Free Speak Now by Margaret Dumas

see quite clearly the image of a voluptuous Arabian princess in a silk-lined harem wearing something sheer and midriff-baring, reclining on pillows while being fanned by nubile maidens. And at her feet was Jack, naked, proffering Quadrophenia on a silver platter.
    Bastard!
    “You were some sort of an attaché in London, too, weren’t you?” Harry asked.
    “More of a liaison, actually.”
    “It seems you were quite the little diplomat.” Harry said the word distastefully. “Don’t we have a State Department for things like that?”
    Jack raised his hands. “What can I say? Once the word gets out that a guy can tango, the offers just start pouring in.”
    “I didn’t know you could dance,” I said. “Why haven’t we ever gone dancing?”
    “You don’t like dancing,” Jack remarked, accurately.
    “Maybe if you’d had a decent wedding,” Harry said, “you’d know these things about a man.”
    “We had a lovely wedding,” I told him. “And as far as the dancing part of it goes, we’re perfectly open to the idea of having a lavish reception now that we’re back.”
    “We are?” Jack looked a little startled, then agreed with me. “We are.”
    “Well, that’s just fine.” Harry bit off the word. “People are already calling, wanting to know if they should send a gift or wait for the annulment.”
    “And I’m sure I know just what you tell them,” I said icily.
    “How the hell would I know what to tell anyone, when you don’t tell me a goddamn thing!” he bellowed.
    Neither of us responded, and Harry made a visible effort to get himself under control. I felt a twinge of guilt, but I hadn’t forgotten this was the man who’d tried to buy off my husband in front of me.
    “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a drink, Harry?” I rattled some ice in my now empty glass to get his attention. “Or do you need to be going?” The sooner he left the sooner I could find out some pertinent details about this Sultan’s daughter.
    Harry sat on the couch, facing Jack. “Oh, I’ll be out of your way soon enough.”
    “Harry,” I demanded, “why are you so fixated on what Jack did when he was in the Navy? Have you noticed he’s not in the Navy anymore?”
    “I’ve noticed a lot of things. I’ve noticed that your husband— ” the word was layered with speculation— “was in some very interesting places at some very interesting times.”
    I gave him a look that said “So?”
    “But he wasn’t doing anything very interesting himself. In fact, as far as I can tell—and believe me, I’m still looking—he’s never done anything interesting at all.”
    This time I said it. “So?”
    “So your boy’s too sharp to be that dull.”
    That was the weirdest compliment I’d ever heard, even from Harry. “What—”
    “He was up to something, Charley.” Harry looked at Jack fiercely as he addressed his words to me. “And I think he’s still up to something.”
    I looked at Jack and saw a slow smile spread across his face. “Harry, I’m flattered.”
    Harry made a sound that was part growl and grabbed his coat. “You watch your step, boy,” he said to Jack. “And you—” he looked at me— “be careful.” He slammed the door behind him.
    I stared at the door for a moment before I turned to Jack.
    “You know,” I said. “You sometimes remind me of Cary Grant.”
    “Only sometimes?” He grinned.
    “And right now you remind me of Cary Grant in Suspicion .”
    He set his drink down, crossed the room, and put his hands on my shoulders. “Was that the one where he was devastatingly handsome?” He began to massage my neck. “Or was that the one where he was fantastically charming?”
    I broke free and took a step back. “That’s the one where his wife knows he’s hiding something.”

Chapter 7
    I woke up the next morning satisfied that I knew everything there was to know about the social lives of Arabian princesses. The most pertinent fact, to me, was that a particular Arabian