He's My Husband! - Lindsay Armstrong [32]
‘That’s lovely,’ Nicola said, genuinely entranced.
‘Of course I don’t know anything about plumbing—’
‘That’ll be my headache.’ He grimaced. ‘But it’s entirely possible.’
‘I can just imagine people—particularly kids—watching it for ages, waiting for the clams to spout.’
‘Particularly little kids,’ he said significantly, ‘who beg their mums to take them to see it again and again, and, of course, once they’re in the centre—well, that’s half the battle. But if we do this properly, it won’t only be the kids.’
She laughed. ‘Crass marketing techniques, Richard?’
He agreed ruefully. ‘But there’ll be a plaque with your name on it, and I’m positive more commissions would flow on from it. Which leads us on to the business angle.’
They discussed that, then he hesitated and said, ‘Brett—doesn’t object to you doing this, Nicola?’
‘No. Well, you heard him on Tuesday night, didn’t you?’
‘But before Tuesday night I got the impression he wasn’t that keen. Or at all keen, to be more accurate.’
Nicola chewed her lip in embarrassment. ‘Uh, perhaps not...I suppose you’re wondering—’ She stopped awkwardly.
‘Whether Sasha got it wrong?’ he said gently.
‘Richard, I can’t...look, he knows now how much I want to do this, so it’s OK, I promise.’
He sat back. ‘Then could I just say this, Nicola? I’d very much like to be a friend as well as a business associate.’
‘Why not?’ she murmured, but looked away after one swift glance told her there was more than friendship in his nice grey eyes.
He left not long afterwards, but asked if he could come back the following evening with a proper drawing and specifications.
Nicola picked Chris up from kindy and they had lunch with Ellen in the kitchen, but she was restless and jumpy. Then she made an abrupt decision.
‘Ellen, could you hold the fort this afternoon? I need to go into town.’
‘Will do,’ Ellen said obligingly. ‘I might take them to the park after I pick Sasha up from school.’
‘Yowee!’ Chris said enthusiastically.
Nicola decided to change, and chose what to wear with care. But what if Brett is out of the office? she asked herself as she stared at her clothes, and answered herself—I can’t sit around doing nothing; that’s all there is to it.
She finally settled on an ice-blue crepe trouser suit. The jacket was long-line and double-breasted, with short sleeves, and she slipped on white court shoes with square toes and silver Cuban heels and slung a white quilted leather purse with a silver chain over her shoulder. Dressy enough to be seen in the offices of Hinton, Harcourt & Associates, she decided, and dressy enough for the wife of the senior partner—not to mention dressy enough for Tara Wells.
She drove her silver hatchback down the Knob and through the village at the prescribed mileage, then speeded up as the houses gave way to cane fields.
Along the highway there was more evidence that Cairns was a sugar town, as cane trains laden with cut stalks shuttled along.
But once she’d left the northern beach suburbs behind, and passed the airport, it became obvious that Cairns was also a tourist destination. Many motels lined the main roads and the tourists, lured from all over the world to the wonders of the Great Barrier Reef and the world heritage-listed Daintry Rainforest, were easily detectable in their bright holiday clothing and with their cameras at the ready.
It wasn’t these things that occupied her mind, though, as she parked her car in Sheridan Street and sat in it for several minutes. It was what she was going to say to Brett that caused her palms to be damp and her brow to be furrowed with indecision. Had the time come for the simple truth? she wondered painfully.
The reception area of Hinton, Harcourt & Associates was impressive. Mottled marble floors, mirrored walls, exotic potted palms, and behind the reception desk a familiar face.
‘Why, Nicola,’ Fiona Grant, who had once been her father’s secretary, said delightedly. ‘This is