He's My Husband! - Lindsay Armstrong [53]
Nicola sat down on the sand, hugged her knees and stared seaward—although her thoughts were drawn irresistibly upwards. She couldn’t see the house, but if you could have scaled the cliff face of the Knob, it wasn’t that far away. At least, she reflected, with the children around, Brett and Marietta would have to be civilized.
But the thing that she hadn’t had time to examine in any detail was the way Brett had kissed her. Hungrily, passionately—and differently, she mused. Not like the other night, when I got the feeling he was always standing just a little outside of things, controlling them. She grimaced, and felt herself colour, but forced herself to think on. So, why the difference?
Because it would be much simpler to stay married to me. The thought slid into her mind. So, might he have been...trying to offer me more than a whole lot of plusses like a checklist? But why simpler for him?
The answer came with the memory of the client he’d gone to see in the watch-house that morning and what he himself had said—‘Who knows what we’re really like under the surface?’ Did that mean that the intensity of what he still felt for Marietta could also be dangerous? And that was why it was not only simpler but safer to be married to Nicola, who was ideal on every other score but did not arouse that dangerous degree of passion in him?
She came out of her reverie with a sigh, and with the conviction that she might just have hit the nail on the head. Then she rose slowly, brushed the sand off and decided she had to go home. Only to discover, when she got back to her car, that the curious angle it had acquired was due to a very flat tyre.
‘Where have you been—and where’s Ralph?’ Marietta demanded.
It was dark by now, past seven o’clock, and Nicola was filthy and exhausted. With the aid of a couple of brawny yachting types from the marina her tyre had been changed, but the spare had barely got her out of the car park before subsiding, with a rush of air, to the rim.
Her helpers had been delighted to be of even more assistance, and they’d organised a vehicle to convey her and the tyre to the local garage, which had been almost back on the highway, where it had been deemed unrepairable. So she’d had to buy a new one, and then be conveyed back to have it fitted to the car.
She glanced at Marietta and Brett. They were seated at the dining room table and there was no sign of the children, but the sound of television was coming from the den. And there were the remains of what looked like a dish of spaghetti bolognese on the table, with a salad and a half-finished bottle of Chianti.
Marietta had discarded her boots and pulled the velvet ribbon out of her hair, but for once she looked tense and irritable, and a swift glance at Brett revealed a hard, cold line to his mouth.
‘I had a puncture,’ Nicola said laconically
‘Where? And why the hell didn’t you call me?’ Brett said angrily.
Nicola stiffened. ‘At the marina, as a matter of fact, and I had plenty of help, thank you.’
‘What on earth where you doing at the marina?’ he queried, his eyes grim. ‘Planning to sail to Tibet?’
Nicola drew a deep breath, but before she could speak Marietta intervened. ‘None of this explains what you’ve done with Ralph,’ she pointed out satirically.
Nicola cut her extremely confrontational exchange of glances with her husband and switched to his first wife. ‘I’ll tell you what I’ve done with him, Marietta, but before I do so you should be ashamed of yourself. Not only is he an archetypal toy boy, but he’s an awfully long way from home. However, he’s transferred his somewhat transitory affections to Tara Wells.’
Marietta knocked over her wine glass and Brett stood up. ‘What the devil are you talking about, Nicola?’ he said harshly.
‘Did you still want Tara for yourself, Brett?’ Nicola smiled ingenuously. ‘Sorry, but I imagine she might be pretty taken up with Ralph for a while.’
Brett swore, then strode over to her. ‘Enough of this,’ he said through his teeth. ‘Just tell me in words of one syllable what happened.’
‘No problem, Brett,’ Nicola replied,