The English Wife. Doreen Roberts

looked at me as if I were stupid. I felt stupid. How in the world had Brandon kept property in England a secret from me? Why had he kept it a secret from me?

      My late husband was an investments consultant and wrapped up in his work most of the time. I guess most people would call our life together comfortable. Maybe mundane. Certainly predictable.

      Every Friday he and I ate dinner at one of the excellent restaurants in the city. Once a year we’d drive up to Vancouver or take the ferry to Victoria for a week’s vacation. That was about the extent of our social life together.

      But then Brandon died, and life as I knew it vanished as completely as an early-morning mist on a hot summer’s day. Now, three weeks after my husband had been laid to rest, I listened to James drone on and wondered what in the world I was doing there.

      “Marjorie?”

      I jumped, aware James had asked me a question that had dissolved in my ears before I’d registered it. “Sorry. I didn’t get that.”

      He gave me a pitying look. “I know this must be hard for you. It was a shock to us all. Fifty-four is far too young. We had no idea Brandon had a heart problem. He seemed so healthy and vital.”

      I doubt even Brandon knew he had a heart problem. If he had, he hadn’t thought it worth mentioning to me. It wasn’t until the autopsy they found the clogged arteries. My late husband was one of those people who avoided doctors like a vegan avoids mink.

      “Marjorie, how much do you know about your financial situation?”

      Apparently not enough. Apparently there was a whole lot I hadn’t known. I wondered what else he’d kept from me. I had a sudden urge to run from that dismal office with its leathery odor and that awful sickly cologne James wore. I wanted to breathe fresh air, and feel the sun warm on my head. I didn’t want to sit there and answer his probing questions.

      “Not much.” I looked him in the eye. “Brandon took care of all the finances. He was an expert, you know. He didn’t trust anyone with his money except himself.”

      If James detected a slight bitterness to my tone he didn’t let on. “Yes, that’s what I thought. Judging by your reaction, I assume he neglected to tell you about the cottage.”

      Good word, neglected. Covered a lot of sins. It definitely sounded better than out-and-out lying, though technically, I suppose, Brandon hadn’t exactly lied. He’d just gone to incredible pains to keep this enormous secret from me. No wonder he had so many business trips to Europe.

      I remembered then, something else James had said. I wanted to know more about this woman living in my husband’s cottage. Was this a simple business arrangement, an investment, or was she the reason he’d kept it all a secret?

      I fought to control my rising suspicions. Calm down, I told myself. There could be a lot of reasons why Brandon hadn’t wanted me to know he owned a cottage in a foreign country and that a stranger was living in it.

      A female stranger.

      I couldn’t think of one good reason. Except for the obvious. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s being made to look like a fool. Right then I felt like the biggest fool on the planet. “How long has Brandon owned this cottage?”

      James flipped over pages for so long I thought he intended to ignore the question. Then he cleared his throat again. “Your husband bought the cottage shortly after your wedding. Three months later, to be exact.”

      Three months? Was that how long it had taken before Brandon went looking for a diversion? No, I couldn’t believe that. Brandon wasn’t the type. Besides, I would have known. Surely I would have known?

      I sat staring at James for quite some time before I finally managed to ask, “Did he say why he bought it?”

      “I imagine for an investment.”

      There. So it was possible. Okay, maybe I was grasping at straws, but I was drowning in a sea of bewilderment and desperately looking for dry land. “So this woman is renting the cottage? Is that it?”

      He seemed to have something wrong with his throat because he kept having to clear it. “Not exactly. I believe she’s living there free of rent.”

      “I see.” I pulled in a deep, deep breath and let it out slowly. Seconds ticked by while I fought the waves of anger and disbelief. I’d been married twenty-seven years to a man I thought I knew at least reasonably well. Now it seemed I hadn’t known him at all.

      “Marjorie, you should understand that your financial situation is somewhat delicate.”

      It took all my willpower to sound indifferent. “I suppose you’re going to tell me I’m bankrupt now.”

      James seemed offended by that. “Bankrupt? Of course not. Brandon was too good a manager to allow that. There are, however, certain matters which have to be addressed.”

      “What kind of matters?”

      He looked down at the papers in front of him. “Well, for one, I’m sure you know that Brandon has made you sole beneficiary of his will.”

      Well, that came as no big surprise. Brandon had no family living and, to my everlasting regret, we never had children.

      “Sole beneficiary,” I murmured. “How considerate of him. You’re sure he didn’t include Eileen what’s-her-name?”

      Ignoring that completely, James went on talking in that wooden voice of his, seemingly unaware of my growing need to throw something at him. “He’s left all his worldly goods to you, with no exceptions. The life insurance should provide you with enough funds to settle immediate matters. You will be receiving a small pension, enough to pay for necessities, though I should caution you that your income will not be as favorable as the one to which you have become accustomed. Since you have at least another fifteen years or so until retirement age, you will most likely have to make some changes.”

      I was in no mood to sort through all that lawyer-speak. “I assume what all that means is that I have to sell my home.”

      I could no longer hide my resentment and James’s ears turned pink. “By no means. It’s a big house for one person, however, and the upkeep must be quite expensive. You might want to consider selling it, yes. Brandon lost money on the stock market and refinanced a couple of years ago, but there should be enough equity left, around thirty thousand or so, to give you a down payment on something a little smaller.”

      I closed my eyes for a moment. Up until now I’d managed to deal pretty well with the numbing jolts life had just handed me. I’d survived the past three weeks by going back to work at the health club, and must have handled things okay, judging by the comments from my boss, Val Barnes, and the rest of the staff.

      True, I didn’t like being alone at night, but after I’d locked myself securely in the house and downed two or three glasses of wine, falling asleep hadn’t been that difficult. I’d even begun to think about the future and how I wanted to spend the rest of my life.

      Moving out of my home, however, hadn’t even occurred to me. Right now it was the only stable thing in my life. Losing that would be losing my fragile hold on security.

      “I’m sorry, I know how hard this is for you.”

      God, I wished he’d stop saying that. How could he possibly know what it felt like to lose everything that had formed the basis of my life for all these years.

      “Apart from the mortgage on your house, you have no outstanding debts,” James said. “That leaves the property in England. You own that free and clear. The money you get from the sale should help considerably. I understand it’s worth around three hundred thousand, though of course, bringing that amount of money into this country will mean taxes….”

      The cottage. For a moment I’d almost forgotten about it. I wanted to forget about it. Forget Eileen what’s-her-name ever existed. Forget the doubts poisoning my mind.

      But