The Wrong Kind Of Wife. Roberta Leigh
on their honeymoon and both of them tumbling into the water; the pancakes he had determined to cook for her birthday breakfast, the first one tossed so high it had stuck to the ceiling! So much to laugh over, so many tender moments to remember.
She shook her head. Nostalgia would get her nowhere. Their marriage was over—for the time being at least, she qualified instantly—and she had to concentrate on the next six months.
But first she had to write to Tim. Plenty needed saying, but face to face, not cold-bloodedly in a letter. If only his father hadn’t been taken ill... If only he didn’t have to be at Evebury... If only she could relive this last week...
In despair, Lindsey finally put pen to paper.
As you know, I’ll be in New York for the six months, though if I do well I may be asked to stay longer.
I enclose my share of last quarter’s gas, electricity and telephone bills, but if I owe you for anything else, please let me know. I’m not sure where I’ll be staying, but the office will forward any letters.
Firmly she signed her name. She had been deliberately ambiguous, leaving Tim to read into her note as little or as much as he liked. Sealing the envelope, she went out at once to post it, afraid that if she didn’t she might change her mind and remain in England.
* * *
Lindsey was swept off her feet by the frenetic atmosphere of New York. Everything was larger than life here, and moved at breakneck speed, so that nothing seemed permanent, not even emotions—and that suited her fine.
For the first few weeks she was booked into a small hotel, courtesy of Universal TV, but before the month was out she was sharing an apartment near Fifth Avenue with Mary Brompton, another girl working as a researcher. Mary was New York born and bred, and she quickly introduced Lindsey to the city, and made her feel at home.
Lindsey’s day started earlier than in London, and she was always at the office by eight. Her particular project was to collect material for a documentary series on immigrants and their influence on the country’s culture, which was being co-financed by a big American network. The research was exhaustive, and she often stayed late collating it. It left her little free time, other than at weekends, and with Mary’s help these were soon fully occupied.
Museums, art galleries, concerts, theatre, movies—Lindsey enjoyed them all, as she also did the mind-boggling choice of ethnic restaurants and discount clothing stores! But though her social life flourished, Tim kept intruding into her thoughts. What was he doing? Was he still with Patsy? More important, was he wondering the same thing about her?
She spent hours remembering their whirlwind courtship. Though she had not considered herself a romantic, she had been delighted with the white rose delivered to her room at college each day. There was also perfume, books of poetry, and a gold bracelet with a single, ‘I love you’ charm. She had frequently protested at his extravagance, but he had assured her he could afford it, and how better to spend his money than on the girl he loved? It was sad to admit how short a time his love had lasted.
In spite of the lifeline she had offered in her letter to him, he had not attempted to contact her. It was as if he wished to sever their relationship completely, and even the cheques she had left for him remained uncashed.
Would their relationship have succeeded if they had settled in Evebury and Tim had gone into the family business? Yet, if he had, her own career would not have taken off, and the independent girl Tim had fallen for would have disappeared. No, she reflected, whatever way they had played it, given their respective backgrounds their life together had been doomed from the start.
Eventually she would forget him; at least sufficiently to consider another relationship. But unfortunately the men who appealed to her were all Tim lookalikes, though none of them had his charm, and she was never tempted to launch into an affair.
A month before she was due to return to England, Phil Marsham, Grace Chapman’s American counterpart, asked if she was interested in remaining in New York.
‘For how long?’ she enquired, gratified by the compliment but unwilling to risk losing her position in the London company.
‘For as long as you like.’
‘I’m tired of doing research. Grace said I could front some of the shows when I went back.’
‘Stay here and you can front them all.’
This had been her goal for the future, but she had not envisaged grasping it so soon. ‘You mean that? You’re not just holding out a carrot?’
‘Sure it’s a carrot—but it’s yours to eat!’
‘Then I’ll stay!’ Lindsey beamed.
Later that evening she wrote to tell Tim of her plans.
In spite of its down side, New York’s a great city and I enjoy living here. I’m sure you’re managing very well without me, and I’ll understand if you wish to make our separation permanent.
Here she paused, wondering if she was being too brief, too final. She thought not. She had stated the facts as she saw them, and if he didn’t agree he was free to say so. Damn him, he’d said nothing since the day she had left London. Not a call, not a card.
A week later she had a stilted reply saying he was in no hurry for a divorce, and preferred to wait the statutory two years, when it would be granted with the minimum of fuss. If she wanted one sooner, she would have to furnish the necessary evidence herself.
Furiously she flung his letter aside. What a nerve! Did he think she was born yesterday? If she needed evidence to divorce him, she’d cite Patsy. Yet deep down she knew she wouldn’t. Not unless she fell so madly in love with someone else that she wanted to marry them immediately, about as likely as pigs flying, in her present emotional state. No, she’d play it as coolly as Tim, and if he was content to wait, so was she.
With great determination Lindsey began building a new life. She was happy to stay for the foreseeable future; certainly her career would move forward at a faster pace than if she returned home.
Quite how fast it did go took her by surprise, for three months after accepting Phil’s offer she researched, produced, and appeared in her own documentary. The ratings were excellent, and to show their appreciation Universal TV gave her a bonus, large enough for her to rent an empty apartment of her own. She filled it with pieces bought from the numerous second-hand stores that flourished in the city, and was pleased by the admiring comments from friends at the William-Morris-papered walls, polished wood floorboards scattered with rugs, and delicate sprigged fabrics on the squashy sofas.
‘You’ve created an English-country-house look in the heart of New York!’ they exclaimed.
It had been a totally unconscious act, but once it was brought to her attention she realised that the country house she had unconsciously copied was Ramsden Manor!
A burgeoning bank account brought other advantages too. When money was tight she had given little thought to clothes, but now she no longer had to skimp she discovered she had an excellent eye for what suited her, and her tall, graceful body was shown to advantage in the elegantly casual look of Ralph Lauren and Armani.
For the next two years Lindsey did all she could to forget the past, but it came forcibly back to her during her second summer in New York when she picked up an English newspaper one morning—left in the office by a visiting British VIP—and read that Ramsden Engineering had been bought out by Semperton Trust, a large company with its fingers in many different businesses.
So Tim’s joining the family firm had not saved it! What a blow it must have been to his pride. Still, he was young enough to build another career for himself. It was his father for whom she felt sympathy, for he would find it difficult to start something new in his mid-fifties, yet was too young to settle for retirement.
She read on, and was glad she had done so, for it appeared that Mr Ramsden’s aggressive price-cutting in the past year had caused blood to be spilt in Semperton’s engineering