He's My Husband!

by Lindsay Armstrong

  Just pure man scent, I guess, she thought, with a touch of clean cotton from his T-shirt. Do I have a pure woman scent? she wondered. Or has it been drowned beneath shampoo, conditioner and scented soap? What would it be like to lie on a bed with him? Her thoughts ran on, down a familiar path. To be undressed and to feel his hands run over my skin, to be made love to…

  ‘Nicola?’

  She blinked. ‘Yes?’

  ‘What were you thinking?’

  ‘Nothing much,’ she answered slowly.

  ‘It didn’t look like it.’

  Don’t blush, she warned herself, and shrugged slightly—a delicate disclaimer.

  But their gazes locked—she found she couldn’t look away as his eyes probed the depths of hers. ‘You looked,’ he said, ‘surprised and—assessing.’

  ‘I did?’

  ‘But not unpleasantly surprised. And thoughtful as well.’

  She moved at last, and he took his hand away from her neck but kept her within the circle of his arms. ‘That’s quite a combination of looks,’ she said wryly, but her heart was beating strangely, and she was very much afraid he would see it in the pulse at the base of her throat.

  But he said easily, ‘Going to tell me?’

  She chewed her lip. ‘No.’

  ‘So it’s something else I don’t need to worry about?’

  ‘No. I mean, no, you don’t have to worry,’

  He raised an amused eyebrow. ‘I’d still rather know.’

  ‘Brett, don’t be difficult,’ she protested. ‘It…wasn’t anything much.’

  ‘All the more reason not to want to hide it from me,’ he countered mildly but he tilted his chin that Sasha had inherited.

  She clicked her tongue frustratedly. ‘You’re impossible. All right, but don’t blame me if you don’t like it I was wondering—just as a natural impulse—what it would be like if we…made love, that’s all.’

  ‘All?’

  ‘Well—’ she tilted her own chin ‘—it was something you yourself suggested only the day before yesterday, and this is a…a fairly intimate position to be in with you, I guess—that’s why it came to mind. If men can be men, girls probably have the same prob-She moved unhappily and wished she had Sasha to cuddle, but Sasha had obviously been reassured by her mother, which led Nicola to think of Marietta, and that tense little stand-off between her and Tara.

  Why would two women take such a dislike to each other on sight? There had to be a common denominator and it had to be Brett, didn’t it? she asked herself. She was quite sure in her own mind that Tara had divined the state of their marriage somehow, be it gossip, rumour or whatever, and had her own agenda in mind for Brett. Was that what Marietta had divined? And, if so, did she resent it on Nicola’s behalf… or on her own?

  She turned over, then sat up and pulled her pillow into her arms as another scenario took shape in her mind. Assuming Marietta had known all along that this was a marriage of convenience, did it suit her own ends, if she had plans to try to win Brett back after five years? Had she seen it as a way of keeping him free from other women, of ensuring the children were happy? And just possibly, knowing Marietta, Nicola thought with some wryness, as a way of keeping me out of harm’s way?

  But what about this boyfriend? A double-barrelled attempt to get Brett back? Make him jealous in other words?

  Oh, no! Dear Reverend Callam, if only you knew what a can of worms you opened up. Well, is it any wonder I can’t think straight?

  She couldn’t help thinking with some irony that it was an uncomfortable household she was mistress of the next morning.

  lem sometimes—don’t say it,‘ she warned, unable to stern the flood of colour that came to her cheeks this time, although her eyes were sapphire-blue and imperious.

  ‘How the hell do you know what I was going to say?’ he asked roughly.

  ‘I’m sure I’ve heard it before.’ She gazed at him defiantly. “‘Don’t be childish, Nicola.” Or that other gem—“You’re testing your powers of attraction, Nicola!’”

  He released her abruptly. ‘And you don’t think it’s either of those things?’

  ‘I think,’ she said, with a great effort at control, although her heart was hurting, ‘that you shouldn’t put me in these unfilial positions with you when all you see yourself as is standing in for my father.’

  He swore, and she took a step backwards at the blazing, almost murderous expression in his eyes and the hard, white line of his mouth. ‘You seem to forget who started this,’ he ground out, then swung on his heel and walked out.

