Lawrence Sanders - The seventh commandment

"Yes, yes," Clayton said impatiently, "but I can't go on living like this. It's-it's hypocritical. My marriage is a sham. There's just nothing to it. It's putting up a front at charity benefits and everything else is empty. I can't live that way anymore. It's tearing me apart."

She stared at him, her big eyes luminous. "Have you spoken to Eleanor about the way you feel?"

"Eleanor and I don't speak about anything. At least nothing important. We've become strangers to each other. Mother, I'm going to ask for a-for a divorce." The word caught in his throat.

He was returning her stare but had to turn away when he saw her eyes fill with tears. She reached out to put a soft hand on his arm.

"Please, Clayton," she said. "Please."

He stood abruptly and stalked about the room, unable to face her. "It's got to be done," he said roughly. "Got to be. Our marriage is a great big zero. Eleanor has her charity parties, I have the business to take care of, and we have nothing in common. We just don't share. I want a chance at happiness. At least a chance. Don't you think I deserve that? Everyone deserves that."

"Have you considered a marriage counselor?" she said timidly. "Or perhaps you could talk to Father Callaway; he's very understanding."

He shook his head. "This isn't a temporary squabble. It goes deeper. We've just become incompatible, that's all. I know this is a shock to you, mother, but I wanted to tell you what I plan to do before I spoke to Eleanor about it. I wanted to get your reaction."

"My reaction?" she cried. "Another death in the family-that's my reaction."

"Come on!" he said heartily. "It's not that bad. People get divorced all the time and survive. Sometimes it's the healthiest thing to do. A loveless marriage is like a wasting disease."

She lowered her head, looked down at her hands, twisted her wedding band around and around. "What will you do then?" she asked. "Marry again?"

He had not intended to tell her. He had planned to take it a step at a time: inform her about the divorce at an initial meeting; then, after giving her time to adjust, he would tell her about Helene in another intimate conversation.

But now, because she did not seem unduly disturbed, he suddenly decided to go all the way, get it all out, thinking that she might be mollified if she knew that he wanted to remarry and would not be alone.

He sat down alongside her again and clasped her hands in his. "Mother, the first thing I want to do is end an impossible situation and divorce Eleanor. Believe me, she'll be well taken care of; she won't have a thing to worry about for the rest of her life. I'm talking about money worries. You know I'll make certain she's financially secure."

She nodded. "Yes, you must do that."

"Of course. And when the divorce becomes final"-he took a deep breath-"I want to marry Helene Pierce-if she'll have me."

Olivia raised her eyes to his, and he saw something that surprised him: a kind of peasant shrewdness. "How long has this been going on?" she asked.

He concealed his guilt by feigning bewilderment. "How long has what been going on? You've known Helene as long as I have. She and her brother have become good friends to all of us. I think Helene is a lovely, sweet, sensitive person-don't you?"

"She's awfully young, Clayton-for you."

He shook his head. "I don't think so. Perhaps she does. Naturally I haven't even hinted to her about the way I feel. Maybe she'll turn me down."

"She won't," Mrs. Starrett said, the peasant again. "She's not that foolish."

He shrugged. "But that's all in the future. I just want you to know that I hope to remarry. I have no intention of living the rest of my life as a bachelor. When I remember how happy you and father were for so many years, I know that marriage-the right marriage-is what I want."

"Yes," his mother said.

He leaned toward her, serious and intent. "I know this must come as a shock to you, and a disappointment. I'd do anything in the world to keep from hurting you. I love you, and I know you love me."

"I do, but I love Eleanor, too. What you're doing to her seems so-so unkind."

He gave her a sad smile. "You know what they say: Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind. Eleanor will be happier without me."

"You don't know that."

"Mother! She'll still have her life: her friends, her charities, her benefits. And perhaps she'll remarry, too. That's possible, isn't it?"

"I don't think so," Mrs. Starrett said.

He straightened up, trying to keep anger out of his voice. "If you don't want me to divorce Eleanor, I'll continue that miserable marriage the rest of my life. Is that what you want? Doesn't my happiness mean anything to you?"

Then she did weep and bent forward to embrace him. "Yes," she said, sobbing, "oh yes, I want you to be happy. I'd give my life to make you happy."

"I know you would, mother," he said in almost a croon, soothing her, stroking her wet cheek. "What's most important to me is that this doesn't come between us. I don't want to risk losing your love, and if you tell me not to do it, I won't."

"No," his mother said, "I can't tell you that. It's your life; I can't control it. Clayton, please let's not talk about it anymore. Not now. I'm so shaken I can't think straight. I think I'll take an aspirin and lie down for a while."

"You do that. And try not to worry about it. I know it's hard for you to accept, but things will work out-you'll see."

He said again that he loved her and then he left. On the way down in the elevator he thought of additional arguments he might have used, but generally he was satisfied with the way things had gone. On the way to Helene's, he had his chauffeur stop at a florist's shop where he ordered a dozen roses to be delivered immediately to his mother with a signed card that read: "I love you most of all."

He was still energized when Helene opened the door of her apartment. He embraced her, laughing, and really didn't calm down until she persuaded him to take off his hat and coat and sit in a living room armchair while she poured him a vodka. He gulped it greedily as he told her of the conversation with his mother.

"She'll go along," he predicted confidently. "Maybe it knocked her for a loop at first, but she'll get used to the idea. I'll hit her again in a day or so, and gradually she'll accept it."

"Then she's not going to fire you?"

"No," he said, grinning, "I don't think so."

"I hope you're right, Clay," Helene said. "I'd hate to be the cause of a breakup between you and Olivia."

"You won't be. She thinks you're too young for me, but I told her that's your decision to make."

"And what did she say?"

"She said you won't turn me down; you're not that foolish."

Helene's smile was chilly. "Sometimes you and your family treat Olivia like she was a bubblehead. She happens to be a very wise lady."

"If you say so. Are you ready to become Mrs. Helene Starrett the day after my divorce is granted?"

"Oh Clay, that's months and months away. It seems to me you're rushing things."

"Look, if you're going to do something, then do it. You still haven't answered my question."

"You really want to marry me?"

"Absolutely!"

She came up close, pressed her softness against his arm, caressed the back of his neck. "Then why don't we go practice," she said throatily. "Right now."

"You're on," he said at once and stood up. He put his drink aside and began to take off his jacket.

"What about your advertising people, darling?" she said, unbuttoning his shirt.

"Let them wait," he said. "I own them; they don't own me.

The phone rang a little before eight o'clock, and Dora roused from a deep sleep. "H'lo," she said groggily.

"Did I wake you up, kiddo?" Mike Trevalyan said. "Good. That makes my day."