of
traditional Malay batek fabric with an exotic design in brown, white and indigo
blue. She'd wear that to the restaurant tonight.
Instead of going back
to the room, where she might run into Blake, and God forbid, the woman named
Ghita, she changed in the shower room near the pool. She ordered a glass of
juice from the coffee shop and settled herself on a lounge. Having slathered
sunscreen all over herself like a responsible person, she closed her eyes and
sighed.
Ah, bliss.
But not for long.
Voices. Laughter. People were settling at a table nearby. Words and phrases
reached her ears. Something about a dinner party, a tennis match. Two girls, by
the sound of it, and she recognized one of the voices.
Nicky turned her face
and peered through her lashes. Ghita, as she had suspected. She was sitting at
a small table nearby, in the company of another woman, a tall blonde. Both of
them looked young, in their early twenties. Both of them wore bikinis and were
sipping drinks. Ghita leaned forward a little, pushing her drink aside.
"Guess who I ran
into a few moments ago?" she asked.
CHAPTER FIVE
Ghita'S voice was breathless
with excitement and Nicky stiffened. She knew the answer to that question.
"Who?" asked
the skinny blonde.
"Blake. Blake
Chandler. Remember I introduced him to you... oh, I think it was almost a year
ago. He's American, tall and handsome and—"
"How could I
forget?" said the blonde, laughing. "You wouldn't stop talking about
him. He's the most wonderful, sexy, considerate, dynamic, intelligent man who
ever walked the face of the earth. An absolute paragon of virtue and virility.
No sins, no faults."
"Go ahead and
laugh, but it's true. He..."
Nicky was beginning to
feel very hot. Well, she was sitting in the sun. She reached for her passion
fruit juice and sipped it. She didn't want to hear more, but it was impossible
to block out the sound of the voices. They were discussing the fact that Blake
was not married, that his wife had divorced him some years ago.
"Makes you wonder
what happened," commented the blonde, her voice dry. "Why would any
woman voluntarily let go of such a perfect man?"
"A not-so-bright
one." There was a harsh note in Ghita's sexy voice.
Nicky felt like
jumping up and confronting them, telling them they didn't know what they were
talking about, that they had no idea what went on behind closed doors in other
people's lives. That it was extremely unintelligent to judge when they knew
nothing of the facts.
She lay immobilized on
the lounge, her heart thumping wildly, trying to tell herself that this was
ridiculous, really. Hilarious, actually. No reason for her to get all frazzled
because of these naive college girls—hardly women, really. Perhaps she should
make a little comedy out of the situation. Come to her feet, smile nicely, say
she had overheard them and wouldn't mind letting them in on a few of the juicy
details about Mr. Perfect's failed marriage. That once she had been extremely
close to Mr. Perfect and his stupid ex-wife and that she had all manner of
confidential information and intimate details.
Her imagination and
creativity failed her miserably. No matter how she fiddled with various
versions of the scenario, she couldn't make it funny.
There was nothing
funny about being away from home and calling your husband in the middle of the
night and not finding him in bed. And it didn't get any funnier when you called
him the next night and the night after that, and he was never there. Her teeth
hurt. She was clenching them too hard.
"He's never
getting married again," she heard Ghita say. "He told me so. God
knows what she must have done to him."
Nicky went rigid. Her
breathing was shallow. Rage tasted bitter in her mouth. How dare she! What did
she think she had done to him?
"A good woman
should be able to change his mind," stated the blonde. "How good are
you, Ghita?"
Laughter. Nicky
clenched her hands into fists. She couldn't stand this. She
traditional Malay batek fabric with an exotic design in brown, white and indigo
blue. She'd wear that to the restaurant tonight.
Instead of going back
to the room, where she might run into Blake, and God forbid, the woman named
Ghita, she changed in the shower room near the pool. She ordered a glass of
juice from the coffee shop and settled herself on a lounge. Having slathered
sunscreen all over herself like a responsible person, she closed her eyes and
sighed.
Ah, bliss.
But not for long.
Voices. Laughter. People were settling at a table nearby. Words and phrases
reached her ears. Something about a dinner party, a tennis match. Two girls, by
the sound of it, and she recognized one of the voices.
Nicky turned her face
and peered through her lashes. Ghita, as she had suspected. She was sitting at
a small table nearby, in the company of another woman, a tall blonde. Both of
them looked young, in their early twenties. Both of them wore bikinis and were
sipping drinks. Ghita leaned forward a little, pushing her drink aside.
"Guess who I ran
into a few moments ago?" she asked.
CHAPTER FIVE
Ghita'S voice was breathless
with excitement and Nicky stiffened. She knew the answer to that question.
"Who?" asked
the skinny blonde.
"Blake. Blake
Chandler. Remember I introduced him to you... oh, I think it was almost a year
ago. He's American, tall and handsome and—"
"How could I
forget?" said the blonde, laughing. "You wouldn't stop talking about
him. He's the most wonderful, sexy, considerate, dynamic, intelligent man who
ever walked the face of the earth. An absolute paragon of virtue and virility.
No sins, no faults."
"Go ahead and
laugh, but it's true. He..."
Nicky was beginning to
feel very hot. Well, she was sitting in the sun. She reached for her passion
fruit juice and sipped it. She didn't want to hear more, but it was impossible
to block out the sound of the voices. They were discussing the fact that Blake
was not married, that his wife had divorced him some years ago.
"Makes you wonder
what happened," commented the blonde, her voice dry. "Why would any
woman voluntarily let go of such a perfect man?"
"A not-so-bright
one." There was a harsh note in Ghita's sexy voice.
Nicky felt like
jumping up and confronting them, telling them they didn't know what they were
talking about, that they had no idea what went on behind closed doors in other
people's lives. That it was extremely unintelligent to judge when they knew
nothing of the facts.
She lay immobilized on
the lounge, her heart thumping wildly, trying to tell herself that this was
ridiculous, really. Hilarious, actually. No reason for her to get all frazzled
because of these naive college girls—hardly women, really. Perhaps she should
make a little comedy out of the situation. Come to her feet, smile nicely, say
she had overheard them and wouldn't mind letting them in on a few of the juicy
details about Mr. Perfect's failed marriage. That once she had been extremely
close to Mr. Perfect and his stupid ex-wife and that she had all manner of
confidential information and intimate details.
Her imagination and
creativity failed her miserably. No matter how she fiddled with various
versions of the scenario, she couldn't make it funny.
There was nothing
funny about being away from home and calling your husband in the middle of the
night and not finding him in bed. And it didn't get any funnier when you called
him the next night and the night after that, and he was never there. Her teeth
hurt. She was clenching them too hard.
"He's never
getting married again," she heard Ghita say. "He told me so. God
knows what she must have done to him."
Nicky went rigid. Her
breathing was shallow. Rage tasted bitter in her mouth. How dare she! What did
she think she had done to him?
"A good woman
should be able to change his mind," stated the blonde. "How good are
you, Ghita?"
Laughter. Nicky
clenched her hands into fists. She couldn't stand this. She
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