He's My Husband! - Lindsay Armstrong [44]
It was a long time before she fell asleep. Not only because she felt thoroughly miserable, and as if she’d destroyed something precious, but also confused. How could he not know how she felt in his arms? Did he really feel absolutely nothing himself, and—if so—why accuse her of having started it—started what? A purely physical reaction in a man who felt nothing more for her?
Brett was cooler than she’d ever known him, and she couldn’t help flinching and feeling chilled to the bone on the odd occasions when his inscrutable hazel gaze fell on her. The children picked up these vibes unerringly, and were correspondingly difficult. Chris demanded to know how he was going to be able to do anything with this horrible thing on his leg, and Sasha decided she had to wear her favourite dress for Mummy and her visitor.
‘You can’t, darling. Remember you spilt raspberry cordial all down the front? Well, we couldn’t get the stain out, I’m afraid.’
Sasha burst into tears.
‘Don’t be such a baby, Sasha,’ Brett said coldly. ‘You have a million other dresses to wear.’
‘But I like that dress, and Mummy sent it to me from America,’ Sasha wept.
‘I’m sure she’ll understand,’ Nicola said soothingly.
‘Why do girls make such a fuss about clothes?’ Chris asked disdainfully. ‘Just be happy you don’t have to wear this!’ He tapped his cast. ‘Then you’d really have something to cry about.’
‘I hate you, Chris,’ Sasha panted, scarlet in the face. ‘I—’
‘That’ll do,’ Brett ordered, and wheeled Chris out of the room. ‘I expect to see you dressed and ready in ten minutes—in whatever Nicola decides you should wear, Sash,’ he added over his shoulder.
‘Why’s Daddy being so horrible this morning?’ Sasha asked tearfully, and clutched Nicola’s hand.
Not sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry, Nicola made a sudden decision—she just didn’t have the moral fortitude to endure the rest of this day. She helped Sasha choose another dress, then took her into her own bedroom where she cajoled the little girl into a better humour by spraying some perfume on her, tucking one of her own lace-edged hankies into her pocket and tying back her red-brown curls with one of her own ribbons. But she also picked up her bag on the way out.
‘Going somewhere?’ Brett asked curtly as she delivered Sasha to the den, where he was playing cards with Chris.
‘Yes. I don’t think you’ll need me today,’ she murmured.
‘Where?’
Nicola glanced at him briefly. ‘Just out. I’ll be home for dinner. Now, Sasha and Chris, Mummy will be here soon, and in the meantime I want you to be especially nice to Daddy—see if you can get him in better mood!’ And she kissed their heads, shot Brett a faintly malicious little look and left before anyone could protest.
But it was a long, lonely day.
She went to the Pier Markets and spent an hour browsing through the second-hand bookstalls, bumping into a couple of Brett’s clients, who expressed surprise that she should be on her own. She explained, with a feeling of discomfort, that she was just having a day out. Then she decided to see a movie, but that still left her with several hours to kill.
She thought longingly of her flying lessons, but her instructor was still away on holiday. She called to see a girlfriend, but she was out.
She had a Vienna coffee at a café overlooking the Marlin Marina, and waved hello to two lawyers from another firm as she watched the cruise and dive boats coming back from Green Island, Fitzroy, Michaelmas Cay and Arlington Reef. And finally, as the sun slipped down the sky, she drove home.
The house seemed to be unnaturally quiet as she put her key into the front door, although Brett’s car was in the garage.
‘Ellen?’ she called tentatively, and remembered that it was Saturday and Ellen’s afternoon off.
Then she jumped as Brett appeared soundlessly in the lounge doorway. He was barefoot and wearing only shorts. ‘Oh! I thought there was no one here.’
‘There isn’t, apart from me.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Where are they?