The English Wife. Doreen Roberts

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СКАЧАТЬ raised voices echoed far enough to turn the heads of some clients on the other side of the glass wall behind Val. I hurried over there, my own problems momentarily forgotten.

      Val’s relieved expression went a long way toward restoring some of my self-esteem as I explained to the irate customer that her payment had arrived too late to credit her last bill. I promised the matter would be taken care of immediately.

      As the young woman stalked off, Val rolled her eyes. “Thank God you got here. You know how useless I am at bookkeeping. The damn woman was getting hostile. I was just about to call security.”

      “We don’t have security.” I took the chair she’d just vacated and reached for the morning mail.

      “Well, we should get some. It’s times like these—” She broke off with a muttered exclamation. “Holy crap, Margie. What happened to you?”

      I’d avoided looking directly at her until now. I didn’t need a mirror to know why she stared at me as if I’d grown horns. “I’ll tell you later,” I mumbled.

      “You’ll tell me now.” She looked at the slim gold watch on her wrist. “Come one, let’s go eat.”

      “But I just got here.”

      “Yes, and over lunch you can tell me what you’ve been doing all morning to destroy your face.” She grabbed my arm and pulled me up off the chair.

      She was used to getting her own way, and since she was my boss I didn’t waste time arguing with her. I followed her to the cafeteria, miserably aware that she would not be satisfied until she’d wrung every last detail out of me.

      CHAPTER 2

      When it had become obvious Brandon and I would not be blessed with children, I’d taken accounting classes at business school and for years I’d worked for my dentist until he retired.

      When I saw the ad for a bookkeeper at a new health club, I couldn’t resist applying. I did it to show Brandon he wasn’t in total control of my life, but after talking to Val, it seemed such a happy place compared to the long faces at the dentist’s office, and I was overjoyed when she hired me. Brandon, of course, was horrified.

      Over the six years I worked for Val I learned a lot about running a business, and ended up taking over most of the paperwork involved. Val was ten years younger than me and happily divorced, with alimony that would have paid my mortgage twice over. She kept trying to get me physically trained. I absolutely refused. Cramming my body into skintight clothes and bouncing around among all those nubile goddesses was not my idea of a good time. I’d never have a figure like Val’s, no matter how much I sweated and starved. I’d accepted that, even if Val wouldn’t.

      Seated opposite me at a vinyl covered table in the club’s cafeteria, she studied my face. “We should be in a bar with a bottle of good Scotch. You look as if you could use one.”

      The idea was tempting. “I’ve had a bad morning.” The understatement of the century, but I wasn’t ready to share my suspicions about my late husband’s activities just yet.

      All around me young women in tight outfits were battling to be heard above each other’s chatter. The babble did nothing to soothe my frayed nerves. The price I paid for a free lunch.

      I should have known I couldn’t fool Val. She pursed her perfectly outlined lips. “You’ve been doing so well up to now. Just tell me what happened.”

      Giving up hope of keeping the news to myself, I explained about the cottage and the mystery woman, though I left out all my suspicions. I guess I was hoping Val would dismiss the whole thing as insignificant.

      She’d never been blessed with tact. “Are you telling me Brandon had a mistress? God, I didn’t think he had it in him. Just goes to show you can’t tell a book—” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, God, Margie, I’m sorry. This must be tough on you. No wonder you look like crap. It’s hard enough to lose a husband, but to find out he’s been cheating on you…” Her voice trailed off, and tears of sympathy glistened in her gorgeous violet eyes.

      I was pretty sure the tears were genuine. Val could be as tough as nails about most things, but if you were a friend in need, she was there for you. To hear her confirm my misgivings almost wrecked the careful hold I had on my composure.

      Even so, for some unfathomable reason, I struggled to give Brandon the benefit of the doubt. “I don’t know that he cheated on me. There could be a dozen reasons why he let this woman live there rent-free.”

      “Yeah? Name one.”

      I groped for possibilities. “She could be a relative, or an important client.”

      “So why didn’t he tell you?”

      The hollow feeling I’d been fighting all morning invaded my stomach. I reached for the pepper shaker and sprinkled a liberal amount into my soup. “Okay, so I don’t know.”

      Val’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. “Well, there’s one way to find out.”

      “How?”

      “By going there and confronting the bitch.”

      “Go to England? You’ve got to be kidding.”

      “Why not? At least you’d find out for sure what Brandon was up to, and England is supposed to be beautiful this time of year. All those yards in full bloom, boating on the lake, garden parties, afternoon teas, flower shows…” She clasped her hands and gazed up at the ceiling. “Fabulous. If I had an excuse to get out of Seattle for a while I’d be on the plane tomorrow.”

      “You watch too much TV.” I picked up my spoon and tasted the soup. It needed more pepper. “James told me that Miles End is a little fishing village on the southwest coast. It’s probably smelly, grubby and full of sweaty fishermen who haven’t looked at a shower in days. I’d have to stay in some smoky, grimy pub where I’d be kept awake half the night by the drunken brawls.”

      Val grinned. “Obviously we watch different movies. Seriously, though, Margie. Think about it. You actually own a cottage in England. What are you going to do with it?”

      I didn’t want to think about the cottage. Just the mention of it made me want to dig up Brandon and wring his deceiving neck. My voice was abrupt when I answered her. “Sell it, I guess. Get it out of my life. Forget it ever existed.”

      “Why don’t you just throw the bitch out and rent it.”

      I had to admit, the idea had merit. Then again, we were both jumping to conclusions. The poor woman could be totally innocent and have a perfectly legitimate reason for enjoying a rent-free existence.

      Just to torment me, snippets of items I’d read about well-heeled business men renting luxury penthouse suites for their paramours danced gleefully through my head.

      I banished them from my mind. For one thing, if what James said was true, my husband had not been that well-heeled. For another, why go to all that trouble and expense to buy a cottage in England, when surely it would have been cheaper to rent something in the U.S.?

      Something just didn’t fit, and much as I hated to acknowledge the fact, I was dying to get to СКАЧАТЬ