An Unsuitable Wife

by Lindsay Armstrong

  He shrugged and looked amused. ‘Why don’t you test it out, then?’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Just leave your hair the way it is, for starters. Try not to be too serious when you’re around boys-—it might help to sound a little less learned—I’ve already mentioned your clothes, and if you could relax, who knows?’ He turned away and reached for the oil.

  Sidonie stared at his back and was possessed of the strangest impulse, which manifested itself in what she said. ‘At twenty-three aren’t I bit grown-up for boys?’

  ‘You look about sixteen at the moment,’ he said drily.

  She bit her lip. ‘Well… but the problem of being too serious and learned-sounding—might that not appeal to older men?’

  He turned back and looked more amused. ‘Once again, who knows?’

  ‘How old are you, Mike?’ The words were out before she could stop them and once out the implication was deafening and she blushed vividly but being Sidonie immediately attempted some rationalisation.

  ‘I mean, as an older man yourself, do you find me boring and too learned? I just thought it might give me some sort of guide. However else it may have sounded,’ she said lamely, and not entirely honestly, she realised.

  The amusement left. his eyes; she saw it go and flinched inwardly. Yet he said normally, even whimsically, ‘Definitely an older man; I’m thirty-six …’ he paused ‘… and too old for you, friend Sid.’ But he held her grey gaze in a level look for a moment before gently prising the knife out of her fingers and briskly slicing the last potato into chips.

  She took a breath then said with all the hauteur she could muster, ‘That could be a matter of opinion too–speaking purely academically.’

  He was unmoved. ‘So it could. Speaking generally as well, but not in this case.’

  She couldn’t help the slightly crestfallen look that came to her eyes but if he noted it he made no comment as he put the chips in the hot oil.

  And all she could think of to say was, ‘I see.’ But then she leant her chin on her hands thoughtfully, looking genuinely puzzled, and said, ‘If I were to assure you I had no designs on you at all—which shouldn’t be that hard to believe after the way I carried on a few days ago—could we continue this discussion on an academic level?’

  An unwilling smile twisted his lips and he murmured, ‘The mind boggles but I have no doubt you’re going to pursue it to the death so I guess I have little choice. What is it you’d like to know, Miss Hill?’

  She tried to marshal her thoughts into order as her father had always trained her to do when confronting a scientific problem and said at last, ‘Well. If as you said I’m not quite the rather ordinary, plain person I took myself for, does it mean you have a preference for tall, statuesque brunettes?’

  ‘Not necessarily. It merely means, and you should understand this, Sid—’ he glinted a blue glance at her ‘—that there has to be a certain kind of chemistry between a man and a woman that’s a subtle, mysterious thing and is the reason why a man will fall in love with one girl and not ten others who may be equally as beautiful if not more so. And vice versa.’ He laid the fillets of sweetlip carefully into the pan.

  Sidonie grimaced. Then she said carefully, ‘Point taken. On the other hand it crossed my mind to wonder if there wasn’t more to it in your case. And by that I mean, on the scale of averages, most men of your age are either married or have been married.’

  ‘True,’ he conceded, quite unperturbed. ‘But I can assure you that I’m perfectly normal.’

  Sidonie’s lips parted and her eyes widened. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean that,’ she said flusteredly. ‘I was thinking more along the lines of some deep unhappiness associated with falling in love that had come your way.’

  ‘Sidonie …’ he stopped what he was doing to look levelly across at her ‘… that is the kind of daydream impressionable sixteen-year-old girls are notorious for indulging in.’

  A wave of colour stained her cheeks as their gazes held and for one horrifying moment she wondered if he was right. Then her natural obstinacy reasserted itself, although, obliquely, and she shrugged her slim shoulders gently and said wryly, ‘Oh, well, I’ve told you all about me, I thought you might like to tell me a bit about you, that’s all. But naturally I’ll respect your wish for privacy. Would you like me to do the salad?’

  For a moment he returned her innocent gaze then he muttered inaudibly beneath; his breath and said, ‘No. Come and watch the fish and observe the temperature I’m cooking the chips at, but promise me one thing—you won’t ever attempt to cook chips on your own. That way you could burn the boat down.’

