An Inconvenient Husband (10 page)

He stood still, his
gaze meeting hers for a moment. Dark shadows, hesitation. "It was not my
intention to offend you," he stated evenly. "I apologize." No
expression on his face.

"You didn't used
to be so irritable," she stated. "What is it I'm doing that ticks you
off every time?"

"Nothing,"
he said tersely.

She stared at him.
"Nothing I do. Maybe it's just my presence? You don't want me here. You
don't even want to talk to me."

"I offered my
apologies."

"And that's
supposed to make me feel better? Well, I'm not here because I want to be here!
I'm here because
you
brought me here!"

"I'm supremely
aware of that." He closed his eyes briefly. "I am also supremely aware
of you."

Her heart lurched.
"Aware of me?"

"Yes." His
voice was tight. "You used to be my wife. I watch you enjoy the market,
see your face as you look at the strawberries in the garden, I hear you talk
about your work, and all I can think of is how you're still that same woman who
was my wife. And that now you're not."

Her throat
constricted. She couldn't think of a thing to say.

He sighed, the
shuttered look back in his eyes. "Nicky, I'm sorry. This isn't easy for
either of us. We'll just have to manage somehow.''

"I was trying to
manage," she said miserably.

He raked his hands
through his hair. "Yes, you're right. I'm sorry."

She bit her lip.
"It's all right. Forget it."

He went to his office
and she was relieved to see him leave. Ramyah brought her coffee and she took
it to the veranda, where several mosquito coils were already burning, the thin
spirals of smoke trailing up into the air.

Noises came from the
forest beyond the garden—a whoop-whooping Ramyah had told her came from
monkeys, odd animal cries, shrieks, hoots and whistles, the drone and buzzing
of millions of insects.

She thought of Blake
in his office, escaping from her. How odd to be with him in the same house, to
eat her meals with him. She felt her throat close. Once she'd thought they'd be
together always. She'd been so sure, so confident. She remembered the night
she'd told her parents she and Blake were getting married, the memory of the
conversation clear as if it had taken place only yesterday.

Her parents had liked
Blake, but had been concerned about her marrying so young, before even
finishing her college education. And so soon after meeting him.

"We've got it all
figured out!" she'd told them. "Don't worry about it."

Her father's smile had
been amused. "All figured out?" he'd asked, humor in his voice.
"Princess, when it comes to marriage you never have it all figured out.
Situations change, you make adjustments. You'll mature and change. He'll
change. You have to
keep
figuring it out."

"Oh, Dad, I know
that!" She'd been impatient, annoyed a little. Her father always knew
everything so well, always treated her as if she were just a little girl.
"But we can't just jump in without talking about it and hope we'll just
manage without agreeing on a few things!"

Her mother nodded.
"Of course, you're right. So what did you agree on?"

"We're going to
leave each other free." She'd stopped there, on purpose, to get a little
rise out of her parents. The devil made her do it.

Her mother looked
worried.
"Free?
Free to do what?"

Nicky laughed. "Free
to follow our own careers, free to make our own decisions. We're not going to
make silly demands on each other and tell each other what to do."

"I see," her
father said carefully.

"Which means,
basically," she went on, taking a deep breath, "that Blake is going
to do his traveling and I'm not going to whine and moan about his being gone so
much. I have my own career to think about, after all. I'm going to finish
college. I'm going to keep writing and when I have my degree I'll be able to
travel with him on some of his assignments.'' Excitement rose inside her.
"I can't wait to go with him. It'll be so great!"

"Blake will be
gone weeks at a time," her mother said with a worried expression.
"Are you sure you can handle that?"

"Yes, I am, Mom.
I'm an independent person and I shouldn't depend on him to fill every moment of
my life with meaning and happiness. I have that responsibility myself." It
sounded so mature, she was proud of herself. She grinned. "But when he
comes home we'll be together and it will be special. We'll appreciate each
other more. We won't get into a rut so easily."

Her mother glanced
over at her father. "They've done some thinking about it."

Her father nodded.
"I've known Blake for years and I like him very much, you know that. He's
a sensible, responsible man and we'll just have to have faith that the two of
you will make it work. All we really want is for you to be happy.''

"Oh, I'll be
happy. I know I will!"

In bed that night, she
had heard again her father's voice.
He's a sensible, responsible man.
She'd grinned up at the ceiling. How hopelessly dull that sounded! To her,
Blake was exciting, intriguing and utterly sexy. He was cosmopolitan and knew
his way around the world. Blake was a real man, sure of himself and his
convictions. He did not throw temper tantrums, he did not force his opinion on
other people. She'd never seen him angry—annoyed, yes, but not really angry. He
was so marvelously even-tempered.

He was, in many ways,
very different than she. For one thing, she did get angry, and passionate, too,
about things that she cared about. Sometimes that made him laugh. He thought
she was amusing for caring so much, for spending so much energy on enjoying
things he'd never even thought about. He laughed when she got excited about the
daffodils coming up in spring, or the growing of her small pots of herbs in her
windowsill, or about a wonderful new recipe she'd found. He loved her and she
loved him. They enjoyed each other, made each other happy.

A frightening shriek
from the forest pulled her back to the present. Not all was peaceful in the
jungle. Some creature out there was not having a good time.

She sighed. At
twenty-one she'd been so naive. It hurt to think about it now, to remember the
feelings, the words she had said. To know how truly she had meant them, how
very much she had been in love with Blake. She'd been so confident that they
would make their marriage work.

