An Inconvenient Husband (13 page)

"I didn't think
about it. It just comes naturally, I guess." Lightness in his voice.

She needed lightness,
humor. "You always were a good hugger," she said, her voice
quivering.

"You always
seemed to fit so nicely."

Madness. She fought
the yearning flooding through her. This was just a hug for comfort, a caring
gesture. After all, Blake was a good guy, a rescuer of terrorized frogs and
maidens in distress, a giver of comforting hugs.

It took all her
strength to draw out of his embrace. Her body objected, her heart objected. Her
mind won. She gave him a shaky smile. "We should get back to the table.
Ghita is going to wonder what happened to us."

"Ghita is a big
girl. She'll find someone to talk to."

Which she had. Several
other people had joined their table and a waiter was taking orders for their
dinner.

Mercifully, dinner and
the animated conversation at the table distracted her from her preoccupation.
The night air was cool and fragrant, and eating the delicious food on the
outside terrace was a treat.

The main course
finished, Nicky excused herself to make one more attempt at calling her father.
The phone rang three times, then her father's voice sounded in her ear.

Her body slumped with
relief. "Dad! It's me. I've been trying and trying all day to get hold of
you. Are you all right?"

"Of course I'm
all right. I've been trying to reach you, too, but it seems your phone is
out."

"A little kid
took it apart. I'm calling from...a restaurant."

"I hope this
little side trip isn't inconveniencing you too much. Are you getting any work
done?"

"I'm trying. It's
a great place to work. Very good for the creative spirit." If only Blake
wouldn't be there. He was disturbing her creative spirit.

"Good, I'm
glad." Hesitation in his voice. "I know this is an awkward situation
for you, Nicky, but I saw no other solution."

"I know, Dad. I'm
all right." What else could she say? I'm having a nervous breakdown?
Staying under the same roof with my ex-husband is intolerable? Her father
didn't want to have to worry about her. She didn't want him to.

So many questions she
didn't dare ask on the phone, so many worries. What if someone overheard them?
What if these jokers from Hong Kong were still after her? She was beginning to
feel paranoid, but then it might be considered an intelligent reaction to being
pursued. She wanted to ask him about her handbag, her passport, tell him she wanted
to get out of the country, but knew it wouldn't be wise to mention anything of
the sort.

"So how are you
faring without me?" she asked, hoping he'd give her some clue.

"I'm doing fine
and I have everything under control. You just enjoy your vacation."

I'd rather come back,
she wanted to say. I'd rather you sent me my papers and passport so I can get
out of the country. She couldn't think of a way to ask.

"How's that cold
you have?" she asked, feeling silly trying to talk in code. Her father
never had colds. "Is it getting better?" "It's getting a little
better," he said, not missing a beat. "But I imagine it'll take a
while before it's all gone. I'm taking care of myself, though, don't you
worry."

"All right,
Dad." She swallowed. Obviously the situation had not been taken care of
yet, but it had only been two days, and the police were probably still working
on it. No doubt he wanted her to stay right where she was.

"Well, I'd better
get back to the table."

They said goodbye and
Nicky put the phone down. She would never make it as a spy or a secret agent.
Never in a hundred years.

Dessert was being
served as she came back to the table. Blake gave her a questioning look.

"I got hold of
him, finally," she said, sitting down against next to him. "He said
everything was under control."

Blake smiled.
"Good. Feeling better?"

"A little. He
didn't say much."

The conversation
around the table continued and an hour later, dessert finished and coffee
consumed, people said their goodbyes.

The road back to the
house was pitch dark, but Blake was not fazed by the challenge of driving at
night along the twisting road.

"When you spoke
to your father, did he seem all right?" he asked.

"I think so. It's
hard to tell. I felt like an idiot trying to talk in code, but he didn't say
anything about my coming back to KL. I suppose the police are working on the
case."

"It's only been
two days."

"I know."

He gave her a quick
sideways glance. "And to change the subject, what was it that you and
Ghita were discussing? I take it you didn't tell her who you are."

Her pulse quickened.
Alone in the car with him in the dark, she could not hide behind the presence
of others. "No. As I'm sure you've noticed, she's quite enamored with you.
As a matter of fact she was warning me off."

"I see." His
voice was level, giving nothing away.

"This afternoon,
at the pool, I overheard her and a friend discussing your many masculine
charms."

"I'm
flattered," he said dryly. "Did you go over and set them
straight?"

"No, but I was
tempted." He knew her so well. "Especially after they discussed how
his wife must have been a moron." In the dark she sensed more than saw his
smile.

