The Wrong Kind Of Wife

If that was the case, she would go to the States.

She told Grace Chapman of her decision as soon as she arrived at the office.

‘I’m delighted,’ the woman said. ‘It’s a marvellous career move for you. And your husband doesn’t mind?’

‘No,’ Lindsey lied, the implication of all she was saying suddenly overwhelming her. ‘I can leave at the end of the week if you wish,’ she added.

‘Marvellous. I’ll notify New York.’

The next few days were filled with preparations for her departure. Lindsey still hoped to hear from Tim, and worried how to tell Grace that she didn’t want to go to New York after all. But though she rushed to answer the telephone when it rang, it was never Tim at the other end, and she gradually accepted that she wouldn’t hear from him.

Although she had had little contact with her father-in-law, she contacted the hospital to see how he was getting on, pleased to learn he was going home at the end of the week.

On the Thursday night before her departure she hardly slept, tossing and turning as she debated what to do. Her marriage might have reached an impasse, but that didn’t mean it was over. She and Tim could use her stay in America as a cooling-off period, and given goodwill on both sides they could get back together on her return. She would tell him this before leaving; it was the adult way to handle the situation.

Having reached this conclusion, she was on tenterhooks to speak to him, but controlled her agitation until eight a.m., when she deemed the Ramsden household to be awake.

To her surprise the telephone was instantly answered by her mother-in-law, making her realise that the family were still on the alert regarding Mr Ramsden.

‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ Lindsey said after the usual polite greetings had been mouthed, ‘but may I have a word with Tim?’

‘He’s already left for the factory. Can I give him a message?’

‘No, thank you. I’ll call him there.’

‘I doubt if you’ll get him. He went in early to collect some papers before going on to an appointment.’

‘Do you know where? I must talk to him.’

‘Hold on a moment, I’ll ask Patsy. She spoke to him before he left the house.’

Patsy! So she was there with him! If Lindsey had harboured a secret hope of a last-minute reconciliation, it was shattered now.

‘Don’t bother,’ she said quickly. ‘Don’t—don’t even tell him I called.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes,’ Lindsey answered. ‘I—er—I’m glad to hear Mr Ramsden is coming home this weekend.’

‘You know?’ There was surprise in her mother-in-law’s voice, and Lindsey guessed that Tim had told her they had quarrelled.

‘I called the hospital to see how he was,’ she explained, and before Mrs Ramsden had a chance to say anything else she hung up, her sense of despair turning to fury as she thought of Patsy.

Going into the bedroom, she finished her packing. The apartment was in Tim’s name so he could dispose of it as he chose. Clearly Patsy was remaining in his life; having lost him once, she wasn’t going to let him get away again.

Lindsey stared round the room, her eyes brimming with tears as her glance fell on the bed where she and Tim had made such passionate love. Unbidden, she recalled some of the happy incidents in their life together: Tim teaching her to water-ski on their honeymoon and both of them tumbling into the water; the pancakes he had determined to cook for her birthday breakfast, the first one tossed so high it had stuck to the ceiling! So much to laugh over, so many tender moments to remember.

She shook her head. Nostalgia would get her nowhere. Their marriage was over—for the time being at least, she qualified instantly—and she had to concentrate on the next six months.

But first she had to write to Tim. Plenty needed saying, but face to face, not cold-bloodedly in a letter. If only his father hadn’t been taken ill... If only he didn’t have to be at Evebury... If only she could relive this last week...

In despair, Lindsey finally put pen to paper.

As you know, I’ll be in New York for the six months, though if I do well I may be asked to stay longer.

I enclose my share of last quarter’s gas, electricity and telephone bills, but if I owe you for anything else, please let me know. I’m not sure where I’ll be staying, but the office will forward any letters.

Firmly she signed her name. She had been deliberately ambiguous, leaving Tim to read into her note as little or as much as he liked. Sealing the envelope, she went out at once to post it, afraid that if she didn’t she might change her mind and remain in England.

* * *

Lindsey was swept off her feet by the frenetic atmosphere of New York. Everything was larger than life here, and moved at breakneck speed, so that nothing seemed permanent, not even emotions—and that suited her fine.

