The Wrong Kind Of Wife. Roberta Leigh

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      Lindsey knew that Grace Chapman, who was the programme’s producer and her immediate boss, would be delighted with the material she had obtained, for she had great aptitude in gathering information, and Grace had recently suggested she would let her appear in a documentary instead of being a backroom girl.

      ‘You have the looks, intelligence and personality to be a presenter,’ the woman had stated. ‘But telly fame means you’d become a target for every gossip columnist in Fleet Street, and you might not want that.’

      ‘They’d find nothing to gossip about in my life,’ Lindsey had replied.

      ‘I’ll put your name forward, then.’

      Since Grace’s word carried enormous weight, Lindsey was delighted, yet she had not said a word to Tim, uncertain how would he feel if she suddenly became famous while he was still struggling. Perhaps it might be wiser to soft-pedal her prospects for another year.

      Arriving at the airport with time to spare, she wandered into the duty-free shop and, spying Tim’s favourite aftershave, which even for her was wickedly expensive, she decided to buy some for him. The bottle she had given him for Christmas was down to the last inch, and she had noticed him using it sparingly.

      Deciding in for a penny in for a pound, she also purchased a bottle of champagne as a nice way to mark her earlier than expected return. Tim’s favourite brand was Dom Perignon, but the cost was almost double the one she had chosen, and given the amount she had spent on the aftershave it was an extravagance she could ill afford.

      Although the flight took only an hour, it was interminable to Lindsey as she envisaged Tim’s surprise and pleasure at seeing her. Would they drink the champagne before going to bed, or make love first? When they had been apart for more than a night, he was always impatient to possess her, and as she walked in he would gather her into his arms and carry her into the bedroom, his hunger such that there was no time for foreplay. But she was always wet and ready for him, and their coupling, though swift, was lusty and satisfying.

      As her taxi drew to a halt outside the red-brick Edwardian house where they had their apartment, and she saw the light in the sitting-room of their second-floor apartment, she breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness Tim was home. In the last half-hour it had occurred to her that her desire to surprise him would backfire if he had gone to the films, or was visiting friends.

      Hurrying up the stairs, she quietly unlocked the front door and noiselessly closed it. She wanted Tim’s surprise to be total when she walked into the sitting-room.

      It certainly was! And a damned unpleasant one too, for he was on the sofa, locked in a passionate embrace with a voluptuous blonde.

      Staring at them in shocked silence as they swiftly drew apart, her eyes took in the scene: open hamper stuffed with goodies in Harrods’ distinctive green wrapping, two glasses beside an empty champagne bottle—Dom Perignon, to add insult to injury—and black leather Gucci bag flung carelessly on the floor, beside matching low-heeled shoes. While the cat’s away, the rat did play! And with no expense spared for his new little sex-kitten!

      ‘Shall I go out and ring the bell?’ she finally managed, tight-lipped.

      ‘It isn’t what you imagine,’ the girl said.

      ‘Then it’s an award-winning imitation!’

      ‘Don’t be silly, Lindsey.’ Tim’s smile was a travesty, and he avoided her eyes as he began doing up the buttons of his shirt, which was undone to the waist. ‘Patsy is Peter’s sister—the best man at our wedding. Patsy wasn’t there because she was in Australia.’

      ‘I suppose she called in tonight to congratulate you?’ Lindsey’s tone was heavily sarcastic as she eyed the girl.

      There was no denying she was stunning: silky, corn-coloured hair falling around slender shoulders, a full bust, small waist, and nicely rounded hips. As she gracefully rose, the long legs exposed by her black kid skirt were fabulous too.

      ‘Patsy and Peter grew up with me,’ Tim was saying. ‘Remember me telling you, darling?’

      Lindsey had a vague memory of it, and jealousy mounted as she remembered her mother-in-law saying she had wanted Tim to marry someone like Patsy Selwyn, who hailed from a similar background.

      ‘Please don’t be angry with Tim,’ the girl said now, in a well-bred drawl. ‘This is more my fault than his.’

      ‘It takes two to tango,’ Lindsey bit out, throwing her husband a contemptuous look as he raked his hand through his tousled hair in an attempt to tidy it.

      ‘What I mean is, I’ve known Tim most of my life, and when I called him and heard you were away I came over with some food and bubbly—too much bubbly, I guess. That’s why—’

      ‘Thanks for the explanation,’ Lindsey drawled. ‘It’s made me feel a lot better.’

      Patsy flushed and looked at Tim for help. But none came, and she lost patience. ‘For heaven’s sake, Lindsey! You’re making a mountain out of a molehill.’

      ‘I don’t happen to think finding your husband passionately kissing another woman is a molehill.’

      ‘But we were a bit tight. It didn’t mean a thing. We’ve known each other for years and—’

      ‘Why don’t you just go?’ Lindsey cut in wearily. ‘And if you think Tim will be faithful to you, take him with you!’

      Turning on her heels, she walked into the bedroom and slammed the door behind her. As she crumpled on the bed, she heard the front door close, and a moment later Tim came in and put his arms around her.

      ‘Please let me explain, darling,’ he murmured. ‘Patsy was speaking the truth. I was missing you like hell, and when she offered to come over and keep me company—’

      ‘You decided to use her as my stand-in!’ Lindsey shook herself free of him. ‘You’d have been in this bed together if I’d arrived an hour later!’

      ‘Don’t be crazy! I couldn’t make love to anyone except you.’

      ‘What were you doing on the sofa—playing patience?’

      He shrugged guiltily. ‘Things got a little out of hand, I agree, but you’re blowing it up out of all proportion.’

      ‘Perhaps I’m not as sophisticated as you,’ Lindsey cried. ‘But in my world, if a man loves his wife he doesn’t make love to someone else the instant her back’s turned.’ Jumping to her feet, she went to stand by the window. ‘I was a fool to work myself into the ground so I could come home earlier than planned. I should have stayed in Paris and lived it up. I had plenty of offers.’

      ‘I’m sure you did,’ Tim said softly, from just behind her. ‘You’re a very beautiful girl.’ Catching hold of her shoulder, he swung her round to face him. ‘Come to bed, Lindsey, and let me show you how much I love you.’

      ‘The only thing going to bed with me will prove is how horny you are!’ she flung at him, furious that he was so insensitive to her mood. Did he think she could discover him in the arms of another woman one moment, and forget about it the next? ‘The way I feel right now, I don’t want to make love to you ever!’

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