Adulteress; Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The party cont'd 

Desmond said, "I was telling Amara what good friends we are, earlier this evening."

Robert cut in, "Friends? I'd say rivals. You were always trying to take what rightfully belonged to me."

Desmond laughed but Amara didn't see anything funny.

"I don't think those awards had your name written on them initially," Desmond retorted.

"There's a lot of things you have that should have my name written on them," Robert said. He added quietly when Desmond laughed, "And people."

Amara pretended not to have heard him and tugged Desmond's hand.

"Honey, it's time to dance," she said.

"I'm sorry, my sweet, but I promised dad I would meet him right after the toast." 

Take me with you, she was about to suggest but he added firmly, "Why don't you dance with Rob? He's an excellent waltzer. He once waltzed Prima Grace Jo."

Desmond didn't wait for her reply or notice the discomfort in her countenance before leaving her to the company of his good friend, Robert.

Distressed, Amara watched Desmond's back as he left the room. With a haughty look, she faced Robert but the look in his eyes softened her sour expression. 

"Milady," he said poshly as he offered her his hand.

No, she thought but still, she accepted his hand and joined the waltzers.

She tried to avoid his eyes as she moved slowly in his arms. She realized she was staring at the button of his jacket when he said, "Do you like the button?"

She turned her face and bit her lip. Suddenly, she stopped and said, "I'm sorry. I don't waltz well."

"This is Lagos. Everyone waltzes well," he said.

"I'm not a Lagosian," she said rather rudely.

"Where are you from?" he asked.

"Enugu," she replied reluctantly and tried to escape from his grip.

He said immediately, "Umu gburu gburu. Dejee."

"You speak Igbo?" she asked with some interest.

"Of course," he replied in Igbo.

"I didn't know," she said unknowingly in Igbo.

"Do I look like a Yoruba boy? I get that a lot."

She smiled and agreed when he led her to the dinner table.

She observed closely as he ignored all the continental dishes and settled for swallow and soup. Onugbu soup! her favourite. She did likewise.

"You don't like English food?" Robert inquired.

"I hate it," she replied emphatically and he laughed a charming laugh.

"I don't understand why people have to be wannabes and abandon their culture for another man's own. It makes Nigerians look so artificial."

"Not all Nigerians. Some people like to keep it natural," said Robert, obviously referring to himself.

"Says the guy with a British accent," Amara replied with a morsel of food in her mouth.

Robert laughed and Amara smiled brightly. She suddenly forgot her discomfort and loosened up to him.

"It's shameful," she said.

"Can't argue with that," replied he.

"Desmond says I have to," she blurted and began to regret. How could she talk about her spouse to another man, to a man like him?

"He's right. You are no ordinary woman. You are a special woman."

She looked at him. He continued after sipping some wine, "In a special echelon of the bourgeoisie world. You're a woman of class. You're witty, graceful, alluring..."

A lady nearby exclaimed slightly as Amara's glass of wine tumbled and spilt on the table. She quickly reached for it but his hands held the glass up the same time hers did.

"Do my compliments make you clumsy?" Robert asked with a nasty smile as he watched Amara's hand shake. She quickly withdrew it and stood up to leave without politely excusing herself.

She hurried to the garden and stood behind the big orange tree. She admired the branches that gleamed in the moonlight. What lovely branches, she thought as she held her thumping heart. She banished all thoughts of him as she imagined herself climbing those branches. Sadly, her days as a village girl ended when she married Desmond.

She sighed. She felt choked up in her new artificial world. She wanted to be free. She wanted to speak Igbo and climb the tree. She would ask Desmond if she could, she thought sadly.

"Nice tree."

She gasped as Robert placed a hand on the tree's trunk. He added, "Good for climbing."

"You're not supposed to be here," Amara said in a barely audible voice. She was battling with her palpitating heart.

"I know," he said quietly and kept admiring the tree.

Amara tried to leave but her feet would not permit her. Her lips parted and her discipline failed her. She looked at his handsome form under the moonlight. His attractive eyes met hers. Her heart swooned.

Slowly, he walked up to her, keeping her hypnotized with his gaze. Once he stood before her, she said, "You're his friend."

"I am."

"Then why did you send me that text?"

"Because I meant every word of it."

"You can't love me!" Amara retorted rather sharply.

He smiled and said, "Maybe, but you can."

"Why do you think I'll ever do such?" Amara asked with rising anger.

"If you didn't feel the same way for me, you would have shown your husband the text I sent you." Robert pronounced the word husband very sharply.

She was silent for a while. He smiled, thinking he had triumphed. Just as he turned to leave, he heard her whisper in vernacular, "It is sin."

He turned to her and said with a chuckle, "Then I'll play the sinner."

She leaned against the tree weakly as he returned to the house. Quietly, she battled with the temptation of unfaithfulness. She wasn't confident she would win.

To be continued.