The envelope was addressed to Mrs. Alexandra Brown, from St. Andrew’s Catholic Church. “Another letter from your Church,” Robert said.

“Already? But I had one yesterday.”

“Probably a duplicate. Want me to bin it?”

“No, I'll open it later. You never know.” Her hands were trembling.

Zandry was a simple woman with traditional values. Although devoted to her religion, she did not, as her husband said, follow it blindly and allow the priest to think for her. She simply knew right from wrong and refused to compromise her high standards. Robert’s attitude stemmed from his unconscious prejudice against Catholics. Robert’s people were C of E.

She regretted not having married a Catholic, but she couldn’t help falling in love with Robert, so handsome and intelligent, so witty and worldly, so poised. She had pleaded with him to convert, but he dismissed her arguments out of hand. “If you love me, you’ll take me as I am,” he said. He had agreed, however, to raise their children in the faith, saying that he didn’t much care where they worshipped or who took charge of their religious education, since they would no doubt make up their own minds when they grew up. His words struck her as more than a little cynical. On the other hand, she had not expected him to accede to her demand with enthusiasm.

She had not realised that he would encourage them to question the teachings of the Church. He neither criticised it openly nor told them about his beliefs. Had he told them about his religion it would have pained her less. He did it in subtle ways. For example, he always spoke of it as the Roman Church, and if one of the children said, “Father Dunstan says...” (what he’d said didn’t matter), he would answer, “And what do you think?” Also, he would not attend mass with them, although the Church of England recognises the efficacy of the Catholic Eucharist; nor would he allow her to display religious objects in the house except for a simple cross on the wall in each bedroom; and he insisted the children attend state schools.

From the beginning, religious differences had been the major cause of friction in her marriage. Robert did not think so because he didn’t consider religion important, but it was true. It had led to their last blow-up. He had dismissed it as a trivial argument, and in a sense he was right, except that it had taken place in front of the children.

It happened at breakfast. As usual, they were listening to the morning news broadcast on Radio Four, and learned that in response to the opposition many Anglicans had to allowing homosexuals to serve as bishops – some not merely of that persuasion, but in a relationship – Pope Benedict would welcome those dissatisfied into the fold without going through what Robert called the rigmarole of conversion or requiring already married clergymen to become celibate. “Think your priest’d take the Holy Father up on it?” she asked.

“Hoping I’ll follow him? Not bloody likely,” he answered curtly.

“Then you favor openly gay bishops?”

“What they do in bed is no concern of mine.”

“Aren’t they supposed to set an example?”

“A fine example! Your Holy Father needs to keep his own house in order.”

“Meaning?”

“You know very well what I mean. Priests abusing kids.”

“Robert! The children!”

“They know, Zandry. It’s been all over. They have ears; they have brains. I hope nothing like that’s going on at my church, not that I’d turn Papist if it were. Nobody but me decides how and where I worship.”

“You’re a stubborn man, Robert,” she said, not wishing to pursue the matter further.

“No – independent.”

So like Robert, always to have the last word! She could not let it go at that, however. He was entitled to his own opinion on a homosexual clergy, but he ought to watch what he said in front of the children. When they were alone that night, she told him how much he had upset her. “I do wish you wouldn’t criticise the Church when the children can hear you,” she said.

“I didn’t. I said I wouldn’t join it.”

“That bit about priests abusing children. You know they’re taking steps to put an end to it.”

“Finally. Covered it up for years – centuries – and now they’re doing something because the dirty little secret’s out. Did I say they weren’t trying to set things right?

“You implied it. Why bring it up at all?”

“I didn’t. You did. You always do. When have I ever brought up the subject of religion? I didn’t say anything against your dogma. People with something on their conscience oughtn’t to cast stones.”

“Weren’t you casting stones, Robert? Is your conscience entirely clear?”

“How was I casting stones? Was Jesus casting one when he said the man without sin should cast the first of them? What I said is common knowledge, and the same thing happens in the C of E. We’ve all heard stories about all-boys schools. I’m just glad we don’t send our children to one, Catholic or Protestant.”

He was about to launch into a speech (if he hadn’t launched into one already), so Zandry said, “I just wanted to let you know how I felt. You didn’t have to be so vehement.”

“You’re making a mountain out of a molehill.”

That she was not. The argument had noticeably affected their relationship. Robert had become colder toward her since then, had stopped confiding in her and stayed late at work more often. Of course, he would have denied it, told her she was imagining things, so she did not bring it up. Whatever he said to the contrary, Robert was a very stubborn man.

