Dreaming Of The Bones

“No, coffee’s fine. It would be a shame to waste the wine on me tonight. I don’t feel very festive.” Then, afraid she’d sounded ungrateful, Gemma made an effort to smile and added, “And I’d hate to miss your strudel.”

Hazel gave her a considering look, her round face grave, but said only, “The carbohydrate will make you feel better.” In a few moments she’d settled opposite Gemma with the filter pot and a warm pan of apple strudel. She poured coffee and served generous portions of pastry onto two plates, pushing Gemma’s across the well-scrubbed pine table. “Thank God for frozen puff pastry,” she said as she took a test nibble, then, satisfied, she fixed all her attention on Gemma. “All right, tell.”

Gemma shrugged, shook her head, picked at her strudel, then put her fork down. “He went to see his ex-wife today. Dr. Victoria Kincaid McClellan, he said her name is now. After twelve years of absolutely F-all, she rings him up and he shot off to her like a bloody homing pigeon, can you believe it?

“She has some case she wants him to look into, and he agreed to that, too. Apparently, her husband has run off with a graduate student, and instead of saying serves her right, he feels sorry for her.” Pausing, she sipped at her coffee and winced as it scalded her mouth.

“Do I take it he told you about this beforehand?” asked Hazel, brows lifting. “That he intended seeing her?”

“Well, he couldn’t very well help it, could he? I was there when she rang.” Reluctantly, Gemma added, “Although … I suppose he did ask me to go with him.”

“You suppose?” Hazel asked, amused. “And I suppose you climbed on your high horse and refused?”

“I’d promised Toby we’d visit Mum and Dad today. You know how they look forward to our coming.” It sounded a weak excuse to Gemma even as she said it—she could have easily postponed the visit a week.

Hazel didn’t offer any encouragement. “So who are you really angry with, him or her?”

“Her, of course,” said Gemma, incensed. “Of all the nerve, after the way she treated him.” She raised her cup to her lips again, more gingerly this time, then stopped as she saw Hazel’s expression. “Oh, all right. I’m bloody furious with him, if you want to know. He was such a pig about it. He said I didn’t know anything, and he more or less told me to mind my own business.”

Hazel took a bite of strudel and chewed it. “Well, what do you know about their marriage?”

Gemma shrugged and went back to flaking off bits of strudel with her fork. “Just that she left him without a word.”

“Has he said why?”

“He said it was because he worked too much and didn’t pay her enough attention,” Gemma admitted grudgingly.

“So if he’s not blaming her—what’s her name? Victoria?—then why are you? Surely you don’t wish she hadn’t left him?” Hazel grinned impishly. “Then you might have some real competition.”

“No, of course I don’t wish that.” Gemma pushed her coffee cup away. “Can we open that wine after all?” She watched as Hazel went to the fridge and retrieved the bottle.

“What’s so complicated about it?” Hazel asked as she brought the bottle and two glasses to the table. “Why do you feel threatened by his relationship with Victoria?”

“Vic. He always calls her Vic.”

“Vic, then.”

“I don’t feel threatened,” Gemma protested. “And I’m not jealous. I don’t go about thinking he’s going to chat up every woman he meets.” She accepted the glass Hazel filled and handed to her. “It’s just that… I don’t know where he stands with her.”

“Why don’t you ask him how he feels? Tell him that the situation makes you uncomfortable.”

“How can I?” Gemma choked on the wine she’d been sipping and coughed until her eyes teared. When she could speak again, she added, “I’m the one who insisted we not set those kinds of limits on each other, because I didn’t want to feel suffocated. And how could I possibly say anything after he was so bloody about it?”

“Has it occurred to you that he might have been reticent about his visit because he was worried about your reaction?” asked Hazel. “And I gather you certainly lived up to expectations.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Gemma said disgustedly. “I’d been stewing all weekend, and tonight I waded into it at the first opportunity. Sometimes I think I should have been born with my foot in my mouth.” She shook her head. “So what do I do now?”

“Grovel?” suggested Hazel kindly. “Look, love.” She leaned towards Gemma, elbows on the table. “Just for once, forget your dreadful ex-husband; ignore all those little red flags that pop up at the mere suggestion of setting parameters. One of the reasons you and Duncan work so well together is that you communicate.” She jabbed her finger at Gemma for emphasis. “Why not extend the same honesty to your personal life? You’ve been tiptoeing round this ‘we don’t make demands on our relationship’ crap for how long now—since November? That was all very well in the beginning, but relationships are about demands, and obligation, and commitment. If this one is to continue, one of you is going to have to step up to the net.”