Page 136 of Wife After Wife
She led him to a bench with a Celtic knot carved into the back, overlooking a fishpond.
“How are you, Harry?” she said, turning those kind eyes on him. There were new lines on her face, but none of them traced a frown. It seemed contentment had finally won out over depression.
“Standard answer, or the truth?” said Harry. Why did Katie always make him want to confess things?
“I thought so. I could tell something’s troubling you. Anything you tell me is between us, you know that.”
“Where to start? I miss Janette, my leg hurts much of the time, I’m dependent on painkillers. And I have trouble sleeping. Bad dreams. Guilt.”
“Guilt for what?”
“For... just amorphous, nonspecific guilt. For stuffing things up, I guess.”
“To err is human, Harry. Everyone makes mistakes.”
“I’m sorry, about what happened to us. Especially about the other women. Clearly my twenties were my time of stupid. It was the decade of the blond floozy.”
“God is forgiving, remember that. But past transgressions aside, what are you doing about the health side of things?”
“I’ve got a new leg chap, Dr. Butts. Ongoing physio too. I’m trying to cut down on the painkillers, but it’s hard. I’ve joined a gym. Also hard.”
“It sounds like you’ve turned a corner. How about... any new romance?”
“Not unless you count Anki from Cleveland, who I met online and have virtual dinner with a couple of times a week. And sometimes virtual nooky too.”
She looked shocked. “Harry, for heaven’s sake! That’s—”
“Tragic? I know it must seem that way, but the lure of reinventing yourself online and having a relationship based purely on words... well, it’s liberating, actually.”
“I see. I can understand that, I think. Are you going to meet up in real life?”
“Maybe. But not a word.”
“My lips are sealed.” She took his hand. “Do you ever think back?”
He squeezed it. “All the time. Fate wasn’t kind to us, was it?”
“I don’t believe in fate, just in God’s will.”
“I got you something for your birthday.” He took a prettily wrapped package from his jacket pocket.
“That’s nice of you; you needn’t have.”
“Open it now; it’s kind of personal. It’s for... well, everything you’ve been to me. I don’t really have the words.”
She opened it up and took out a gold cross set with pearls, hanging on a fine chain.
“The chap in Asprey’s said it’s a copy of one owned by Catherine of Aragon. I thought it was very you,” he said as she held it up. It twirled on the end of its chain, catching the sunlight.
“Too old fashioned?” he asked when she remained silent, but when he turned to look at her, he saw the tears running down her face.
A lump formed in his throat. “Hey, sweetheart. Don’t cry.” He puthis arm around her, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. “I’ll take it back and swap it for a plasma TV.”
She gave a shaky laugh. “Sorry, Harry. It’s beautiful. I don’t know what to say.”
“You deserve it. Have you never had another chap, Katie? I realize the chances are he’d be Welsh, but...”
She laughed again. “Stop it, Harry. The Welsh are lovely. But no, no one since you. I don’t believe in divorce, if you remember. I made a vow before God. Cassandra doesn’t approve of my fidelity—she tried to fix me up with this friend of Matthew’s.”
