He's My Husband!

by Lindsay Armstrong

  Nicola took the receiver from her ear and stared at it bemusedly.

  But the next morning she did as he’d said, although she rang Richard and explained how Brett still hadn’t had time to go over the contract and that she didn’t like to sign it until he did.

  ‘But you’ll make a start?’

  ‘I…yes.’ She moved uneasily, because she wasn’t being essentially truthful—the truth being that she would make a start, if only to give herself something to do in case she went round the bend, but she had no idea if she would ever be able to finish it.

  ‘Can I come round?’ Richard asked as the silence lengthened.

  ‘No. I—not while he’s not here, Richard.’

  ‘Have you had a chance to think over what I said?’

  She flinched, because she hadn’t but didn’t want to hurt him. ‘I’m very honoured,’ she said quietly. ‘But—’

  ‘You’re in love with him, aren’t you, Nicola? Whatever has happened in your marriage hasn’t changed that, has it?’

  ‘No—and yes, I am, Richard. If I ever gave you cause to think otherwise, I’m truly sorry.’

  ‘You didn’t—except when you asked me whether I had a wife tucked away down south.’

  ‘That’s what I mean.’ She swallowed.

  ‘I wondered if you were thinking of using me to make him jealous?’

  This is a nightmare, Nicola thought, and could think of not a thing to say.

  ‘I can wait,’ he said then, somewhat wryly. ‘You never know—and I’d hate to lose my clam fountain in the meantime. When he gets back I’ll be in touch.’ The line went dead.

  People seem to be making a habit of hanging up on me, she thought dryly, then frowned as another thought hit her. Surely Marietta could have postponed her departure? She’d been so genuinely anguished not to have been around for Chris, but now this? It didn’t make sense. Unless—had whatever passed between her and Brett been so catastrophic she’d just…run?

  In the event of not being able to understand anything , she took Chris down to the shed in the garden with her—Sasha had gone to school reluctantly—and they spent the morning there. Both the children had always been fascinated by her pottery, and she gave Chris some clay to play with. It kept him happy for hours while she got down to work of a more serious nature.

  In fact, over the next few days her clam fountain proved to be a godsend. It kept her mind off the worst of her problems and gave the children something to occupy them as they got right into the spirit of it, with drawings, suggestions and their own little clay models.

  Brett rang each night, as promised, but she kept their conversations to the basics. Marietta also rang several times, but, whether by design or sheer coincidence, Nicola was either out shopping or in the shower or in the shed for all of these calls.

  Then she woke up one morning and realised her twenty-first birthday was only a day away. How bizarre, she thought. He must have forgotten. They’ve all forgotten. No party, no key of the door, no nothing. Why had he been so insistent about it if he could forget it so easily?

  That evening, long after the children were asleep and Ellen had gone to bed too, she was reading in the lounge with her feet curled under her. There was a lamp on, on the table beside the settee, but the rest of the lounge-dining area was dim and shadowy.

  She’d changed into a loose, silky, full-length robe, navy blue with pink and white birds of paradise on it, and soon she put her book down with a sigh and contemplated the irony that she, who had been rather scathing about twenty-first birthdays, had never felt lonelier and more let down in her life.

  She laid her head back and closed her eyes. She knew what would happen, but couldn’t prevent it. The wings of her mind took her to Brett, in a hotel room, in Brisbane, probably seated at a desk or a table littered with papers, with his tie pulled loose and his shirtsleeves pushed up and that razor-sharp mind preparing tomorrow’s agenda for the case.

  Tired? Possibly. But he had the ability to push himself to the limit, she well knew. Her father had often commented on it. Lonely? Who knew? But, if so, who he was lonely for was another mystery. Marietta? Tara? Me—no, not me, she corrected herself. And I don’t really believe Tara was a serious thing with him now, so…

  Her lashes lifted at a sound, and she sat up suddenly with her heart in her mouth—because there was the outline of a tall figure beyond the circle of lamplight, although she’d heard nothing else in her preoccupation.

  ‘Brett?’ she said, blinking furiously. ‘Is it you or am I dreaming—?’ She broke off abruptly.