For the first few weeks she was booked into a small hotel, courtesy of Universal TV, but before the month was out she was sharing an apartment near Fifth Avenue with Mary Brompton, another girl working as a researcher. Mary was New York born and bred, and she quickly introduced Lindsey to the city, and made her feel at home.

Lindsey’s day started earlier than in London, and she was always at the office by eight. Her particular project was to collect material for a documentary series on immigrants and their influence on the country’s culture, which was being co-financed by a big American network. The research was exhaustive, and she often stayed late collating it. It left her little free time, other than at weekends, and with Mary’s help these were soon fully occupied.

Museums, art galleries, concerts, theatre, movies—Lindsey enjoyed them all, as she also did the mind-boggling choice of ethnic restaurants and discount clothing stores! But though her social life flourished, Tim kept intruding into her thoughts. What was he doing? Was he still with Patsy? More important, was he wondering the same thing about her?

She spent hours remembering their whirlwind courtship. Though she had not considered herself a romantic, she had been delighted with the white rose delivered to her room at college each day. There was also perfume, books of poetry, and a gold bracelet with a single, ‘I love you’ charm. She had frequently protested at his extravagance, but he had assured her he could afford it, and how better to spend his money than on the girl he loved? It was sad to admit how short a time his love had lasted.

In spite of the lifeline she had offered in her letter to him, he had not attempted to contact her. It was as if he wished to sever their relationship completely, and even the cheques she had left for him remained uncashed.

Would their relationship have succeeded if they had settled in Evebury and Tim had gone into the family business? Yet, if he had, her own career would not have taken off, and the independent girl Tim had fallen for would have disappeared. No, she reflected, whatever way they had played it, given their respective backgrounds their life together had been doomed from the start.

Eventually she would forget him; at least sufficiently to consider another relationship. But unfortunately the men who appealed to her were all Tim lookalikes, though none of them had his charm, and she was never tempted to launch into an affair.

A month before she was due to return to England, Phil Marsham, Grace Chapman’s American counterpart, asked if she was interested in remaining in New York.

‘For how long?’ she enquired, gratified by the compliment but unwilling to risk losing her position in the London company.

‘For as long as you like.’

‘I’m tired of doing research. Grace said I could front some of the shows when I went back.’

‘Stay here and you can front them all.’

This had been her goal for the future, but she had not envisaged grasping it so soon. ‘You mean that? You’re not just holding out a carrot?’

‘Sure it’s a carrot—but it’s yours to eat!’

‘Then I’ll stay!’ Lindsey beamed.

Later that evening she wrote to tell Tim of her plans.

In spite of its down side, New York’s a great city and I enjoy living here. I’m sure you’re managing very well without me, and I’ll understand if you wish to make our separation permanent.

Here she paused, wondering if she was being too brief, too final. She thought not. She had stated the facts as she saw them, and if he didn’t agree he was free to say so. Damn him, he’d said nothing since the day she had left London. Not a call, not a card.

A week later she had a stilted reply saying he was in no hurry for a divorce, and preferred to wait the statutory two years, when it would be granted with the minimum of fuss. If she wanted one sooner, she would have to furnish the necessary evidence herself.

Furiously she flung his letter aside. What a nerve! Did he think she was born yesterday? If she needed evidence to divorce him, she’d cite Patsy. Yet deep down she knew she wouldn’t. Not unless she fell so madly in love with someone else that she wanted to marry them immediately, about as likely as pigs flying, in her present emotional state. No, she’d play it as coolly as Tim, and if he was content to wait, so was she.

With great determination Lindsey began building a new life. She was happy to stay for the foreseeable future; certainly her career would move forward at a faster pace than if she returned home.

Quite how fast it did go took her by surprise, for three months after accepting Phil’s offer she researched, produced, and appeared in her own documentary. The ratings were excellent, and to show their appreciation Universal TV gave her a bonus, large enough for her to rent an empty apartment of her own. She filled it with pieces bought from the numerous second-hand stores that flourished in the city, and was pleased by the admiring comments from friends at the William-Morris-papered walls, polished wood floorboards scattered with rugs, and delicate sprigged fabrics on the squashy sofas.

