He's My Husband! - Lindsay Armstrong [54]
‘So,’ she went on, ‘I introduced them, and before you could say Jiminy Cricket Ralph had got over his trauma at the thought of how you were using him, Marietta, and Tara—well, Tara was just lapping him up,’ she finished with supreme mockery.
Marietta put her hands to her face. Nicola closed her eyes and prayed again as Marietta made a choking sound—that turned out to be laughter. ‘Nicky,’ she said unsteadily, ‘you didn’t.’
‘I did,’ Nicola confirmed, and turned back to Brett. ‘Someone had to do something. But there’s more. I think I’ve served my purpose well and truly now, so I’ll be going on to better things, Brett—and don’t expect me to be here for my birthday. Oh, one last word of wisdom for the two of you. Just think of how much your children love you.’
He reached for her, but she stepped backwards, and the expression in her eyes was stern, proud and withering. He dropped his hand to his side and she walked away, once again to the seclusion of her bedroom. But this time she locked herself in. And this time she started to pack.
CHAPTER EIGHT
AT MIDNIGHT, Nicola looked around at the colourful chaos of her room. Her unicorn poster had been unhooked from the wall and she’d packed as many of her clothes as she had suitcase space for—less than half of them. She’d also turned on her bedside radio, so that she would be unable to hear anything that was transpiring beyond the four walls of her room.
It’s a start, she told herself tiredly. I could never take everything in one go anyway. There are books, music, all the odds and ends one acquires in two years—not to mention the odds and ends one came with in the first place.
Then her gaze fell on the plans Richard had brought over two nights ago, and the contract, and she sat down on the bed with a sigh.
Just as well I didn’t get around to signing it, she mused, with her chin in her hands. Apart from the problems of finding a workshop and a kiln, I won’t be in Cairns for a while. Where will I be, though?
Tibet? Africa? Strange how they seem to have lost their gloss—not that I was enamoured of Tibet in the first place. Europe, then, and the UK? My mother’s family came from...somewhere over there.
She lay back suddenly, then curled up into a ball and drifted off to sleep.
When she woke the next morning, she found that someone had cleared the bed, turned her radio off and covered her up with a quilt from the spare bedroom. It was a moment before she remembered that she’d locked her doors.
She sat up abruptly. The bedroom doors locked on the inside by means of pressing in a button on the handle; they could be unlocked on the outside by a master key—a safeguard against the children locking themselves into their rooms. So far as she knew, she had one on her keyring and so did Brett. Had he...?
Then she saw that her unicorn poster was back up on the wall—she’d had to stand on a chair to unhook it, and Marietta wouldn’t be tall enough to hook it up again without a chair. Surely she wouldn’t have slept through that—and, anyway, why would Marietta bother?
Brett, she thought, and rubbed her face. Is he still determined not to let me go? What do I have to do to make him see...?
But after a shower, and dressing, she discovered that only Ellen and the children were home.
‘It is Monday,’ Ellen said reasonably, after Nicola had asked her where everyone was. She was setting out breakfast for Chris and Sasha, both waiting expectantly at the table in the family room.
‘I know, but it’s also quite early,’ Nicola objected a bit lamely, and kissed the children good morning.
‘Well, don’t forget he had the day off on Friday, and anyway, he said to tell you he has an early court appearance this morning—said you’d know what it was about.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Nicola