The English Wife

I was forty-six years old, and I still had a life to live. I still had time for choices, good or bad. All I had to do was find the strength to make them.

Fueled by my determination to move on, the following morning I tackled Brandon’s closet. The faint remnants of his cologne still clung to his suits, and the robe he always wore at night hung above his neatly placed slippers.

I lifted it from its hook and immediately a voice in my head wondered if he’d worn a robe when he was with her. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t seem to get rid of my ridiculous suspicions.

Irritated with myself, I pulled suits, shirts, jackets and pants from their hangers and threw them in an untidy heap on the bed. I piled shoes, ties and underwear on top of them, then found a box of black plastic yard bags. After stuffing them full I hauled them out to the garage. The next local charity drive would reap a bonanza.

Brandon’s face came back to haunt me as I walked back into the house. How he would have hated to see his clothes tossed out in such a cavalier way. I felt a stab of guilt, then got annoyed at the thought that he could still reach out from the grave to criticize me.

On impulse I called Val. “How about lunch?” I said, as soon as she answered. “Today?”

“What’s happened?” Her voice vibrated with curiosity. “You’ve decided to go to England?”

Once more I had the feeling of air being snatched out of my lungs. The reminder that I still had a huge problem to deal with threatened to undermine my resolve. “No, of course not. I’m tired of talking to myself, that’s all. I need some real conversation with another human being.”

“That I can do.” She hesitated, and her voice turned wary when she added, “Ah…did you change your mind about coming back to work?”

“I’m not asking you for my job back, if that’s what you mean.” I thought that sounded a bit abrupt and hurried to reassure her. “I’ve put in an application with the school district, but I haven’t heard anything yet.”

She sounded relieved when she answered, and I figured she’d already replaced me. We arranged a time and place and I hung up, feeling more positive than I could have imagined two months ago. I was going to make it. I’d survived the worst and I had nowhere to go but up. At last life was beginning to look good again.

I met Val in a quiet little restaurant on the edge of town. With its paneled walls, white tablecloths and soft music playing in the background, it provided a welcome contrast to the health club’s noisy cafeteria.

She arrived late, falling onto her chair with a flurry of apologies. “Damn traffic, I swear it’s getting worse. I had two calls just as I was leaving. We really miss you at the club, Margie. Things haven’t been the same since you left.”

Thinking about those days of striving to please all those demanding women, I knew I’d made the right decision. After we both ordered chicken Caesar salads, I listened while Val told me about her latest adventure with a computer date.

“I was having a good time until he said he’d left his wallet at home. I ended up paying for the meal. Then he asks to borrow cab fare. Hello? I told him he could freaking walk home. Jerk.” She snorted in disgust and took a swallow of the chardonnay the waiter had just put down in front of her.

For the first time in weeks I felt like laughing. I bit my lip instead.

“What about you?” she demanded, her eyes narrowing. “You look like you’ve lost some weight.”

Fifteen pounds to be exact, but I didn’t want to admit to that. “A little,” I said instead. “I’m doing fine. I’m getting used to being on my own. I’m sleeping better and getting things done around the house.”

“Way to go,” Val murmured. “But what about the cottage? Have you sold it yet? Are you going to England?”

I waited for the hollow feeling to pass before answering untruthfully, “I haven’t given it much thought lately. I’ve had other things on my mind.”

“Like what?”

I reached for my own glass of wine. “Well, like getting a job. Selling my house.”

Val’s jaw dropped. “You’re going to sell your house? Why?”

“It’s too big for one person, too expensive.” Too many memories, I added mentally.

Her eyes lit up. “All right! Can I go house hunting with you?”

I hadn’t thought that far ahead. The idea of buying another house was unnerving. “I was thinking more of renting.”

“Even better. We can go look for apartments.”

I didn’t want to go apartment hunting with Val. She’d force her ideas on me as usual, I’d insist on sticking with mine and she’d get miffed. I changed the subject. “So tell me all about the club. What’s been happening since I left?”