  The fish was delicious but dinner was a slightly strained affair until Sidonie said, ‘I’m sorry Mike.’

  He lifted an eyebrow at her and looked sceptical,

  ‘No, I am. Could I explain to you what really made me so maddeningly inquisitive?’

  He sighed. ‘Do you have to?’

  ‘I think so. I don’t like to think we’re not friends now so I’ve turned it all over in my mind and decided it’s probably only human nature of the feminine variety to feel a bit piqued when you receive a compliment such as you gave me but nevertheless delivered in such a completely disinterested as well as uninterested way.’

  ‘I see,’ he said gravely.

  ‘But my ego has recovered, I—’

  ‘Do assure me,’ he broke in solemnly but she could see the glint of laughter in his eyes.

  ‘Yes.’ And she smiled wonderfully at him with both relief and gratitude in her eyes. ‘Can we be friends again?’

  ‘I don’t see why not.’

  They remained friends for about a day and a half but it was a growing cause of concern for Sidonie that, while what she’d told him about feeling piqued was undoubtedly true, what she’d told him about her ego being recovered was not. Added to this she became more and more curious about him and vaguely aware that there was a lot to Mike Brennan that absolutely intrigued her and reinforced her feeling that there might be some mystery about him too. Because, although he was mostly an easy person to live with, there were times when she got the feeling that he withdrew totally. And there were times when she watched him handle the boat or the sails and knew not only that he was a master mariner but kept feeling there had to be more to him; . . Why? she wondered several times. And answered herself, Well, perhaps it is because he’s such a master mariner yet it’s in a very educated way; he’s so scientific about the weather and navigation and a lot of other things—-maybe he was in the navy once? Then one afternoon she saw him watch a plane fly over them towards Hamilton Island, and got the strangest feeling he knew all about it too.

  So it was safe to say, she became quite puzzled and concerned, and finally in a way that hit her rather like a sledgehammer despite making him even angrier, if anything, than he’d been over her failed dinner.

  CHAPTER THREE

  IT STARTED out as beautiful day and they had a glorious sail and then about mid-afternoon dropped anchor for the night at Nara Inlet, a long finger of turquoise water surrounded by the steep, tree-clad cliffs of Hook Island and echoing with birdsong.

  ‘We can do one of two things,’ Mike Brennan said. ‘Go ashore—there’s a good walk and some Aboriginal cave paintings-—or we can have a swim.’

  Sidonie’s eyes lit up. ‘Why don’t we do both?’

  ‘You’re very energetic, Sid,’ he said, glinting her a lazy smile.

  ‘I love exploring.’

  ‘I might have known. OK, get some exploring gear on. We’ll swim when we get back.’

  The walk was wonderful, although steep and rock-strewn. Sidonie wore one of her two pairs of shorts, navy blue, with one of her new T-shirts, bright yellow, and her hair bundled into her floppy white hat. As a precaution, Mike insisted she smother herself with insect repellent although he didn’t bother himself, and after they’d landed he found her a sturdy stick just in case of snakes.

  ‘I feel like—Dr Livingstone,’ she confided.
<
br />   ‘Then I suppose I’m Mr Stanley.’

  She looked him up and down; he had on khaki shorts, old sandshoes, a much washed khaki shirt and his red bandanna. ‘You look ‘much more like the a descendant of an Apache chief; however, lead on, Mr Stanley, sir!’

  He did, with a lightning grin—and was able to demonstrate quite an amazing knowledge of the local flora; he pointed out to her Hoop pines, Pandanus palms and much more as they climbed steadily. And every now and then as the path strayed towards the edge of the cliff they got a bird’s-eye view of Morning Mist anchored in the waters below.

  They had a break at the cave with the Aboriginal paintings and Sidonie was entranced. It was more an overhang of rock than a cave, fenced off and with a boardwalk erected. It was cool and dim beneath the rock and as she stared at each little image scratched into the surface and faintly coloured with pigments made from berries and the earth she got a feeling of timelessness that stayed with her for the rest of the walk.

