Chapter 1: Shaky Ground

We didn’t own a dishwasher for the first year of living together. We met at college like many others, but our meeting was a little different. Helen, now my wife, was struggling with elementary physics which she needed to complete her arts degree. I was a doctoral student earning a few extra pounds by tutoring her and five others just like her.

Well, except for their looks. Helen was by far the best looking and the most interesting of the bunch. We moved in together three months after we met and married three months after that when we graduated.

I got a well-paid job – for a new graduate, at least – and Helen joined a prestigious law firm as an unpaid intern for the first year after she graduated. Money was tight but we were living in a dream, so we hardly noticed.

The only niggle was about washing up. We shared all the chores, but I never did the washing up to Helen’s satisfaction. She would inspect my work and rewash more than half the dishes. I hardly noticed at the time, but it was clear, looking back, that her disapproval was the first sign that she was not the fairy tale princess I imagined.

It took twenty-six years and two children before her true character blossomed. Now, I’m driving us to her company’s Christmas party in the five-star hotel across the street from their offices. We used to chat about things, but this journey had been silent so far, allowing me time for reflection on things like washing up.

We both work for the firms we joined straight from college, although she had a ten-year sabbatical while the kids were young. It was my daughter who inadvertently disclosed her mother’s withdrawal from our marriage. Emily is in her final year of college, and she brought home her Mr. Right last September. On a family picnic, he and I were sent off to bond. When we returned Emily could not look me in the eye and Helen was lost in a world of her own.

We went straight from the picnic to the airport to wave the kids goodbye. On the return journey home, Helen was still lost in her dreams, humming ‘Some Enchanted Evening’ from South Pacific under her breath. I began reviewing all the rather odd things I had noticed in the preceding couple of months, concluding that I was no longer the love of Helen’s life.

I soon identified washing up as the thin end of the wedge, but I could not then exactly figure out when I stopped loving her. Right from the moment I realised what was happening, I did not grudge her and her paramour the romance. What bothered me was that I was paying for the whole deal. Her earnings barely covered the costs of the business attire that she deemed essential, not to mention beauty treatments and a new car every other year.

When we got home from the airport, Helen drifted off for a luxuriant bath while I thought about the changes in her behaviour that I had observed but ignored. I decided to check her phone only to find that she had taken it with her into the bathroom. A discreet try showed that she had locked the door, which had not happened since our son Mark was a teenager hormonally driven to try to catch glimpses of his mother and sister naked.

I needed time to think, so I pretended to be asleep when Helen emerged on a wave of perfume but dressed in her passion killing nightgown. Once she was snoring, I got up to get myself a glass of water. Her phone was on charge beside mine on the dressing table, but it was now password protected. That told me all I wanted to know. Sweet nothings exchanged between aging lovers held no fascination.

It took less than a week to find out everything I needed to know. Helen was having an affair with her boss, a married man with three school age children. He is a partner in the firm and the word is that he is being groomed to succeed the present senior partner. The company rented suites in the hotel across the street for visiting clients; one of these was their love nest.

My search was cold-blooded, I was surprised to realise. That was when I discovered that I no longer loved my wife although I could not recall when my love had died. John Baxter, her new beau, was welcome to her. I was forty-eight and seriously contemplating retirement; it was a shock to find that Helen did not feature in my plans for the future. I wanted a little cottage close to the sea where I could hike, fish and read all the books I had put off opening while I read yet another scientific report. Helen wasn’t in any of the images I carried in my mind.

After I unearthed the truth, I wanted advice. Helen and I used a lawyer from her firm for our few legal requirements, so I contacted my company lawyer who told me the sad story of what awaited me in a divorce. I resolved to say nothing to Helen while I adjusted my finances to keep as much from her as I could. Now, just four months later, I am ready to make my move.

Actually, I was ready a few weeks ago but I wanted to use their office party to embarrass Helen and John. I didn’t mind their affair, but they had driven a wedge between my daughter Emily and me. Helen had obviously confided in Emily during the picnic and the kid was avoiding me, probably emotionally torn between her mum and dad. I felt I could not tell Emily I knew what was happening since she might have let something slip before I was ready. Helen deserved to suffer for that.

Still without a word, we pulled into the hotel and handed the keys to the parking valet. I must admit that Helen looked good. At forty-six, her figure is still great, and her love affair is giving her a glow that she once got from being married to me. When we got into the ballroom and handed over our coats, she turned and handed me her purse.