"I can see it
must have been a real challenge to keep your cool. How did you handle it?"

"I dove in the
pool. The water was lovely."

"Very
intelligent." He chuckled. "Then you found Ghita at the table with me
on the veranda and when I left you couldn't resist getting back at her saying I
invited you to stay with me at the house, suggesting, no doubt, long nights of
romance and passion."

Her heart lurched at
the image. "Well, yes," she said, trying to sound cool. "A bit
adolescent, perhaps," she added with mature dignity. "If I caused you
any problem, I'm sorry."

"You're not
sorry, but never mind."

She grimaced in the
dark. "Have you known her long?"

"Since she was a
little kid. I knew her family when I was here as a Peace Corps volunteer,
fifteen years ago, or whenever it was."

She felt an odd
twisting of her stomach. That was longer than he had known her. Well, what did
it matter? Nothing at all. She straightened in her seat.

"Why isn't she
married yet? I thought in the Indian community parents arrange their children's
marriages."

"Traditionally,
yes, but not always anymore here in Malaysia. Her father tried, but has worn
himself out arranging. Ghita refuses to cooperate. He told me he made the
mistake of sending her to England for her education. It corrupted her beyond
redemption, in his opinion."

"Meaning she
wants to marry for love and pick out her own husband."

"Right. And we
all know the success rate of those experiments." His voice was cool, yet
she heard the faint note of bitterness hiding behind the businesslike tone.

Her stomach churned
and the car was suddenly charged with painful emotion.

"I never thought
of our marriage as an experiment," she said tightly, feeling defensive.

He shrugged. "You
wrote me we didn't have a marriage at all."

Her nails were digging
into her palms. She felt warm with nerves. "I suppose it was more like
an... arrangement."

The silence was
deafening. "I see," he said at last, his voice ominously low.

Her heart beat louder
and louder. Something was happening to her, something frightening. "A
convenient arrangement for you," she heard herself say. "You'd go on
your trips and whenever you came home, I was conveniently there for you to cook
your meals and be available in bed."

Again the silence,
vibrating, pulsing.

He was staring
straight ahead at the road. Anger radiated from him. She could feel it like a
physical touch. She twisted her hands together in her lap, feeling as if there
was no air to breathe, as if the dark forest outside the car was closing in on
her. She stared blindly out the window, wishing she were a thousand miles away.

"I don't
think," he said at last, "that this is a fruitful discussion."
His voice was cold with barely restrained fury. "I have no desire to have
an argument over something that's been dead and gone for over four years."

She had never heard
him speak in that tone before and she felt a shiver go down her back. Her mouth
was dry, her tongue paralyzed. It was just as well. Silence was the best
answer, she was sure.

The rest of the way
home neither one of them spoke another word. She felt overwhelmed by
emotions—mixed up emotions sweeping through her like a wild, tempestuous storm,
uprooting memories and images from the past.

Back in the house he
poured himself a glass of whiskey.

"I think we need
to clear up a few things here," he said. "You want a drink?" It
was the first thing he had said to her.

She shook her head.
All she wanted was to get away from him and the raw tension between them.
"I just want to go to bed."

"In a little
while. First, sit down."

"Don't order me
around!"

He ignored her comment
and took a drink from his whiskey. "All right. Let's take inventory of the
situation. You and I are here together not by choice, but because of
circumstances. I don't know how long you'll need to be here. A couple of days,
a week, or—"

"A
week!”
It might as well be a year.

He shrugged. "Or
maybe longer." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Considering our past
relationship, this is certainly not an arrangement conducive to harmonious
living. Don't think for a minute this is easy for me." He paused,
hesitating, and a shadow passed across his face. "You were my wife,"
he said then, his voice ragged. "Now, every day, I look at you and am
reminded of how it was between us, and how... wrong everything is now."

She tensed. She didn't
want to feel, to be carried away by another maelstrom of emotions. "I'm
sorry I'm causing you such hardship," she said tightly. "You just say
the word, and I'll leave."

His jaw went rigid.
"You're staying right here. What we need to figure out is how to act like
two mature adults and make this situation bearable."

"What did you
have in mind? We act like friendly neighbors? Brother and sister?"

"Whatever works
to make it bearable."

She stared at him, her
hands clenched by her side. "So what do you want me to do? Hide in my
room, avoid being with you?"

He closed his eyes
briefly and sighed. "No, of course not. Dammit, Nicky, I don't know."

"Well, how do you
think I feel? I'm here against my will. For all practical purposes I am a
prisoner in this house with no place to go, no clothes, no money, and I'm
dependent on you for everything and you don't even want me here! You're just
doing it for my father, and if he hadn't asked you, you could have just let me
go after so bravely rescuing me and let me fend for myself!"

