He's My Husband! - Lindsay Armstrong [38]
But Ellen suddenly seemed to remember herself. ‘Well, now,’ she said awkwardly, ‘I can’t quite recall.’
‘Ellen—’ Nicola stood up and contrived to look only amused ‘—that’s so frustrating!’
Ellen shrugged. ‘He said...if her career was more important to her than he and her children were, then she had a clear choice. It or them. Of course she came back, sharp as a tack. She asked him why, and was he saying his career was more important than hers?’ She smiled. ‘But he got her there. He said he wasn’t proposing to drag two small children round the world; he was quite happy to make a stable, solid home for them.’
Nicola smoothed the bedspread as she absorbed all of this.
‘I don’t think,’ Ellen said slowly as she straightened with a hand to her back, ‘she ever believed he’d do it, you know. But she didn’t know him like I do. He’s a hard man to cross.’
‘I believe you,’ Nicola murmured with an inward shiver.
‘But there now—’ Ellen’s face softened ‘—they couldn’t be better off than they are with you. All of them,’ she added somewhat cryptically, then said immediately, ‘Now, what shall I make them for lunch? I know, hamburgers and chips. Why is it that kids always like the things that aren’t good for them?’ And she bustled away to attack the next bed.
During the afternoon Chris became fractious and tearful, so they called in their own doctor who said that it was only delayed shock and administered a mild sedative. After taking a look at Sasha—he was a father of four children himself—he did the same for her, to her intense gratification. He also suggested they hire a wheelchair for Chris until he got the hang of his crutches.
Everyone was more back to normal after an afternoon sleep.
Not that it was something she usually did, but Nicola lay down as well, and slept deeply and dreamlessly for an hour. She changed when she got up, into khaki shorts and a simple primrose cotton blouse.
Chris was delighted with his wheelchair when it arrived, and they all sat down to an early dinner together.
Richard Holloway, with a folder full of drawings under his arm, called just as they’d finished. Nicola remembered ruefully that he’d said he would, and grimaced at the short, sharp little glance Brett shot her.
‘I forgot,’ she said honestly.
‘I think I can guess why,’ Richard responded as he took in the scene. ‘What have you done to yourself, old man?’ he asked of Chris.
‘Fell off the gym in the park and broke his leg,’ Sasha supplied, while Chris swelled with importance.
‘Well, now, can I be the first to sign your cast?’
And to the children’s delight he not only signed the cast but drew a picture of a frog on it—because, he said, Chris would be hopping around a bit like a frog for a while. Then he drew a little girl dressed up as a nurse on the back of Sasha’s hand, and she assured him she would never wash it off.
It was Brett who finally suggested to the children that this might be a good time for them to get ready for bed, and added that he had some work to do so he’d leave Richard and Nicola to it.
‘No—look, I’ve obviously chosen a bad time,’ Richard said as Brett started to wheel Chris away and Ellen cleared the table. ‘I won’t stay—’
‘You weren’t to know, and I’d like to see the plans,’ Nicola broke in. ‘Sit down and have a cup of coffee.’
So he did, although with an oddly thoughtful glance at Brett’s retreating back.
‘It’s been quite a couple of days,’ Nicola said ruefully as she poured the coffee.
‘I can imagine.’ He opened the folder and spread some pages out. ‘This...’ But he stopped as the doorbell rang.
Nicola frowned. ‘Who on earth is this?’
It was Tara, whom Ellen showed into the family room. Tara was bearing a bunch of flowers, a gaily wrapped present and a briefcase. But, even more spectacularly, she was dressed in a black leotard, a filmy jungle print over-blouse, open down the front, and gold kid flat shoes. Her hair was once again perfect, and her make-up was full war paint. She’d switched from Chanel No 5 to Joy.
Nicola’s eyes widened, and so did Richard