upstairs and I’ll show you the bedroom,’ he invited. ‘At least that’s been renovated. That and the kitchen were the first things I tackled.’

  Emma followed him up the stairs to a vast bedroom overlooking the harbour which was shrouded in neartotal darkness. Crossing the room, he opened internal wooden shutters then glass French doors and finally long, external wooden shutters which he hitched back on a balcony outside. A flood of sunshine and fresh air swept into the room and Emma saw that it had indeed been renovated. The walls were covered with a white, embossed wallpaper, while the thick green carpet underfoot was as soft and luxurious as a bed of moss. Yet it was the bed which dominated the whole room. It was a huge mahogany edifice surmounted by a corona of green and white striped material attached to the ceiling and sweeping out to form graceful folds on each side. The bedspread was covered in a Chinese silk fabric luxuriant with colourful birds and flowers and a small, inviting sofa in one corner of the room with a scattering of cushions repeated the same motif. Other than that, there were spacious mahogany wardrobes, bedside tables, and twin carved chests of drawers. Richard opened a concealed door in one wall, revealing a large bathroom decorated in green and white marble with gold taps.

  ‘There you are,’ he said blandly. ‘Take as long as you like in the shower and come down and join me for a cup of tea when you’re ready. The kitchen is the second door on the right when you come off the stairs.’

  Too weary to argue, Emma waited until Richard had left the room, then dropped her handbag on the huge bed, peeled off her clothes and made her way into the bathroom. For five blissful, luxurious minutes she stood under a warm shower, sluicing away all the stickiness of her journey and giving up any effort to think. When she emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a huge, fluffy white towel a practical problem immediately assaulted her. What on earth was she to wear? Hesitantly she pulled open a drawer and was both relieved and annoyed to find that it was full of familiar garments. Her own clothes brought from her house in Rose Bay while she was away in Bali! How had Richard contrived that? He must have phoned Miss Matty and arranged for the clothes to be delivered. But did he honestly think he could simply hijack her entire lifestyle and reshape it to suit himself? Yes, obviously he did!

  Smouldering with resentment, Emma pulled on a lightweight green knitted suit and ten minutes later arrived in the kitchen downstairs. There was no sign of Richard, but the air was filled with the fragrance of percolated coffee. Opening another set of French doors, she went out on to a brick-paved terrace and found her quarry. Against the backdrop of the blue, sparkling waters of the harbour Richard was laying a table for two.

  ‘Sit down,’ he urged, pulling out a bamboo chair for her. ‘I can offer you tea or coffee, Scottish shortbread and Dutch apple cake with cream.’

  Emma’s eyes widened as she sat down.

  ‘How on earth did you organise all this?’ she asked, her annoyance giving way to a reluctant appreciation.

  But his reply destroyed all her pleasure.

  ‘I told Amanda to buy the apple cake and cream this morning. She already had the shortbread in the house. She always keeps it here.’

  Emma stiffened at this reply. So Amanda was so much at home in Richard’s house that she even kept her own food there, was she?

  ‘I thought she was a lawyer, not a general dogsbody,’ she remarked tartly.

  Richard raised one eyebrow lazily at the snappishness of her tone.

  ‘She is,’ he replied. ‘And an excellent one. Shrewd, resourceful and always determined to win. But she’s also very obliging. She would do anything for me.’

  I’ll bet she would, thought Emma sourly. Including jumping into bed with you if you simply snapped your fingers. Or has she done that already? A wave of possessive jealousy scorched through her and she gazed at Richard resentfully while he continued cutting the apple cake and fiddling with plates and forks.

  ‘Oh, no cream,’ urged Emma as his hand moved to the bowl.

  Richard frowned.

  ‘Don’t you eat it any more?’ he asked. ‘You used to love it.’

  Emma pulled a face.

  ‘I still do, normally, but I feel rather queasy today. It’s probably jet-lag.’

  ‘Probably,’ agreed Richard. ‘You always did suffer rather from travel sickness, didn’t you? Well why don’t you lie down and have a rest after you’ve finished your tea? I have to go into the office and see Amanda again, so you just make yourself at home.’

  As she sat sipping her tea and nibbling her shortbread, Emma’s thoughts raced. She couldn’t help reflecting on how weird it was. After all, she was his wife, so why should Richard need to urge her to make herself at home? That was something you said to outsiders, to people who didn’t belong to a household. Anyone who did belong wouldn’t need to be told. But if Richard only saw her as some kind of rather unimportant visitor then why go through with this charade of bringing her back as his wife? Could anyone really want revenge so badly that he would use a woman sexually
for three months and then casually dismiss her like an unsatisfactory housekeeper at the end of her contract? She thought of Richard’s granite profile on the flight home from Bali and shuddered. Yes, he could. And no doubt the way she had responded to him at Air Panas had simply fuelled his satisfaction with the cruel game he was playing. A hot wave of humiliation flooded through her at the thought of what she had said to him. What a fool she had been, babbling about love! Well, in future she would guard her dignity more fiercely. Abruptly she pushed her plate away, wishing that this ordeal were over. Rising to her feet, she gave Richard a bleak smile.

  ‘Thank you for the tea,’ she said firmly, like a child taking her leave at a birthday party. ‘I think I’ll go upstairs and rest now.’

  ‘Just as you like.’

  Fifteen minutes later, lying on one side of the huge king-sized bed, she heard Richard’s car accelerating noisily up the driveway. Closing her eyes, she turned her face into the pillow and groaned.

  When she awoke several hours later, she found the room filled with the soft apricot glow of the bedside lamps. Richard had just sat down on the bed beside her, making the mattress plunge beneath her, which was what had caused her to wake.

  ‘Are you feeling better now?’ he asked. ‘I’ve ordered in some dinner if you’re hungry.’

  Emma yawned and sat up, pushing her tumbled hair out of her eyes. In spite of her resolve to keep him at arm’s length, her heart gave a small, treacherous leap of pleasure at the sight of his concerned face looking down at her.

  ‘Yes, much better, thank you,’ she said, blinking. ‘I’l come down.’

  Before they ate Richard took her on a tour of the house, showing her every detail of its vast, echoing rooms, its Italian chandeliers and ornate plasterwork, its antiquated plumbing and wiring. Emma could not suppress a little thrill of excitement, wishing with all her heart that they really were planning to embark on redecorating this beautiful old home together. As it was, she felt that she was an outsider who did not belong. So when at last Richard asked her how she liked the place her reply lacked any enthusiasm.