‘You’ve created an English-country-house look in the heart of New York!’ they exclaimed.

It had been a totally unconscious act, but once it was brought to her attention she realised that the country house she had unconsciously copied was Ramsden Manor!

A burgeoning bank account brought other advantages too. When money was tight she had given little thought to clothes, but now she no longer had to skimp she discovered she had an excellent eye for what suited her, and her tall, graceful body was shown to advantage in the elegantly casual look of Ralph Lauren and Armani.

For the next two years Lindsey did all she could to forget the past, but it came forcibly back to her during her second summer in New York when she picked up an English newspaper one morning—left in the office by a visiting British VIP—and read that Ramsden Engineering had been bought out by Semperton Trust, a large company with its fingers in many different businesses.

So Tim’s joining the family firm had not saved it! What a blow it must have been to his pride. Still, he was young enough to build another career for himself. It was his father for whom she felt sympathy, for he would find it difficult to start something new in his mid-fifties, yet was too young to settle for retirement.

She read on, and was glad she had done so, for it appeared that Mr Ramsden’s aggressive price-cutting in the past year had caused blood to be spilt in Semperton’s engineering arm, and the best way of stemming it, according to the article, was to ‘invite the enemy on board’.

Lindsey couldn’t help smiling. Tim’s father had always been kind to her, though fairly remote—a fact which she had put down to his wife—and she was pleased that he wasn’t going to be put out to pasture. Crumpling the newspaper, she tossed it into the bin, wishing she could as easily toss out the memories of Tim that came crowding into her brain.

‘It’s over,’ she said aloud. ‘I’ve made a new life for myself and you have no part in it.’

‘You calling me?’ her assistant enquired, putting her head round the door.

‘No. Just reminding myself of something important.’

Another year went by and, aware that for the past twelve months Tim could have obtained a divorce with the minimum of fuss, she waited for his lawyer to write and say it had come through. When he didn’t, she was puzzled. Surely Tim wanted his freedom, given that he had made no move towards a reconciliation? Not that she’d have him back anyway; she still resented his apathy, his total lack of caring.

By the fourth year his image had blurred, and it was as if he belonged to another life; one she recalled with neither pain nor pleasure, only numbness.

Around this time Phil Marsham and his wife invited her out to celebrate their wedding anniversary. She dressed for the evening in a body-hugging cream silk suit, its simplicity suiting her tall, slender figure. Her free-tumbling curls were long since gone, replaced by a silky auburn swath brushed back from her face to fall smoothly to just below her ears.

Everything about her today was sophisticated, though many of her friends thought her too thin. Yet this emphasised her beautiful bone-structure, throwing her high cheekbones into relief, and drawing attention to her full red mouth and luminous green eyes.

Lowering her head, she fastened the clasp of her chunky gold necklace and matching bracelet. Strange that she, who had once scorned jewellery, should today regard it as part of her persona. Grabbing a light wrap and small Chanel purse, she went down to the foyer, where Phil was waiting.

He was a wiry man of medium build and height. Yorkshire by birth, though no one would have guessed it from his accent which, after twenty years in the States with an American wife, had become authentically New York.

‘The one person I know who’s always punctual,’ he greeted her. ‘Belle’s waiting in the car.’

‘I was going to suggest you both come up for a drink.’

‘I can’t face the aggro of parking. Besides, Robert Lawson’s meeting us at Rico’s in ten minutes.’

Rico’s she knew of—it was a chic restaurant on the East Side—but Robert Lawson she had difficulty placing, though the name rang a bell.

‘Should I know him?’ she asked as they went outside.

‘Think of mega-bucks and take-overs.’

Lindsey stopped in her tracks. ‘That Lawson!’

‘None other.’

‘How come you know him?’

‘What an unflattering question to put to your boss!’ Phil tried to look pained, and she laughed.

‘Don’t give me that. You’re the most confident man I know.’

‘Because I’m a happy one. Happy in my job, happy in my marriage. I’d like that for you.’

