skiing, partying .. .
How can Liza and Dulcie ever understand how I feel? thought Pru, carefully turning another page and smiling at photos of Phil and herself on holiday last year in Morocco. Phil, sunburnt and peeling, was balancing a glass on his head, showing off for her benefit. And here was one of the two of them, taken by someone they had become friendly with in the hotel bar. They were dancing, and Phil’s arms were clasped around her waist, and just looking at the photograph Pru was able to relive that blissful moment, experience again the feeling of utter security.
No, neither Liza nor Dulcie could ever have understood how she felt about Phil, Pru decided.
Dulcie had put herself about a fair bit before settling down with Patrick, and Liza... well, Liza was still putting herself about.
But Pru, who had been with Phil for fourteen years, had never even looked at another man. He had been her first and only love, rescuing her from the terrors of teenage dating, and she had been more than happy to be rescued. Phil was all she wanted; he made her feel safe, she was Phil Kasteliz’s girlfriend, she belonged to him .. .
Pru’s hand trembled as she took the photograph out of its cellophane casing and looked more closely at it. Phil was her whole life. Finding out about Blanche had been horrible, of course it had, but she wasn’t a complete innocent. Sometimes men did stupid things. Their hormones got the better of them, they took risks they shouldn’t have ... and were found out.
But it doesn’t mean he’s stopped loving me, thought Pru. It’s a temporary weakness, that’s all.
I’m his wife. He still loves me best.
Slowly, she bit her tongue. Not enough to draw blood, but almost. Although it hurt, the pain was bearable.
Like this thing with Phil and Blanche, Pru thought, carefully sliding the photo back into the album. Dulcie and Liza were acting like it was the end of the world, but it didn’t have to be.
She could bear this too.
Chapter 5
Telling your husband you no longer wanted to be married to him was proving less straightforward than Dulcie had imagined. When she had first envisaged the scenario, it had seemed simple. She would just deliver her speech and that would be that.
Now she was ready to do the deed, however, a problem had cropped up.
The problem was .. .
... timing.
It would be so much easier, Dulcie thought, if Patrick was awful. If he used her as a punchbag, blacked her eyes and sent a few teeth flying, all she’d have to do was scream, Right, that’s it, get out of my life NOW.
Ditto if she found out he was having an affair.
But Patrick wasn’t awful and she didn’t want the break-up to be any more traumatic than it needed to be. Which was why the timing had to be right.
Before Christmas had been a no-no. That would be too cruel, too inconsiderate for words.
Knowing she couldn’t bring herself to do it in December was what had prompted Dulcie to make it her New Year’s resolution instead. Get the festive season out of the way and do it then.
Except now it was the middle of January and Patrick’s birthday loomed. His fortieth, at that.
Unhappily aware that only a complete cow would wreck her husband’s birthday, Dulcie realised she had to sit on her bombshell for a couple more weeks yet.
Forty. God, the more she thought about it the more terrifying it sounded. Whoever said life began at forty must have been senile. Feeling sorry for her ancient husband, Dulcie made two mugs of coffee and wandered through to the study. Patrick was tapping lists of figures into one of the computers and peering intently at the screen. It probably wouldn’t be long before he started to need glasses.
‘It’s your birthday in ten days’ time.’ Dulcie perched on the edge of his desk, both hands clasped around her mug. ‘What do you want?’
The least she could do, she had already decided, was buy him a really nice present.
Patrick keyed in a few more numbers.
‘Don’t know. Haven’t given it much thought.’
‘You’ll be forty.’
‘Better get me a Zimmer frame then.’
‘Come on, I need some clues.’ Something to remember me fondly by, thought Dulcie with a burst of uncharacteristic sentimentality. A gorgeous watch, perhaps? Flying lessons? A fabulous painting?
Patrick glanced up at her. He shrugged.
‘I really don’t know. Clothes, I guess. I could do with a couple of new shirts.’
Men, they were hopeless.
‘That’s so boring. What would you really, really like, more than anything?’
Patrick grinned. Ah, thought Dulcie, now we’re getting somewhere.
‘Okay.’ He reached past her, picked up a copy of last month’s PC Answers, and flipped through a few pages until he found what he was looking for. ‘There you go. The new Hewlett Packard Laserjet. What a machine ... six hundred dpi output, no less—’
‘A computer!’ wailed Dulcie. ‘I’m not getting you a bloody computer.’
‘It isn’t a computer,’ Patrick explained patiently. ‘It’s a printer.’