She avoided subjects like religion and politics (since politics always seemed to get mixed up with religion), but the damage had been done. Every Sunday at mass she prayed he would set aside his anger and relent, but the weeks passed and Robert remained distant. If she believed in Father Christmas, she’d have written him a letter asking for her husband’s love back.

*****

When they got married, Zandry and Robert had agreed to celebrate Easter with her family and Christmas with his. Robert’s brothers and sisters took turns hosting the others. Christmas fell on a Friday this year, and they would spend the whole weekend at his sister’s large country house, about halfway between Ipswich and Bury St. Edmunds, though it meant Zandry and the children would miss midnight mass in their parish. The children had gone two days before, when school broke up; she had stayed in London to finish her Christmas shopping, and would take the train with Robert to Bury St. Edmunds Wednesday evening after his office Christmas party. Their brother-in-law would meet them at the station.

When Robert said he would meet her on the platform at King’s Cross, she had stood her ground. “No, I’ll take a taxi and meet you at the office at seven or we’ll miss our train and have to wait another hour.”

“I promise I’ll watch the clock.”

“No, you always lose track of time unless I come and get you. Besides, I’ll need your help carrying all those parcels onto the platform.”

Sure enough, she arrived promptly at seven, and not only had Robert not begun getting ready to leave, he was in the process of refilling his own glass and that of a very pretty young woman she had never seen before but supposed must be Stephanie, the new secretary Robert had mentioned more than once. Stephanie stood at the center of a circle of young men, obviously enjoying the attention they paid her. Except for Robert, the older, married employees, both men and women, were all talking together in separate groups.

“Isn’t that your wife?” she heard one of the men ask.

Robert looked up and exclaimed, “What! Seven already? Sorry, Brian, we have a train to catch. Better start saying my good-byes.”

“But you haven’t had a sip of your drink!” Stephanie mewled.

“Oh, Brian’ll down it for me, won’t you, Brian?” Robert said, passing his glass to a good-looking young man standing next to him.

“Is that sanitary?” joked another of the men in Stephanie’s fan club.

Brian shrugged. “Alcohol kills germs.”

Robert shook hands with the other men and gave Stephanie a Christmas hug and peck on the cheek; then he went and wished everyone else at the party a merry Christmas while Zandry waited impatiently by the door, doubtful they would get to the station by seven forty-five. She should have had the cabbie wait for them. She said as much to Robert while they took the lift down to the lobby.

“Well, why didn’t you? You say you can’t carry all the parcels yourself, and then you go and bring them up to the office. Should’ve left them in the taxi.” She could hear the annoyance in his voice; his face was hidden by a pile of gift-wrapped boxes.

“I didn’t think of it. No reason to snap at me.”

“I didn’t snap at you. I said it was foolish not to leave them with the taxi driver.”

“Well, you sounded peeved.”

“Because I have my hands full. I mean my arms. You’re rather on edge yourself.”

“I’m afraid we’ll miss our train.”

“Don’t fret. We’ve almost half an hour.”

Had he meant his arms? He might have made a Freudian slip. ‘Having one’s hands full’ had a double meaning. She probably would not have noticed if he hadn’t corrected himself. “So now I’m a handful,” she thought.

Traffic seemed to crawl as they sat in the back of the taxi surrounded by her stacked purchases. She didn’t want to harp on how late it was getting. To break the silence she asked, “The woman whose drink you were pouring... you know, the, um... full-figured one with the curly blonde hair... Is she that Stephanie you’re always talking about?”

“Me? Always talking about her?”

“Well, more than once. She seems very young. How old is she?”

“Haven’t the faintest idea.”

“You never said she was pretty.”

“When have I ever described any of my co-workers?”

The Christmas kiss had not bothered her, although he had not kissed any of the other women. She had only asked who she was to make conversation; her husband’s silence always made her uncomfortable. That he answered her evasively made her wonder, “Could they be having an affair?” Maybe the change she’d noticed in him had nothing to do with the fight over religion. The woman had been hired a week or so before that.

“You haven’t answered my question,” she said. “Is that woman Stephanie?”

“Yes, that’s Stephanie, and I suppose she is pretty.” He sounded exasperated.

“You’ll be less busy now,” she ventured, “and won’t have to work as late.”

Robert turned and gave her a funny look, as if she’d lost her senses and her observation had no connection with what she had said before. So he would not know he had aroused her suspicions, she added, “Now the pre-Christmas rush is over.”