Fortunately she was happy to fill me in, and we’d eaten our salads by the time she’d finished. Having exhausted her topic, once more she scrutinized my face. “So what about you? You haven’t been moping around the house all this time, have you?”

“I’ve kept busy.” I fiddled with my glass, even though it was empty.

“Margie, don’t you have friends, relatives you can visit? You shouldn’t be spending all this time alone.”

“I don’t mind being alone, and I’ll be working again soon.”

She pursed her lips. “You don’t make friends easily, do you? I’ve known you for six years, and I feel as if I don’t really know you at all. Except you weren’t happy, and didn’t want to talk about it.”

I stared at her. “What made you think I was unhappy?”

“Well, weren’t you unhappy?”

“I wouldn’t say that. Brandon and I had our differences but we rarely argued.”

“That’s because you were never together. You led separate lives from what I could tell.”

I hadn’t realized I’d given so much away. “Well, Brandon wasn’t much of a talker,” I said carefully.

“But what about friends? You must have had girlfriends you could talk to, have a laugh with and hang out together?”

“Not really. I’ve never been much on girl talk.”

Val crossed her arms and I knew I was in for one of her lectures. “Margie, you’re a nice person. A good person. But it’s time you started living. I mean really living.”

I knew what she meant by that. Computer dates, noisy, smoky bars, crowded dance floors. The very thought of it made me shudder. I managed to pull off a smile. “I’m too old to change now. Guess I’ll stick to my books and music.”

Val rolled her eyes. “Now you’re talking like an old woman. You need to get out in the world and start living. Go to England, have it out with the bitch and get it all out of your system. Meet new people, and stop hiding behind that damn wall.”

I was beginning to get a little annoyed with her. “Maybe I’m just not that kind of person.”

“So what kind of person are you, then?”

I could have told her about my lonely childhood. How I never really knew my father, who was always away in the military. How after his death my mother had ignored me until her own years later. How distant Brandon had been so much of the time.

How hard I found it to bare my soul to anyone.

Instead, I said lightly, “Guess I’m just too independent for my own good.”

“Yes, you are.” She pouted, managing to look like a petulant little girl. “I want to help you. You’re a friend and I always help my friends. Just tell me what you need me to do. You know you can come and live with me until you get things settled.”

I smiled at her. I liked her well enough, and I appreciated her generous offer, but I knew our tenuous friendship would not survive the two of us living under the same roof. We’d managed to get along at the club because we’d each had our own job to do, and spent most of the day apart. Thrown together any more than that, we’d drive each other crazy.

She’d tell me what to wear, what to eat and nag me into smothering my face in hideous makeup, the kind that would sink into my wrinkles and make me look ancient. I needed that like I needed a cup of cyanide. “That’s so sweet,” I murmured. “Thank you, but I should find my own place.”

Her face dropped, and I felt as if I’d just stepped on a wounded bird. Cringing inside, I added, “I’ll take that help looking for a place, though, if you meant it.”

She brightened at once. “Of course I meant it. You know where I am. All you have to do is ask.” She looked at her watch. “I have to get back to the club, but call me. Okay?”

I nodded and got to my feet, trying to reconcile all these new decisions with my natural inclination to avoid anything that required upheaval of any kind.

The following morning I awoke with a new sense of purpose. I showered, dressed, put on the coffee then, without giving myself any more time to think, I called the number of the first real estate agency listed in the Yellow Pages.

After talking to the agent, I felt as if I’d just climbed a mountain. It seemed a little unsteady up there, but I’d taken that final step.

A while later Linda Collins introduced herself and marched into my house as if she owned it. With her beauty-spa looks and expensive clothes, she made me feel old and hopelessly outdated. I tried to make up for that with my enthusiasm.

After wandering around the various rooms and giving a very good impression of ignoring my occasional comment, she sat down in the living room and balanced her clipboard on her knee. “So, how much were you thinking of asking for it?” she demanded.

Without giving myself time to think, I named what I immediately felt was an outrageous price.

