The English Wife

I asked as I sat in James Starrett’s immaculate office, mistakenly thinking that the worst shock of Brandon’s death was behind me.

“I was saying, I’d think about selling your property in England.”

I sat staring at him for the longest time, letting the words sink in. Even then, they still didn’t make sense. “Property?” My voice sounded as if I’d swallowed sand. “In England?”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “The cottage in Miles End. It’s occupied at the moment…ah… Eileen Robbins is the name…but you should be able to get around that. The woman might even be willing to buy it from you. I believe she’s living there free of rent.”

“I see.” I pulled in a deep, deep breath and let it out slowly. It’s strange how a single sentence can totally change your life.

That’s all it took to change mine.

Doreen Roberts

Doreen Roberts lives with her husband, who is also her manager and her biggest fan, in the beautiful city of Portland, Oregon. She believes that everyone should have a little adventure now and again to add interest to their lives. She believes in taking risks and has been known to embark on an adventure or two of her own. She is happiest, however, when she is creating stories about the biggest adventure of all—falling in love and learning to live happily ever after.

The English Wife

Doreen Roberts

From the Author

Dear Reader,

As a young bride, I left my native England and everything near and dear to me to start life over in the U.S. Thirty years later, at the age of fifty-eight, once more I left behind everything that I loved—family, friends and the neighborhood I’d lived in all those years—to drive to the opposite coast and start over again.

The English Wife is Marjorie’s story, not mine, but her pain, her fear and her struggles to find her way in an unfamiliar and confusing world are all echoes of my past. Life throws changes at us, some small, some huge. It isn’t easy starting over, but we women are strong. When faced with whatever comes next, we struggle to make the best of it in the hopes that the new door will lead us to a measure of peace and, if we’re lucky, a better life.

I was one of the lucky ones. I wish all of you as much happiness as I found in my new life. If you’d like to know more, visit me at www.doreenrobertshight.com.

Always yours,

Doreen Roberts

To my wise and patient editor, Susan Litman. Thank you for all the great suggestions and advice. Your support and encouragement mean everything to me.

To my talented and generous critique partner, Jennifer Hoffman, for taking time out of your own writing to help me with mine. Thanks for challenging

me, and for reminding me that there’s always room for learning.

To my likewise talented Web pal, Lauren Nichols, for all the times you’ve let me whine, and all the nice things you’ve said to make me feel better.

Finally, and most of all, to my dear husband, Bill, for truly listening, for understanding, for loving me enough to give me all the time and space I need—and above all, for keeping your promise and giving me a whole new world. I’ll love you forever.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 1

It’s strange how a single sentence can totally change your life. That’s all it took to change mine.

I sat in James Starrett’s immaculate office, mistakenly thinking that the worst shock of Brandon’s death was behind me. Outside the window, rhododendrons soaked up the sun after a long bout of Seattle rain. I wished I could be out there with them, instead of trapped inside that stuffy room. James’s voice was enough to send me to sleep as he droned on about the will.

He sat behind a massive desk that gleamed in the rays of sunlight pouring through the window behind him. When he finally paused in his lengthy commentary and raised his eyebrows at me, it took me a moment or two to realize I might have missed something important. I leaned forward. “What did you say?”

He frowned at me over his rimless glasses. “I was saying, I’d think about selling your property in England.”

I groped through the fog in my head to make sense of his words. They seemed to hang in the air between us, about as clear as if he’d spoken in Japanese.

I’d had trouble making sense of anything the past few weeks. At first I couldn’t convince myself that Brandon wasn’t coming back. Or maybe I was afraid to accept it. As long as I floated along in my little cushion of denial, I wouldn’t feel the pain that I knew was waiting to crush me.

I missed him, of course. I kept expecting him to walk in the house, demanding his double-malt scotch, and grumbling because dinner wasn’t ready. The house seemed so lonely and empty without him, yet I wasn’t hurting the way I thought a new widow should hurt. I kept waiting for that to happen.

I seemed to live in a vacuum, where no one could reach me, and I had to give myself orders so I wouldn’t forget to eat or shower or comb my hair. It was a strange existence. I felt like a character living in a book, waiting for the reader to turn another page.

No wonder I couldn’t understand James, even though he’d said it twice. I gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

I didn’t like the uncomfortable expression that crept into his colorless eyes. “I said, you need to think about selling your property in England.”