  ‘You’re quiet, Sid,’ he said when they stopped in the rocky bed of a dried-up waterfall.

  She looked around at the hot, silent bush and said intensely, ‘I’m feeling. And I think it’s an experience I’ll treasure forever.’

  He squatted down and rinsed his hands in one of the few pools of water left. ‘Want to share it?’

  She sat down on a smooth boulder. ‘This land is so old, isn’t it? That’s what I’m feeling, an ancient, timeless sort of… looking back. This is the kind of place that really steeps you in it—do you feel that?’

  He took a moment to reply, then, ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself; yes, I do. It happens to me every time I come here.’

  ‘I’m so glad,’ she said simply. ‘It makes it even more—significant—oh!’ She jumped as a sulphur-crested cockatoo erupted out of a tree, squawking stridently.

  Mike Brennan laughed and held down his hand to her. ‘Noisy devils, aren’t they? I think we’ve come as far as we can go—shall we get back for that swim?’

  Back in her cabin, Sidonie considered two things—the fact that she couldn’t swim properly and the fact that this was the occasion she’d purchased not one but two bikinis for. She’d been turning over in her mind for the last couple of days whether to tell him about her lack of aquatic ability in case the need should ever arise but had balked at the thought of exposing yet. another deficiency. She had hoped that the gentle. few strokes of dog paddle she was capable of would take care of all such cooling-off occasions as might arise.

  It now struck her that it wasn’t that simple off the back of a yacht and this was demonstrated further as the boat rocked and water splashed, indicating that Mike had just dived into the lovely waters of Nara Inlet.

  She swallowed then stood up determinedly. She was hot and dusty but faint heart had never won anything and she donned the red bikini, glanced at herself briefly, raised a surprised eyebrow because she didn’t look too bad, and went aloft.

  All that was to be seen of Mike was a dark head bobbing in the water some distance away and she thought, Good, I can get this over and done with before he comes back. So she climbed down the metal stern ladder that was riveted to the boat, discovered herself still a foot above the water, hesitated poised with one foot and one hand off the ladder, but the decision was taken literally out of her hands as a powerful dinghy shot past, throwing up a wake that rocked Morning Mist and caused her out of surprise to lose her single hand-hold and topple into the water.

  I don’t believe this but I’m drowning, was the next coherent thought that came to her as she entered a green-filtered world, rose to the surface once, choking and coughing, only to sink again with the awful feeling that the water was actually pressing her down and she’d never see the light of day again. But only moments later, although her lungs felt like bursting, a pair of strong arms gathered her up and she and Mike Brennan broke the surface together.

  ‘You idiot,’ he yelled right into her ear, ‘what the hell are you doing? Trying to drown yourself?’

  She coughed and retched. ‘No. But I,can’t swim…’ And she slumped against him.

  She had vague recollections after that of him slinging her over his shoulder in a fireman’s grip, somehow climbing the ladder with her and depositing her on the deck then bending over her and applying mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said groggily after a few minutes. ‘I don’t think I swallowed any. Thank you very much’

  ‘You blasted, bloody little fool,’ he broke in, sitting back on his heels. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t swim?’

  ‘I can swim a bit—’

  ‘For that matter, why did you ever come on a trip like this, let alone ever set foot on a yacht, if you can’t swim?’

  She sat up and rubbed her hair out of her face. ‘Lots of people do that. I read somewhere about an Americas Cup skipper who couldn’t swim——’

  ‘Forget him,’ he said savagely. ‘Who was the idiot who taught you to sail but not to swim?’

  Sidonie swallowed. ‘My father.’

  ‘So that’s where you get it all from!’ He glared at her.

  ‘Some of it,’ she conceded miserably. ‘He wasn’t a very practical person. But you see, back home, it’s invariably too cold to swim anyway and I always wore a life jacket when I was sailing——’

  Mike Brennan swore comprehensively and at length, and all on the subject of her, until, although with tears in her eyes, she could take it no longer.

  She said, when there was a break, ‘Anyway, Mr Brennan, it’s probably not a lot of help to one to be able to swim, if you’re ditched in the middle of the Pacific. As for your theory about only swimmers setting foot aboard boats, have you considered that everyone who boards a plane can’t fly?’