“What has Christmas to do with it? I’ve put in extra hours because half the office came down with ’flu.”

“Let’s hope you don’t.”

She tried, unsuccessfully, to turn his thoughts away from Stephanie. “If you’ve caught it, you’ll have given it to Brian.”

He looked at her uncomprehending.

“Your drink.”

“To Stephanie too,” he laughed. “You saw me hug her, didn’t you?”

*****

They arrived at King’s Cross with barely five minutes to spare, and had to hurry to pay the taxi driver and push their way through the crowd to reach the platform. The queues at the ticket machines were very long. Zandry was surprised that more people hadn’t bought their tickets by phone as she had.

As soon as they had settled into a compartment, Robert leant back in his seat and sighed. “Lord, what a day! Socialising can be quite as exhausting as work. And Susan will keep me up half the night gossiping once we arrive.” Then he closed his eyes and fell asleep, or pretended to.

What on earth was he complaining about? He had gone to a party; she had been on her feet all afternoon braving the crowds at Selfridges. And since when had he minded chatting with his sister, though she had to admit Susan liked to talk as much as he did, if not more. As much as he had, she ought to say. Robert used to love to hear himself talk, always ready to lecture on any subject and always having the last word. He had become increasingly taciturn over the past weeks, speaking in monosyllables and turning everything she said into a question. Something must be eating at him. Zandry searched his face for signs of guilt, but saw nothing there except the blank expression of sleep. She shrugged and opened her book, but found it impossible to concentrate. The more she thought about how markedly unlike his old self Robert had become, the more convinced she was that blonde, buxom Stephanie lay at the bottom of it. She knew better than to broach the subject herself. Whatever she said Robert seemed to resent. Better to remain in the background and be more observant. Susan had a knack for drawing information out of him. She would listen carefully, especially to what went on at the office.

The train from Cambridge was delayed – “Leftover leaves from autumn on the line,” Zandry grumbled – and changing platforms was a bother. They reached Bury St. Edmunds nearly a quarter-hour behind schedule. Michael hurried them to the car. “Susan will be wondering,” he said.

“We aren’t that late,” Robert said.

“Susan will think so. Can’t wait to see you. She saved you some supper to put in the microwave. You haven’t eaten, have you?”

Of all the members of the Brown clan, Susan and Robert were the closest. They lived two and a half hours by train from each other, and their visits were few and far between, but when they did visit, they were inseparable. Knowing that the two of them would talk late into the night and that tomorrow would be a busy day, the other siblings and their spouses, including Michael, retired early, but Zandry stayed up to listen to their conversation, though she more than once caught herself dozing off in her chair.

It took a while before Susan asked Robert about work, but he replied noncommittally, “Not much. You know... business as usual.”

Zandry couldn’t let it go at that. “Except how much time you spend there,” she remarked, leaving it to Susan to follow up.

“No choice, with half the office out sick.”

“H1N1?” Susan asked.

“That or some other bug.”

“Have you had yourself vaccinated?”

“And miss out on sick leave?”

Susan laughed. “How true! The papers say there’s a pandemic, yet nobody we know has come down with it.”

How typical! No sooner do they get around to talking about what interests her than off they go on a tangent! “If you’re so anxious to get it, you should have drunk from Brian’s glass instead of having him drink from yours,” Zandry said, hoping to bring them back to the point.

Susan lifted an eyebrow. “Brian? Do I know him?”

“One of Robert’s co-workers,” Zandry interrupted again. “Robert had just started his... How many glasses did you have, Robert?”

“I wasn’t counting. Three? Four? Might have been my fifth.”

“... his fifth glass of whatever when I came to get him. He gave it to Brian to finish.”

“Which means Brian will have quite a few more and wake up feeling perfectly dreadful tomorrow,” Susan teased.

“With ’flu-like symptoms he’ll mistake for a hangover,” Zandry said. “A lot of them will.” How ever had they managed to get onto this topic? Their brother-sister conversations often lacked direction, and she was finding it difficult to provide one for them.

“Brian? He’s healthy as a horse. Most of the time I stayed late he was there too. All the others were ill, or their kids were.”

“So the papers are right. We’re in the middle of a pandemic ’flu outbreak.”

“Or pandemic hypochondria. Lord knows how I would have coped without him!”

Susan laughed. “Then he deserved to finish your drink. He must be looking forward to five days away from work too.”

“Believe me, these five days can’t possibly go by slowly enough, and work is the last thing I want to think about.”