  Nicola stared at the door and put her hands to her mouth. What have I done? she asked herself, and sank down onto the ruby couch. But isn’t it true? Even if I did start it? Why, oh, why, did I ever…?

  It was a long time before she fell asleep. Not only because she felt thoroughly miserable, and as if she’d destroyed something precious, but also confused. How could he not know how she felt in his arms? Did he really feel absolutely nothing himself, and—if so—why accuse her of having started it—started what? A purely physical reaction in a man who felt nothing more for her?

  Brett was cooler than she’d ever known him, and she couldn’t help flinching and feeling chilled to the bone on the odd occasions when his inscrutable hazel gaze fell on her. The children picked up these vibes unerringly, and were correspondingly difficult. Chris demanded to know how he was going to be able to do anything with this horrible thing on his leg, and Sasha decided she had to wear her favourite dress for Mummy and her visitor.

  ‘You can’t, darling. Remember you spilt raspberry cordial all down the front? Well, we couldn’t get the stain out, I’m afraid.’

  Sasha burst into tears.

  ‘Don’t be such a baby, Sasha,’ Brett said coldly. ‘You have a million other dresses to wear.’

  ‘But I like that dress, and Mummy sent it to me from America,’ Sasha wept.

  ‘I’m sure she’ll understand,’ Nicola said soothingly.

  ‘Why do girls make such a fuss about clothes?’ Chris asked disdainfully. ‘Just be happy you don’t have to wear this!’ He tapped his cast. ‘Then you’d really have something to cry about.’

  ‘I hate you, Chris,’ Sasha panted, scarlet in the face. ‘I—’

  ‘That’ll do,’ Brett ordered, and wheeled Chris out of the room. ‘I expect to see you dressed and ready in ten minutes—in whatever Nicola decides you should wear, Sash,’ he added over his shoulder.

  ‘Why’s Daddy being so horrible this morning?’ Sasha asked tearfully, and clutched Nicola’s hand.

  Not sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry, Nicola made a sudden decision—she just didn’t have the moral fortitude to endure the rest of this day. She helped Sasha choose another dress, then took her into her own bedroom where she cajoled the little girl into a better humour by spraying some perfume on her, tucking one of her own lace-edged hankies into her pocket and tying back her red-brown curls with one of her own ribbons. But she also picked up her bag on the way out.

  ‘Going somewhere?’ Brett asked curtly as she delivered Sasha to the den, where he was playing cards with Chris.

  ‘Yes. I don’t think you’ll need me today,’ she murmured.

  ‘Where?’

  Nicola glanced at him briefly. ‘Just out. I’ll be home for dinner. Now, Sasha and Chris, Mummy will be here soon, and in the meantime I want you to be especially nice to Daddy—see if you can get him in better mood!’ And she kissed their heads, shot Brett a faintly malicious little look and left before anyone could protest.

  But it was a long, lonely day.

  She went to the Pier Markets and spent an hour browsing through the second-hand bookstalls, bumping into a couple of Brett’s clients, who expressed surprise that she should be on her own. She explained, with a feeling of discomfort, that she was just having a day out. Then she decided to see a movie, but that still left her with several hours to kill.

  She thought longingly of her flying lessons, but her in
structor was still away on holiday. She called to see a girlfriend, but she was out.

  She had a Vienna coffee at a café overlooking the Marlin Marina, and waved hello to two lawyers from another firm as she watched the cruise and dive boats coming back from Green Island, Fitzroy, Michaelmas Cay and Arlington Reef. And finally, as the sun slipped down the sky, she drove home.

  The house seemed to be unnaturally quiet as she put her key into the front door, although Brett’s car was in the garage.

  ‘Ellen?’ she called tentatively, and remembered that it was Saturday and Ellen’s afternoon off.

  Then she jumped as Brett appeared soundlessly in the lounge doorway. He was barefoot and wearing only shorts. ‘Oh! I thought there was no one here.’

  ‘There isn’t, apart from me.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Where are they?’

  ‘Gone to spend the night with Marietta.’

  ‘But…but…’

  ‘They’ll be fine. In fact, in all the turmoil, we forgot that we needed a babysitter tonight.’

