Free An Inconvenient Husband by Karen van der Zee Page A

matter with him? What had she done to
irritate him? It had nothing to do with the strawberries, or the gardener, she
was sure. Earlier today in the village market he'd been irritable and impatient
as well. This moody, short-tempered man was not the Blake she remembered.
    She shrugged off the
thought and picked a few berries and ate them slowly, savoring them. There was
nothing here to put them in to carry them back to the house, so she might as
well enjoy them right here and give Blake a little space.
    Back on the veranda,
she poured herself another glass of juice. Blake was reading his book again,
legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. A small white scar stood out
against the tanned skin of his foot. A childhood injury he'd contracted while
trying to rescue a frog out of the cruel hands of a neighborhood boy. Chasing
the bigger boy, Blake, barefoot, had fallen and cut himself on a piece of
glass. Lots of blood. The other boy had fled in fear, throwing down the frog.
    Her heart contracted.
Blake's mother had told her the story, and the image of Blake as a little boy
saving a frog was touching. She moved her gaze to a wooden tub of coral
impatiens blooming enthusiastically a few feet away. She had to stop thinking
about him, remembering things. The best way to do that was not to be in his
presence.
    She put the glass on
the table. "I'd like to call my fath—" She stopped herself, feeling
her heart sink. "I don't suppose there's a telephone all the way up
here?"
    He put his book down.
"There's a cellular one. It works on radio waves. It's in the
office." He pushed himself to his feet. "Come on, I'll show you how
to use it."
    The office was a huge
room with one wall entirely taken up with windows. Underneath them, wide planks
of polished wood resting on filing cabinets functioned as desk space. Another
wall was covered with maps and photographs of plants. The two remaining walls
were taken up with bamboo shelving full of books, magazines and office
materials.
    A muffled curse made
her turn around. "What's the matter?"
    Blake was scowling
down at a small black box on the table. "The receiver is gone. Let me
check with Ramyah." He charged out of the room.
    She entertained
herself by studying the maps and photographs on the wall. The maps appeared to
be of the surrounding forest, indicating locations where various plant species
had been found. The photos were beautiful, technically as well as artistically,
and she was quite content studying them.
    Blake didn't look any
happier when he returned a while later, the missing receiver in his hand—in
pieces.
    "For what it's
worth," he said flatly, "the mystery of why Ramyah was so nervous, is
solved." He slid the jumble of wires and metal pieces onto the table next
to the base.
    "How did that
happen?" Nicky asked, surveying the mess. "This doesn't happen just
by dropping it!"
    "No. This happens
when a curious seven-year-old decides to take it apart to see what's inside and
what makes it work."
    Nicky groaned.
"Oh, no. Whose kid? Hers?"
    He nodded. "She
took him to work with her last Saturday and you can guess the rest." He
grimaced. "She was afraid she'd be fired."
    Nicky sighed. "No
wonder she was a nervous wreck. What did you tell her?"
    "That it was an
accident and she's not getting fired, of course, and that the O'Connors will
arrange for another phone when they get back." He ran his hand through his
hair. "Damn," he muttered. "I don't understand the woman."
    "You don't
understand what?" Nicky asked, surprised. "You mean that she lost
track of the kid so he could wreak his havoc with this thing?"
    He waved his hand
impatiently. "No, of course not."
    "Then what?"
    "Think of this,"
he said. "Ramyah has been with the O'Connors for twelve years. She keeps
this place running like clockwork, no matter how many students or other people
invade the place. She's worth her weight in gold. They'd be lost without her,
and they know it." He gave an exasperated sigh. "And here she