I expected her to laugh at my ignorance, but instead, she raised her perfectly tweezed eyebrows and said calmly, “Well, you might have to come down a thousand or two, but we’ll see what happens. We’ll do a neighborhood comparison, that should give us a better idea.”

Apparently taking my dazed nod for acceptance, she went on, “Take all the stuff off the walls, put away everything you don’t need into drawers. The less clutter you have around the better. Fresh flowers would be nice, and make sure they have a fragrance. Cookies baking in the oven is a nice touch. Gives a house that nice homey feeling. I’ll try to give you fair warning when I’m stopping by.”

Cookies? I’d never baked in my life. Brandon didn’t care for anything that might have expanded his waistline.

Linda shot more questions at me, then I signed a bunch of papers. After promising she’d be back very soon with prospective buyers, she left.

I shut the door behind her and drew a deep breath. I’d done it. I was going to sell the house.

CHAPTER 4

Excited about my newly found confidence, I called Val to tell her. I could hear the excitement in her voice. I half expected her to drop everything and rush right over.

“So you’ve actually put the house up for sale,” she exclaimed. “When are you going to start packing?”

“I was thinking of having the moving people pack for me.”

“Are you nuts? I’d never trust my stuff to those idiots. Besides, it will cost a fortune. I hope you can afford lots of insurance.”

I couldn’t. Now that I came to think of it, I’d probably have to pack everything myself. I let all the air out of my lungs in a long sigh. This independence thing was getting tricky.

“I’ll be happy to help you pack.”

Now Val sounded wary. Probably expecting me to turn down the offer. I was tempted, but I’d seen enough gift horses’ teeth lately. “That would be great. Thanks.”

“Sure. It’ll be fun. We’ll drink wine and play your CDs and party while we’re working. By the way, did I tell you I hired another accountant? She’s working out pretty well. Not you, of course, but at least it will give me time to come over and help you.”

I thanked her and hung up, wondering how much work we’d get done while partying.

My first priority was to pack anything I didn’t want strangers to see. The most obvious place to start was Brandon’s office. I had just about emptied his file cabinet when I found the large envelope stuffed with mortgage documents.

I flipped through the pages, finding pretty much what I’d expected to see. In spite of what I’d considered an exorbitant price for the house, even if it sold for what I asked, by the time the agent’s fees were paid there wouldn’t be much left over.

Tucking the last pages back into the envelope, I saw something small and square fall out and land at my feet. It was a photograph, and in it a young woman squinted into the sun while shading her face with one hand. She wore a limp floral dress that barely skimmed her knees and a cardigan wrapped around her shoulders. It wasn’t so much the woman that caught my attention, though. It was the cottage behind her.

The sun shone on a thatched roof, latticed windows and an abundance of flowers crowded into a fenced yard. It looked quaint, infinitely charming and exuded a peaceful, quiet solitude. Even as I fell in love with it at first sight, I knew I was looking at the cottage. My cottage. Which meant the women standing in front of it had to be her.

I stared at her face, at the smile that I knew was for my husband. He must have had this picture for years. I’d fought long and hard to keep an open mind about Brandon’s relationship with this woman, but now my fears seemed justified.

My carefully constructed wall of denial finally collapsed. I wanted to scream, to yell, to pound my fists against the wall, to batter his image and hers until they’d been erased from my mind. The thought of them together, laughing, confident their secret was safe, was like a knife in my heart. Now that I knew what she looked like, that vision was all too brutally clear to me.

Jamming the picture into my pants pocket, I thanked heaven Val wasn’t there to pummel me with questions and unsolicited advice. I’d have to deal with it sooner or later, but right now I needed to get Brandon’s office cleared out before she had a chance to poke around and find more evidence of my late husband’s indiscretions.

I worked all afternoon, sorting out papers, shredding what I didn’t need, packing away others, while all the time the vision of the cottage smoldered in my mind.

At last I was satisfied I’d taken care of everything. Nothing else incriminating had turned up in Brandon’s files, and it was with relief that I shut the door of his office behind me.