So there you had it. They wouldn’t say another word about the office. Zandry yawned, stood up, stretched, yawned again, and headed upstairs to their bedroom. Perhaps if she got one of the other men to talk about his job tomorrow... No, Robert had made it abundantly clear he wanted to talk about anything but, and Susan would be right there to change the subject.

She had learned one thing, however. Her husband hadn’t given up talking to other people. She could swear those two read each other’s mind. What need had they to talk?

Robert finally crawled into bed at five in the morning.

*****

Thursday was all hubbub and excitement, with everyone too distracted baking biscuits, trimming the tree, and other preparations for Christmas, not to mention a dozen small children and two large dogs underfoot, to exchange news or have time for a heart-to-heart chat. Since there were so many of them, the family would leave early for Christmas services that evening in Bury St. Edmunds to be sure to find seats, though they might not all be able to sit together. Only Robert and Zandry, who lived near the centre of London, had come by train, but it would be quite a crush in the cars, with the children piled on their parents’ laps. The most beautiful church, St. Mary’s, would attract a crowd, so they had decided to worship together at the cathedral, except Zandry and the children, whom Michael would drop off at St. Edmund’s Catholic Church.

While they were dressing for church Zandry asked, “Robert? Won’t you come with us to midnight mass just this once? Please. The C of E allows you to take our Eucharist.”

“Could I? Don’t I have to take aural confession first?”

“Have you some terrible sin on your conscience?”

“You know what I mean!” He looked annoyed, but not at all guilty.

“It’s embarrassing, going without you. How do you think it looks to your family? I feel like an outsider. The children feel it, too. It makes them stand out.”

“Then come with us to St. James. I go with your family at Easter.”

So maybe he wasn’t having an affair, maybe it was religious differences that alienated him. “But you don’t take communion,” she said feebly.

“I’ve already told you why.”

“I’ve put my foot in it, haven’t I?”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Please don’t be angry. You yourself say it’s not important.”

Robert rolled his eyes. “Could you get my tie right, please? It won’t lie properly.”

Zandry felt guilty harping on a subject he so obviously found distasteful. She would have liked to confess it, but what would she say? That she was driving her Anglican husband crazy with none-too-subtle hints that she wished he would convert? The priest would probably tell her to be more forceful in her efforts. Prayer would do her more good. Perhaps she could impose her own penance. Susan knew Robert best. She would have turned to her for advice if she didn’t think that whatever she told her would get back to him and only annoy him more.

To her surprise, Susan took the initiative. Only Robert’s family was staying five days. The others left after Christmas. When they had gone, Michael and Robert took the children and dogs for a long walk to give the women some space to begin tidying up. But first Susan made them a cup of tea. “Because we could use a sit-down after all this running around.”

“I don’t know how you manage it,” Zandry said. “We others haven’t such a big house, and only have everyone over on Christmas day.”

“Not true. You put us up in London, and have the smallest flat of all. We squeeze my girls into Laurie’s room and set up makeshift beds for the boys to give Michael and me a room to ourselves. Is that convenient? But I want a word with you. About you and Robert.”

So he had complained to her. Zandry braced herself and said, “What is it?”

“Robert thinks that you think... Sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? Anyway, he’s afraid you’ve got the idea in your head that he holds your Catholicism against you. Take my word for it, Zandry; he doesn’t. It’s just that religion bores him. You know, he only went to St. James last night because the others expect it of him. I told him he didn’t have to, but... Well, you know how it is.”

“But of course he wanted to go! Robert goes to church every Sunday after he drops us off.”

“You really think so? He must go somewhere else. After all, he doesn’t believe in God.”

Robert? An atheist? Zandry did her best to hide her shock. Susan apparently didn’t notice, because she went on without stopping. “I can’t imagine why he bothers pretending,” she said. “He says so as not to upset you, but honesty is always the best policy. Don’t you agree?”

Zandry’s mind was racing. An atheist! That would explain all his derogatory remarks about religion. She wondered what long-term effect it would have on the children. From now on she would avoid the subject like the plague.

“What are you thinking?” Susan asked.

“But he must go to church! Where else would he go? Everything’s shut Sunday morning.”

“I couldn’t say. To meet a friend? Not to church, anyway. He’s said so.”

Robert never came directly home from church. He lingered there to chat with friends, he said, and then would often go with one of them for a sandwich. Lunch together after church was not a tradition in their family.

Seeing her silence, Susan added, “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Stephanie,” Zandry thought. “What does adultery mean to an atheist?”

