Douglas Kennedy - A Special Relationship

But now...

Now I still wanted all that. But I also wanted a sense of engagement from my husband - of shared mutual concerns. Yet anytime I asked him if something was worrying him, he would do what he'd always do: assure me that 'Everything's fine'. And then he'd change the subject.

Still, when Tony was on form, he was the best company around. Until we had to talk about something domestic and serious. Like my situation with the Boston Post.

Around ten days after sending that initial email to Thomas Richardson, I was growing increasingly concerned that he had yet to call me - even though Margaret and Sandy both assured me that he didn't want to disturb my convalescence.

'Why don't you just concentrate on feeling better', Sandy told me.

'But I am feeling better', I said, telling the truth. Not only had the itching finally vanished, but I was regaining my equilibrium (and without the help of Valium). More tellingly, the beta-blockers were doing their job, as my blood pressure had gradually decreased - to the point where, by the end of the second week, it was only marginally above normal levels. This pleased Hughes enormously. When he saw me on his bi-weekly rounds - and glimpsed the new blood pressure levels on my chart - he told me that I seemed to be making 'splendid progress'.

'You obviously have willed yourself better', he said.

'I think it's called all-American bloody-mindedness', I said, a comment which elicited the smallest of laughs from Hughes.

'Whatever it is, your recovery is remarkable'.

'So you think that the pregnancy is no longer in the danger zone?'

'Now I didn't exactly say that, did I? The fact remains that we now know that you are prone to hypertension. So we must be vigilant especially as you're due so soon. And you must try to avoid any undue stress'.

'I'm doing my best'.

But then, two days later, Richardson called me.

'We're all deeply concerned about your condition...' he said, starting off with his usual paternalistic patter.

'Well, all going well, I should be back on the job in six months tops - and that's including the three months of maternity leave'.

There was a pause on the transatlantic phone line and I knew I was doomed.

'I'm afraid we've been forced to make a few changes in our overseas bureaus - our finance people have been insisting on some belt tightening. Which is why we've decided to turn London into a single correspondent bureau. And since your health has put you out of the picture...'

'But, as I said, I will be back within six months'.

'A.D. is the senior correspondent in the bureau. More to the point, he is on the job now...'

And I was absolutely certain that A.D. had been plotting my downfall ever since I phoned in sick.

'Does this mean you're firing me, Mr Richardson?' I asked.

'Sally, please. We're the Post, not some heartless multi-national. We take care of our own. We'll be paying you full salary for the next three months. Then if you want to rejoin us, a position will be made available to you'.

'In London?'

Another edgy transatlantic pause.

'As I said, the London bureau will now be staffed by only one correspondent'.

'Which means if I want a job, I'll have to come back to Boston?'

'That's right'.

'But you know that's impossible for me right now. I mean, I'm only married a few months, and as I am having a baby...'

'Sally, I do understand your situation. But you have to understand mine. It was your decision to move to London - and we accommodated that decision. Now you need to take an extended period of health leave, and not only are we willing to pay you in full for three months, but also guarantee you a job when you can work again. The fact that the job won't be in London... well, all I can say is: circumstances change'.

I ended the call politely, thanking him for the three months' pay, and saying that I'd have to think about his offer - even though we both knew that there was no way I'd be accepting it. Which, in turn, meant that I had just been let go by my employer of the last sixteen years.

Tony was pleased to hear that, at least, I'd be able to help with the mortgage for the next few months. But I quietly worried about how, after my Post money stopped, we'd be able to manage all our manifold outgoings on one income.

'We'll work it out' was his less-than-reassuring reply.

Margaret also told me to stop worrying about the money problem.

'Given the number of newspapers in this town, I'm sure you can eventually find some freelance work. But only when it becomes necessary. Tony's right - you do have three months' grace. Right now, you should only be thinking about getting through the next week. You're going to have enough to cope with once the baby arrives. On which note, I don't suppose I could interest you in a cleaner? Her name's Cha, she's been with us for the entire time we've been in London, she's completely brilliant at what she does, and is now looking for additional work. So...'

'Give me her number and I'll talk it over with Tony. I'll also need to review the domestic budget before...'

'Let me pay for her'.

'No way. After arranging the private room for me you're making me feel like a "Help the Needy" case'.

'Hey, I'm a sucker for good causes'.

'I can't accept it'.

'Well, you're going to have to. Because it's my going away gift to you. Six months of Cha, twice a week. And there's nothing you can do about it'.

'Six months? You're crazy'.

'Nah - just rich', she said with a laugh.

'I'm embarrassed'.

'That's dumb'.

'I'll have to talk it over with Tony'.

'He doesn't have to know that it's a gift'.

'I prefer being straight with him. Especially about something like this. I mean, he wasn't exactly pleased to learn that you paid for the private room'.

'Well, in my experience, "being straight" is never the shrewdest marital strategy... especially when the male ego is involved'.

'Whether he accepts the gift or not, you've been the best friend imaginable. And you shouldn't be leaving'.

'This is the problem of being a corporate wife. Those who pay you the big bucks also dictate where you live. I think it's what's called a Faustian Bargain'.

'You're my one pal here'.

'As I told you, that will change... eventually. And hey, I'll always be at the end of a phone line if you need an ear to scream into... though, given that it's me who'll be drowning in the vanilla ice cream confines of Westchester County, it's you who'll be receiving the hysterical transatlantic phone calls'.

She left town two days later. That evening, I finally got up the nerve to inform Tony about Margaret's goodbye gift.

'You cannot be serious', he said, sounding annoyed.

'Like I said, it was her idea'.

'I wish I could believe that'.

'Do you actually think I'd do something as tacky as talking her into giving us a cleaner for six months'.

'It's just a little coincidental, especially after...'

'I know, I know - she paid for this damn room. And you can't stand the idea of somebody actually making my life a little easier by...'

'That's not the point - and you know it'.

'Then what is the point, Tony?'

'We can well afford to pay for a bloody cleaner, that's all'.

'You don't think Margaret knows that? This was merely a gift. And yes, it was a far too generous one - which is why I said I wouldn't accept it until I talked it over with you. Because I had a little suspicion that you'd react exactly like this'.

Pause. He avoided my angry gaze.

'What's the cleaner's name?' he asked.

I handed him the piece of paper on which Margaret had written Cha's name and her contact number.

'I'll call her and arrange for her to start next week. At our expense'.

I said nothing. Eventually he spoke again. 'The editor would like me to go to The Hague tomorrow. Just a fast overnight trip to do a piece about the war crimes tribunal. I know you're due any moment. But it's just The Hague. Can be back here in an hour, if need be'.