“Get me a drink, Bill. I’m going to circulate for a bit.” I could see John standing across the room watching her intently. Most people were milling about before settling at tables, so it was difficult to check who was present. I saw no sign of John’s wife Jennifer. I went to the bar, planning to hand the purse to the young woman serving drinks.

“Long time since we met Bill.” A woman’s voice whispered in my ear. It took a moment to place her, as I turned. “PJ Booth, I do believe. Its ten years since you set up the trust fund for the kids’ education.” She took my arm and steered me away from the bar further from the group that included my wife and her lover.

A pretty young woman joined us, looking apprehensive. “Look after this, Cindy,” PJ demanded, taking Helen’s purse from my hands and passing it to the youngster. “Let’s find somewhere quiet to talk, Bill,” PJ smiled. Cindy was left behind, looking as if she wanted to cry as PJ continued steering me towards the door.

Outside the ballroom, she headed for the elevators, reaching for the button for the lobby. I pulled her hand away, selecting the twenty-first floor instead. “Let’s take this to suite C, shall we?”

There was a long silence, and the car was slowing before PJ recovered enough to speak. “These are private suites not available to the public,” she insisted.

I led the way to suite C and opened the door with the key I had extracted from my wife’s purse. A very large black man appeared from a little storage room and advanced, scowling towards us. “You can’t go in there, man. That’s for senior staff only.” I turned and smiled at him, which did nothing to slow him down or improve his mood.

“Jamal?” enquired a voice from behind me. An older man had exited the suite two along from us. “Mr. Wishaw, I presume.” I turned my smile on the newcomer. “And just who the hell are you,” he demanded. “Can you explain Ms. Booth?” he continued.

“Would you like me to explain?” I said, sweetly.

Mr. Wishaw led the way into suite C, and we all trailed in after him. “The floor’s yours,” he told me. “You can begin by introducing yourself.” He seemed more amused than disturbed by events.

“I’m Bill and this is my wife’s love nest which she shares with one of your VP’s.” His expression did not change as he waved me to continue.

“To complete the introductions. You are Henry Charles Wishaw, the third, known to your friends as Trey. The lady is PJ Booth, lawyer and lesbian, recently engaged to Cindy Torren another employee of yours. The gentleman is Jamal Deloius who owes you his freedom and his employment, although he believes that his present job was given to him by John Baxter, your heir apparent.

“Jamal supplements his meagre salary by hiring the suites to senior executives by the hour. PJ had a live-in lover when she first courted Cindy, so she hired a suite at lunchtime for dalliance. John has permanent use of this suite and has provided a key to my wife, his current squeeze. When you make your grand entrance a little later, my wife will be handed a petition for divorce, and you will receive a writ accusing you of failing to enforce the morality clause in your contracts of employment.

“I was planning to watch it happen but I became disgusted with my own behaviour so I was simply going to leave when PJ intercepted me. The writs will still be issued, of course, but I no longer wish to gloat.”

Mr. Wishaw looked thoughtful. “I don’t suppose you would believe me if I told you I knew nothing about this until last evening.” He sat down on one of the comfortable armchairs in the living room of suite C.

“If it wasn’t for Matt Costain, my former boss, I would call you a liar. I believe he is one of your oldest friends.” Matt’s name obviously started a reaction. Wishaw sat for some minutes while the rest of us stood silently waiting.

“Ok!” he cried, getting to his feet. “PJ, fetch John and Helen and bring them to suite A.” She left without a word.

“Jamal is one of the good guys,” I interjected as soon as the door closed behind her. Wishaw raised an eyebrow in enquiry. “John has been pushing him, but he resisted because of his regard and admiration for you, sir.”

“It was Ok when he controlled who got the suites, Mr. Trey, Sir, but then he began pressing me to get him drugs. I knew your views, Mr. Trey, so I went to the cops. Bill went with me to speak for me. He says it was you who got me my present position, sir. John said you wanted to throw me out when I lost my licence and that he begged you to give me this job.”

Mr. Wishaw stood to shake hands with Jamal. “Come and see me tomorrow and we’ll sort out a proper salary for you.” He then led the way out of suite C. Jamal returned to his little den while the old man and I entered suite A.