‘Right now I’m happy to settle for my job.’ Quickly she changed the subject. ‘So how come Lawson is honouring you with his company?’

‘We grew up in the same village near Manchester. Plus the fact that he likes to maintain a high profile, and I’m willing to help him if you think there may be a story in it for us. We’ll know better when we find out what he’s shopping around for in the States.’

‘I thought it was going to be an anniversary celebration for only the three of us,’ Lindsey teased as she joined Belle in the back seat. ‘Now it turns out to be a business dinner!’

‘Don’t you know Phil?’ his wife sighed. ‘Fifty years from now he’ll be organising business dinners for St Peter!’

Lindsey laughed. As a top television executive, Phil met most of the leading personalities visiting New York, and within weeks of starting to work for him she had been caught up in his frantic social activity. Not surprisingly, given her stunning looks, she was propositioned with unremitting frequency, but she had developed enough poise to keep all would-be lovers at bay without offending them.

‘What’s Robert Lawson like as a person?’ she asked Phil.

‘Belle will tell you.’

Lindsay turned to her.

‘A self-made millionaire, who makes no pretence about it,’ Belle said. ‘He’s tough but charming, and would be death as a husband, though I think he’d be great as a lover.’

‘What category am I in?’ Phil enquired.

‘Both!’

Belle’s description of Robert Lawson might be right, Lindsey mused as they entered the restaurant and he rose from his table to greet them. In his late thirties, with glinting brown eyes marked by heavy brows as dark as his thick, curly black hair, he was a big man with a well-proportioned body: wide shoulders, broad chest tapering to slim hips, large hands with carefully manicured nails, and bronzed skin that had the cared-for look that went with a first class fitness club.

‘So you’re Lindsey,’ he murmured as, introductions made, she sat beside him. ‘Have you deserted England for good?’

‘I’m not sure. At the moment I love my work too much to consider going home.’

‘It is only your work that keeps you here?’

Knowing what he meant, she gave him an innocent look. ‘There’s Angus, of course.’

‘Of course,’ he said smoothly. ‘I thought you might have someone special. He sounds a Scot.’

‘Siamese, as it happens.’

For an instant he was taken aback, then he chuckled. ‘A cat! You caught me there, my dear.’ He eyed her speculatively. ‘I’d have thought you more the Saluki type.’

‘I’m not sure whether to be flattered by that,’ she said. ‘I always associate them with well-bred idleness!’

‘I associate them with elegance and beauty,’ he replied softly.

Aware of the amused looks passing between Belle and Phil, Lindsey resolved to keep the conversation general, and as if aware of her intention Robert Lawson did the same. He was an excellent raconteur, and listening to his stories—which were mainly political—she began to feel homesick.

It was not until they left the restaurant and were waiting for Phil’s car to be brought to them, that Robert quietly asked if she was free to have dinner with him the following evening.

‘I’ll have to check my diary,’ she said equally quietly.

‘Is that a polite turn-down?’

‘It means I have to check my diary.’ Her voice was devoid of expression. ‘I have a heavy week.’

‘I’ll call you in the morning,’ he said, shepherding both women to the car.

They did not talk again, and he allowed Phil to accompany her to the door when they reached her apartment block, which would have piqued her had not feminine intuition told her he had behaved this way to exploit the abrasive quality in his personality, an abrasiveness that she was sure attracted many women.

But did it attract her? Not at the moment. All she knew was that he was as different from Tim as chalk from cheese, and that, she reflected as she closed her apartment door and went into her bedroom, might be the reason why she would go out with him tomorrow night.

CHAPTER FIVE

‘MR LAWSON phoned twice,’ her secretary announced as Lindsey came into the office next morning. ‘He left a number for you to call.’

Lindsey was surprised by his keenness. Smiling, she dialled, and he picked up the phone himself.

‘I thought you’d be at the office bright and early,’ he greeted her, his voice deeper than she remembered it. ‘Have you checked your diary?’

‘Yes, I’m free.’

‘Good. I’m staying at Bedford House, Park Avenue. Apartment eleven. I’ll expect you at seven-thirty.’