After the divorce
she'd felt dead inside for a long time—years, in fact. Until Jim had come onto
the scene. Jim was a hard-nosed reporter on the job and a softy in private. He
knew how to say the right words at the right time. He'd thawed out her reserve
and made her feel again—a little, anyway. But it had not been enough to try
again, to make a commitment. They'd seen each other for over a year, until it
was clear to her that it would not be fair to him to keep the relationship
going, even though it was nice and comfortable, even though she liked and
respected him very much.

She'd liked him very
much, but she hadn't loved him, at least not in the right way. Something was
missing. He had never touched the deepest core of her—maybe because she hadn't
allowed him to, she wasn't sure.

She stirred
restlessly. She needed something to do, something to occupy her mind. She could
not spend the next few days brooding over the failures in her life. It was not
productive. It was over and done with.

She came to her feet
as Blake stepped out onto the veranda. She hadn't heard him approach and it
took her by surprise. "I thought you were working," she said.

"My mind's not on
it." He frowned. "You don't have to leave."

"I was going to
my room. Besides, I know you'd rather be alone."

She saw him tense.
"Oh, for God's sake," he said irritably. "Let's not play games.
We're not going to be able to avoid each other, so let's not even try, all
right?"

"I wasn't trying
to avoid you," she said, feeling anger rise at his tone. "I was just
getting up to go to my room and try to do some writing. That's all."

He shrugged, his jaw a
hard line. "Suit yourself."

She moved past him
into the house and went to her room. She found paper and pens in the desk,
probably left there by a student or guest. Today had offered quite a crop of
writing topics, and it didn't matter where she started. She needed to get the
stuff on paper and work out what to do with it later. She needed to get her
mind off Blake.

If
ever you 're the victim of a cosmic joke and find yourself cruising through the
Malaysian tea plantations with your ex-husband, try to divert your mind from this
unsavory situation by contemplating the mysteries of tea.

Before
you read the rest of this article, brew yourself a proper pot of tea. No bags
in ugly mugs, please! You will need a glass cup, or if this is not available, a
white cup—it may have flowers on the outside, but not on the inside.

Fill
the cup. Now hold it in the sunlight, or if not available, lamplight. Look at
the color, truly savor the rich, burnished red. Isn't it wonderful? It's like a
jewel in the light. I get excited about that stuff. I just can't help myself.

She reread it, groaned
and dropped her head on the desk. She was exhausted and her head felt very
heavy. After a few minutes she struggled upright, tore up her writing and went
to bed.

Mist-shrouded
mountains greeted her as she peered sleepily out the window the next morning.
The air was cool and damp. She pulled on a pair of jeans, rolling up the legs
and tightening the waist with a belt. They were at least a size too big, but
loose was the fashion. It was cool enough to wear socks and sneakers, which she
found. The shoes were a size too big, as well, but tightening the laces would
keep them on her feet. She pulled a sweatshirt on over a T-shirt, then went in
search of breakfast.

Blake was not in
evidence and she assumed he was working in the office. She had breakfast alone
and then tried to talk to Ramyah, which was a bit of a struggle. Nicky knew ten
words of Malay, and Ramyah, twenty of English.

The kitchen was
simple, but functional, and the pantry was large and impressive, storing good
supplies of non- perishables, many of gourmet standard. No one was living a
deprived life in this house.

She was about to go
for a stroll in the garden when Blake entered the kitchen, a coffee cup in his
hand.

"Good
morning," he said, looking her up and down, his mouth curling with
amusement. "You look charming."

She glared at him.
"It's not my fault that these clothes are too big for me. And if you don't
like it, don't look at me!"

His eyebrows shot up.
"Ouch. You are snappish this morning. Where's your sense of humor?"

She gritted her teeth.
"I left it behind along with my own clothes and purse and the rest of my
life when you abducted me."

"I did not abduct
you. 1 rescued you," he corrected her.

She waved her hand as
if the distinction was of no consequence. "Whatever. But that doesn't mean
I'm supposed to
like
being here with you."

"No one's asking
you to," he said coolly. "It wasn't exactly my idea of fun,
either." He picked up the coffeepot and filled his cup.

"If you don't
want me here, you could have figured out something else," she said hotly.

"I promised your
father I'd take care of you, and I will." His tone was calm and
determined.

"Take care of
me?"

"Keep you
safe."

"How cozy,"
she said nastily. She wasn't being fair, she knew, yet she seemed unable to
contain herself. "Well, you'll just have to tolerate my presence, unsavory
as it may be to you, and no matter how un- charming I look in these
clothes!"

"I wasn't
complaining." His mouth curved faintly. "Somehow, dear Nicky, you
manage to look sexy no matter what you wear."

She glared at him.
"I have absolutely no desire to look sexy, feel sexy, or be sexy, rest
assured."

"That's a
relief," he said dryly. "It might complicate matters."

"I've no
intention of complicating matters. I just want to keep things simple."

He nodded. "You
and I in the same house, in different beds. Very simple."

"Exactly."

He gave her a long
look. "Don't fool yourself, Nicky," he said quietly. "It won't
be easy. It's already not easy."

There was an awkward
silence, the truth of his words like a living presence between them. She
searched desperately for something to say, something light or funny, or even
something sarcastic—anything to break the uneasiness, but her mind produced
nothing.

"Well," he
said slowly, breaking the silence. "I'd better get back to work." He
moved to the door. "See you later."