An Inconvenient Husband (7 page)

"You were always
a deep sleeper," he commented. "It would be thundering and lightening
and you wouldn't stir. Ambulances screaming down the street and you'd turn over
and go right back."

She grimaced.
"Proof of a clear conscience, you used to say."

He met her eyes.
"You still have that, then?"

Her heart turned over.
"What do you mean with that?"

He shook his head.
"Nothing. Just making conversation." He folded the paper.

"Why wouldn't I
have a clear conscience?" she persisted, feeling anger rise. "What
are you hinting at?"

He gave a light shrug.
"Haven't seen you for a long time. Who knows, the FBI may be hunting for
you all over creation." He put the paper down and came to his feet.
"Shall I pour you more coffee?" His face was neutral, his voice
polite.

She stared at him
angrily, knowing full well that she wasn't going to get a better answer out of
him. "I don't like insinuations," she said. "And no, I don't
want coffee now. I'll get dressed first."

She took her things
and went into the bathroom. What had he insinuated with his question? She had
no idea. She shrugged as she splashed water over her face. Examining the
moisturizing cream supplied by the hotel, she realized it was all she would
have to put on her face. Oh, well, she didn't care. There was nobody she needed
to impress with an immaculately made-up face. She used Blake's brush again to
do her hair, grateful she didn't need anything else to make it presentable.

They had breakfast at
the small table, saying little, the silence uncomfortable. She felt frayed
around the edges.

"I need to find a
way to get my purse and papers, and some clothes," she said.

"We're staying
away from the house. You'll have to do without." He buttered a roll and
didn't look at her.

"I
can't
do without!" she said tightly. "I think that under the circumstances
I'd better get on a plane and go back to the States."

"You'd never make
it to the airport. It's too risky right now." He drained his coffee and
filled the cup again.

She stabbed a piece of
papaya with her fork. "And what am I supposed to be doing? Hide out here
with you? Without clothes and money?" It was a nightmare not to be
contemplated.

"No," he
said coolly. "We'd better get out of town before they figure out I took
you and where to find you." The words, calmly spoken, struck a cord of
fear in her. She felt a shiver go down her back.

"If you're trying
to frighten me, you're very successful."

"Good. Then stop
worrying about clothes, for God's sake, and do what I say."

Do
what Blake tells you.
Her father's voice rang in her ears.

"You can't order
me around!" she said furiously.

"Of course I
can." A fleeting smile quirked his mouth. "I know how hard this must
be for you to admit, but you need me. Think about your father. All he wants is
assurance that his only daughter is safe."

"And I'm safe
with you?" she asked bitterly.

"Are you afraid
of me?" he asked, eyebrows arched.

Yes, she thought. She
was afraid of him, of the impact his presence had on her, of the emotions being
stirred up, but she could hardly tell him that, could she? She straightened her
back.

"Of course
not," she said tightly. "I don't imagine you have plans to lock me up
in some dank cellar until such time you think all danger of kidnapping has
passed."

"No. I have a
better idea." He took a bite from his roll, which prevented him from
saying more for the moment. She gritted her teeth as she watched him chew.

"Would you like
to clarify that?" she asked when he swallowed.

"I'd be delighted
to. What we're going to do is this... Friends of mine, John and Lisette
O'Connor, have a house in the mountains, about four hours out of town. They're
out of the country at the moment, but I made arrangements with them to stay at
their house to write my report. It's pretty isolated and we can stay there
until it's safe to go back to KL or until we find a way to get you out of the
country.''

"How?"

"I don't know
yet. Maybe we can drive across the border into Thailand. Or maybe we can get
you to a smaller airport and you can catch a domestic flight to Sarawak,
Borneo, and get into Indonesia from there. We'll have to check out the
possib—" He stopped mid- sentence. Then swore under his breath.
"Those thugs turned your room upside down to find your passport," he
stated with frigid finality.

"It wasn't in my
room!" she said quickly, relief flooding her. "It's in my desk drawer
at my father's office. He gave me a desk and a computer so I could work on my
writing there. It's in there with my disks and my return ticket and some
traveler's checks."

He let out a long sigh
of relief. "Good." He raked his hand through his hair. "Well,
we'd better get going then. I'll get packed."

"Do you have a
car here?" she asked, remembering they'd come to the hotel in a taxi last
night.

He tossed a suitcase
onto the bed. "I can use the O'Connors'. It's parked at the house of
friends of theirs here in town. They always keep it in KL when they're leaving
the country so they have it when they get back." He opened drawers and
began pulling out clothes.

A driver delivered the
car to the hotel fifteen minutes later. It was a rugged four-wheel drive Toyota
Land Cruiser, considerably battered and obviously well-used.

They drove in silence.
Blake had never been given to small talk. Even during their marriage he'd done
little talking. She had usually been the one to begin conversations and to keep
them going. The strong, silent type he was. She'd been enamored by it then,
found it sexy and exciting, wondering what lay behind that quiet facade, what
fascinating thoughts lurked behind those calm gray eyes.

Later it had no longer
been exciting. She had silently prayed for him to talk, to say the things she
so desperately needed to hear. Instead, there had been silence, or words that
had not mattered.

She sensed the old
bitterness stirring in her again and tried to push it out. It was all in the
past now.

