Part 42 (1/2)

”Hmm?” he replied, his eyes never leaving the article.

”We need to talk.”

He looked up distractedly for a moment at his wife, then returned his attention to the newspaper. ”Okay. Do we have yesterday's 'Examiner'?” He looked around the room. ”I couldn't find one in New York.”

”Over there. Next to the sofa,” she said, indicating the pile of papers in the sitting room. He went to the stack and picked up the topmost issue and sat down on the sofa. ”What were you saying?”

She studied him, instantly oblivious to her again as he read about himself and yesterday's news. In an odd way she was glad that he was behaving like this, poring over himself in the newspaper, for it solidified her determination and kicked up the heat of her anger a few more notches. There he sat, holding in his hands the cause for their breakup, smiling proudly at his own picture of himself and his d.a.m.ned machine. Should she feel any guilt or remorse for having taken a lover, for calling the lawyer yesterday to inform him that she wanted to divorce Matthew, when there he sat beaming at his engagement announcement to a stupid little computer?

Well then, let's see how he liked her newsbreak announcement. She stood up from the table walked over to where he sat, crossed her arms and waited for him to acknowledge her.

”I'm sorry,” he said, folding the newspaper and tossing it to the floor, ”I just wanted to see what they said locally.” Rubbing his hands together, he settled back comfortably into the sofa. ”Now, what was it you were saying?”

It was plain to see that he was being perfunctory, that he couldn't wait to be done with whatever it was she wanted to talk about so he could rush off to the office, where, having just flown in from New York, he'd squeeze in a few more hours of work.

She pictured him on the plane, skipping the meal so he wouldn't have to sacrifice the works.p.a.ce of his tray table. It was just the sort of image she needed to complete her anger and loathing.

She said, ”I want a divorce.” The words rolled off her tongue easily and she nearly smiled to herself. So simple. She tucked her fist in her robe pockets as he stood, hands open at his sides.

”Honey? What do you mean?”

”Shall I get you a dictionary?”

”Greta,” he said cautiously, clasping his hands together. ”I know I've been busy, but it's all been for this.” He tapped the pile of newspapers with his foot.

”My oh my, the papers are right, you are smart. Yes, it has all been for that,” she agreed, stamping her foot over the picture of his face.

”But honey,” he said, wrongfully interpreting her sarcasm, ”I've changed my mind. I sent a message to William before leaving New York calling the whole thing off! I don't want Wallaby and ICP to merge as we had originally planned. This way I - I mean, Wallaby - will have more power because now we're going to grow at a phenomenal rate, all because of yesterday's announcement.” His eyes were s.h.i.+ning. ”The plan is off!” he said, and gripped her shoulders.

”And so are we!” she spat, shrugging from his touch.

”But Greta, wait. I mean, I know we've had our problems, but that doesn't mean we should just throw away our lives together.”

”Together?” she said, astonished. ”What lives, Matthew? What together?” She shook her head sadly at his photograph smiling up at her from the newspaper. ”There's your together.”

”Greta? What is it? What have I done? What can I do? Is there something you want?”

”No, Matthew, not from you.” She touched her finger to her horseshoe charm, slid it from side to side. ”This time, I've gotten what I want all by myself.”

This seemed funny to him. ”Oh?” he said grandly. ”And what's that, honey?”

”Love.”

That wasn't what he'd had in mind. He blinked several times rapidly. His eyes locked on a point in the ceiling. All the clowning was gone from his face. He had expected something amusing, like a new hobby or craft, but this took him by complete surprise. ”An affair?” he asked, catching her eye. She looked away. He tugged the cuffs of his s.h.i.+rtsleeves, composed himself, all business. ”An affair,” he repeated. ”I see.”

”It's your fault.”

He was thoughtful for a moment, then cleared his throat. ”Yes. I suppose it is.”

Matthew's first reaction was to tell her about Laurence. He cared very much for the girl, and telling his wife so would at least give him the satisfaction of equally offending the fidelity they had promised one another when they married. He wanted to tell his wife how Lauri had helped him build his confidence the way she once had, and too how the girl brought him pleasure in ways she, his wife, never had. But what would that accomplish? She was having an affair, he thought absently as he perused the room, eyes stopping here and there. He might be having an affair with Laurence, but he was not in love with her, and he certainly had no desire to marry her. He was not in love with his own wife either, but, he quickly calculated in his mind, he could not bear a divorce. It was a matter of economics. Quite simply, if he agreed, she would be ent.i.tled to at least half of his a.s.sets, over fifteen million dollars, give or take a million. His alternative: appease her, make her feel better, no matter what the investment. A weekend cottage in Monterey? A trip around the world? Whatever she wanted, he would give it to her - he would think of it as an insurance policy.