**A Late Farewell: A Goodbye on the Way Home**
After kissing his mistress tenderly goodbye, Philip Carson climbed into his car and drove home. He paused for a moment outside the building, taking a deep breath, rehearsing the words he would say to his wife. He climbed the stairs and unlocked the door.
“Hello,” said Philip. “Eleanor, are you home?”
“I am,” his wife replied, flatly. “Hello. Shall I fry the chops?”
Philip had promised himself he would be direct, firmno hesitation. It was time to end the double life while the warmth of his lovers kiss still lingered, before routine swallowed him whole again.
“Eleanor,” he coughed, steadying his voice. “Ive come to tell you we must separate.”
The news was met with unnerving calm. Eleanor was not a woman easily shaken. Once, Philip had even nicknamed her “Eleanor the Ice Queen” for it.
“What do you mean?” she asked, standing in the kitchen doorway. “Shall I not fry the chops?”
“Thats up to you,” Philip said. “If you want to, fry them. If not, dont. Im leaving. For another woman.”
Most wives would react with furya plate hurled at his head, perhaps. But Eleanor was not most women.
“Oh, what a tragedy,” she murmured. “Did you fetch my boots from the cobbler?”
“No,” Philip admitted, caught off guard. “If its so important, Ill fetch them now!”
“Really, Philip,” she muttered. “Always the same. Send a daft man to fetch boots, and he brings back the old ones.”
Philip bristled. The grand confrontation hed imagined was crumbling. Where were the tears, the screams, the righteous anger? But what else could he expect from a woman as cold as Eleanor the Ice Queen?
“I dont think youre listening, Eleanor!” he snapped, raising his voice. “Im telling you Im leaving you for another woman, and youre talking about boots!”
“Precisely,” Eleanor replied. “Unlike mine, your boots arent at the cobbler. Whats stopping you from leaving?”
They had been together for years, yet Philip still couldnt tell when Eleanor was serious or mocking. In the beginning, her calmness, her quiet strength, had drawn him in. Not to mention her poised beauty and practicality.
Eleanor was solid, loyal, untouchable as granite. But now Philip loved anotherwildly, sinfully, sweetly! It was time to cut ties and start anew.
“And so, Eleanor,” he declared, solemnly, with just a hint of regret. “Im grateful for everything, but Im leaving because I love another. I dont love you anymore.”
“Remarkable,” Eleanor said, without raising her voice. “Doesnt love me, the poor dear. My mother fancied the neighbour, my father loved dominoes and whisky. And look what an incredible woman I turned out to be.”
He knew arguing with Eleanor was uselessevery word she spoke carried weight. His passion dimmed, the fight draining from him.
“Eleanor, you really are incredible,” Philip said bitterly. “But I love someone else. Passionately, sinfully, sweetly. And Im leaving. Understand?”
“Who is she?” his wife asked. “Not Tanya Mills, surely?”
Philip stiffened. A year ago, hed had a fling with Tanya, but he never imagined Eleanor knew her!
“How do you know about her?” he began, then stopped himself. “Never mind. No, Eleanor, its not Mills.”
Eleanor yawned.
“Then its Sandra Wright? You chased after her?”
A chill ran down Philips spine. Sandra had been another affair, long buried. If Eleanor knew, why had she never said anything? But of courseshe was a fortress, revealing nothing.
“Wrong again,” Philip insisted. “Not Wright, not Mills. Someone else, wonderfulthe love of my life. I cant live without her, and Im leaving. Dont try to stop me!”
“Then it must be Mabel,” Eleanor concluded. “Oh, Philip, Philip you really are a fool. Your great secret. The love of your lifeMabel Venton. Thirty-five, one child, two miscarriages Am I right?”
Philip clutched his head. Shed nailed ithis affair *was* with Mabel.
“Buthow?” he stammered. “Who told you? Have you been spying on me?”
“Elementary, Philip,” Eleanor replied. “You know Ive been a gynaecologist for years. Ive examined half the women in this city, while youve only known a handful. One look is all it takes to see where youve been, you bloody idiot!”
Philip exhaled sharply, grasping for dignity.
“Suppose youre right!” he said, defiant. “Even if its Mabel, it changes nothing. Im leaving.”
“You really are stupid, Philip,” Eleanor sighed. “You couldve just asked. Theres nothing special about hershes like all the others. And I say that as a doctor. Have you seen your darlings medical history?”
“N-no,” he admitted.
“Well then. First, go straight to the shower. Second, tomorrow Ill call Dr. Harper to see you without delay. Then well talk. What a disgracea gynaecologists husband picking an *unwell* woman!”
“So what do I do?” Philip whined.
“Ill fry the chops,” Eleanor said, turning away. “Youwash up and do as you like. If you want a *healthy* woman, let me know. I can recommend someone.”