“Well, we had better start getting things in order. It’s a cold morning; they won’t stay out long. Please don’t tell Robert, Zandry. He’d be angry if he knew I told you. I did it to set your mind at rest.”

“Thank you, you have,” Zandry said in a calm voice that surprised even herself. “And I promise not to say a word to Robert.” But she felt more certain than ever that he was having an affair, nor would it surprise her if Stephanie wasn’t the first woman he’d been unfaithful with. What would keep him from doing whatever he wanted if he didn’t believe in God?

*****

Much as it frightened her being married to an atheist, Zandry understood that atheism did not constitute grounds for divorce. Still, the thought of making love with such a man nauseated her. Her flesh crawled when he touched her in bed. He must have noticed, because it wasn’t long before he stopped making demands on her and didn’t seem to mind. She thought it proved he had another outlet for his sexual needs.

She had reasons other than their abandoned love life to believe him unfaithful. He continued to work late at the office. When he left them at the church, she would turn at the church door and watch him walk away. He moved briskly, as though toward a goal he looked forward to with pleasure. She couldn’t divorce her husband for atheism, but she could for infidelity.

She could not confront him. She had nothing concrete to go on, and she had promised Susan not to tell him about their conversation. She considered telling him he sounded like an atheist the next time he spoke sneeringly about religion, but that would not address his cheating on her, and in any case she had stopped speaking about religion, so he made no more remarks.

Zandry was determined to learn the truth, even if it meant hiring a private detective. She held out because to her spying on people was as wicked as atheism, though not as bad as infidelity. She held out until Easter, when, seated at mass between him and her parents with her darling children on the other side of him, seething inwardly at the calm indifference of his hypocrisy, she made up her mind to have him followed.

She chose a detective from the telephone directory whose office was close to Robert’s place of work. Curiously, his name was also Brown. It seemed to her that the proximity and having the same name would make his task easier.

Mr. Brown did not think so. “I’ve conducted many investigations like this,” he said. “They take time. Where he works, his name, all irrelevant. That you know when he might be cheating on you is a beginning. But unfaithful husbands take precautions. It could be months.”

“I’m a very patient woman, Mr. Brown. I’ve had my suspicions for months.”

“Please don’t keep phoning me for updates like some women. It could alert your husband. I’ll contact you as soon as I know something and send a monthly report until I do, addressed to you. What return address should I put on the envelope so he won’t open it?”

“St. Andrew’s Catholic Church. Robert loathes anything having to do with religion.”

“He won’t throw it away?”

“He wouldn’t dare. We’d have a row.”

She saw the detective again standing on the pavement in front of St. Andrew’s Sunday morning. No doubt he meant to follow Robert, and she would have her answer sooner than expected. But his investigation dragged on, and months passed before she saw him again.

Mr. Brown mailed his report every first of the month, and it arrived in the next day’s post. August first was a Sunday, so he sent it out Monday. He had finally made some progress, and counseled patience. He always counseled patience. A second envelope arrived on the fourth. He wanted her to make an appointment to come and see him. She called immediately, and said she would be there at lunchtime.

Zandry arrived at his office perfectly composed. He asked her to sit down. “I have bad news for you, Mrs. Brown. I’m quite, quite certain now that you were right. Your husband is involved with some woman.”

She had prepared herself for the worst, had known it all along; it came as no surprise. Yet she broke down and wept her heart out. Before she had felt contempt and indignation; now she felt betrayed and devastated that she had lost his love. Paradoxically, although her conviction that he was having an affair dated back more than half a year, only now did the thought hit her: “He doesn’t love me.”

Mr. Brown handed her a box of tissues. “Try to get hold of yourself, Mrs. Brown,” he said in a kindly voice. He sounded sincere and concerned, although he had undoubtedly witnessed many such scenes before.

“I don’t know who she is, not yet,” he went on, “but I’ll find out soon enough.”

With great effort, Zandry regained control of her emotions. “Thank you, Mr. Brown. That won’t be necessary. I know already. Stephanie, a secretary at his office. How much do I owe you?”

“I haven’t finished with the case yet. There’s a good deal more to be done. If you mean to divorce him, you’ll need hard evidence. Now take my advice and go somewhere for a light lunch. A bowl of soup will settle your nerves. And above all, don’t let on to your husband, not when we’re this close to the goal.”

