He's My Husband! - Lindsay Armstrong [19]
It was a warm, shimmering day. She wore a short-sleeved linen suit, with a short skirt in a chalky violet, a huge hat with a curved down brim and a confection of tulle and violet and pale grey flowers around the crown, with matching patent pale grey shoes and purse.
She’d purchased this stunning ensemble to wear to the Cairns Amateurs, a premier racing event in the state, let alone Cairns, and had been worried that it was too dressy when Brett had suggested it, but he’d only murmured, ‘The dressier the better.’ And it seemed he’d been right. It was certainly finding favour with the students of his old school.
It also found favour with the headmaster and his wife, when they shared a table with them in a marquee on the sports oval. ‘We very much appreciate your doing this, Mrs Harcourt, and with such style,’ the headmaster said earnestly. ‘It’s so easy, in this tropical climate especially, to get lazy over matters of dress, and then matters of mind, and the finer things in life generally. But your presence helps to make this day special.’
But in Brett’s car on the way home—Nicola had offered to drive herself, so he could go straight on to work after the presentation, but he’d said they’d go together and leave together—she took her hat off and put it over on the back seat, and said gloomily, ‘Now I feel a real fraud.’
Brett turned his head to study her briefly as her hair blew out behind her like a pale gold silk scarf.
‘I mean, I’ve done nothing to earn that kind of admiration,’ she added.
He stopped at a traffic light and slid one arm along the back of her seat. ‘Why don’t you just consider yourself as—one of the finer points of life?’ he suggested with a little glint of wicked amusement. ‘Not to mention a distinct asset to a man,’ he said gravely.
‘Of course, that’s the other reason I feel a fraud,’ she commented.
‘Are we getting back to the wife-in-name-only discussion, Nicola?’ He withdrew his arm and set the car in motion as the light changed.
‘It seems fairly topical.’ She gazed steadily ahead. ‘It’s hardly a proper marriage.’
‘You do have a tendency to bring it up, I agree.’
Nicola hesitated, then glanced at him. He wore a beautifully tailored charcoal suit, white shirt and discreet green and black tie, and it occurred to her as she studied his aquiline features, his breeze-ruffled thick brown hair and his lean hands on the wheel, that he could be described as one of the finer things in life.
And all of a sudden she felt guilty, because—what—ever might be between them—this occasion represented not only what he’d achieved with his life but his desire to help others, to put something back. His speech, not in the least condescending but encouraging and amusing, had earned as much applause as she had...
She sighed suddenly, and rested her head against the back of the seat. ‘Sorry.’
‘What for?’ he asked dispassionately.
‘For being—well, churlish about today. You may not realise it, but, all else aside, I’m very proud of you, Brett. And so would my father be today.’
They’d flashed up the Knob as she said all this, and now he drew up in front of the house. Nicola opened her door before he could speak, and got out. Then she leant over and retrieved her hat. ‘I just didn’t want you to think I was so wrapped in myself that I couldn’t appreciate what you’ve done.’
‘Nicola...’ He said it with a mixture of exasperation and something she couldn’t quite define—almost as if he didn’t know how to go on. Indeed, his gaze wandered over her, so slender and regal in her beautiful suit, and he shook his head, then opened his mouth.
But her lips curved, and she murmured, “There—I’ve surprised you, Brett. Why don’t we just leave it at that? See you tonight.’ And she walked down the drive, swinging her hat in her hand.
It was a moment before Brett put the car into gear again, and he found himself thinking, You lovely, captivating, unique child-what am