Betrayal, Shock, and a Bitter Revelation.
Natalie was preparing supper when a knock came at the door. “Odd,” she thought. “We’ve got a doorbell, and everyone knows it.” She opened the door to find a stranger, a woman about her own age, regarding her with nervous curiosity.
“Good evening. Are you Natalie?” the woman asked.
“I am. And you are…?” Natalie replied, her tone measured.
“You wouldnt know me,” the woman said. “But Im well, rather close to your husband.”
“Oliver?”
“Ollie, actually.”
Natalie let out a humourless laugh. “Charming. I suppose I shouldnt be surprisedyoure hardly the first to call him that. Though I must say, most dont turn up unannounced. They usually ring first. So, what should I call you?”
“Margaret.” She hesitated before continuing, “You see theres a bit of a situation.”
“Oh, spare me the dramatics, Maggie. You and my husband are in love, is that it? And Im standing in the way of your happiness?”
Margaret blinked. “How did you”
“I told youyoure not the first. But by all means, take him. I wont stop you. Whats his excuse this time? That our children are too young? That he cant abandon me in my hour of need?”
“No, nothing like that. I know your boys are grownuniversity students.”
“Then what? That Im ill, and hes too honourable to leave me?” Natalie scoffed. “As you can see, Im perfectly well.”
“Thats not it either.”
Margaret twisted her hands. “He said well, he said he had to wait untiluntil your father passed.”
Natalie went very still. Her father, a spry man in his late sixties, was in excellent health. The suggestion was absurd.
“You must be mistaken.”
“No, Im quite sure. Oliver said once your father was gone hed leave you immediately.”
Natalies voice turned icy. “And why not sooner? Is he frightened of my father? He neednt beDads never raised a hand to him.”
Margaret shook her head. “Its not fear. He respects him, truly. But he said once your fathers gone, youd move into his flat.”
Natalie laughed outright. “His flat? The audacity! My father is in fine health, thank God, and Ive no intention of moving. That flat was mine before we marriedinherited from my grandmother. The renovations were paid for by my parents, and Dad kept every receipt. Hes meticulous that way.”
Margaret shifted uncomfortably. “But Oliver insisted it would be his, and youd take the cottage, the car, the garage”
“Did he now?” Natalies smile was razor-thin. “And yet here you are, unwilling to wait. Why?”
Margaret faltered. “Im not as young as I used to be. I want to enjoy whatever happiness I can. I dont care about the flatwe could live at mine.”
“How noble. Then what exactly do you want from me?”
“Just let him go. Thats all.”
Natalie exhaled sharply. “Take him. Hes not being kept here. Though Ill admit, once I loved him desperately. Later, I told myself the children needed their father. Lately, I even thought hed mended his ways. Clearly, I was wrong.”
Margaret brightened. “So youll really let him go?”
“Without a fight. In fact, you can take his things now.”
“Oh no, I couldnt carry them. Hell fetch them when hes ready.”
“Very well. Expect divorce papers tomorrow. The courts can divide our assets fairlythough the flat stays with me. Its mine, as Ive said. But dont fretyouve got your own place, havent you?”
“Yes, Oliver wont be homeless.”
Natalie smirked. “Ive no doubt hell land on his feet. He always does.”
Margaret left, and Natalie set about packing her husbands belongings. She had no intention of arguing with himshe knew precisely how to make him leave of his own accord. Hed likely assume, as before, he could return whenever he pleased. But not this time.
*The sheer gall,* she thought, folding his shirts with deliberate calm. *Waiting for my father to die so he can claim my home. All these years, turning a blind eyeand this is his gratitude. Well, no more. Off you go, Oliver. Live long and prosper.*
When Oliver returned from work, he noticed nothing amisssave for Natalie refusing supper. Not that it troubled him. He ate heartily, then announced, as usual, “Im off for a walk, darling.”
*Go on, then,* Natalie mused.
“Of course, dear. Evening strolls are so beneficial at your age.”
Oliver froze. “My age?”
“Youre past fifty, love. Not exactly young anymore.”
His face darkened. “Im in my prime!”
“Are you? Youve been sleeping in the spare room for a year. Petermy friend, you knowsays its a shame. Hes your age, yet hes still so vigorous.”
Olivers jaw dropped. “Peter? Who the devil is Peter?”
Natalie sighed. “Oh, Oliver. Must I spell it out? Youve been absent as a husband for ages. But dont worryI shant make a scene. Go clear your head. Well sort the divorce amicably.”
“Divorce? Youre throwing me out?”
“Id never force you to stay. But since youve already one foot out the door Your bags are packed. If Ive missed anything, do ring.”
Oliver gaped at the suitcases. “You cant keep the flat! I lived there twenty-five years!”
“Lucky you. Inherited property, renovations paid for by my parentshardly marital assets. Dad kept every contract, every receipt. The courts will agree.”
Oliver spluttered, but Natalie only smiled. “Run along, dear. Start fresh with Margaret. Someone wholl flatter you, fuss over you, call you a young man full of vigour”
Snatching a bag, Oliver stormed out, straight to Margarets.
The divorce was swift. Oliver got the car and garage; Natalie kept the cottage. She sold it at once and set off with her father on a grand tourCornwall, Brighton, the Lake District. Roland Fitzwilliam, hale and hearty, had no intention of departing this world anytime soon.
Six months later, Margaret, weary of Olivers “evening walks,” packed his things and changed the locks. He returned to Natalies doorstep, pride forgotten.
*Let her think me old,* he thought. *Just give me a room.*
But the neighbours informed him she was awayagainwith her father.
With nowhere else to go, Oliver trudged to his garage. It had electricity. He could rig up plumbing, install a stove. Summer was cominghed manage.
Or perhaps hed find some naïve young thing. After all, he was still a man in his prime wasnt he?
