Wife to a Stranger

by Clair, Daphne

  ‘Are you bored?’ she asked him anxiously. ‘I’m sorry—do you want to go?’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head and gave her a rather quizzical look. ‘No, I’m enjoying watching you. It’s as if it’s all new to you. Or you’re seeing it through different eyes.’

  ‘It is new. I mean, it seems new. So I suppose I am. Isn’t this beautiful?’ She looked up at him, her hand still on the label as she stood against the branches with their fragile blooms.

  His eyes seemed to glaze as he looked at her, and an almost wistful expression crossed his face. Without moving his gaze from her he said quietly, ‘Yes, very beautiful.’

  The moment seemed to stretch, the chatter and clattering crockery from the café, the crunch of feet on the gravel paths receding, so she heard only the sound of a bird’s trill somewhere nearby, and her own quickened breath.

  Rolfe reached up a hand and she felt his fingers in her hair, then he took it away as another couple came down the path towards them, and she saw that he held one of the blossoms from the tree on his palm. It must have fallen on her hair. The other couple reached them, Rolfe moved aside to let them pass, and the moment shattered as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

  When they finally left Capri was carrying a terracotta pot holding a miniature rosebush with dusky dark-pink blooms.

  ‘I’ll take it,’ he offered.

  ‘No, it’s not heavy. Thank you, Rolfe.’ She bent to sniff at the spicy-sweet perfume. ‘It’s lovely.’

  ‘I could see you were taken with it.’ She had been admiring it when he picked it up and took it to the counter.

  ‘Have you always spoiled me like this?’ She smiled up at him.

  He looked almost bemused, staring back at her. ‘I don’t think you thought I was spoiling you. You weren’t always so…’

  ‘So—what?’ she asked when he paused there.

  ‘So…easily pleased,’ he said slowly.

  Had she been very demanding before? ‘I might have died in that crash,’ she said soberly. ‘I suppose it’s given me a different outlook on life.’

  ‘I suppose it would,’ he agreed, his glance speculative. ‘They say near-death experiences alter people profoundly.’

  Rolfe returned to his study, and Capri tried the potted rose in different spots on the patio, finally settling it against one side of the archway outside the main room. Perhaps she’d buy another to match.

  At a loose end after that, she wandered into what she couldn’t help thinking of as the sewing room. Poking about rather aimlessly, she found a sketchpad and pencils, and a box full of pastels. The pad was hardly used, only the first two pages carrying some unfinished fashion sketches.

  Ripping out the pages, she left them, taking the pad with her to the patio. Picking up the rose in its pot, she placed it on the table, studying it. Then she settled into a chair, her feet propped on the edge of the table, and began drawing.

  ‘Flower pictures?’ Rolfe’s voice made her jump.

  She looked up at him, a pink pastel in her hand. ‘Do you like it?’

  She’d drawn the rosebush on the table top against the background of blue sky and sea, framed in the white archway. Now she was carefully shading in the petals.

  ‘I like it a lot,’ he said. His hands descended lightly on her shoulders. ‘Why flowers?’

  ‘I just felt like drawing them.’ She put down the pad and replaced the pastel in its box, rubbing at the soft powdery colour on her fingers. ‘Did you want me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She swung her feet to the ground and tipped back her head to look at him properly.

  When she saw what was in his face she flushed, her eyes widening and lips parting in surprise

  Rolfe removed his hands. ‘Don’t look so startled. I’m not going to drag you off to bed against your will, but I can’t pretend I wouldn’t like to.’

  ‘Well, you did startle me,’ she returned. She’d seen the naked desire in his eyes before he masked it, reminding her forcefully that her first impression of him had been of a man who was aware of and enjoyed his own sexuality. ‘You know that wasn’t what I meant!’

  He gave her a crooked grin of acknowledgement and came round the table to drop into the chair opposite hers. ‘Point taken.’ He reached out to touch the rose, and grimaced in pain. ‘Damn.’

  As he pulled back his hand, ruefully inspecting his thumb, she got up. ‘Let me see.’