  Nicola blinked, and realised he must have just had a swim or a shower. His hair was wet and droplets gleamed on his shoulders. ‘A…? Oh, no! The law society ball! I did forget. But surely we won’t go.’

  He propped his shoulders against the doorframe. ‘Not if we were worried about Chris, but he’s perfectly happy to spend the night with his mother.’

  Nicola hesitated, then walked into the kitchen, where she dropped her bag onto the island counter beside the chrysanthemum, and poured herself a glass of water.

  Brett followed her. ‘Can you think of any other reason for us not to go?’

  Nicola didn’t turn immediately, because this was the same hard, cool Brett of the morning and she had no idea how to deal with him.

  She drew a breath, swallowed, and swung round. ‘A couple,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t feel like going to a ball tonight, and I don’t feel that there’s any point in us going as Mr and Mrs Harcourt because I’m quite sure I couldn’t hold up my end of this…farce. I’m equally sure you either hate me, actively dislike me or thoroughly disapprove of me—all ingredients for an unpleasant evening, don’t you agree?’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ he said curtly. ‘So get your glad rags out, Nicola, because we are going.’

  She gasped. ‘You can’t make me, Brett. Go on your own, if you’re so set on it. Make some excuse for me—say I’m sick—or go with Tara! I’m sure she’d be delighted.’

  ‘Nicola.’ He closed in on her. ‘These continual and childish references to Tara don’t become you. It so happens I have to go because I’m delivering the address. It’s also too late to prevent there being an embarrassing gap at my side, and because my ex-wife happens to be in town it could cause talk and speculation. Particularly if you’ve been drifting around town on your own all day. Don’t forget,’ he said sardonically, ‘this place is not that big.’

  It hit home like an arrow as she recalled the clients she’d bumped into earlier, and the two lawyers. All the same, she said tautly, with her face pale and furious, ‘Do you think I care, Brett? Actually, if you like I’ll go and babysit your children—after all, a babysitter is all I am really—why don’t you take your ex-wife!’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he said scathingly. ‘She’s the last person on earth I’d take.’

  Nicola opened her mouth and closed it abruptly as a medley of confused thoughts ran through her mind—what had happened here today? Something that had prompted this? Something to do with Marietta and her boyfriend? Did Brett need to make some kind of a statement to the world tonight? But…

  She looked up into his eyes, but all she could see was a kind of tough determination. Her shoulders slumped and she said tonelessly, ‘All right. What time?’

  ‘Seven. We’ll leave here at half past six. That—’ he glanced at his watch ‘—gives you an hour. Long enough?’

  ‘Yes, Brett.’ She marched away.

  There were several suitable gowns hanging in her walk-in wardrobe—the law society ball was a very formal, black tie function—and her hand hovered before she drew out one. But it was still a race against time as she painted her nails, showered and dealt with her hair and make-up. And it was with a buzzing mind that she got through it all, because something told her that things had gone wrong—more wrong than they’d been before, if that was possible.

  But finally she stepped out of her bedroom and found Brett on the terrace, consulting his watch. It was six-thirty on the dot.

  ‘Well?’ she said. ‘I’m here.’

  He turned slowly and studied her critically. The pool lights were on and the barbecue pavilion was lit up. The dress was candy-floss pink and covered in sequins, which reflected the soft lighting. It clung to her figure, had a low back and was supported by two narrow straps. Her sandals were high, silver and also sequinned, and her purse was silver mesh. She wore her pearl bracelet, her hair was swept up in a pleat and she had on a pair of square pearl drop-earrings.

  ‘I see you’re not taking Chris’s advice tonight,’ he murmured at last.

  ‘No.’

  ‘On the other hand, he didn’t get it quite right. You look lovely, if a little severe.’

  ‘That could be because I feel a little severe. Shall we get this over and done with?’ She turned to go in.

  ‘Nicola.’

  She set her lips and turned back. In a black dinner suit, with a snow-white starched shirt-front and black tie, Brett Harcourt was a commanding figure, enough to make her heart jolt, but she refused to allow her expression to change.

  He smiled unexpectedly. ‘I wasn’t being critical.’