I sat staring at him for the longest time, letting the words sink in. Even then, they still didn’t make sense. “Property?” My voice sounded as if I’d swallowed sand. “In England?”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “The cottage in Miles End, Devon. It’s on half an acre of land, so it should fetch a good price. It’s occupied at the moment…ah… Eileen Robbins is the name…but you should be able to get around that. The woman might even be willing to buy it from you. I can put you in touch with a good agent over there, if you like.”

I pulled myself upright on the hard chair and shook my head in a vain effort to focus.

James went on in his dry voice as if he were totally unaware of the havoc he was creating in my muddled mind. “Three bedrooms, living room, kitchen and bathroom. I’m told that’s considered quite sufficient in a small fishing village like Miles End.”

“Village?” I seemed to be repeating words without understanding any of them.

James 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 I couldn’t. I wanted to know if Brandon had been having an affair with this woman all these years. Or maybe she was the latest in a string of affairs. Maybe that was the reason he’d bought the cottage in a remote village in England, so he could conduct his romances in complete assurance that I’d never find out.

If so, then why the hell did he marry me? Why did he stay married to me if he didn’t love me?

The questions were driving me crazy. I found it impossible to believe that the meticulous, distant man I’d lived with for so long could have led a double life of deceit and infidelity. I just couldn’t imagine him getting passionate over any woman. He certainly never showed much passion toward me.

A thought struck me, and although I hated asking, I really needed to know. “Does this Eileen person know that Brandon died?”

James wore his usual pained expression. “It’s not my place to inform Ms. Robbins. As the owner of the cottage, that will be up to you.”

I stared at him for a long moment. I couldn’t be sure that Brandon had a personal relationship with this woman. I could be jumping to conclusions, condemning my husband without any grounds other than circumstantial evidence.

On the other hand, if it was personal, I just couldn’t send her a blunt note telling her the man with whom she might be having an affair had died.

Phone call? Perhaps. Even as I considered it, I knew I couldn’t do that, either. I couldn’t talk to the woman without knowing the answers.

Which led to another burning question. Did she know about me?

Suddenly, I’d had enough. I gathered up my purse and scrambled to my feet. “I’m sorry, I have to go. I’m needed at work.”

James dropped the papers he’d held, and for the first time a flicker of anxiety crossed his face. “We’re not quite finished here, Marjorie. There are papers to sign, a few more concerns to go over, decisions to be made—”

“Not now!”

My sharp tone must have surprised him. He raised his eyebrows again and a red spot appeared in each cheek. He started to get up, but I waved a hand at him.

“I’ll call you. I need time to think about everything.”

To my horror I felt my control crumbling. I had to get out of there. Now, before I made a complete and utter fool of myself. I fled for the door, dragged it open and didn’t bother to close it behind me.

Melanie, James’s pinched-face assistant, said something to me as I hurried past her desk, but I couldn’t look at her. I just kept going and didn’t stop until I reached my car in the crowded parking lot of the office complex.

Tears spilled down my face as I got the door open and scrambled inside. My nice safe cushion had collapsed. Now that I no longer had to put up a brave front, I could give in to the pain that finally racked my body. I rested my arms on the wheel, buried my face in them and opened up the dam.

I was nineteen and incredibly naive when I’d married Brandon. Ten years before that my father had stepped on a mine in Vietnam and my mother never recovered. She shut herself away from the world and her only daughter.

I’d been lonely for too long when Brandon walked into the hotel where I worked as a desk clerk. He was new in town and I suggested a few good restaurants. To my surprise he invited me to join him for dinner, and I ended up helping him find a place to live.

He was eight years older than me, good-looking, confident, sophisticated—all the things I wasn’t. He made me feel safe just by being with him. Looking back, I guess he was the protective father figure I’d missed so terribly during my formative years.

There was something else, an air of sadness about him, as if he’d suffered some deep emotional trauma that he was determined to keep to himself, no matter how hard I tried to draw him out.

It was that melancholy that convinced me I should marry him. I thought perhaps we could heal each other. I was wrong. I never could reach that inner part of him, and after a while I gave up trying.

I asked him once why he’d married me. He’d given me that sad smile and murmured, “Because you needed me.” I’d had the feeling then that Brandon needed to be needed, and I was the first one to give him that.

But not the last, if my suspicions were correct.

When I reached the health club I did my best to mop up the ravages of my pity party, but I still looked as if I’d contracted some deadly disease. Blotched skin, bloodshot puffy eyes, red nose—crying always does that to me.

Val sat at my desk in the throes of a heated discussion with a customer. The young blonde’s vivid orange sweats clashed horribly with the pale pink palm trees decorating the lobby. Usually our clientele had better taste than that.

Their 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.