  She held his wrist and peered at the tiny droplet of blood that broke through the skin. ‘Do you have a thorn in there?’

  ‘Feels like it.’ He took back his hand and sucked at the blood, then looked again. ‘Mm, I can see it, I think.’

  Capri reclaimed his hand. ‘Keep still.’ Carefully she pinched the barely visible black end between her fingernails and pulled it out. ‘There.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He slid his other arm about her waist and drew her down onto his knee. ‘You could kiss me better.’

  ‘Could I?’ She peeked at him, stupidly shy but intrigued at the idea of taking the initiative.

  One large hand ruffled her hair. ‘If you like,’ he invited.

  He was leaving it up to her. She would like it, she thought. The warmth of his lap, the faint rise and fall of his chest, the light hold of his arms were seductive, as was the masculine scent of him and the stubble-darkened texture of his cheek, tantalisingly close to hers. Her breathing quickened, a faint, not unpleasant prickling sensation running over her skin.

  Temptation mingled with a sense of unease that had lingered ever since that morning’s encounter with Gabriel Blake.

  ‘Capri?’ Rolfe’s voice was a low, enquiring murmur, and his cheek nudged her temple.

  She had only to turn her head slightly. A moment longer she hesitated, then did so, tentatively finding his mouth, surprised by its softness. She felt he was holding his breath, and for seconds he didn’t respond to her cautious exploration, letting her discover in her own way the feel of his lips, the shape and texture of them against hers.

  Then he groaned deep in his throat and his arms tightened, her head was tipped back into the possessive curve of his shoulder and his mouth parted hers in sweet demand.

  Even as her heart thudded against her ribs, she knew he was tempering his passion, pacing it to her response. Which she gave with increasing abandon, her body shivering with delicious little hot darts of pleasure as her lips moved under his, following his every lead.

  When he finally tore his mouth away one of his hands had found its way inside the bodice of her dress, the buttons undone and her lacy bra exposed, except that his hand covered it, the thumb insistently stroking the warm swell of flesh above the lace. His voice when he spoke was low and rasping. ‘If this is going any further we should move inside.’

  It was a question, and one that she had to answer. She fleetingly met his blazing eyes, and touched her tongue to lips already moist and throbbing from his kisses.

  She wanted to do as he suggested, go inside with him and lose herself in lovemaking, bury her doubts in passion. But the bothersome thought that Gabriel Blake had planted in her mind that morning wouldn’t quite go away. You haven’t shared a bed with him in months.

  ‘Which room?’ she heard herself say in guarded tones.

  ‘Which room?’ He sounded hazy, as if she’d thrown him off balance.

  She pursued the question that now was at the forefront of her mind. ‘Yours or mine?’

  Rolfe frowned. ‘Does it matter?’ he enquired curtly.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Capri swallowed. ‘I just wondered…why we have separate rooms at all. Why we haven’t been sleeping together.’

  She could feel the instant stillness of his body. ‘If you remember, you said I was a stranger to you since the accident. I thought you’d prefer a bit of time to adjust.’

  He was avoiding the real question. She stirred in his arms, sitting up straighter. ‘But there’s nothing of yours in that room,’ she said. ‘We weren’t sharing it before.’

&nb
sp; His body tensed even further. There was a slight pause before he told her, almost too easily, ‘It’s no big deal, Capri. We have a large house, and there isn’t any law that says we have to share a room.’

  ‘You mean we’ve always had separate rooms?’

  Again he paused. ‘When we first moved in we shared. But after a time you preferred to have your own private space. Plenty of married people have separate rooms, for all kinds of reasons. When a husband snores—’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yes.’ The reply was too prompt, too pat. ‘Yes, that’s it.’ He met her suspicious gaze with a bland one of his own. ‘And you need your sleep, so—’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ Abruptly she struggled off his knee and took two steps before turning to face him.

  His eyes went to the gaping front of her dress and she hastily drew the edges together, fumbling with the buttons.

  He watched as though he couldn’t tear his attention away, and not until she’d finished did he look up at her face.