Only he was sitting
next to her again, now, in the present. She bit her lip and focused on the
scenery outside. They'd left the city and were driving through rural country
past rubber plantations and picturesque Malay villages. The wooden houses were
built on stilts, their thatched roofs shaded by tall coconut palms. In the
distance, misty, forest-covered hills reared up against a deep blue sky.

"Tell me about
your friends," she asked at last, "the ones who own the house. Are
they American?"

"John's American,
Lisette is French. He's a botanist and she's a nature photographer and they're
both deep into conservation issues."

"Why are they out
of the country?"

"They're on a lecture
tour through the States. They've been all over the Peninsula and Sarawak
cataloging rain forest plants."

"Do they have
kids?" She couldn't imagine how they'd manage the needs of a family.

"Two grown
daughters. They're in the States."

"They're older
than you, then, I guess." She felt as if she were doing an interview
rather than having a conversation.

He shrugged
indifferently. "In their early fifties."

"They must be
interesting people. Do you see them often?"

"A couple of
times a year. When I'm in the Far East I usually go up there to write my
reports and spend a little time with them. I'm sorry to miss them this
time."

There was silence
again. Outside, they passed by rolling green valleys and hills, cultivated with
shimmering green bushes—tea, she knew—and through Chinese villages where small
shop houses spilled their goods onto the sidewalk. Above the shops were the
living quarters- potted plants on the balconies, washing hanging from lines to
dry. The different ethnic groups making up Malaysia's population made for a
colorful and interesting country.

Blake was preoccupied,
not making an effort at conversation. She studied his inscrutable face,
wondering what he was thinking. He hadn't counted on her being with him and she
wondered if he resented her presence. It was an uncomfortable thought.

"I'm sorry I'm
causing you a problem," she said. "You hadn't counted on my coming
with you."

"It's not a
problem." His eyes met hers briefly. "Unless we make it a
problem," he added.

"What do you
mean?"

He shrugged lightly.
"We are not exactly strangers to each other, and unfortunately our past
relationship did not have a very satisfactory ending."

"That was a long
time ago," she said tightly. "And I have no intention of making it a
problem."

"Good. Neither do
I."

She thought of waking
up in his arms early that morning, snuggled tightly up against him, and she
suppressed a wave of hot embarrassment. That had been a problem. A serious one.

They had lunch in a
Malay village an hour later, eating
nasi lemak,
spicy coconut
rice with fish, egg and cucumber wrapped up in a banana leaf. They ate it with
their fingers, Malay style, and she was mentally writing up the experience of
sitting here in this picturesque village with small children staring at them
curiously and women draped head to foot in Muslim dress on their way to the
small mosque for their midday prayers. She concentrated on taking in details,
color—the dog sleeping in the shade under a house, the beautifully carved
verandas of some of the houses.

"Here," she
heard Blake say. She glanced at the small notebook and pen he slid over to her
across the wooden table. She met his gaze, saw the faintly amused curve of his
mouth.

"Thank you."
She gave a half smile. "Can't resist?'

"I know.'' There
was unexpected warmth in his voice. "I can see it in your face—you get
that certain look in your eyes."

She wiped her hands on
a thin paper napkin, glad to have something to do, feeling oddly touched by his
gesture and the tone of his voice. She began to write, recording her
impressions to be worked out later, hoping that her notebook at home would
still be there and not get lost somehow. Surely her father or the housekeeper
would have found her purse and notes and keep them safe. She'd planned to work
out the notes on the computer in her father's comfortable, air-conditioned
office today. Instead she was here with her ex-husband in a Malay village hours
out of town, eating food from a banana leaf, with nothing more in her
possession than the clothes on her back.

She put the pen down.
"I know you don't care to hear me talk about clothes," she began
carefully, "but the reality is that I'll need something besides what I'm
wearing now. Isn't there—"

"There'll be
stuff at the house you can borrow. I'm sure Lisette won't mind."

"But I do."
She didn't even know the woman. "A T- shirt or a pair of jeans, fine, but
I draw the line at wearing someone else's underwear."

He gave a low laugh at
that. "All right, all right. I imagine there's a market here somewhere."

The waitress told them
yes, there was a
pasar,
in session today, down the road a little farther. Blake
paid for their lunch and they got back in the Land Cruiser.

Nicky realized that
she'd have to ask Blake for some money, as if she weren't dependent on him
enough. The irony of the situation did not escape her. She clenched her teeth
and stared ahead at the road. Oh, damn.

He gave her a quick
sideways glance. "What's the matter?"

"I have no
money." She sighed. "Would you mind lending me some?"

He glanced at her
again, one eyebrow arched. "You look as if it's distasteful to ask."

"I don't like
borrowing money!" she said tightly.

"Especially not
from your ex-husband," he added dryly.

"Right." She
wished it didn't bother her, but it did.

"Considering the circumstances,
I wouldn't make a big deal out of it," he said evenly. "I don't mind
in the least lending you some money."

"I'll pay you
back," she said for good measure.

He rolled his eyes.
"And please don't forget," he returned solemnly.

"I don't like feeling
so dependent, dammit!" she snapped, knowing he was making fun of her.
"You know that."

"Oh, yes, I know
that. But we're only talking about some underwear and it's only me, your
ex-husband. I don't believe I've ever been a threat to your independence."

No, he hadn't been.
Whatever vices she could accuse him of, that wasn't one of them. He'd left her
as free as a bird in the sky.

Too
free,
came the sudden, surprising thought. She shook it away impatiently. No one was
ever too free.