He's My Husband! - Lindsay Armstrong [52]
Nicola paused, then said delicately, ‘How—well do you know her?’
‘We’ve...we’ve been together for two weeks. But I’ve worshipped her from afar for a lot longer,’ he said, with no trace of embarrassment. He took a sip of wine. ‘Not that she’ll let me sleep with her, but I can wait I mean, she wouldn’t have suggested coming all this way with her if—well, if it wasn’t going to happen some time.’ But he looked at her wistfully, and uncertainly.
Nicola touched his hand briefly. ‘That’s what I was afraid of, Ralph. You see, I’m pretty sure I was a...stopgap—while Marietta had to be overseas so much and Brett refused to have that kind of a marriage. And now I’m pretty sure you’re...well, she’s using you to make him jealous. You wouldn’t like that, would you?’
He took a few moments to think his way through this. ‘No. But why can’t they...? Why all this trauma?’
‘Two very strong characters, Ralph,’ Nicola said briskly, then sighed. ‘Love is often not that simple, is it?’
‘Don’t tell me,’ he said moodily. ‘For example, can you explain to me why I’m always attracted to older women who very often have husbands or exes or bloody careers?’
‘This has happened to you before, Ralph?’ Nicola asked sympathetically.
‘It has,’ he said intensely. ‘It keeps happening to me. What do you think she planned to do with me when she got her damned husband back?’ He looked around, as if he’d suddenly realised he’d been dumped on an alien planet.
Nicola chewed her lip and sent up a fervent little prayer that she’d got this right—otherwise... well, she couldn’t bear to think about it. ‘Perhaps,’ she said slowly, dodging the question, ‘you should try younger women. Although not me,’ she added hastily as his blue eyes rested on her with a suddenly speculative gleam in them. ‘I’m...spoken for. But there must—I mean, you’re such a hunk—there must be millions of...’ she rushed on, and someone tapped her on the shoulder.
She turned convulsively, expecting Brett or Marietta, but it was Tara.
She swore audibly and said, ‘Tara, you frightened the life out of me! What are you doing here!’
‘If you can come to Palm Cove for lunch on a Sunday, why can’t I?’ Tara said aggressively. ‘But shouldn’t you be home with your family?’ she added venomously. ‘Instead of lunching with strange men—does Brett know about this?’ She eyed Ralph with extreme suspicion.
As usual, although she looked so militant, Tara was beautifully groomed. She was wearing a pair of denim overalls, with a white voile blouse, and the rich abundance of her dark hair was perfectly styled—perhaps she has a live-in hairdresser, Nicola thought, then was struck dumb for a moment as, out of the corner of her eye, she caught Ralph’s widening blue gaze resting on Tara.
No, no, don’t do it, Nicola, she cautioned herself. But she did it all the same.
‘Tara, I’m sorry—uh—may I introduce you, and would you like to join us? Ralph, this is Tara Wells,’ she said, without waiting for a reply, and right on cue Ralph stood up and smiled his shy, dazzling smile at Tara.
That was how Nicola came to drive back to Yorkeys Knob on her own, some time later, alternating between bouts of sheer laughter and panicky fright. She’d left Ralph and Tara together at Palm Cove.
Are some men born to be toy boys? she asked herself. I mean, he seemed so genuine. On the other hand, that was a little quick to be transferring his worshipping, but I suppose I gave him good cause to be on the rebound. And didn’t Tara lap it up! Oh dear, what have I done?
And such, suddenly, was her overwhelming concern, that instead of driving up the Knob she turned left at the base of the hill and took the road that wound round it towards Half Moon Bay. The Yorkeys Knob Boating Club and Half Moon Bay Marina were at the end of it. There was also a boat ramp and, beside its rock walls, a little crescent of beach directly below the Knob.
She parked her car in the marina car park and walked across to the beach. There was only a young mother with a little boy of about two on the beach, and he was investigating all the rock pools.