Read Online Her Name Will Be Faith by Christopher Nicole - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christopher Nicole
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solitaire diamond
pendant gleamed, matching the sparkle
of her ear-studs as she moved her head. She wasn't beautiful in the modern film star style, yet she
outshone any other woman in the room.
The angle of her head, her sleekness and dignity, had always attracted him,
always would... if only – what? If only she'd let him lead his own life? Stop nagging? Give up her damned
journalism? Stick to the role of wife
and mother? But if she did, could, would she still be the lively, dynamic
personality with whom he had fallen in love?
"Penny for your
thoughts." Jo squeezed his hand. He told her. After all, they had come here to round off their wonderful
weekend together –and to discuss where they went from here.
It was the opening they needed.
"Can you understand that I am just not that sort
of person?" Jo gazed into his face, pleading for his understanding.
"Can you understand that I
need excitement and stimulation – like yacht racing? That's the sort of person I am."
"Yes, of course. And if it's
not yacht racing it must be something else. I see that." She took his hand from the cocktail
table and held it between both of hers,
on her lap. "But as I see it, yachting as such is not the problem. Time is the point at issue. Time to be
with your wife and family. Surely
modern marriage isn't just a quick fuck and a wave of the hand i n passing, as one flits from job to amusement and
back? No," she shook her head as he tried to speak. "Don't get
me wrong. You and I have the same problems – I just think I schedule my
life better than you, so as to do justice to
each of my roles. And I've cut out of my life all other interests until
Owen Michael and Tamsin are much older."
"What other interests?"
"Sport. When I left England
I was in the top division of the squash league, remember? And I was also a
county class tennis player."
"If you would only give up your..."
"Don't say it, please. I
sacrificed sport for a career and that's that. Look at it this way; I spend an average of six hours a day, thirty
hours a week, on journalism, and eight hours
a day, plus all weekends, say sixty-five hours a week, on home and family.
And I spend all vacations with Owen Michael and Tamsin."
Michael frowned. "Eight hours a day? How do you
work that out?" "Seven till nine
in the mornings; half twelve till two lunch time; and six till half ten
evenings."
"Well, I do almost that."
"True. But it's the weekends
and holidays which are causing the problem." She held up her hand again as he opened his
mouth. "I am going
to make you an offer. I'll promise to cut down my journalism by an average of one hour a day, if
you'll promise to spend alternate weekends with the kids and me, and take two weeks' vacation with
us every summer, plus the winter skiing.
And alternate public holidays."
The headwaiter appeared at that
moment to lead them to their table, so Michael had several minutes to consider his reply.
"Well, put that way, I suppose it
sounds fair," he admitted, as an under-waiter spread a napkin across his
lap. "I hadn't analyzed the situation down to hours, as you seem to have
done, and I'd gotten the idea that I was spending that much time with you anyway. It's just a pity the Bermuda Race this year is
sailed at roughly the same time Dad and Babs always go down to Eleuthera, and
you know how disappointed they'd be if they didn't have the kids with them every summer. But what with the preparations and all
that… you do realize the Bermuda Race is the big one?"
"I know. It will be an enormous sacrifice to miss
it..." Jo started.
"Miss it? You mean..."
He paused to study her expression. "Oh, God, yes, I see you do."
He was miserable, torn both ways, and she watched his
torment with pity... but what was the alternative? "It won't be
forever," she said gently. "In five years the thought of a holiday
with us old folks will bore the kids silly. You'll be able to do what you like,
then."
"Does this mean you want me to sell my share of Esmeralda?"
pendant gleamed, matching the sparkle
of her ear-studs as she moved her head. She wasn't beautiful in the modern film star style, yet she
outshone any other woman in the room.
The angle of her head, her sleekness and dignity, had always attracted him,
always would... if only – what? If only she'd let him lead his own life? Stop nagging? Give up her damned
journalism? Stick to the role of wife
and mother? But if she did, could, would she still be the lively, dynamic
personality with whom he had fallen in love?
"Penny for your
thoughts." Jo squeezed his hand. He told her. After all, they had come here to round off their wonderful
weekend together –and to discuss where they went from here.
It was the opening they needed.
"Can you understand that I am just not that sort
of person?" Jo gazed into his face, pleading for his understanding.
"Can you understand that I
need excitement and stimulation – like yacht racing? That's the sort of person I am."
"Yes, of course. And if it's
not yacht racing it must be something else. I see that." She took his hand from the cocktail
table and held it between both of hers,
on her lap. "But as I see it, yachting as such is not the problem. Time is the point at issue. Time to be
with your wife and family. Surely
modern marriage isn't just a quick fuck and a wave of the hand i n passing, as one flits from job to amusement and
back? No," she shook her head as he tried to speak. "Don't get
me wrong. You and I have the same problems – I just think I schedule my
life better than you, so as to do justice to
each of my roles. And I've cut out of my life all other interests until
Owen Michael and Tamsin are much older."
"What other interests?"
"Sport. When I left England
I was in the top division of the squash league, remember? And I was also a
county class tennis player."
"If you would only give up your..."
"Don't say it, please. I
sacrificed sport for a career and that's that. Look at it this way; I spend an average of six hours a day, thirty
hours a week, on journalism, and eight hours
a day, plus all weekends, say sixty-five hours a week, on home and family.
And I spend all vacations with Owen Michael and Tamsin."
Michael frowned. "Eight hours a day? How do you
work that out?" "Seven till nine
in the mornings; half twelve till two lunch time; and six till half ten
evenings."
"Well, I do almost that."
"True. But it's the weekends
and holidays which are causing the problem." She held up her hand again as he opened his
mouth. "I am going
to make you an offer. I'll promise to cut down my journalism by an average of one hour a day, if
you'll promise to spend alternate weekends with the kids and me, and take two weeks' vacation with
us every summer, plus the winter skiing.
And alternate public holidays."
The headwaiter appeared at that
moment to lead them to their table, so Michael had several minutes to consider his reply.
"Well, put that way, I suppose it
sounds fair," he admitted, as an under-waiter spread a napkin across his
lap. "I hadn't analyzed the situation down to hours, as you seem to have
done, and I'd gotten the idea that I was spending that much time with you anyway. It's just a pity the Bermuda Race this year is
sailed at roughly the same time Dad and Babs always go down to Eleuthera, and
you know how disappointed they'd be if they didn't have the kids with them every summer. But what with the preparations and all
that… you do realize the Bermuda Race is the big one?"
"I know. It will be an enormous sacrifice to miss
it..." Jo started.
"Miss it? You mean..."
He paused to study her expression. "Oh, God, yes, I see you do."
He was miserable, torn both ways, and she watched his
torment with pity... but what was the alternative? "It won't be
forever," she said gently. "In five years the thought of a holiday
with us old folks will bore the kids silly. You'll be able to do what you like,
then."
"Does this mean you want me to sell my share of Esmeralda?"
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