The English Wife. Doreen Roberts

“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.”

      It hadn’t occurred to me that there might be renter’s rights to deal with, and that it might be impossible to get her out of the cottage. Then again, why should I care what she did once the cottage was sold?

      Irritable with James for taking her side, I got belligerent. “Have you met this woman?”

      His surprise sounded genuine. “Met her? Of course not.”

      “But you knew about her.”

      “I knew your husband owned the cottage with a tenant in it. That was all.”

      “Did you know he kept it a secret from me?”

      “I did not. Even if I had, it was not my business to interfere. I advised Brandon on legal matters, that was all.”

      “Was it legal for him to keep valuable property a secret from his wife?”

      “That was a personal decision on his part. Since he ended up leaving you the property in his will, I really don’t see the problem.”

      In other words, his tone implied, I was overreacting. Maybe he was right. There was only one way to find out. I ended the conversation and hung up. I was going to England, and I was going to get the answers to my questions.

      Somewhere deep inside me lurked a tiny flicker of hope that this had all been a huge misunderstanding. Until I knew for sure, I would forever torment myself with doubts and unfounded suspicions.

      This wasn’t something that could be resolved in a letter or a phone call. It would be too easy for the woman to cut me off without a word. I had to deal with her face to face, if I was to get what I needed.

      Just to make sure my lack of conviction wouldn’t allow me to back out, I called the airlines and booked a flight to London. Then I called Val. “I’m going to England,” I told her. “I’m going over there to sell the cottage and settle things myself.”

      She was so excited I thought for a moment she was going to suggest coming with me. I was relieved when she said, “I wish I could come, too. I’d love to see the bitch’s face when you turn up on her doorstep. I’ll worry about you all alone over there, but right now I can’t leave the club.”

      “I’ll have people to help me over there,” I told her. “I’ll be just fine.” I actually believed it as I hung up, serenely unaware that my long-delayed decision would set off a chain of events that would change my life in ways I could never imagine.

      Two weeks later I sat in the window seat of a crowded jumbo jet, trying to convince myself I wasn’t in the middle of one of my muddled dreams. The past few days had been a whirlwind of activity and wrenching misgivings as I’d closed the door on my home for the last time.

      Red and bronze leaves floated down from the spreading arms of the maple tree in the front yard as I’d driven away, and my heart ached as I’d caught a last glimpse of it just before I’d turned the corner. Right then, all I could remember were the good times. We’d had our share of good times, Brandon and I, even if they had been few and far apart.

      Val had helped me put into storage the few things I’d kept, and I’d spent the last two nights in her spacious condo. That alone had been enough to confirm my reservations about living with her for any length of time.

      I made up my mind that as soon as I returned, I would use the money from the sale of the cottage to buy myself the first small house I could find.

      Val had driven me to the airport, and the last I’d seen of her she was bobbing up and down behind the security gate, waving frantically and yelling last-minute instructions.

      I’d never enjoyed air travel. Not that I’d flown that much, anyway. This was the first time, however, that I’d traveled by air on my own. Now that we were actually taxiing down the runway, my insides were clenched as tight as the bolts on the fuselage, and I was quite prepared to hold my breath all the way to London.

      Once in the air, I bought two of the little bottles of wine from the flight attendant. By the time I started on the second one, I had begun to float in a pleasant haze of well-being.

      The man seated next to me appeared to be about Brandon’s age. He seemed harmless enough. Businessman, I suspected, judging from the neat gray suit and silver-blue tie.

      He must have noticed my inspection, since he smiled and asked, “Your first trip to Europe?”

      “Yes,” I admitted, sounding a little breathless—a direct result, no doubt, of having held my breath for so long on takeoff. “I’m on my way to Devon, in England.”

      “Ah.” The man settled back in his chair and lifted what appeared to be a glass of Scotch. “Very nice part of the country.”

      “You’ve been there?” Eager to know more about the area, I turned to him.

      “Indeed I have.”

      We spent the next half hour in very pleasant conversation while I learned a great deal about southern England and “the great city of London.”

      His name was Wes Carter, I found out later, and he was CEO of a big corporation, took frequent business trips to Europe, and lived in San Diego.

      I wasn’t nearly as forthcoming, telling him only that I was traveling to England to settle a business matter. The mention of it reminded me of the daunting prospect that lay ahead of me. I tried to imagine how I would feel if the wife of my longtime lover suddenly appeared on my doorstep with the news that he was dead and my home was being sold.

      No matter how delicately I handled the situation, it was bound to be devastating for both of us. I wished I’d listened to my instincts and stayed buried in my web of denial. Even as I wished it, I knew I’d come too far to back out now. I was committed to see this through to the bitter end.

      Later, as we flew over London and I got my first view of Buckingham Palace and the famous River Thames twisting its way through the ancient city, I wondered what Brandon would have thought if he could see me right then. I hoped that somewhere out there in that vast abyss on the other side, he was watching, filled with remorse for his selfish indiscretions. Racked with guilt and apprehension, I hoped, and aware that I was about to uncover whatever secrets he’d worked so hard to hide.

      CHAPTER 5

      My first impression of the English countryside was a hazy blur of vibrant green fields, desolate moors, small modern towns and quaint little villages that made me feel I’d been thrown back in time.

      Mostly I dozed in the back of the car I’d hired for the long drive to Devon. By the time the limo pulled up in front of The White Stone Inn, all I wanted was a cup of strong coffee, a quiet room and a soft bed.

      The inn had obviously