Lindsay Armstrong - He's My Husband!

‘Well, do I?’ he asked reasonably. ‘Tell me about any of your activities I’ve ever put a stop to. Tell me that you don’t come and go as you please, arrange your days as you please—’

‘But if I suddenly decided I wanted to go to...Tibet, that would be a different matter, wouldn’t it?’ she returned tautly.

‘Decidedly,’ he agreed lazily. ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea at all.’

She stared at him frustratedly. ‘You know what I mean.’

‘I know we agreed—after you got yourself virtually kidnapped by a man who was a notorious womaniser—that this would be a safer way to go, Nicola.’

‘I was only nineteen,’ she said through pale lips.

‘You’re only twenty now—all right—’ he shrugged as she opened her mouth to protest ‘—almost twenty-one. But I can’t help wondering whether you’ve acquired the wisdom you so noticeably lacked then.’ His eyes mocked her. ‘Wild talk of Tibet doesn’t seem to go hand in hand with maturity. And that brings me to something else—what were you doing at Lifeline today?’

Nicola gasped. ‘How...? He didn’t!’

‘I felt sure there would be a “he” involved,’ her husband said dryly.

She jumped up. ‘Having a man around is one thing you can’t accuse me of, Brett! Since...since it happened—and I had no idea he was going to lure me away under false pretences and all the rest—’ she shuddered with disgust ‘—I haven’t had anything to do with men! You make it sound as if I go around inviting their attention.’

Brett Harcourt raised a wry eyebrow. ‘You don’t have to, Nicola. They attach themselves. So. What’s with Lifeline? And why were you looking so very pensive?’

‘If you’ve been having me followed, Brett...’ she said through her teeth.

‘You’ll...?’ he queried before she could go on.

The desire to make another wild statement gripped her, but she fought it, causing his lips to twist as he watched her with interest.

‘Were you?’ she ground out at last.

‘No. I merely happened to be stopped at that particular traffic light as you came out. Now, if you have decided to add good works to your music—’ he indicated the beautiful harp that stood in the corner of the den ‘—your flying lessons, your desire to speak Indonesian and your pottery, I’m all for it—but...’ He paused. ‘Something tells me it’s not so.’

Nicola took a deep breath. ‘I do play that harp, I do speak Indonesian, I love pottery and I enjoy flying—are you trying to belittle me for any specific reason?’ she asked with a quizzically raised eyebrow.

He shrugged, smiled slightly and ignored the question. ‘I’m not disputing that. In fact, I’ll go further and say that you’re highly intelligent as well as artistic, and your flying instructor reckons you’re a natural. It still doesn’t explain Lifeline.’

Nicola paced around the room and darkly contemplated the fact that it was impossible to hide most things from Brett—it always had been. Which made it rather surprising to think that she’d been able to hide the most important thing of all from him.

She paused beside the harp and ran her fingers gently across the strings in a glissando, to make a golden bell of sound, then stilled it with her palm and turned to look at him.

He was still sitting on the corner of the desk, idly running his tie through his fingers—quite a colourful tie, with red, navy and jade diamonds on it etched in a bone colour that matched his shirt.

But even sitting he was obviously a tall man, who happened to be twelve years her senior with a mind that was razor-sharp. He also had aquiline features, an impressive build and, although he wasn’t precisely handsome, once you got to know him you couldn’t help but be aware that he had a rare charm when he chose.

And when he didn’t choose there was the aura of a powerful intellect combined with a strong physique that gave notice of a man who got his own way frequently.

All in all an irresistible combination, and not only to me, she thought gloomily. To most women—and, even although they’ve been divorced for four years, still to Marietta, she suspected...

‘Nicola?’

She focused her gaze on her husband and shrugged. ‘I went to see a marriage counsellor, that’s all.’

It gave her a fieeting sense of satisfaction to see that she had momentarily stunned him. Then he said a shade grimly, ‘A man?’

‘Yes, he was a man—that threw me at first as well, but—’

‘Nicola.’

‘But he’s also a minister, and he was very nice, Brett, you don’t have to worry on that score.’

‘And what did he advise you to do?’

‘Well, you’re really going to enjoy this,’ she said with simple satire. ‘He advised me to stay put.’

For a moment she wondered if her eyes were playing tricks on her, because she could have sworn she saw him relax slightly. Then he said, ‘Not what you wanted to hear, I’m sure.’

‘No,’ she agreed, and shrugged. ‘That doesn’t mean to say I’ll stick to the letter of his advice.’

‘Nicola, I—’

‘Don’t, Brett,’ she said with a sudden, weary little gesture. ‘I have no plans to go anywhere at the moment, but that doesn’t mean to say I’m reconciled to anything.’

He seemed about to say something, then apparently changed his mind and murmured with a humorous little glint, ‘So I can expect you to be here for your twenty-first birthday?’

‘Yes.’ She shrugged.

‘You don’t sound very enthusiastic.’

‘I’m not but I’ll probably come round.’ She studied him unenthusiastically, then a faintly malicious glimmer lit her blue eyes. ‘By the way, don’t imagine you’ve escaped The Wiggles.’

‘Why not? I mean to say,’ he amended hastily, ‘I never intended to. I did forget.’

‘And then breathed a sigh of relief, no doubt But we didn’t watch them.’

Brett Harcourt looked at his wife narrowly. ‘How come?’

‘Well, knowing how much you love them, I persuaded your children to let me tape the programme so that we could all watch it together some time tomorrow. Which is a Saturday, in case you’ve forgotten, and one of the two days of the week you keep inviolate from work or whatever.’

‘You—did that to me?’

‘Yes, Brett, I did,’ she responded gravely, then started to laugh. ‘They’re very good, you know.’

‘If you’re a kid. Four young men who’ve tapped into the kindergarten set and made a fortune, I imagine,’ he said meditatively. ‘Oh, well.’

‘You could thank me for averting a crisis. Sasha was distraught when you didn’t turn up.’

‘Sasha is every bit as histrionic as her mother,’ Brett Harcourt said a shade grimly.

‘And getting more and more like her by the day,’ Nicola agreed with a reminiscent little grin.

‘How about Chris?’

‘Oh, I think he’s going to be a chip off the old block.’

He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Me?’

‘Yes, you.’

‘In what way?’

Nicola considered. ‘He’s clever—and practical. He said to Sasha, when she was throwing herself on the floor in floods of tears, “Don’t be so silly, Sash. If we tape it we can fast-forward all the advertisements.”’

Brett chuckled softly. ‘Definitely a man after my own heart. What did she say to that?’

‘Well, she’s no fool either,’ Nicola mused with secret laughter lurking in her eyes. ‘She said she liked the advertisements, they gave you a chance to go and get drinks and things, and she couldn’t stand the way men imagined they were driving a speed car when they had a remote control in their hands—flicking from one channel to another, fast-forwarding things and so on.’