She nodded, and he helped her stand up and saw her to the door. A bowl of soup! If she saw Robert now, she’d throw it at his head. She dutifully made her way to a nearby café where she and Robert sometimes met for lunch. As luck would have it, that day he had lunched there with a colleague, and she met him as they were leaving.

“Zandry! Why didn’t you say you’d be in the city today? We’d have had lunch together. Brian, this is Zandry.”

Brian extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you. I saw you at the Christmas party.”

She remembered now – the young man whom Robert had told to finish his drink. She made a feeble attempt to smile, and evidently succeeded. “Staying late again today?” she asked.

Brian answered for him. “I’m afraid so. Seems like every Wednesday, doesn’t it, Robbie?”

Every Wednesday. Were Wednesday and Sunday his adultery days, then? She would have to pay more attention to such details. And how quickly Brian had volunteered the information and implied that they both had to work! No doubt he knew all about Robert and Stephanie, and was covering for his friend.

She was afraid she would explode if the conversation went on another minute. To put an end to it, she said, “Then I won’t keep you, or Lord knows when you’ll get home. I hope the café isn’t too crowded. I’m absolutely famished. Goodbye, Brian. Nice to have met you.”

Had she sounded natural enough? Had she been too glib or too curt? She had not had much appetite to begin with, and now her stomach was in knots, but she had said she was famished, so she had to enter the café. Perhaps a cup of tea and a few biscuits. She nibbled at the biscuits and sipped her tea. It was as if they had no taste.

What idiocy of Mr. Brown to suggest she seek comfort in a bowl of soup! There was no comfort for her, not anywhere. Clawing Robert’s eyes might have helped, or even just screaming at him – anything to release the pain and fury inside her – but she had to keep it all bottled up. She couldn’t go home in this state. She would go first to St. Andrew’s and pour out her heart to the Blessed Mother. “Tea and biscuits!” she thought bitterly. Had she gone there directly, she would not have run into Robert.

She had to pass by Robert’s building on her way to the Underground. As she approached it, she saw Stephanie, or a woman very much like her, coming toward her with a thick, black leather portfolio clutched to her bosom. Zandry stopped in her tracks and watched her turn and enter the building. It had to be Stephanie. Those blonde curls, those big breasts, that empty-headed smile. The pain and anger evaporated; she felt only hatred. Oh, to make that woman suffer as she was suffering!

Zandry’s hatred had not abated when she reached the church. She could not turn to the Virgin with a heart full of bile. Instead, she lit a candle at the altar of St. Anthony the Abbot, and asked him to intercede with God to punish Stephanie, not thinking at the time that one should not pray for evil to befall one’s enemies. That did not occur to her until she got home. She felt foolish, but calmer for having given vent to her inner turmoil, so much calmer that she’d left the church without visiting Mary’s chapel.

*****

Mr. Brown had promised she would soon have the proof she needed, but three weeks went by without a word from him. She grew used to living with a man she knew to be cheating on her. How easy it was to dissemble! It sufficed to know that soon she would be able to throw it in his face, and she relished the anguish it would cause him. Surely even an atheist who had no conscience would feel shame. What would he say to her? Would he have the gall to try to defend himself, or would he grovel and be penitent? She would not forgive him.

Of course Robert went on as he always had, living in their flat day in, day out, with the woman he had wronged. He noticed nothing. Why would he? He didn’t care. He hadn’t even noticed her red, swollen eyes when he’d seen her outside the café the day she had found out for certain he was cheating on her.

She wanted to prepare him for the revelation, not so it would come as less of a surprise, but to make the shock stronger, so he would realise she had known all along. One Thursday morning at breakfast when he’d stayed out later than usual the night before, she asked, as though it were a matter of no consequence, “By the way, that pretty secretary of yours – Stephanie, isn’t it? – how’s she working out? Is she doing well?”

“Not my secretary, unfortunately. She does excellent work, but she’s not doing well at all, I’m afraid. Came down with a bad case of shingles a couple of weeks ago.”

Zandry was astounded. It was the last thing she had expected to hear. “Is it very bad?” she asked.

“Worse. Started on her upper arms and spread all over – her face, her chest, her back. An ugly sight.”

“She’s been to the doctor?”

“Yes. He prescribed all sorts of ointments, but nothing helps. Terrible itching, she says, and it burns if anyone touches her.”

So, even covered with shingles Robert couldn’t keep his hands off her. “I’m sorry to hear it,” Zandry murmured.

She hadn’t spoken hypocritically; she felt genuinely sorry for Stephanie. Having to swallow Robert’s callousness in silence these last three weeks had focused all her resentment on him, and the dreadful outcome of her prayer to St. Anthony appalled her.