“I assume it was you that told Jennifer. She is my niece as perhaps you know. I’m the only father she has known since her sperm donor ran away when she was three. The news of John’s dalliance didn’t come as a total surprise to her from what I could see.”

“She’s been through it all before,” I told him. “Timothy is a reconciliation baby. John joined your firm about six years ago as part of the deal after Jennifer discovered his ongoing affair with one of his legal assistants. He can’t seem to keep it in his pants.”

We were interrupted by the return of PJ. “John says that he’ll see you in your office on Monday when he’ll have his lawyer with him. Helen is having hysterics in the restroom. The party is not going well.” Mr. Wishaw laughed. “I’ll see you and Cindy on Monday at nine. Her job is safe, but your future is less certain.” PJ nodded her head and left.

“I’m in almost as much of a mess as Matt,” he laughed.

“Not even close. He is recovering from a stroke and his business is finished. You have your health and time to reverse the debacle. He has two useless children while you have Jennifer’s kids. You need to take the reins again. People like PJ will take any advantage they can - that’s what makes them good at their jobs. You controlled them until five years ago and you can discipline them again. Trust Jennifer and her mum, and only them.”

Before I finished speaking, the bedroom door was thrown open and I was attacked by a Maenad. Her fists were small but landed frequently with enough force to sting. I don’t know if you have ever had to fight a woman, but I found it an impossible task. I could have punched her nose at any time but my whole being revolted against hitting a woman.

The verbal assault was worse than the physical attack. She was yelling mostly incoherently but I did hear ‘Uncle Trey’ repeated time and again. I assumed that my assailant was Jennifer, Mrs. John Baxter. She stopped as suddenly as she started, turning to her uncle sitting in the armchair and plunking herself on his lap.

The fists that had pummeled me were now soft hands gently wiping tears running down the old man’s cheeks. Now that she had stopped shouting, I could hear his sobs but how she heard them while she was yelling, I cannot tell you. She turned to me when she had him quietened, standing with her face only centimeres from mine.

“My uncle is a great man, and you have no right to criticise him. This whole ghastly business is down to your slut wife.” I noticed that her fists had closed again so I gripped her upper arms to prevent a renewed attack. When she opened her mouth to shout more abuse, I leaned forward and kissed her lips. She tried to pull away for a fraction of a second before she relaxed and kissed me back.

I have no idea what would have happened if her uncle had not intervened. “He’s quite right, Jen. I’ve lost control and I don’t know what to do about it. I was counting on John, but he seems to be the ringleader.” Jennifer pulled herself out of my grasp and knelt at her uncle’s feet, tears streaming down her face.

“It’s all my fault. Can you ever forgive me. I sensed that John was becoming restless again, so I talked you into promoting him. Can you ever forgive me.” It took several minutes for her to get this message across between sobs. “Do you have any brandy?” was all I could think to ask.

Henry George Wishaw, the third, made a visible effort to pull himself together. He rose, leaving his niece still kneeling on the carpet, and crossed the room where he opened a cupboard revealing a well-stocked bar. Jennifer reached for my hands and pulled me down beside her.

“Do you make a habit of kissing every woman you meet?” she asked, her voice too soft to reach the ears of her uncle.

In other circumstances, I would have described the tone as seductive. “It was the only way I could think of to stop you yelling at me,” I grinned at her.

Uncle Trey returned with a bottle and three glasses. After he poured hefty snifters, he returned to his chair. I sat on the other armchair while Jennifer perched on the arm of her uncle’s seat. “This might be a good time for introductions. I’m Jennifer, niece of Trey Wishaw and wife, pro tem, of John Baxter. And you are?” She directed the question to me.

“I’m Bill, husband of slutty Helen who is having an affair with slutty John. Do I understand that he has strayed before?” I already knew the answer, but I wanted to test her.

“We moved here six years ago to make a fresh start. Timothy, my youngest, is a reconciliation baby. Uncle Trey warned me at the time that once a cheater, always a cheater but I thought I knew my husband better. First time, shame on him; this time, shame on me.”

“I’ve just realised that this isn’t Helen’s first attempt. When she was carrying our daughter, she had a romantic affair with the son of our neighbours. He was living in his parents’ basement waiting for a job offer and was obsessed with pregnant women. Fortunately, he hated babies, so he disappeared as soon as Emily made her entrance. It didn’t seem like an affair at the time. I think it was a family kink since his sister runs a refuge for unmarried mothers.”

