He's My Husband! - Lindsay Armstrong [18]
‘You think a week or two is going to make much difference?’
He smiled faintly. ‘Who knows? In the meantime, bearing my words of wisdom in mind, why don’t you invite Richard Holloway to dinner on Tuesday night? I’ve invited Tara Wells, and we’ll have the Masons too. You could show him your pottery at the same time.’
Nicola wrinkled her brow. ‘Tara Wells? Do I know her?’
‘No. I had dinner with her on Saturday night She’s just joined the firm. She’s moved up here from Brisbane and I imagine she’s feeling a bit lost and lonely at the moment.’
‘A solicitor?’
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘A litigation specialist. I think you’ll like her.’
‘A formal dinner?’ she said slowly, but with her mind far from slow.
‘If you like. You do them rather well.’
‘Thank you. But isn’t it a little early to be inviting the Masons back?’
‘I’m sure they won’t mind—it could even reassure them that today wasn’t an entire debacle.’
She looked briefly amused. ‘All right, I’ll ring the Masons tomorrow to thank them and invite them at the same time. Why not?’ But she stopped to ponder why she suddenly seemed to have lost interest in her pottery.
‘As for Sasha, I think we should just ignore the subject,’ he said wryly.
Nicola raised an eyebrow. ‘I wasn’t proposing to go into detailed explanations. But ignore it until the next time she embarrasses us do you mean?’
‘She was led into it, somewhat.’
Nicola grimaced, then stood up. ‘I never did finish the household accounts. Goodnight.’
‘Nicola—’ He stopped.
She turned back to him and waited politely.
‘I...’ He paused and examined her courteous bearing, which barely overlaid something much more taut and wound up. ‘I do have your best interests at heart.’
‘So you say, Brett. I’ll take your word for it. Goodnight.’ She was about to sweep indoors when he stopped her again.
‘What now?’ she queried coolly.
‘Two things,’ he responded, a little dryly. ‘Don’t forget the law society ball next Saturday night, and that tomorrow we’ve been invited to attend an open day at my old high school. You,’ he reminded her, ‘are to present the achievement award I donate annually.’
Nicola said something unprintable beneath her breath, because she’d forgotten both events. ‘Why me? Surely you can do it on your own?’
‘I’m making the speech. All they want you to do is hand over the prize. If you recall, you made quite a hit last year.’
‘I can’t imagine why,’ she murmured.
‘I can tell you. All the girls saw you as a vision of grace and loveliness and dignity to emulate, and all the boys—were watering at the mouth.’
‘Brett, that’s—‘ But she stopped in time, because he was laughing silently at her outraged expression.
‘Not so far from the truth, actually,’ he murmured, then raised an eyebrow at her. ‘You’ll come? They’ll be so disappointed if you don’t.’
Nicola ground her teeth. ‘And that’s blackmail if ever I heard it—yes, I’ll come, but under duress.’ And this time she did sweep inside.
Leaving Brett Harcourt to watch her until the house swallowed her up, then swear beneath his breath as he turned to scan the dark sea.
Sleep didn’t come easily that night.
So much so that Nicola got up and had a shower, merely for the soothing benefit of warm water running down her body. Then she chose a fresh, crisp cotton nightgown, smoothed the bed and got back into it to lie on her back with her ankles crossed and her hands clasped behind her head.
You know what I think? she mused to herself. I think the old order is about to change, even if he won’t give his approval on my father’s behalf to an involvement with a man. And I’m deadly afraid this Tara Wells might be the cause of it. What a name...conjures up Sadlers Wells or Bath and Wells or Scarlett O‘Hara. But why else would he suddenly, this morning, after having dinner with her last night, sound as if he could entertain the thought of us parting?
But how doubly ironic, she mused, and sat up abruptly to blow her nose and dab her eyes, that—now it could be about to happen—to be set free, what I thought I wanted, is not going to be what I want at all...
‘See