He's My Husband! - Lindsay Armstrong [15]
But he’d been right about one thing. No one had cast any aspersions on their marriage openly, or treated her with any reservations or plain mockery.
So, it was really ironic, she thought, that sunny Sunday morning, that it should have been Sasha, his own daughter and a little girl of barely six, who had articulated to the world the state of their marriage.
‘My dear!’ Kim arrived back, looking hot and bothered. ‘I’m sorry, you must have wondered whether we had to slaughter the beast as well as cook its steaks, but Rod is so unhandy with the barbecue. Would you believe, he couldn’t get it hot enough? Then it went out, then it was too hot, but lunch is ready.’
‘Smells wonderful,’ Nicola said consolingly, but untruthfully. ‘I’ll round up the kids.’
After lunch, and a suitable period to allow it to digest, their hosts suggested that the younger members of the party might like to climb down the hill for a walk along the beach. And when Brett and the children lagged behind, to build sandcastles, Nicola found herself striding out beside Richard Holloway, who said humorously, ‘Do you ever regret eating a large, indigestible meal in the middle of the day?’
Nicola glanced at him and her lips quivered. ‘They tried so hard. I’m only amazed Sasha or Chris didn’t make some remark. Tact is not their—’ She stopped abruptly.
‘So I gathered,’ he said quietly.
A rush of colour prickled the skin of her cheeks, but she held her head high and walked even faster.
Richard Holloway kept up easily. He was lean and rangy, with fair hair and grey eyes. Over lunch he’d been good company, as they’d hacked their way through overcooked steaks and some pointed remarks had flown between the new District Court Judge and his wife. In fact, it had been due to Richard and Brett and the way they’d held the conversation that the little domestic contretemps the Masons were suffering had been defused.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Talk of tactless—that was extremely so.’
There was a breeze getting up and stirring the hot sand. Nicola squinted as an extra strong gust swirled the sand head-high, and turned around. ‘How long are you staying with the Masons, Mr Holloway?’
‘Just for the time being, until I find a place of my own, although Kim assures me I can stay for good,’ he replied a little ruefully as they walked back towards Brett and the children. ‘I’m working on a commission for a new shopping centre—a centrepiece for the main foyer that combines reef and rainforest, a little bit of the Daintry and coral, et cetera—all the things Cairns is famous for.’
Nicola slowed her pace. ‘Are you an artist?’
‘I’m a bit of a jack of all trades. I paint, and I sculpt, but when I realised I wasn’t going to set the world on fire there, I went in for this kind of design work.’
Nicola looked at him with more interest, and decided he might be a bit younger than her first estimate—twenty-sevenish, perhaps—and that he was also nice.
‘I believe you’re a potter?’ he said then.
‘Who told you that?’
‘Kim. She said you mentioned it when you first met. Ever done any commercial work? Because I’m looking for some pottery as it happens.’
A little pulse of excitement ran through Nicola’s veins, although she said wryly, ‘I might not be good enough.’
‘You never know. Would it be possible to have a look?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ she said slowly, and was suddenly amazed to have the Reverend Peter Callam in her mind’s eye. No, she thought, I’d never do it. But then again, if Brett was...if... ‘Do you have a wife and family tucked away down south, Mr Holloway?’
He laughed. ‘No, I’m not married. Why?’
‘No reason,’ Nicola said lightly and untruthfully as they came up to Brett and the children. ‘Guess what?’ she said to Brett. ‘I could become employed, after all.’
CHAPTER THREE
BRETT squinted up at her.
He was liberally coated