The Husband She'd Never Met. Barbara Hannay
and charming. She wanted to enjoy the moment and not to worry.
If only the situation didn’t feel so unreal—like a pretence, as if she’d slipped through a time warp and was living someone else’s life.
Max organised dinner, ordering takeaway food from a nearby Chinese restaurant, which he collected and then served using the apartment’s pretty aqua blue dinner service.
The night was deliciously balmy, so they lit candles with glass shades and ate on the balcony. Moonlight shone on the water and lights on the black shape of Magnetic Island twinkled in the distance. A yacht left the marina and glided smoothly and silently over the dark bay, heading out to sea.
For Carrie, the combination of the meal and the moonlight was quite magical, and she could feel her body relaxing, the nervous knots in her belly easing, even while her curiosity about Max and their marriage mounted.
‘Do you know what I’ve done with my wedding ring?’ The question, just one out of the hundreds of questions circling in her head, spilled from her before she quite realised what she was saying.
She felt a bit foolish as soon as it was out—especially when she saw surprise and then a flash of pain in Max’s eyes.
He took a moment to answer and she was nervous again, her heart fluttering in her chest like a trapped bird. What’s wrong? she wanted to ask him.
But when he answered he spoke quite calmly. ‘Your rings are at home on the dressing table.’
At home on the dressing table. It sounded so incredibly ordinary and sensible. Why had she been worried? ‘I suppose when you’re living in the Outback it makes sense not to wear them all the time?’
‘Yes, that’s what you decided.’
But there was something in Max’s eyes that still bothered her.
‘What’s my engagement ring like?’
‘It has two diamonds.’
‘Two? Lucky me.’
Max smiled at this. ‘It was my grandmother’s ring. She died not long after we met, but she wanted you to have it.’
‘Oh...’
‘You were happy to wear it. You liked her.’
Carrie felt a bit better, hearing this. It was reassuring to know that she’d got on well with Max’s grandmother. But it hinted at an emotional health that she didn’t feel.
Are we happy? Carrie wanted to ask next, but she wasn’t brave enough. For one thing she was haunted by her mother’s confusing question—the one she’d cut off and left dangling with no further explanation. As well, Carrie had the sense that both Max and her mother were carefully avoiding anything that might upset her.
Perhaps she should stop asking questions for now. But it was so hard to be patient and simply wait for her memory to return.
As they ate in silence, enjoying the delicious food and the pleasant evening, the questions kept circling in Carrie’s head.
It wasn’t long before she had to ask, ‘Did we have a honeymoon? Did we go somewhere exotic and tropical like this?’
Max smiled. ‘We most certainly had a honeymoon. We went to Paris.’
‘Paris?’
Stunned, Carrie let her fork drop to her plate as she stared at him. Paris was the last destination she’d expected. Max was an Outback cattleman, a rugged cowboy who loved the outdoors. He rounded up cattle and battled the elements, and no doubt rode huge rodeo bulls or wrestled crocodiles in his spare time.
She found it hard to match that image with a sophisticated and cultured city like Paris.
‘Did—did I choose Paris?’
He lifted a dark eyebrow. ‘We chose it together. We were tossing up between New York, Paris and Rome, and we couldn’t choose, so we ended up throwing the three names in a hat.’
‘And then, when we drew the winner, we went for best of three?’
‘Yes.’ He frowned, then leaned forward, his elbows on the table and his gaze suddenly serious and searching. ‘How did you know that, Carrie? Can you remember?’
She shook her head. ‘No, sorry. I can’t remember anything about Paris, but I’ve always gone for the best out of three. Ever since I was little, if I was tossing up, trying to make any kind of decision, I’ve always tried three times.’ She gave an embarrassed little shrug. ‘Just to make sure.’
‘Of course.’ His smile was wry, and Carrie felt somehow that she’d disappointed him.
She took a sip of her drink, lemon and lime and bitters, with clinking ice cubes. ‘I know this will probably sound weird, but I’d love to hear about it,’ she said. ‘I’ve always wanted to go to Paris and I’d really like to know what you thought of it. Not—not the honeymoon bit,’ she added quickly.
The sudden knowing shimmer in Max’s blue eyes made her blush.
‘I mean the city itself,’ she said. ‘Did you like it?’
At first Max didn’t answer...and there was an unsettling, faraway look in his eyes.
What was he thinking about?
‘Paris was wonderful, of course,’ he said suddenly. ‘Amazing. Or at least I found it amazing once we’d survived the hair-raising taxi ride from the airport to our hotel.’
‘Is the traffic in Paris crazy?’
‘Mad.’
‘Where did we stay?’
‘In a small hotel in St-Germain-des-Prés.’
‘Wow.’
‘It was a brilliant position. We could walk to the Seine, or to the Louvre, or Nôtre Dame. The café Les Deux Magots was just around the corner and we had lunch there several times. It was Ernest Hemingway’s favourite place to hang out, along with Pablo Picasso and a mob of intellectuals.’
Max’s face broke into a warm grin.
‘We drank amazing red wine and French champagne, and we ate enough foie gras to give ourselves heart attacks.’
‘It sounds wonderful.’ Carrie closed her eyes, willing herself to remember. But nothing came. ‘And what about the sights?’
‘The sights?’ Max repeated, then lifted his hands in a helpless gesture as he shrugged. ‘How do you do Paris justice? It was all so beautiful, Carrie—the Seine and the bridges, the parks with their spring flowers and avenues of trees. The skyline. All those rooftops and church spires. The whole place was just dripping with history.’
‘So you really liked it?’ Carrie’s voice was little more than a whisper.
‘Yeah, I loved it,’ Max said simply.
Goose bumps were breaking out all over her skin. Their honeymoon sounded so perfect, so-o-o romantic, so exactly what she’d always dreamed of.
‘And it was Paris in the springtime?’ she said. ‘It wasn’t May, was it?’
‘Yes, you were dead-set to go there in May.’
‘It’s always been my favourite month.’
‘I know.’
They shared a tentative smile.
‘You’re not making this up, are you?’ she asked. ‘About Paris?’
Max frowned. ‘Of course not. Why would I?’
She gave a sad shrug. ‘I don’t know. It’s just so hard, not being able to remember any of it. To be honest I feel cheated that I had a honeymoon in Paris and can’t remember a single thing.’
‘Well, everything must