Wife in the Making. Lindsay Armstrong
contribute that much. In fact it came up when Eric told me I was being extremely unkind to you.’
‘What a pity you don’t take more notice of Eric,’ she shot back.
Bryn lay back in his chair. ‘I do. Well, sometimes. Eric and I go way back and, on the whole, I’ve found his advice to be wise—I just wasn’t in the mood to take it this time.’
Fleur stared at him incredulously, trying to sort through it all, then she closed her eyes and shook her head. ‘It’s like being in a madhouse,’ she said.
‘On the other hand, we just might be able to help.’
Her lashes lifted and a sudden thought came to her. ‘Who do I remind you of? What part does that play in it all?’ she asked slowly.
He finished his coffee and stood up. ‘Oh, that was only fleeting and not really important. What is important, Fleur,’ he paused and looked at her with a mixture of sympathy and seriousness—with absolutely no hint of that electric tension that had flowed between them before—and went on, ‘is that you can talk to us. You really don’t have to soldier on alone. But that’s enough for one night—I’ll leave you to finish your coffee in peace. Goodnight!’
Fleur listened to him walking down the veranda steps, then there was silence as the beach swallowed up his footsteps. She blinked several times, lay flat then sat up, shaking her head, and reached for her coffee with her mind in turmoil. How had she not realized that she came across as so obviously isolated and damaged? To the extent that people would gossip about it behind her back? Apart from Bryn’s hostility to cope with, she’d thought she’d appeared tranquil and even enjoying her sojourn at Clam Cove—apart from him, she had been, damn it!
So was it another frustrating example of give a girl a pretty face and figure—and you only acquired those because of your genes—and, without a constant supply of men dancing attendance, people immediately assumed there was some trauma?
Well, there was, she thought ruefully, but whose business was it but her own?
She drained her glass and stood up to pace around her bungalow for a while. On the other hand, could she have landed amongst a bunch of fruit loops? And why did she have this conviction, despite Bryn’s disclaimer about her reminding him of someone not being important, it was much more of a key to things than he’d been prepared to admit?
She stopped abruptly in the middle of the cabin as her conversation with Julene just that morning came back to her. What was it Julene had said—‘You could have knocked us over with a feather when he produced you…’ Yes, her exact words. Did this mean Julene and Eric knew who she reminded Bryn of? And to produce such a hostile reaction in him from the first moment they met—it had to be another woman in his life, she reasoned, a woman who had left her mark most unhappily on him…
Right on cue Tom’s little face floated into her mind. Tom, whose mother was never mentioned, which in itself meant there had to be trauma, for whatever reason, associated with her memory. Was that what she’d walked into? Reminding a man of the mother of his child when he’d much prefer to forget her?
She came to life and turned off the oil lamp, shrugged out of her robe and slipped into bed as exhaustion suddenly hit her. Then she remembered what he’d said about being a journalist in a former life.
She sat up and pondered this. It explained the laptop Tom had told her about in his bungalow. It probably explained the light on in his bungalow at all hours. So did he still practise journalism? If so, why did he never mention it?
And before she fell asleep another dilemma raised its head with her. Her physical reaction to Bryn Wallis, and his to her, unless it had been her imagination…
Julene was up and about and apparently restored to normal when Fleur surfaced a little later than usual the next morning.
‘Some night,’ she said chattily as she sat down with a cup of coffee while Fleur ate her breakfast. ‘I have to tell you Eric was most impressed.’
Fleur opened her mouth to ask what with, but decided to save her breath.
‘He can’t remember anyone giving Bryn as good as they got quite like that before,’ Julene went on. ‘Of course, I knew you had to crack eventually, he was being totally unreasonable and impossible but—raspberries and cream! Way to go, kid.’
Fleur smiled feebly.
‘You’re not feeling guilty?’ Julene enquired with a frown. ‘You see, it’ll clear the air tremendously—by the way, all your clothes washed up on the beach. I reckon the shoes are ruined but a bit of bleach will get the stains out of his shirt; not so sure about your dress, though. If you don’t mind me saying so, it wasn’t the most attractive dress, so that could be a good thing—What’s the matter?
Fleur had stopped eating abruptly. Now she put her hands to her head and started to laugh helplessly. Finally she looked up at Julene with streaming eyes. ‘Does this place ever strike you as a madhouse?’ she asked.
‘Well, now,’ Julene started to laugh too, ‘can’t say things are ever boring around Bryn!’
Fleur sobered. ‘I gather you’re all worried about me? There’s no need. OK, yes, I’m not into men at the moment—’
‘They can be bastards,’ Julene broke in sympathetically.
Fleur smiled mechanically then frowned. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Fire away, honey!’
‘Surely it’s better, after you’ve—’ she shrugged ‘—got your fingers burnt, in a manner of speaking, to…retire for a bit? That’s, well, one thing I’m doing, trying to build another life, I guess.’
‘What was your previous life?’ Julene asked curiously.
‘Two years studying computer science and statistics after school then receiving an offer from a modelling agency I couldn’t refuse—or so I thought at the time. But it all palled, so,’ she spread her hands palms outward, ‘I decided to get my feet back on the ground.’
Julene reached for the percolator and poured herself another cup of coffee. She stirred sugar into it. ‘You still need friends, hon,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘And what about your family?’
Fleur made a curiously helpless little gesture and said wryly, ‘My parents are overseas travelling the world and I do keep in touch with them regularly via e-mail. The same with friends.’
Julene shrugged. ‘I’d still feel happier if you got some letters or phone calls.’
Fleur bit her lip and for a moment was tempted to tell Julene why it made her extremely happy to receive no mail, no phone calls and especially no flowers at Clam Cove. But she stifled the urge—it was like living in a fishbowl here anyway.
So she changed the subject. ‘Julene, who do I remind Bryn of?’
A flicker of indecision passed through Julene’s eyes then she shrugged. ‘Tom’s mother, but that’s something you should ask Bryn about.’
Fleur started to say something then changed her mind. ‘Where is he? The place seems to be very quiet.’ She looked around.
‘He took Tom across to the mainland for a checkup.’
‘Any spots?’
‘Nope.’ Julene stood up. ‘He was as bright as a button this morning. Might have been a false alarm but he wanted to be sure. Oh, well, guess I’ll finish clearing up the mess—by the way, the boss has decreed that we are closed tonight even though it’s not a Monday.’ Monday was the one day of the week the restaurant didn’t open.
‘Glory be,’ Fleur said with feeling. ‘I’ll give you a hand with the mess.’ Her lips curved into a rueful smile. ‘Since I caused a lot of it.’
Bryn didn’t arrive home until late afternoon—minus Tom.
He