Roberta Leigh - The Wrong Kind Of Wife

‘Our marriage was a mistake and the other night proved it.’

‘Stop using Patsy as an excuse,’ Tim exploded. ‘You’ve obviously been looking for one from the moment you were offered the job in the States. And if that’s what you want—go!’

The receiver was crashed down, and Lindsey drew a shaky breath and returned to the kitchen. She was trembling as though with fever, and she forced herself to make another cup of tea and a cheese sandwich, then sat in an armchair and watched a programme she had researched a month ago.

But for all the attention she paid to it it might as well have been in Chinese. All she could think of was Tim, and the lie she had told him. Should she call back and admit she’d no sooner leave him for six months than fly to the moon? Or was it better to go to Evebury and do it in person? It was probably the surest way of repairing their quarrel.

Lindsey glanced at her watch. It was eight-thirty, too late to catch a train now—and Tim had taken the car so she could not drive down. She would have to wait until tomorrow. By then, he’d have realised he had over-reacted and ring to apologise.

When morning dawned with no word from him, her anger resurfaced. Why should she be the one to patch things up, when it was his behaviour that had caused their row? Their marriage had been far from smooth, and he might have been looking for a pretext to end it. If so, Patsy had provided the perfect solution, for he would blame their parting on her jealousy—brought on by her inferiority complex!

If that was the case, she would go to the States.

She told Grace Chapman of her decision as soon as she arrived at the office.

‘I’m delighted,’ the woman said. ‘It’s a marvellous career move for you. And your husband doesn’t mind?’

‘No,’ Lindsey lied, the implication of all she was saying suddenly overwhelming her. ‘I can leave at the end of the week if you wish,’ she added.

‘Marvellous. I’ll notify New York.’

The next few days were filled with preparations for her departure. Lindsey still hoped to hear from Tim, and worried how to tell Grace that she didn’t want to go to New York after all. But though she rushed to answer the telephone when it rang, it was never Tim at the other end, and she gradually accepted that she wouldn’t hear from him.

Although she had had little contact with her father-in-law, she contacted the hospital to see how he was getting on, pleased to learn he was going home at the end of the week.

On the Thursday night before her departure she hardly slept, tossing and turning as she debated what to do. Her marriage might have reached an impasse, but that didn’t mean it was over. She and Tim could use her stay in America as a cooling-off period, and given goodwill on both sides they could get back together on her return. She would tell him this before leaving; it was the adult way to handle the situation.

Having reached this conclusion, she was on tenterhooks to speak to him, but controlled her agitation until eight a.m., when she deemed the Ramsden household to be awake.

To her surprise the telephone was instantly answered by her mother-in-law, making her realise that the family were still on the alert regarding Mr Ramsden.

‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ Lindsey said after the usual polite greetings had been mouthed, ‘but may I have a word with Tim?’

‘He’s already left for the factory. Can I give him a message?’

‘No, thank you. I’ll call him there.’

‘I doubt if you’ll get him. He went in early to collect some papers before going on to an appointment.’

‘Do you know where? I must talk to him.’

‘Hold on a moment, I’ll ask Patsy. She spoke to him before he left the house.’

Patsy! So she was there with him! If Lindsey had harboured a secret hope of a last-minute reconciliation, it was shattered now.

‘Don’t bother,’ she said quickly. ‘Don’t—don’t even tell him I called.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes,’ Lindsey answered. ‘I—er—I’m glad to hear Mr Ramsden is coming home this weekend.’

‘You know?’ There was surprise in her mother-in-law’s voice, and Lindsey guessed that Tim had told her they had quarrelled.

‘I called the hospital to see how he was,’ she explained, and before Mrs Ramsden had a chance to say anything else she hung up, her sense of despair turning to fury as she thought of Patsy.

Going into the bedroom, she finished her packing. The apartment was in Tim’s name so he could dispose of it as he chose. Clearly Patsy was remaining in his life; having lost him once, she wasn’t going to let him get away again.

Lindsey stared round the room, her eyes brimming with tears as her glance fell on the bed where she and Tim had made such passionate love. Unbidden, she recalled some of the happy incidents in their life together: Tim teaching her to water-ski 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.