"And take the
risk of something happening to you? For God's sake, Nicky, you were my
wife.
Do you think I don't care what happens to you?"

She swallowed. "I
don't know. Why would you?"

He gave her a dark
look, and she caught the glimpse of distress hiding in the shadows. Or was she
just imagining it? "Never mind, Nicky," he said wearily. "Go to
bed. It's late."

She lay in bed,
wide-eyed, listening to the sounds coming from the forest. A cool breeze came
in through the open windows and she pulled the thin blanket up to her chin.

Her body was restless,
shivery, her nerves strung tight as if she'd overdosed on caffeine. It didn't
make sense to feel so stressed out over something that had happened long ago,
something that she had worked through and left behind.

Or had she?

I
have no desire to have an argument over something that has been dead and gone
for over four years.
She heard again the cold fury in Blake's voice, saw his
hands clenched hard around the steering wheel.

Dead and gone. Dead
and gone. The words kept echoing in her mind. Her throat felt raw. She turned
on her side, curled up in a ball and closed her eyes tightly. Blake's face swam
before her mind's eye, a dark, intense look in his eyes.
You were
my wife. Do you think I don't care what happens to you?

She was aware of a
terrifying need to hide, yet knowing she could not. The truth was clear and
impossible to deny.

Anything that
generated so much emotional energy wasn't dead and gone.

Something woke her in
the middle of the night, but she wasn't sure what. Maybe a noise from some
night creature, maybe a bad dream instantly repressed. It was a miracle she had
slept at all—she hadn't expected it. She lay still, listening, but could not
identify anything that might have awakened her. She sighed and changed her
position, trying to keep her mind blank, trying to go back to the oblivion of
sleep. Please, please, just let me sleep. No thoughts in my head, no words, no
images... Count back from a hundred, slowly, see the numbers in your mind...

Her mind was not
cooperating. It was going wild. It wanted to remember yesterday and last night,
Ghita's face, the words she had said. The things Blake had said, the anger in
his voice. It was hopeless. She tossed and turned, fighting the swirling
kaleidoscope in her mind.

God
knows what she must have done to him.

What had she done to
him? Nothing. She had loved him with all her heart. She had cooked wonderful
meals. She had never complained about his work taking him overseas. She'd been
an eager, happy lover.

She sat up straight in
bed. She couldn't stand lying here in the dark any longer, fighting the demons.
Maybe a cup of herbal tea would help; she'd seen various kinds in the kitchen.
Maybe there was one good for chasing demons.

Tying a sarong around
herself, she left the room and tiptoed down the corridor toward the kitchen. A
strangled sound coming from Blake's room froze her in her tracks and her heart
leapt in her throat. Had he called her name? Or was it just her imagination?

"Nicky..."
Low, muffled, but unmistakable. The door was slightly ajar and she pushed it
open quietly.

"Blake?" she
whispered, apprehension clutching at her.

Silence. Then sounds
of movement in the bed, a soft groan.

"Blake?" she
repeated softly.

"What?" he
muttered. A deep sigh. "Nicky, is that you?"

"Yes. You were
calling me."

She heard him stirring
in the bed, then a click, and the soft light of a small bedside lamp
illuminated the room. He was semi-sitting up against the pillows, looking
half-asleep and disoriented. His eyes were smoky gray, reaching for something
unseen. He shook his head. His hair was disheveled.

"I was
dreaming," he muttered, sounding confused.

"About
what?" It was an automatic question.

He rubbed his face
wearily. "About you."

CHAPTER SIX

Her
breath caught in her
throat as a tangle of emotions churned up inside her. Blake had been dreaming
about her. She didn't know what to say, what to ask... afraid to ask. She
stared at him in breathless silence.

"You were
talking," he said, "but I couldn't understand anything you were
saying. It was just... sounds, I don't know, like a foreign language, only it
wasn't."

She was barely breathing.
"What were we doing? Where were we?" she whispered.

"I'm not
sure." He rubbed his forehead. "It's going. I can't really remember..
.just... it wasn't now. It was... we were still married." He closed his
eyes tightly, as if trying to catch the dream inside, hold it in his
consciousness. "You were wearing a red dress."

"A red dress? I
never wear red." It clashed with the auburn of her hair.

He said nothing, his
eyes still closed.

She found herself
standing close to the bed; she must have moved further into the room without
even knowing it.

"Where were
we?" she asked softly. "At home?"

At home. How strange
it sounded now.