The English Wife. Doreen Roberts

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 With her beauty-spa looks and expensive clothes, she made me feel old and hopelessly outdated.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,