  ‘Don’t lie to me, Rolfe.’ Her voice shook. ‘I’m confused enough as it is, everything’s so…’

  He got up too, looking both aloof and tense. ‘I’m trying to protect you, Capri. Can’t you just trust me?’

  She wanted to, her instinct said to do so. But she knew he was keeping something from her. She cried in frustration, ‘How can I trust you when I hardly know you?’

  All expression disappeared from his face as if it had been wiped off.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said miserably. ‘I don’t mean to be hurtful, only…’

  ‘You needn’t apologise,’ he said austerely. ‘You’re not to blame.’

  Tears stung her eyes, and she turned away to hide them from him. The afternoon was waning, the waves already growing lazy and hushed. ‘You have to tell me,’ she said stubbornly.

  ‘Tell you what?’

  ‘What happened—I need to know the truth about how long we’ve been sleeping apart from each other. And why.’

  Seconds ticked by, and she thought he wasn’t going to answer. ‘Before you went away?’ he said finally, his voice grown hard. ‘About four months,’ he told her. ‘Since shortly after you lost the baby.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  NUMBLY Capri turned to face him.

  There was a rushing sound in her ears. Her voice was hushed. ‘We had a baby?’

  Rolfe’s eyes were bleak, and she wondered if he regretted having mentioned it. ‘You lost it early in the pregnancy.’ He stood unmoving, his face blanked of all expression.

  Mentally groping for something to hold on to, Capri asked, ‘Were we…had we wanted it?’

  ‘It wasn’t exactly planned. You may have forgotten a couple of times to take your pill.’

  ‘How did I lose it?’

  ‘The pregnancy spontaneously aborted when you were scarcely more than two months on.’

  ‘A miscarriage.’

  ‘The doctor said it’s not uncommon for a first pregnancy. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t have perfectly healthy babies in the future, Capri. None.’

  ‘But we were sleeping apart.’

  ‘Having separate bedrooms doesn’t necessarily preclude lovemaking,’ he said carefully. After a short pause he added, ‘I recall several torrid interludes on a blanket on the beach at night. And you’ve been known to seduce me in my office on more than one occasion…’

  Heat throbbed at her cheekbones. There was no reason to be embarrassed, but she was. ‘You’re right,’ she said, cutting off any more revelations, ‘I don’t remember, and I don’t remember why we decided on separate bedrooms, or what it had to do with the miscarriage.’

  His voice was smooth as cream. ‘You had trouble sleeping afterwards. I often work late and didn’t want to disturb you.’

  It was plausible. Yet a nagging unease persisted. Had their marriage been in trouble before the miscarriage—or had the loss itself caused problems?

  Rolfe said, ‘We can alter the arrangement any time it suits you.’ His eyes went again to the front of her dress, now neatly buttoned, and his tone turned sardonic. ‘Am I wrong in thinking you’ve lost the mood for now?’

  Briefly she sucked her lower lip. ‘No, you’re not wrong. I’m sorry.’ She felt mixed up and on edge, desperately wanting to accept his explanation. It did, after all, make perfect sense. Except that Gabriel Blake had told her she’d been sleeping with him.

  If she told Rolfe that, it could widen whatever rift had already existed between them, wreck any chance of saving their relationship. In the hospital she’d glanced at the Agony Aunt column in one of the magazines she’d been given. The advice to a repentant wife had been to keep her infidelity secret, because confessing to her husband might relieve her conscience but would hurt him badly.

  Maybe the magazine had contained a hidden message for her.

  Rolfe shrugged. ‘There’ll be other times.’

  Other times when he’d want to make love to her, and when she might reciprocate fully. Part of her wanted that very much, yet doubt and a festering sense of guilt held her back.

  The telephone rang, and Rolfe went inside to answer it.

  Seconds later he called, ‘Capri? Your mother.’

  She’d forgotten to call. She hurried down the passageway to the hall phone, and Rolfe passed her the portable receiver and went into his study.

  She let Treena do most of the talking. Her mother had an active social life, and was very proud of her younger daughter whose acting career seemed to be taking off. But finally she switched to asking, ‘And how are you? Is your memory improving?’

  ‘Not yet.’ Capri suppressed the insidious thought that it might never happen.