  ‘Yes. Dreaming?’ he said, and moved forward so she could see him clearly.

  He wore a grey suit, white shirt and a charcoal tie with gold stripes, and he had a briefcase which he dropped to the floor.

  ‘I…I didn’t hear the car, or the door, and I certainly wasn’t expecting you,’ she said. ‘So that’s why I thought I was dreaming.’ She stopped again, and clasped her hands together.

  ‘You didn’t think I’d forgotten your birthday, Nicola?’ he said dryly, and sat down opposite her.

  She licked her lips, and to gain time and composure studied him. Although he looked well-groomed enough to take his place in a courtroom, there were lines of weariness beside his mouth—and she said the first thing that came to mind. ‘That’s a new tie and suit. At least, I don’t think I’ve ever seen them before.’

  His lips twisted. ‘I left in such a rush, I had to kit myself out in Brisbane.’

  ‘Of course. So it’s over—have they settled out of court or something?’ she asked, wide-eyed.

  ‘No. If anything, they’ve dug in for a long and bitter battle.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ she whispered.

  ‘I’ve replaced myself. With Tara.’ He grimaced

  ‘I wondered why you didn’t do that in the first place,’ Nicola said honestly. ‘Not that I know the finer points of it, or that it’s any of my business—’

  ‘As a matter of fact, it is.’

  Nicola stared at him. He had his arms stretched along the armrests, his legs sprawled out in front of him, and he was beating a little tattoo with the fingers of one hand on the oatmeal linen. He was watching his fingers, with his head inclined downwards and sideways, and once again the lamplight was picking out the chestnut in his brown hair.

  ‘In what way?’ she asked uncertainly.

  He said nothing for a moment, then looked up with something in his hazel eyes that she couldn’t decipher, except to wonder whether she was imagining that it was sheer, self-directed mockery. ‘It was the only way I could devise to…keep my hands off you until your twenty-first birthday, Nicola.’

  Her lips parted incredulously and her heart started to beat heavily. ‘Why?’

  ‘Why?’ A glint of irony lit his eyes and a nerve beat in his jaw. ‘Because none of the strategies I’ve employed over the last two years were the least help once I’d—kissed you. You may remember what happened two days after Marietta got home?‘

  ‘But…’ Her voice failed her.

  ‘Still don’t understand, Nicola? Then I’ll explain. Shades of Richard Holloway,’ he said grimly, ‘but I realised I was in love with you the night I asked you to marry me.’

  She gasped. ‘That can’t be true!’

  ‘Oh, it’s true,’ he murmured.

  ‘But what…but why…?’ Her eyes were huge and dark with incomprehension.

  He laid his head back tiredly. ‘I made a promise to your father when he was dying that I would do my level best to stop you from marrying until you were at least twenty-one. I broke the letter of that promise, but I knew I could never break the spirit of it. Not only on his behalf but on my own—and especially on yours.’

  Nicola was transfixed. ‘He…did that? He didn’t tell me.’

  ‘Naturally not,’ Brett said quietly.

  She bit her lip. ‘You could have told me.’

  He only looked at her.

  She stood up shakily. ‘Brett, if this
is true, do you mean to tell me you’ve…put me through two years of a marriage of convenience just because of a—a date?’

  Something flickered in his eyes. But he said evenly, ‘Not just a date, Nicola. The defining of a period for you to settle after the trauma of his death, to find your feet without being burdened down with loneliness—loneliness that might have caused you to seek solace unwisely.’

  ‘To grow up—you missed that one,’ she said hoarsely.

  He shrugged wearily. ‘Nineteen is not so grown up.’

  ‘But… but once it happened, once you did kiss me…’ she stammered. ‘I was almost twenty-one anyway.’

  ‘And Richard Holloway was on the horizon,’ he pointed out significantly. ‘You were also showing distinct signs of wanting to spread your wings, and that kiss—’

  ‘I know. I started it,’ she said hollowly. ‘But, well, I did start it.’ She gazed at him, willing him to understand why.

