The Millionaire Claims His Wife

by Sandra Marton

  “I’ll just bet you would,” she’d said, with dignity, and then she’d hung up the phone, poured herself a double sherry and toasted the brilliance she’d shown on having removed Mr. Chase Cooper from her life five long years ago.

  At least he’d been up-front about what he wanted. And talkative, especially compared to the silent act he’d put on that morning on the island. He hadn’t said more than half a dozen words to her, after the guy had come to fetch them with the motorboat.

  Not that she’d given him the chance to say much of anything. She’d done something foolish by sleeping with Chase but she wasn’t stupid: that remark about what a wonderful night it had been wasn’t anything but code for “Thanks for the roll in the hay, babe,” and she knew it. The quick brush-off had almost broken her heart, but she’d sooner have died than let Chase know it. So she’d put on what she’d figured was a look of morning-after sophistication, as if one-night stands were part of her life, and ignored him until they reached the airport, where she’d smiled brightly, shaken his hand and said it had been a delightful evening and she hoped his meeting with Mr. Tanaka went well.

  Then she’d marched off, bought herself a ticket back to Connecticut, and done her weeping alone in the back of a nearly empty jet throughout the long flight home.

  Sex, that was all Chase had wanted. But that was okay. Sex was all she’d wanted from him, too. She understood that now. Five years was a long time for a healthy woman to go without a man. And, she thought coldly, Chase was good in bed. It was just too bad that even in this era of female liberation, she’d had to delude herself into thinking she loved him before she could sleep with him.

  Well, it wouldn’t happen again, despite his eager hopes for a repeat performance. Let him wrestle between the sheets with his fiancée—not that being engaged had stopped him that night. Why would it? Fidelity wasn’t his strong suit. He’d certainly proved that, five and a half years ago.

  “Sex-crazed idiot,” Annie muttered, just as the door swung open and an elderly gentleman shuffled in.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said, while water dripped from his bushy white eyebrows.

  Annie’s face turned bright pink. “Not you,” she said hastily. “I didn’t mean... I was talking about...”

  Oh, what was the use. She took a deep breath, yanked open the door and plunged out into the deluge.

  * * *

  The train to Stratham was half an hour late, thanks to the weather, and a good thing, too, because it took her twice as long as it should have to get to Penn Station.

  She snagged a seat, even though the train was crowded, but her luck ran out after that. The guy who sat down next to her was portly enough to overflow his seat and part of hers, too. And he was in a chatty mood. He started with the weather, went on to the current political scene without stopping for breath. He was coming up fast on the problems of raising teenagers in today’s troubled world when Annie made a grab for somebody’s discarded newspaper, mumbled “Excuse me,” and buried her nose in what turned out to be the business section.

  It was rude, perhaps, but she just didn’t feel like small talk with a stranger. Her visit with Laurel had upset her, on more than one level. She and Laurel and Susie, Laurel’s neighbor, had sat around the kitchen table, drinking coffee and talking, and of the three, only Susie had a husband who’d lived up to his marriage vows.

  Annie stared blindly at the newspaper. What was it with men? And with women, for that matter? Didn’t they learn? How much grief did it take before you finally figured out that men were just no...

  Her breath caught.

  Was that a photo of Chase? It certainly was. It was Chase, all right, smiling at the camera and looking pleased with himself and with the world, and why shouldn’t he? Standing right beside him, looking gorgeous and as perfect as a paper doll, was Janet Pendleton.

  Annie’s eyes filled with tears, although she couldn’t imagine why. Chase certainly didn’t mean anything to her.

  “Damn you,” she said, in a quavering whisper.

  The man beside her stiffened.

  “Were you speaking to me, madam?”

  She looked up. The guy was looking at her as if she’d just escaped from the asylum.

  Annie blinked back her tears.

  “You’re a man, aren’t you?” she said.

  Then she crumpled the newspaper, dumped it on the floor, rose from her seat and made her way through the train, to the door.

  * * *

  It was raining in Stratham, too.

  Well, why not? The perfect ending to a perfect day, Annie thought grimly, as she made her way through the parking lot to her car. It didn’t even pay to run, not when she was wet through and through. What could another soaking possibly matter?

  By the time she pulled into her driveway, she was shivering, sniffing, and as close to feeling sorry for herself as she’d ever come. A hot shower and getting into her old terry-cloth robe and a pair of slippers helped. Supper seemed like a good idea, too, but banging open cabinet doors and peering into the fridge didn’t spur any creative juices. Finally she gave up, took a diet meal from the freezer and popped it into the microwave.