Zandry’s sense of guilt increased over the next couple of days, and on Sunday she confessed what she had done to Father Jude.

“Wishing evil on another person is a sin, my child,” he said, “but you oughtn’t to think you’re the cause of her affliction. God doesn’t answer prayers for revenge. If He sees fit to punish her, He has His own reasons.”

“I wanted to hurt her.”

“You don’t even know for certain she’s guilty.”

“She didn’t mean to hurt me, not me personally. I lashed out at her because I was angry with Robert. I’m furious at him.” She was weeping.

“You’re letting your anger destroy your peace of mind. Your soul, too. Let go of it.”

“I can’t.”

“You don’t have to stay married to him, you know. The Church will grant an annulment. He isn’t Catholic, I think.”

Zandry shook her head. She was too ashamed to tell Father Jude her husband was an atheist.

“If you were free of him it would be easier to forgive. Then confess again if you want absolution. We can’t ask forgiveness unless we’re ready to forgive. Remember the Lord’s Prayer: ‘Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.’ Since you truly regret wanting to take revenge on his secretary, as penance you’ll pray to St. Anthony for her cure. Christ forgave the woman taken in adultery.”

Zandry had not told Father Jude to whom she had offered her sinful prayer. That the priest specified St. Anthony convinced her she was responsible for Stephanie’s shingles. The coincidence of his mentioning the woman taken in adultery also struck her: “Let him who is without sin cast the first stone,” Jesus said. She remembered what Robert had said long ago about casting stones, before she knew he was an unbeliever. How true that the Devil could quote Scripture!

*****

Mr. Brown’s report for the month of August arrived on Thursday, 2 September. It said he had uncovered everything. He had penciled in a meeting for 10:00 Monday morning, and she should phone for another if that wasn’t convenient.

Once again, he insisted she sit down before he told her anything. “There’s nothing you can tell me I don’t know already,” she said. “It is Stephanie, isn’t it?”

“No, Mrs. Brown. Your husband isn’t seeing another woman. That is, he isn’t involved with a she.”

It took a moment to sink in. “A man? That’s absurd!”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Where’s your proof?”

“I’ve nothing to show you. I wanted to ask which option you prefer – to walk in on him and his lover and see for yourself, or photographs? Photographs are an extra expense, and your sworn statement will stand up in court.”

“Photographs.” Her tone was flat, expressionless.

“Then photographs it is. It’ll take about a week, maybe less.”

“I’d feel a fool bursting in on him playing cards with a few of his pals,” she added caustically, and rose to leave. What a waste of money it had been to hire a detective! To find herself exactly where she started after all these months of not knowing, and then another month of heartache and fretting! Would it turn out that Robert hadn’t been unfaithful? Poor Stephanie! But God would not have punished her if she weren’t guilty.

A week and a half later Mr. Brown was waiting for her on the church steps after Sunday mass. She told the children to wait for her while she spoke with the gentleman. It would only take a few moments.

Mr. Brown handed her a thick envelope. She put it in her handbag. “Whatever you do, don’t open it until you’re alone and are sure you’ll have time to recover. They’re very... shall I say revealing?”

Zandry remained frozen to the spot. “Revealing?” she said in a weak voice.

He nodded, trying not to smile. “I could just as well have said pornographic. Maybe I should hold on to them for a while and you can look at them in my office. It was a mistake to bring them here.”

A mistake, he called it! It was no mistake. She saw his expression of triumph.

“If I have to wait until Monday, I’d rather see what’s inside as soon as the children leave for school,” Zandry said. “And I don’t want anyone to see me, not even you.”

“Please, please, don’t let curiosity get the better of you. Oh, and one thing more. Your husband doesn’t know we took them.”

Curiosity? What kind of woman did he think she was? If she looked at them at all it would be from a sense of duty and would take all the courage she could muster.

The envelope was thick, but not that thick. It couldn’t contain more than two dozen photos, yet Zandry’s handbag weighed heavily on her arm. Where in the house could she hide them? She couldn’t leave them in her bag and carry them around forever. Maybe she should burn them and forget about it. She laughed bitterly to herself. Forget about it – the very idea!

It would be pointless to wait another day. Robert would see something was upsetting her and press her to tell him what it was. She would have to confront him, and to do that she would have to look at the photos. She didn’t want to see them, but she had to face the truth sooner or later. Do it now, and have done with it!