  She shrugged, then blinked as lightning lit the sky and a faint rumble of thunder made itself heard.

  ‘We might need an umbrella,’ he added, after a moment, and raised a hand to fiddle with the shoulder strap of her gown.

  She looked away and didn’t see the frown in his eyes as they rested on her. She was too conscious of the suddenly electric tension the feel of his fingers on her skin was producing in her, so that her heart started to beat oddly and her pulses raced. But she forced herself to breathe deeply, and when she raised her eyes to his, they were noncommittal.

  His lips twisted. ‘Well, it will do the garden good.’

  ‘Yes.’

  He took his hand away and bowed for her to precede him with a faintly sardonic gleam in his eye. She walked through the house to the garage to find that the BMW already had its hood up, and she got in, handling her skirt carefully. It was a completely silent drive into town and the new Convention Centre.

  ‘Hello, Tara,’ she said about an hour later, when they’d sat down to dinner. Tara was at their table. She was with another lawyer from Hinton, Harcourt, but it was obvious the pairing was only to make the numbers even. Tara glowed in a filmy, layered chartreuse gown.

  ‘How’s Chris?’ she asked immediately.

  ‘A little disturbed about how he’s going to do anything with that horrible thing on his leg.’ Nicola smiled ruefully and sipped champagne.

  ‘I’m surprised you came tonight,’ Tara said. ‘I thought you might have had your hands full.’

  Nicola considered that and discovered she was suddenly impervious to this woman’s needling—or whatever it was. ‘Thanks for your concern, but Marietta’s taken over,’ she said easily. ‘I love your gown, by the way. Did you get it in Cairns?’

  Tara looked vaguely taken aback by the genuineness of Nicola’s tone, and Brett, who had sat silent through this exchange, flicked his wife a sudden glance.

  ‘No, Brisbane,’ Tara said. ‘I was going to say the same of yours,’ she added somewhat lamely.

  ‘Thanks.’ Nicola took another sip of champagne and turned to Brett as the band started to play. ‘Shall we dance, darling?’

  ‘If…you want to be the first on the floor,’ he responded with a narrow little look.

  ‘Why not? Oh, and it’s a samba! We do that rather well together, don’t we?’

&n
bsp; He hesitated for a moment, then pushed back his chair.

  They did it so well together they were the cynosure of all eyes as her dress shimmered under the lights and her natural sense of rhythm gave her fluency and grace. The band was obviously delighted, so they prolonged the number.

  ‘What are you doing, Nicola?’ Brett said as they came together—and parted.

  ‘What you wanted me to do,’ she answered as they came together—and parted.

  ‘As in making a spectacle of us?’

  ‘Not at all.’ But she glanced up at him over her shoulder, as he put his hands round her waist from behind her, to see that he was looking down at her enigmatically.

  She returned his look with a mysterious little one of her own. Then she spun away with the music and said whimsically when they came together again, ‘Don’t worry, I won’t attack you and kiss you! I’m just allaying all talk and speculation, and any embarrassment for you. Besides,’ she added honestly, ‘I just love to samba—and you were the one who taught me, Brett!’

  He said no more, and they finally left the floor to a storm of applause.

  ‘My dear Nicola.’ It was Rod Mason, who took her hand, then enveloped her in a bear hug. ‘You are a thing of joy and beauty to watch!’ He released her and turned to Brett. ‘You’re a lucky dog, old man!’

  ‘Don’t I know it,’ Brett replied, and if there was a faint undercurrent in his voice only Nicola seemed to notice it.

  ‘Never mind, darling, I’ll behave myself from now on,’ she said to him, and patted his lapel.

  ‘You must admit,’ he said sotto voce, as they started on their entrée, ‘that this mood is a little different from the one you left home in.’

  ‘I’m probably being childish—well, girlish.’ She smiled at him. ‘Or just plain naughty?’ she added as an afterthought.

  ‘Determined to fling all my sins in my face?’ he said dryly.

  ‘You were the one who insisted I come. But before this degenerates into a slanging match,’ she responded swiftly, ‘and undoes all the good I’ve done—although I have no real idea why I had to do it—you should have the next dance with Tara.’