The line went dead and she gave a gasp of astonishment. What cheek! Ordering her to call for him as if she were his personal assistant.

‘Anything wrong?’ her secretary asked.

Lindsey shook her head. Maybe she was being childish. Robert Lawson probably had a tight schedule and shouldn’t be judged by normal standards.

Despite her irritation, she arrived on time at his apartment that evening.

When she refused a second drink, he suggested they leave for dinner and, expecting him to take her to a restaurant where he might possibly make an item in a gossip column next day, he surprised her by taking her to Mr Albert’s, a discreet dining club in an elegant brownstone house.

‘Have you been here before?’ he asked as they were immediately shown to their table. Mr Albert’s guests did not sit at the bar drinking with strangers!

‘Yes.’ Lindsey was glad she could answer affirmatively. She didn’t want Robert thinking only he could take her somewhere special. ‘The head of a rival network brought me here last month to try to bribe me away from Universal.’

‘Did you accept?’

‘No. Doing a chat show isn’t my scene. I believe the documentaries we do are worthwhile.’

‘So you turned down fame and fortune for—’

‘Job satisfaction,’ she cut in abruptly.

To his credit, Robert instantly saw she was in no mood to be taken lightly. ‘I can appreciate that. Job satisfaction means everything to me too. The day I decide I no longer enjoy the cut and thrust of business, I’ll sell out and retire.’

‘Sell out? Wouldn’t you prefer to appoint someone to take over from you?’

‘I’d be watching him like a hawk to make sure he carried on the company the way I would. And nobody is as good as I am. That’s why, when I’ve had enough, I’ll give up completely.’

‘Are you always so modest?’ Lindsey couldn’t help asking.

‘I believe in being honest. I started with nothing and now have one of the biggest engineering companies in the country. I’m negotiating to buy another one, and if I can persuade them to sell it to me I’ll be the biggest.’

‘Which is the biggest at the moment?’

‘Semperton Engineering. It’s a part of Semperton Trust. A damn octopus that has its tentacles into everything.’

Lindsey wondered whether to tell him that they had bought her father-in-law’s engineering company a few years ago. Indeed, only last week she had read a flattering article about him in Time magazine, saying that Semperton Trust rated his business acumen so highly that they had just elected him chairman and managing director of the main board; a remarkable achievement for a man who had only come into the organisation three years ago.

As she opened her mouth to speak, the waiter presented them with the menu, and by the time they had chosen their meal, she decided that she didn’t know Robert Lawson well enough to disclose anything about her private life.

‘Let’s not talk any more about me,’ he said as their first course was set before them. ‘Tell me about yourself. You’ve been married, I believe. I asked Phil, and he couldn’t evade a blunt question.’

‘You could have waited to ask me.’

‘You seemed to have some doubts about seeing me, and I wanted to know what I was up against.’

‘And do you?’

‘I think so. You’ve been hurt once and have put up your guard. It’s usual when a person has been divorced.’

‘Are you speaking from experience?’

He shook his head. ‘Until recently I’ve been too busy building my fortune to have time to build a private life.’ He set down his fork. ‘How long have you been free?’

‘I’m not. I’m still married.’ She was pleased to see he looked put out at being wrong-footed. ‘Didn’t Phil tell you that too?’

‘No. He said as little as possible.’ A blunt-fingered hand, the nails well kept, rubbed the side of his face. ‘Look, it’s no crime to be curious about you. If we’d met in London I’d have played it differently, but I’m not here long and—’

‘I’m flattered,’ Lindsey cut in. The poor man had suffered enough for his curiosity, and she genuinely was flattered by his interest. ‘Are you always so inquisitive about the women you date?’

‘Only when they’re as beautiful and bright as you.’ He leaned towards her. ‘Are you hoping to get back with your husband?’

He was blunt all right! No one had asked her this, and she found it painful to answer. Yet perhaps there was catharsis in pain.

‘My marriage is over. We’ve just been rather dilatory in making it official.’

Robert pursed his lower lip. It drew her attention to his mouth, which was well shaped but thin. ‘Is your husband in entertainment too?’