Robert wouldn’t hurry home from church. From church? Whatever made her think that? She’d see soon enough where he’d been, or at least with whom. Yes, and doing what. She sent the children to play in the park, saying it would take her a good hour to get lunch ready, and gave them each an apple so they wouldn’t be hungry. Then she went into her bedroom, shut the door, and took out the envelope.

What she saw was more disgusting than she could have imagined. Robert and Brian, naked as worms, doing things she had heard about but certainly never tried to picture.

Strange to say, what first crossed her mind bore no relation to how she reacted physically to the photos: “Taken without their knowing? They look posed!” And indeed the photos were remarkably clear. She recognised every part of Robert and could see just as much of Brian. She could even make out Robert’s expression of ecstasy while Brian... Oh my God, my God, my God! And this man had... well, done the things to her that had made him the father of her children!

She wanted to do something to spite him, something that would hurt him, and to do it now, before he got home and she wasted her venom on yelling and screaming. She’d phone that precious sister of his who thought so highly of him and thought she knew all there was to know about him. She’d tell her everything.

She planned every word she would say, but when Susan answered the phone her mind went blank, and she simply asked, “Did you know? Robert’s a poof?”

Dead silence. Then Susan asked, “You found out. How?”

“Does it matter?”

“No, I suppose not. What are you going to do?”

“Divorce him, what else?” Zandry was about to say when she realised how Susan sounded: concerned, but not surprised. She knew! She knew all along how he spent the time he was supposed to be in church, the bitch! She hung up.

*****

She spread the photos out on the bed for Robert to find when he got home, and went to sit in the kitchen. She wished she was a smoker so she could light a cigarette. She never touched alcohol on Sundays.

Robert arrived long before the children. They must have been having fun in the park. He went straight to the bedroom to change out of his Sunday clothes. She had expected him to come storming back immediately, but he stayed in the bedroom and didn’t make a sound. He must have been working up the nerve to face her.

After a quarter of an hour he showed up at the door of the kitchen holding a small suitcase. He’d stuffed the envelope with the photographs into his shirt pocket. He did not apologise; he glared at her and said, “How could you do something so stupid, Zandry? What if one of the children had gone into the bedroom?”

“You’re blaming me?”

“Not you, your stupidity. I understand how you must feel, but, for God’s sake, what were you thinking? Leaving those photos where anyone could see them!”

“You’re leaving?” She phrased as a question what she meant as a statement of fact.

“Of course. You want me to stay?”

“To Brian?”

“Where else?”

“It’s useless taking the photographs, you know. We can make copies.”

“You won’t have to; I shan’t contest the divorce. Or do you want them for souvenirs?”

“I can rip them up too. Are they to show Brian?”

“I only wanted to get them out of the flat before the children found them. But why not show them to Brian, if only so he’ll know to close the blinds from now on.”

Of course! They must have taken them from one of the flats across the street. Why hadn’t she thought of that?

Now that they were finally having it out, she was as calm as Robert. Calmer, since her leaving the photos in plain sight had upset him. He did not seem at all upset that they’d been taken nor that she had seen them. Why waste her breath telling him how horrible he was? On the other hand, why pretend she didn’t care? She didn’t at the moment, but only because she felt numb. “Don’t you feel anything?” she asked.

“To tell the truth, only relief. It hasn’t been easy living a lie.”

“I lived the same lie without knowing. You made me.”

“One lie among many.”

Zandry felt her anger returning. “There’ve been others?”

“I meant between you and me. It’s been a long time since we loved each other.”

“I loved you until...”

“Until you saw the photographs? I don’t know how you got them, but you wouldn’t have tried to if you loved me. Don’t tell me they were a way to hold on to me. Let’s face it, we’re incompatible. Always have been.”

“And you and Brian are compatible.”

“Quite. Say goodbye to the children for me. Say I’ll see them soon.” And he opened the door and walked out.

Zandry sat there, stunned. She felt nothing. Nothing touched her, neither what Robert had done to her nor his indifference in speaking about it. Perhaps it was better that way. If he’d told her he was sorry, she might have broken down.

Then she thought, “I shall have to do something to make it up to Stephanie.”

              The End                  

 

Wilde Oats is published three times a year, in April, August and December. Click here to be automatically informed of new issues when they are published.

Robert used to love to hear himself talk, always ready to lecture on any subject and always having the last word.  He had become increasingly taciturn over the past weeks, speaking in monosyllables and turning everything she said into a question.  Something must be eating at him.