Sitting alone in my living room, I took out the picture once more and studied it. The woman’s face was fuzzy and I was sure I’d never recognize her if I saw her. Especially after so many years had passed. I squinted harder, striving to see something, anything, that would help me understand.

I don’t know how long I sat there, the faded photograph in my hand, while memories crowded my mind. I thought about the day Brandon got his promotion, and how we celebrated over dinner in the Space Needle restaurant.

As the revolving view of the city crawled past our window, we’d raised our glasses of champagne and toasted his success. He’d been more animated that night than I ever remembered, and I was proud of him. He’d worked hard and deserved the success.

I wondered now if he’d called her to tell her about the promotion. I racked my brain trying to remember how soon he’d taken a trip to England after that. Had they celebrated there, in some quiet country inn? I imagined the two of them together, laughing across flickering candles and glasses of wine.

Impatient with myself, I tucked the picture away in a drawer and promised myself I wouldn’t look at it again. But like a smoker drawn to another pack, I kept going back for one more peek, one more moment of self-torment.

The next few weeks slipped by while I did my best to keep the house “sparkling” clean, as Linda had suggested, for the steady stream of prospective buyers.

Late at night, when the house was dark and quiet and all mine, I thought about the cottage and wrestled with the tug-of-war going on in my mind. There were times when I wanted to go over there and tear out the woman’s hair in a screaming, bitching catfight. Luckily my horror of making a spectacle of myself in public prevented that option.

I kept telling myself I should put the cottage up for sale, but deep down I knew that once the cottage was sold and the woman who occupied it disappeared, I’d never have the answers I needed so badly. Part of me argued that I didn’t want to know. It was the part that did want to know that kept me from calling James.

As the summer died and the first showers of Seattle’s rainy season sprinkled the thirsty lawns, I faced the inevitable. Val was right. I would never have true peace of mind until I knew the truth about Brandon’s relationship with this woman. Only then could I put the whole mess behind me and get on with my life.

When the house finally sold, I was unprepared. After watching a young couple trailing behind my fast-talking agent, I was sure they hated everything they saw. Linda called a half hour after they left to tell me they’d made an offer.

“It’s a good offer,” she assured me. “Very close to what I expected. It’s up to you, however. You can try a counteroffer, of course, but I think they’re pretty firm.”

I tried to digest the news, though my brain seemed incapable of working. This was it. I say yes now, and it’s all over. “Yes,” I said, before I could talk myself out of it. “I’ll take it.”

At first I felt an overwhelming relief that I didn’t have to find another mortgage payment. My application for a job with the school district had been put on hold until “something suitable had come up,” I’d been informed. I hadn’t looked for anything else.

Then reality set in. I called Val. Much as I hated to admit it, I hadn’t even begun to pack. I was going to need her help after all.

Val’s confident tone reassured me. “I’ll come over in a little while. We’ll work out a plan of action. While you’re waiting for me, mark down apartments in the want ads that appeal to you.”

Apartments. Now that I was actually faced with looking for one, all I could think about were the cramped, cold, dark rooms I’d shared with my mother.

I could still hear the music rebounding off the skimpy walls from next door. My mother pounding on the ceiling when heavy, stumbling footsteps threatened to break through. People coming and going, doors slamming, voices shouting—all of it echoed in my head in a waking nightmare of memories.

How would I adjust after living for so long in a house with all this space around me and the quiet solitude I treasured so much?

The cold, sick feeling of dread almost overwhelmed me. I was convinced I’d made a terrible mistake. I should have hung on to the house, managed the mortgage somehow. I could have cut corners, given up the little extras, anything rather than leave the safe haven of my home.

I thought about calling Linda in the hope that it wasn’t too late to back out of the deal. I never made the call, of course. Instead I did something I’d never done before. I opened Brandon’s cocktail cabinet and took out a half-filled bottle of brandy. I’m no seasoned drinker. By the time Val arrived, my head was buzzing and my tongue had trouble getting out words.

Val took one look at me and plugged in the coffee machine.