  He smiled, but with not much amusement. ‘Prompted by Tara.’

  She sat down again slowly. ‘Let me get this straight. For two years you never gave me one sign of how you felt so you could keep a promise to my father—Brett, that’s…that’s… How did you do it?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, it took more self-control than I thought I was capable of, but there are ways. You just don’t allow yourself to dwell on it. You work like the devil and—’ he shrugged ‘—I’ve had other less than easy periods in my life. This was one more.’

  Nicola was silent, and she was suddenly assailed by the memory that Brett had four younger brothers and sisters, now scattered around the country, all successful, all having fulfilled their mother’s wish before she had died—that they get university degrees—and all given an enormous amount of support by Brett. She remembered what a bitter blow it had been to Brett that their mother shouldn’t have been able to live to see all their success.

  A man of steel, she thought, toughened and hardened by adversity, and a man who honoured his promises—yes, perhaps it was possible that he’d endured two years of living in the same house with her and loving her, but…

  She frowned as an element of doubt plagued her, and something else pricked her consciousness before finding expression—this didn’t have the authentic ring of a happy outcome.

  ‘Well…’ She hesitated. ‘That may be, but now you’re going to tell me you’re going back to Marietta, aren’t you? For Chris and Sasha’s sake? Are you trying to let me down lightly, Brett?’

  He sat up abruptly. ‘No. Nicola—’

  ‘But she wants it. You told me so yourself. And don’t think I couldn’t work it out, with some help from Ellen—’ She stopped, and could have bitten her tongue.

  He said incredulously, ‘Help from Ellen?’

  Nicola sighed. ‘She…it was the only time she ever discussed it with me. Normally she’s the soul of discretion—’

  ‘So why did she change—and when was this?’

  ‘Just before Marietta got home—when Chris broke his leg. She—’ Nicola moved uncomfortably ‘—she’s never forgiven Marietta for deserting them, and she was…annoyed enough about her coming home to “steal the limelight”, as she put it, to dredge up a conversation between you that she’d overheard—or more like a row.’ She shrugged.

  ‘Which one was that?’ he asked wearily.

  Nicola stared at him. ‘Over whose career was the more important, when she said…if you’d only give her five years, she’d be anything you wanted her to be,’ she said bleakly.

  ‘That was—’

  ‘Brett, no.’ Nicola sat forward intently. ‘Don’t you see how it all fits in? It suited her to have you married to me. It took care of the kids, took care of me—and it kept you out of other women’s clutches. Why do you think she took such an instantaneous dislike to Tara? Tell me I’m wrong, Brett.’

  ‘You’re not wrong. But that was never my plan, Nicola.’

  ‘What about her plans?’ she whispered. ‘You just said I wasn’t wrong. And Ellen thought that Marietta never believed you would do it—divorce her. On top of that, I’m quite sure she only brought Ralph home to make you jealous. She wouldn’t let him sleep with her.’

  He raised a wry eyebrow and was silent for a moment. Then he said, ‘Perhaps. And for what it’s worth, Nicola, she was spurred on by you yourself. She couldn’t believe you could be so complacent about Tara, for one thing—’

  ‘Complacent!’ Nicola echoed incredulously.

  ‘She did only see you together once—that night—the only time she saw Tara, for that matter, but she marvelled at how composed you were. And for another thing you seemed so determined to throw us together and get rid of the toy boy. She knows you well, and she said to me, “You haven’t done it, have you, Brett? I’ll bet she’s still as pure as she was the day you married her.”’

  Nicola swallowed.

  ‘But the thing was, she’d completely miscalculated the reason why I hadn’t done it. Nicola, I told you once how it happened between Marietta and me—’

  ‘You told me so rd not make a fuss about Tara—oh, hell!’ She rubbed her face agitatedly. ‘But what was I supposed to think? You’d never talked about it before. Then this strange woman waltzed in and virtually took over! I know you’ve always denied it, but how could you not have known Tara was—smitten?’ she said bitterly.

  ‘Tara never had anything to do with—anything. All right, yes, I knew,’ he said, and grimaced. ‘I couldn’t help wondering whether it would make you jealous.

