confessed. 'I rang your office nearly two weeks ago and was told you'd that day left for the States, so I wrote that night and rushed home every day to see if there was any answer in the post.'
'And panicked again when you saw in the paper that I was hoping to be reconciled with my wife,' he said softly in her ear, his other hand coming to stroke the side of her face, causing alarm bells to give the faintest suggestion of a tinkle. ''I'll bet you nearly fell off your bike when you opened up the paper,' he teased gently, his breath warm on her ear, his teasing quieting any alarms as her mouth winged upwards.
'Why did you do it, Nash? I mean, only your solicitor and Lydia knew you were married anyway, didn't they?' She tried to move out of his arm, but his hold was firm. But she didn't panic that he wasn't letting her go. Nash wasn't the sort to attempt rape, and she could soon tell him to cut it out if he tried any funny business. 'Why did you suddenly announce it to the world?' she questioned.
She felt him shrug, before he answered casually, 'A culmination of reasons, possibly. I'd just stepped from a plane, tired after working flat out, not wanting to be met by the press or—anyone.' Did that mean that the lovely Elvira Newman pictured—clinging to him was on her way out? It sounded very much like it, though there was no time for her to speculate further, for he was going on, 'But since I wanted to look in on the office I arranged to meet the press there hoping to call it a day afterwards. At my office, tired like I said, probably feeling anti-climax now that a tough assignment had been satisfactorily completed after hard days that went on into the nights, and jaded most likely, I flipped through my mail and came across one letter marked "Strictly Private and Confidential".'
'Mine,' she put in needlessly.
'Private and confidential correspondence I deal with regularly,' Nash told her. 'It was the "Strictly" that had me opening it.'
'Before you saw the press?'
She felt the muscles of his face move against hers, realised there must be a grin on his face, and felt her heart go thump as she realised too that his face was warm against
hers, cheek to cheek! And she hadn't felt him move! Quickly she moved her face away, turning to see his satisfied smile, a glimmer of pure reminiscent devilment in his eyes.
'Your letter intrigued me—had tiredness leaving as I read what you'd written.'
'I wouldn't have thought the few lines I wrote were all that stimulating,' said Perry, trying desperately to recall word for word what she had finally penned, and wishing too late that she had made a copy.
'It was what you didn't write I found fascinating,' Nash informed her. 'It didn't matter to me who knew I was married—but it didn't take any master-mind to read that it did to you.'
'So you told the press you were hoping for a reconciliation—just to frighten the life out of me,' she said, catchingon quickly.
'That wasn't my intention,' he denied. 'Though I did think you had a shake-up coming.'
'Why what had I done?' she asked aggressively. 'It wasn't as though I was like your other women, was it—I didn't want anything from you but...'
'But your freedom,' he ended, then fully enlightened her. 'It was your dishonesty that had me doing what I did.'
'Dishonesty?'
'You've just revealed that you remember the way I regard women, how other women appear to me. You must have known I didn't want a divorce, that the marriage didn't bother me, that if it had I would have done something about it long ago. Yet you didn't have that much honesty to give me your real reason for wanting a divorce—"if it's all right with you" you wrote, "I should like to be free. Would you let me know as soon as possible if you are agreeable to a divorce?" Well, I wasn't, so I took the least bothersome way to tell you I wasn't.'
'Thanks for nothing!' snapped Perry, ready to fly at him. Then remembering something had to ask, 'Though I suppose I should thank
'And panicked again when you saw in the paper that I was hoping to be reconciled with my wife,' he said softly in her ear, his other hand coming to stroke the side of her face, causing alarm bells to give the faintest suggestion of a tinkle. ''I'll bet you nearly fell off your bike when you opened up the paper,' he teased gently, his breath warm on her ear, his teasing quieting any alarms as her mouth winged upwards.
'Why did you do it, Nash? I mean, only your solicitor and Lydia knew you were married anyway, didn't they?' She tried to move out of his arm, but his hold was firm. But she didn't panic that he wasn't letting her go. Nash wasn't the sort to attempt rape, and she could soon tell him to cut it out if he tried any funny business. 'Why did you suddenly announce it to the world?' she questioned.
She felt him shrug, before he answered casually, 'A culmination of reasons, possibly. I'd just stepped from a plane, tired after working flat out, not wanting to be met by the press or—anyone.' Did that mean that the lovely Elvira Newman pictured—clinging to him was on her way out? It sounded very much like it, though there was no time for her to speculate further, for he was going on, 'But since I wanted to look in on the office I arranged to meet the press there hoping to call it a day afterwards. At my office, tired like I said, probably feeling anti-climax now that a tough assignment had been satisfactorily completed after hard days that went on into the nights, and jaded most likely, I flipped through my mail and came across one letter marked "Strictly Private and Confidential".'
'Mine,' she put in needlessly.
'Private and confidential correspondence I deal with regularly,' Nash told her. 'It was the "Strictly" that had me opening it.'
'Before you saw the press?'
She felt the muscles of his face move against hers, realised there must be a grin on his face, and felt her heart go thump as she realised too that his face was warm against
hers, cheek to cheek! And she hadn't felt him move! Quickly she moved her face away, turning to see his satisfied smile, a glimmer of pure reminiscent devilment in his eyes.
'Your letter intrigued me—had tiredness leaving as I read what you'd written.'
'I wouldn't have thought the few lines I wrote were all that stimulating,' said Perry, trying desperately to recall word for word what she had finally penned, and wishing too late that she had made a copy.
'It was what you didn't write I found fascinating,' Nash informed her. 'It didn't matter to me who knew I was married—but it didn't take any master-mind to read that it did to you.'
'So you told the press you were hoping for a reconciliation—just to frighten the life out of me,' she said, catchingon quickly.
'That wasn't my intention,' he denied. 'Though I did think you had a shake-up coming.'
'Why what had I done?' she asked aggressively. 'It wasn't as though I was like your other women, was it—I didn't want anything from you but...'
'But your freedom,' he ended, then fully enlightened her. 'It was your dishonesty that had me doing what I did.'
'Dishonesty?'
'You've just revealed that you remember the way I regard women, how other women appear to me. You must have known I didn't want a divorce, that the marriage didn't bother me, that if it had I would have done something about it long ago. Yet you didn't have that much honesty to give me your real reason for wanting a divorce—"if it's all right with you" you wrote, "I should like to be free. Would you let me know as soon as possible if you are agreeable to a divorce?" Well, I wasn't, so I took the least bothersome way to tell you I wasn't.'
'Thanks for nothing!' snapped Perry, ready to fly at him. Then remembering something had to ask, 'Though I suppose I should thank
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