Yesterday's Husband. Angela Devine

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      She couldn’t answer these questions and brooding over them only gave her a headache and a strong urge to burst into hysterics. Pulling herself together with an effort, she rose to her feet. There was no sense in worrying herself sick. It would be more sensible to go out for a swim, change into her best clothes and meet him at dinnertime on her own ground, as the hard-headed, cool businesswoman she had become in the past few years. Setting her lips grimly, she rummaged in her bag and found a large beach towel, a skimpy emerald-green bikini, sandals and a bottle of suntan lotion. Thus equipped, she made her way down to the pool.

      The setting was idyllic and, if she had not been so upset by Richard’s unexpected arrival, all her worries would have ebbed away at the sight of it. In fact, it wasn’t just one pool but several winding in a serpentine pattern in and out of the landscaped gardens. Two or three changing-huts, open to the breeze and with orange tiled roofs, offered welcome shade, while carved stone elephants on the tiled surrounds of the pool squirted water from their upraised trunks. In the background a line of palm trees flailed like green windmills in the breeze from the ocean. Emma slipped out of the sarong that she was wearing over her bikini and dropped it on to a bench in one of the changing-huts. Then she slid into the deliciously warm, silky water. It was heavenly to lie back floating and stare up into the cloudless blue sky. If only Richard hadn’t come, this would have been a marvellous vacation. Perhaps it still would be if only she could persuade him to go away and leave her in peace. For somehow she had an ominous sense of certainty that his proposal to save Prero’s was going to come at a price that she wasn’t prepared to pay.

      She found out how accurate that presentiment had been when she and Richard met for dinner that evening. He arrived on the dot at seven o’clock looking coldly handsome in a lightweight white dinner-jacket, black trousers and white shirt. Emma had dressed equally carefully. Not because Richard had told her to put on her best clothes, but because the knowledge that she looked as glamorous as possible gave a badly needed boost to her confidence. She had swept her dark hair up into its usual chignon at the back and she was wearing a long frock of scarlet chiffon with a sweetheart neckline and a gold and pearl necklace around her throat. Tawny eyeshadow brought out the gold flecks in her eyes and a light touch of blusher high on her cheekbones concealed her pallor, while her lips were painted a defiant scarlet to match the dress. Richard gave her a small, ironical bow when she opened the door to him.

      ‘Very attractive,’ he commented.

      ‘Thank you,’ she said curtly. ‘Shall we go?’

      The restaurant was on the fifth floor of the main hotel building with a panoramic view over the ocean. The front door was flanked by two huge statues of fierce-looking Indonesian warriors intricately carved in stone and lit from below so that their eyes seemed to gleam wickedly. A smiling girl in a scarlet sarong came forward from behind a desk flanked by masses of greenery to ask their names.

      ‘Mr and Mrs Fielding,’ said Richard as casually as if they had been together for the past eight years.

      ‘Of course, sir. Please come this way.’

      The restaurant was dimly lit in order to take full advantage of the magnificent view over the ocean and Richard seemed to loom like a caveman beside her as they picked their way through the flickering candlelight. At last the waitress showed them to a table discreetly secluded by an ornate carved screen from the rest of the room and with a superb view of the moonlit ocean far below. Emma felt as nervous and tongue-tied as if she were fifteen years old when Richard held out one of the cushioned bamboo chairs so that she could sit down. When he was seated too, the waitress spread large scarlet napkins on their laps and handed them each a menu.

      ‘May I get you some pre-dinner drinks, sir?’ she asked.

      ‘Emma?’

      ‘Oh, just a gin and tonic for me,’ said Emma hastily.

      She felt far too agitated at this moment to know or care what the local drinks were, although normally she was quite adventurous when it came to sampling regional specialities.

      ‘That seems a bit tame,’ said Richard, his eyebrows shooting up. ‘I’ll try the arak cocktail myself. But I do hope you are going to be a little more adventurous when it comes to choosing food, darling.’

      Darling! thought Emma scathingly. Well, that was definitely for the benefit of the waitress, not her. But why was Richard behaving like this? Was it simply good manners to avoid embarrassing other people by displaying the hostility between them? Or was there something more to it? She was relieved when the waitress returned with their drinks and she was able to take a sip of the bitter, refreshing liquid. In the background a western-style dance band began to play softly with a catchy rhythm and again that odd sense of unreality took hold of Emma. If it hadn’t been for the tell-tale muscle twitching in Richard’s cheek, she might have thought they were here for a second honeymoon. When the waitress returned to take their orders for the meal, the illusion was intensified. Letting his fingers close briefly over Emma’s hand, Richard looked up at the waitress with the heart-stopping smile that had once made Emma go weak at the knees. Then he turned the smile back on Emma full force and she made the disturbing discovery that it still did make her go weak at the knees.

      ‘I think some chicken satay with peanut sauce to begin with, don’t you, sweetheart?’ he suggested. ‘And after that the rijstafel to share. And perhaps a platter of tropical fruit to follow. Oh, and please ask the drinks waiter to bring us a bottle of champagne.’

      But when the waitress had glided away, Richard’s smile vanished too. Leaning back in his chair, he drummed his fingers on the table in a rapid, staccato beat and scrutinised Emma’s face with far less charm.

      ‘I heard that Nigel Wellings went broke after he left you,’ he announced.

      Emma opened her mouth to protest that Nigel hadn’t left her. In fact it had been the other way around. And then she wondered wearily what was the use. After all, she had grown used to Nigel’s spite. He had been coldly furious when she had explained to him after a few months that she had mistaken her feelings, that she did not love him and never could. And on her father’s death she had asked him to leave Prero’s for good. He had never forgiven her and he had also told her in no uncertain terms that her money had been the only thing that had attracted him to her in the first place. Naturally that had hurt Emma’s pride, but on the whole she had found it an enormous relief. Genuine love that ended was such a painful experience that she wouldn’t wish it on anyone, even Nigel. And when he’d spread the rumours around Sydney that he had walked out on her, she had thought it more dignified not to protest. She thought it more dignified even now.

      ‘Yes, I heard that too,’ she said coolly, taking another sip of her drink. ‘It was unfortunate for him.’

      ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that,’ said Richard in a dangerously mild voice. ‘In my opinion, it couldn’t have hap pened to a more deserving man. But I suppose that if you were in love with him you may have felt differently about it.’

      Emma flinched and said nothing, but fortunately the wine waiter arrived at that moment with their champagne and made a great fuss of uncorking and pouring it.

      Still studying her face, Richard picked up his glass and smiled grimly as the man departed.

      ‘Mind you, I did think you might come crawling back to me like a whipped puppy after he left you,’ he announced in conversational tones. ‘But I was surprised to find that you did have some pride, Emma.’

      Emma had always had an explosive temper. Now, with her nerves ragged from the events of recent months, Richard’s needling was simply too much.

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