  She was just putting it on the kitchen counter when the doorbell rang.

  Annie looked at the clock. It was after seven. Who’d be dropping by at this hour? Unless it was Dawn. A smile lit her face. Dawn and Nick lived only half an hour away and sometimes they dropped in for a quick visit. Everything was fine on that front, thank goodness. Dawn had returned from her honeymoon glowing with happiness, and she’d taken the news that her parents’ supposed reconciliation had failed in her stride.

  “I’m so sorry. Mom,” she’d said, hugging Annie, “but at least you guys tried.”

  But the visitor at the door wasn’t Dawn. It was Deborah Kent, standing in the rain, clutching an enormous box from Angie’s Pizza Palace.

  “Well?” Deb demanded. “Do I get asked in, or do I have to sit in my car and pig out on all ninety billion calories of an Angie’s Deluxe without any help?”

  Annie’s bleak mood lifted a little. “What kind of friend would I be if I let you suffer such a fate?” she said, taking the box from Deb’s hands. “Come on in.”

  “The kind who ignores repeated phone calls,” Deb grumbled as she peeled off her raincoat. “This thing is soaked. You want me to hang it in the laundry room, or what?”

  “Just drape it over the back of that chair,” Annie said as she headed for the kitchen.

  “It’ll drip on the floor.”

  “Trust me, Deb. The floor won’t mind. Come and make yourself comfortable while I grab a couple of plates and some napkins.”

  Deb’s eyebrows lifted when she saw the sad little box that had just come out of the microwave oven.

  “I see I interrupted an evening of gourmet dining,” she said, moving the thing aside with a manicured fingertip.

  “Mmm.” Annie took two diet Cokes out of the refrigerator and put them on the counter. “You can’t imagine what a sacrifice it’s going to be to eat a slice of Angie’s Deluxe instead.”

  “A slice?” Deb opened the box, dug out a huge triangle of pizza and deposited it on Annie’s plate. “A half of an Angie’s Deluxe, is what I’m figuring on.” She dug in again and lifted out a piece for herself. “So what’s new in your life, anyway?”

  “Oh, nothing much.” Annie hitched a hip onto a stool. “How’ve you been?”

  “And well you might ask,” Deb said indignantly. “For someone’s who’s supposed to be my best amiga, you sure haven’t paid much attention to me lately. Don’t you ever return phone calls?”

  “Of course I do. I’ve just been busy, that’s all. Mmm, this pizza is to die for. And to think I was going to make a meal out of two hundred calories of fat-free, flavor-free yuck. So what if I’ll have to give up eating for the rest of the week? This is definitely worth the sacrifice.”

  “Don’t try and pull my leg, Annie Cooper. I can tell a fib from the truth.”

&
nbsp; “Cross my heart and hope to gain two inches around my hips,” Annie said, “this is delicious.”

  “And can the innocent act.” Deb slipped another piece of pizza from the box. “Nobody could be as busy as you claim to be, not unless you’ve given up eating and sleeping. You’ve turned into the ‘no’ girl. No, you don’t want to go to the movies, not even when Liam Neeson’s on the screen. No, you don’t want to go to the mall, even if Lord and Taylor’s got a fifty percent clearance.”

  “I’m sorry, Deb. Really, I am, but as I said, I’ve been—”

  “And.” Deb said, stealing a slice of pepperoni from the pizza still in the box, “instead of sharing the good stuff with me, which is the duty of a true-blue friend, you let me find it out all on my own.”

  Annie’s smile stiffened. Nobody knew what had happened on that island. Nobody even knew she’d gone away with Chase, except for Dawn and Nick.

  “What ‘good stuff’?”

  “You know.”

  “I don’t, or I wouldn’t be asking. Come on, Deb. What are you talking about?”

  Deb shoved aside her plate and pulled the tab on her can of soda.

  “Well, for openers, when were you going to tell me you gave Milton Hoffman the old heave-ho?”

  “Oh. That.”

  “Yeah. That. Not that I wasn’t happy to hear it. Milton’s a nice guy, but he’s not for you.”

  “Where did you hear—”

  “I bumped into him at the Stop And Shop the other day.” Deb leaned closer. “Did you know that he eats low-fat granola?”

  I’m not surprised, Annie said to herself, then scowled for thinking something so unkind.

  “Well, so what?” she said staunchly. “That doesn’t make him a bad person. Besides, if you wanted to know if I was still seeing him or not, you could have just asked me. You didn’t have to buttonhole poor Milton.”