  ‘Hasn’t anything come back to you?’

  Capri hesitated. Would she have confided in her mother if she’d been having an extra-marital affair? ‘Do you…did I ever mention a Gabriel Blake to you?’

  ‘Who’s he?’

  ‘Oh, just a neighbour,’ Capri said hastily. ‘I met him this morning. And some other neighbours came over,’ she tacked on, to lead Treena off the subject. ‘Mr and Mrs Venables.’

  Treena laughed. ‘Oh, you’ve mentioned them. A couple of old stickybeaks, you said.’

  Her conscience twinged. ‘They’re really very nice. Very concerned about me.’

  ‘Most people are nice,’ Treena told her, ‘if you just give them the chance, Capri.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right.’

  ‘I’ve always been right, dear, if only you’d listen to me. Now I have to go, but you take care of yourself, you hear?’

  Smiling a little, Capri promised she would.

  Over dinner with Rolfe she said, ‘I must have been a difficult daughter?’

  ‘I don’t know if you were any more difficult than average. Most parents find the teenage years rather trying.’

  ‘Did yours?’

  ‘Probably. My brother worried them by hitchhiking his way around Asia and Europe, before ending up in America with a good steady job and a family.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘They thought I was taking a risk going into business on my own when I’d only just left university, but they’ve always been supportive.’

  ‘Did they lend you money?’ He’d been scathing of Gabriel Blake’s reliance on family money, but surely his own family must have been comfortably off?

  ‘No,’ Rolfe said, dispelling that idea. ‘My father worked for wages all his life, and my mother had a part-time job in a supermarket after we kids left primary school. They did without a lot to see the three of us through university so that we’d have a better education than either of them. In the early days of my business they let me fit out their garage as a small laboratory, and even offered to remortgage their house when I was having trouble getting a loan, but I talked a bank into backing me.’

  She recalled his confessed envy of Gabriel Blake’s reliance on inherited wealth. ‘They sound like good people.’

  He cast her a quizzical
look. ‘I think a lot of them.’

  ‘I’d like to—oh. I suppose I have met them. Did you tell them…what’s happened?’

  ‘I phoned before we left Australia and again when I brought you home. They’d like to help but I don’t imagine there’s much they can do.’

  ‘Still, it was nice of them to offer.’

  After dinner Rolfe suggested a stroll on the beach before it got dark. He took her hand and she let her fingers lie in his, enjoying the warm, strong clasp.

  They met a couple walking a dog and exchanged brief greetings.

  ‘Do we know them?’ Capri asked.

  ‘Only by sight. They have a rather striking house with curving walls, coloured in sea-greens and blues.’

  ‘Next door to Gabriel Blake’s.’

  Rolfe looked at her sharply. ‘You remember it?’

  ‘No.’ Hastily, she shook her head. ‘I told you I met him on the beach. I was looking at that house you just described when he saw me and came…to say hello.’ Again she felt guilt tugging at her. ‘He’d heard about the accident,’ she said.

  ‘It was in the newspapers and on television, and word got around that you’d been in it. A number of our clients have asked how you are, and the workers at the factory enquire after you.’

  ‘That’s nice. Do you tell them about the amnesia?’

  ‘No. But it’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Capri.’

  ‘I’m not embarrassed. Just frustrated. And sometimes…’

  ‘What?’ Rolfe stopped walking and gathered her other hand in his, looking down at her. His face looked shadowed in the gathering dusk.

  ‘Sometimes I feel this awful emptiness, as if my brain is hollowed out, nothing there. What if it never changes, Rolfe? What if my memory never comes right?’

  His hands slid up her arms, warming them. ‘They said give it time.’ He paused. ‘But I promised I’d take you to see someone, if it’s what you want.’

  She sensed reserve in his voice. Maybe he thought she was too impatient. ‘Perhaps in a week or two,’ she decided, ‘if nothing happens.’

  ‘Fine. It’s up to you.’ Was that relief she heard in his voice? He kissed her forehead, then moved his hands to her waist and pulled her closer, his eyes dark and questioning.