  There was a taut, crackling silence and for a terrified moment she thought he was going to strike her, such was the anger in his eyes. And in her fright the tears overflowed and she whispered desperately, ‘I’m sorry…’ and started to shake.

  Mike Brennan compressed his mouth into a hard line then swore again, but much less virulently, and he stood up in one lithe movement and picked her up in his arms.

  Two minutes later he had her down in the main cabin; he’d wrapped her in a big towel and was sitting with her in his lap with his arms around her. ‘It’s all right,’ he said quietly. ‘You didn’t drown but you gave me an awful fright because I thought you had.’

  ‘I feel such a fool,’ she said through chattering teeth.

  ‘Well, I can’t say its entirely unwarranted—to simply plunge off the boat like that was taking a huge risk, but-’

  ‘I didn’t do it quite like that.’

  ‘Sidonie,’ he warned.

  ‘No, please let me tell you. All I was hoping to do was dip myself in and hold on to the bottom rung of the ladder if I could but when that dinghy came past I lost my grip and fell, you see.’

  She felt a jolt of laughter beneath her cheek as it lay on his chest. He also said, ‘You aren’t exactly endowed‘ with luck either, are you?’

  ‘Not a lot.’ And she began to shake again.

  He grimaced above her head and gathered her closer, and said nothing for about five minutes until the spasm passed. Then he said, ‘How would it be if I made us some really exotic cocktails like Mai Tais and we took them up on deck and saluted the sunset over this ancient, timeless place? Do you think you’re up to that?’

  Sidonie moved her cheek against his chest, closed her eyes and was hit by the knowledge that she could die quite easily for Mike Brennan, that she’d passed from liking him to loving him, that she’d be content to experience the lovely feeling of being in his arms forever, that he thrilled her in way she’d never been thrilled before just to watch him move and to feel his strength—and all this without knowing a thing about him other than that, for her, he was all she needed to feel happy and safe.

  Her lashes fluttered then she sat up abruptly and launched into speech. ‘One good thing about me, despit
e my horrific luck, is that I always bounce back. I’d love that. I’ll just put a shirt on.’

  But he held her back with his hands about her waist. ‘Sure?’ he queried. ‘I mean that you’re feeling OK now.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure,’ she said huskily but gathered the towel closer in case, he could see the way her heart was beating beneath her bikini-top.

  He let her go but with a faint frown in his eyes and she climbed off his lap. He said after a moment, ‘Meet you on the bridge in a few minutes, then, First Mate Hill.’

  ‘Aye, aye, skipper!’ And she. sketched a salute.

  She put her other new T-shirt on, brushed her hair, stared into her eyes in the mirror, observed the slightly stunned look in them and turned away to take several deep breaths.

  The Mai Tais were delicious, the sunset spectacular and their conversation desultory and mainly concerned with the other boats arriving in Nara to anchor for the night. Then Mike’s eyes narrowed as a sleek fly-bridge cruiser with Moonshine painted on it in big bold letters nosed past them and several persons could be seen waving energetically.

  ‘Hell,’ he said, waving back.

  ‘Friends of yours?’ Sidonie enquired.

  ‘Mmm. Very noisy, excitable and social friends. I was hoping to avoid them.’

  ‘They must be strange friends if you’d rather avoid them,’ she commented.

  ‘Oh——’ he looked wry ‘—at the right time and place they’re OK. You’ll no doubt meet them tomorrow.’

  ‘You don’t have to include me.’

  ‘All the same I’m going to. There’s only one way to; deal with Tim Molloy and that’s get it over and done with. I’ll ask them over for a barbecue lunch. That might just stave off being invaded by them tonight. You don’t look up to that.’

  ‘I’m fine really but—’ Sidonie looked doubtful and realised at the same moment that she was bone-weary.

  ‘I thought so,’ he murmured, getting up. ‘I’ll radio them and tell them we aren’t receiving visitors.’

  Sidonie felt herself colour. ‘Could you…not. tell them why?’