Jennifer had been struggling to appear sympathetic, but she finally burst into peals of laughter. “He would have made a good caretaker in his sister’s home,” she chortled. Uncle Trey refilled their glasses. I hadn’t touched mine since I still planned to drive through the night to my country estate – a semi-derelict croft house.

The spirits of my companions had, I thought, been sufficiently restored to allow me to make my escape, but Mr. Wishaw had other ideas. “You’ve identified the problem, Bill. What would you do if you were in my shoes?” What I should have done is say ‘Pass’ and left them, but I cannot seem to stop myself from becoming involved.

“For a quarter of a century, I’ve taken problems like that to my boss Matt Costain. You’re one of his oldest friends, Mr. Wishaw, so I would strongly advise you to consult Matt.”

Wishaw raised a sceptical eyebrow at that. “I’m surprised you still feel that way after he cheated you out of his business.” Jennifer demanded to know what we were talking about, so I had to settle down to a lengthy explanation. She did agree to postpone the interrogation until we had brewed coffee.

“Matt employed me straight out of college. We hit it off right away. About ten years ago his wife left him to join some cult in the western United States – she’s now chief priest or something. He has a son and daughter, both useless. After his wife left, he took stock and decided that he wanted me to have the business when he retired. He told everyone of his intentions but never put it in writing.

“In January of this year, he had a serious stroke. For weeks, his life was in the balance. I took the reins with the willing support of the workforce. We were determined that we would keep the business thriving. While Matt concentrated on physical recovery, we steadied the ship, rocked by the boss’ illness. At that point, his daughter came out from under her stone and claimed the company for herself. She had power of attorney, so she got her wish.”

“Matt told me and others of his intentions,” Wishaw interjected. “You could have made a good case for control.” He was pushing me perilously close to revealing a secret that it wasn’t mine to tell.

“There is a lot more to it,” I countered. “A legal battle would have ruined me and damaged the business, perhaps beyond repair.”

“So, did you leave them to it?” Jennifer enquired.

“We hoped Matt would return and sort everything out, so we carried on doing our best. Then Beth – the daughter – brought in so-called experts to advise her and the old hands began leaving.” She looked at me, clearly puzzled. “It sounds as if Matt treated you even worse than your wife and my asshole husband.”

“Matt did as he said he would,” I blurted out. “He just has his own way of doing things. I admit that I was devastated for a while and had evil thoughts, but he reassured me as soon as he recovered sufficiently. He asked me to say nothing, but I can’t let one of his oldest friends get the wrong idea.”

It was fully two months after his stroke before Matt explained himself. Beth had blamed him for her mother’s defection and made no secret of her intention to take over the business at the first opportunity. Knowing her ruthless determination, he sought and found an alternative solution. “Let her have the mine,” he told me. “It’s pretty well worked out. I’ve kept the gold, however, and that’s yours. There’s a cast-iron contract.”

Over twenty-five years, we’ve patented inventions that kept us in business. They belong to a company totally independent of the main business. The rights to the patents now belong to me. With a bit of care, I need never work again. Mr. Wishaw was gleeful: “The crafty sod! We played in the university golf team, you know, and we’ve been friends ever since. Beth and her mother always treated him like shit and the son’s a druggy.”

Jennifer suggested that we phone Matt to arrange a meeting. Wishaw was appalled at the thought of calling so late on a Saturday, as he put it. “It’s only nine-thirty,” she pointed out. Helen and I arrived just after seven so the whole drama had played out over a couple of hours. I switched my phone on to call Matt and discovered two messages and a voice mail.

‘PJ’s new bit of fluff just handed me my purse. Where are you and where’s my drink, arsehole,’ was the first message from my darling wife. The voice mail was timed half an hour later: “No divorce. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” The second message was from her phone, but I think it was written by her lover. ‘Helen’s devastated. Withdraw the divorce papers or things will not go well for you.’ I assume her hysterics followed PJ’s message that Mr. Wishaw wanted to talk to her and Baxter at once.

I was well aware of the hypocrisy of my situation. Both Matt and Helen lied to me. In his case, I had carried on working in his interest even after I discovered the truth. I had no way of knowing at the time that his lie was purely technical, intended to confuse others. In Helen’s case, I have gone straight for divorce without giving her a chance to explain her actions.