  ‘But,’ he went on, when she could only open her mouth soundlessly, ‘the only reason I told you the absolute truth about how whatever it was I’d felt for Marietta had literally burnt itself out was because this day was approaching, and I needed you to understand what you’d never understood before.’

  Nicola licked her lips and swallowed. ‘So…?’

  ‘So you would be able to believe me when I told you why I asked you to marry me.’ He paused, then went on, ‘I can remember it so clearly—the dress you were wearing, with little pearl buttons down the front, how blue your eyes were, how clean and shining your hair was, how unhappy you were. And I knew in a flash that I wanted you, needed you and loved you—because you were not only unique to me but simply unique. It was as if you were a part of me, but not a child any longer. I wanted you,’ he said barely audibly, ‘in the most desperate way a man can want a woman.’

  ‘Brett,’ she whispered.

  ‘Wait,’ he said gently. ‘So I did the only thing I could without breaking the spirit of my promise to your father—and that was bad enough. And, although you may never know how much it cost, I tried to give you a happy, comfortable life, untouched by any of the—darker, deeper side of things that you seemed not to be remotely interested in anyway.’

  ‘Until I grew up,’ she said, and felt a tear drop onto her hand.

  ‘Yes. Then, just when I thought I was getting into the home straight—just when I was beginning to wonder whether underneath that exterior which was always determined to give me as good as you got—’ his lips twisted ‘—there might be more—you suddenly became determined to leave me.’

  ‘I—’

  ‘Let me finish, Nicola. I began to think that what I might have done was smother you with the children and actually slow down the process rather than the opposite. Was I right?’

  ‘Do you mean…?’

  ‘I mean, on top of the sudden desire to leave and the general discontent, there was Richard Holloway.’

  Her throat worked, then she slipped off the chair suddenly and came to sit at his feet. ‘Richard Holloway,’ she said, ‘was the Reverend Callam’s invention, not mine. And Richard knows now what happened.’

  Brett frowned down at her. ‘The marriage counsellor—with the un-Christian notions?’

  ‘Yes. You see, when I went to see him—the Reverend, that is—he was…he couldn’t agree that I should give up on this marriage without one last…test. He said there was a tried and tested way of gettin
g a man to reveal himself in these matters and that was to make him jealous. Poor Richard simply happened to be on the spot when I still had that advice on my mind.’

  ‘Make me jealous? Is that what he suggested?’ he said slowly. ‘Why would he suggest that?’

  Nicola smiled at him through her tears. ‘I told him the only reason I’d agreed to this marriage of convenience in the first place was because I was in love with you and I’d hoped to be able to take Marietta’s place in your heart. But that I’d had almost two years to find out that it was never going to happen and I couldn’t…live with it any longer.’

  ‘Nicola, you may have thought that,’ he said with an effort, ‘but the last time I kissed you it was a different matter, wasn’t it?’

  ‘No—you must have a short memory, Brett.’

  ‘On the contrary, I have the clearest recollection of how you looked—horrified.’

  ‘That was…that was after I realised Marietta and the children had arrived, Brett, and I thought you were using me for several reasons.’

  ‘What reasons?’ he said, on a suddenly indrawn breath.

  ‘To prove to Marietta you’d got over her—because what was between the two of you was much too dangerous. Much simpler to be married to me, because I fitted the bill in every way and would never provoke those dangerous emotions in you.’

  ‘Dangerous?’

  ‘Brett, don’t you remember? That very morning you’d been to see someone in the watch-house who had almost shot his wife.’

  ‘Oh that. Yes, I remember, but—’

  ‘You said—“Who knows what we’re really like under the surface?” I thought you meant that underneath you could be in trouble with what you felt for Marietta—especially since she’d taken to parading a toy boy in front of you.’

  ‘I…’ Some the lines eased beside his mouth and he took her hand. ‘I was in trouble, Nicola, but only because I was very tempted to…pick you up and run. off with you. Away from Marietta and her machinations and her toy boys, and even from her children.’