My memory of that afternoon is vague, but I remember very clearly the days that followed. The endless packing, sorting and deciding what to keep, what to sell and what to give away. Val insisted we have a garage sale, and I must admit, it gave me a certain satisfaction to see some of Brandon’s prized possessions go for a song. He would not have appreciated that.

Looking for a place to live was something else. After working out a budget, it was clear that even with a reasonably good salary, any house I felt suitable to rent was out of my range. At least until the cottage sold.

Val insisted on taking me to look at apartments, some of which, I had to admit, were half-decent. They were, however, still apartments, and I felt sick every time I imagined myself sharing walls with noisy strangers.

At the end of one long, fruitless afternoon, Val sat me down in my barren living room. “You have two weeks,” she said, “before you have to move out. You should have put the cottage on the market months ago, when you put this one up for sale. You’d have had the money by now and had your pick of where to live. You could even have bought a smaller house.”

“I know,” I said, aware that this time she was right. “It’s too late now.”

“Yes, it is.” Val looked at me, her eyes clouded with concern. “So what are you going to do?”

“I’ll think of something.”

“Well, you can always come live with me until you decide what you want to do.”

That was the wake-up call, the moment I realized I was out of options. I thanked her anyway, and promised myself I’d make a firm decision by the following morning.

After she left I fished out the photograph once more. As always, the charm and beauty of the tiny cottage stirred a deep-seated longing I didn’t fully understand. Half an acre, James had told me. That was a spacious lot. I couldn’t see what was on either side of the cottage, but judging from the background, there was nothing behind it but fields and trees.

How wonderful it would be to live somewhere like that, secluded and peaceful in your own private corner of the world. How lucky she was to have lived there so long.

Staring at the face of the woman who had caused me so much agonizing, I began to feel ashamed of my stalling. She deserved to know Brandon had died. Whether or not she’d been romantically involved with my husband, she was about to lose her home. I knew how that felt. For once I could afford a tinge of sympathy for her. It would be difficult for her to leave such a paradise.

The next instant I hardened my heart. For all I knew, this woman had stolen my husband’s affections and carried on an illicit relationship all these years. Why should my life be shattered and not hers? I called James. It was time to put the cottage on the market.

In his usual brusque way he offered to call the real estate agent in England for me and set things in motion. “Edward Perkins is the man who’ll be handling the sale. Would you like him to appoint a lawyer or do you want to go over there and settle things yourself?”

Seconds ticked by while I fought with indecision. Part of me wanted to let someone else deal with the cottage and then try to put it out of my mind. A much bigger part of me knew that would be impossible while there were still so many unanswered questions.

Besides, after all I’d been through, surely I deserved a vacation? Val was right. I had the insurance money, and what better way to spend part of it than on a trip to England. Once the cottage was sold, I’d have plenty of money to tide me over until I landed a job. Before I could change my mind again I said firmly, “You can tell…Mr. Perkins was it? Yes, you can tell him I’ll be there in a week or so.”

James sounded surprised when he asked, “Have you informed Ms. Robbins you’re selling the cottage?”

Guilt slapped me square in the chest. “No, I haven’t. I thought the estate agent could do that.”

James hesitated so long I wondered if he’d heard me. I was about to repeat what I’d said, when he spoke again. “Ah, that’s a bit abrupt, don’t you think? I mean, it might be better to give the woman a few days’ warning before the sales signs go up. Give her a chance to get things squared away.”

I fought back the resentment. As far as I was concerned, she deserved no consideration. She certainly hadn’t considered me when she’d entertained my husband in that free home he’d so generously given her. “That’s fine with me. Just tell the agent to wait a week or two before putting up the signs.”

James cleared his throat, a sure signal he was about to say something I didn’t want to hear. “You know it might be difficult to sell a house that’s renter occupied. You might want to talk to Ms. Robbins and find out if she has any plans to move. After all, a new owner will certainly expect her to pay rent, and since she…ah…has lived there rent-free until now, she might not be willing to pay for it now, in which case she’ll need time to find something more suitable.”