  “I did not buttonhole poor Milton! He was standing in front of the cereal display, looking unhappy, and I wheeled my cart up to his and said he might want to try the oatmeal, or maybe the All-Bran, depending on his needs. I mean, who knows what’s going on under that shiny suit? And he gave me this look that reminded me of a basset hound I once had... Did I know you then? He was the dearest little dog, but—”

  “Dammit, Deb, what did Milton say?”

  “He just asked if I’d seen you around lately. And I said well, I’d gone to lunch with you a few weeks back. And he said that was more than he’d done. And I said—”

  “Whoa.” Annie held up her hands. “Let me simplify things, okay? Milton’s a lovely man. A delightful man. But...”

  “But?”

  “But, we’re just friends.”

  “He seemed to think you’d once been something more.” Deb picked up another piece of pizza. “Like, you’d maybe had serious plans.”

  “No! We never...” Annie put her hands over her face. “Oh gosh. I feel terrible.”

  Deb gave a delicate burp. “The pizza’s a killer, I admit, but it’s not that bad.”

  “Not the pizza. Milton.”

  “You led him on,” Deb said, clucking her tongue.

  “No. Yes. Damn! I suppose I did,” Annie said, and told Deb about what had happened at the wedding, and how she’d put on an act for Chase’s benefit. “But I cleared things up the next week,” she added quickly. “I explained that—that I’d said some things I hadn’t really meant and—and...”

  “You broke his little heart,” Deb said solemnly, and then she grinned and lightly punched Annie in the arm. “Don’t look like that! I’m exaggerating. Milton looked absolutely fine. Happier than I’ve ever seen him, to tell the truth, and halfway through our chat a woman came waltzing over from the produce aisle and looped her arm through his. Her name’s Molly Something-or-other, she’s new in the English department and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what’s happening between them when she dropped her head of cabbage into the cart next to his box of granola.”

  Annie sighed with relief. “I’m glad.”

  “Milton said to say hi if I saw you, so here I am, saying hi.”

  “Honestly, Deb—”

  “Honestly, Annie, why didn’t you tell me you went off and spent the weekend after the wedding with your gorgeous ex?”

  Annie turned bright red to the roots of her hair. “What are you talking about?”

  “Dawn told me.” Deb reached for a piece of pizza, bit into it and chewed thoughtfully. “I met her in the detergent aisle.”

  “Have you ever considered changing supermarkets?” Annie said sweetly. “What else did my darling daughter tell you?”

  “Only that you and Chase went out of town in hopes of a reconciliation, and that it didn’t work out. Is that about it?”

  “Yes,” Annie said. “That’s about it.”

  Deb, who was nobody’s fool, eyed her best friend narrowly.

  “Maybe your baby girl bought that story,” she said, “but I have a few years of observing the human condition on her.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, you want to tell me what really hap pened?”

  “Nothing happened.”

  “Annie,” Deb said.

  The doorbell rang. Annie sent up a silent prayer of thanks.

  “Don’t think you’re off the hook,” Deb called as Annie hurried from the kitchen. “I have every intention of picking up the inquisition as soon as you get back.” Her voice rose. “You hear?”

  Annie rolled her eyes. “I hear,” she said, as she flung the door open.

  A boy stood on the porch. Rain glittered on his hair and shoulders, and on the yellow panel truck in the driveway.

  “Mrs. Annie Cooper?”

  Annie looked at the long white box clutched in his arms.

  “Ms. Annie Cooper,” she said. “And I don’t want them.”

  The boy frowned and looked at the tag clipped to the box.

  “This is 126 Spruce Street, isn’t it?”

  “It is, and you’re to take those flowers right back where they came from.”

  “They’re roses, ma’am. Long-stemmed, red—”

  “I know what they are, and I do not want them.” Annie reached behind her and took her pocketbook from the hall table.

  “But—”

  “Here,” she said, handing the boy a ten-dollar bill. “I’m sorry you had to come out in such miserable weather.”

  “But, ma’am...”

  “Good night.”

  Annie shut the door. She sighed, leaned back against it and closed her eyes.

  “What was that about?”

  Her eyes flew open. Deb was standing in the hall, staring.

  “Nothing. It was a—a mix-up. A delivery of something or other, but the kid had the wrong—”

  “I heard the whole thing, Annie. He had the right house and the right woman. He also had a humongous box of roses, and you told him to take them away.”

  Annie’s chin lifted. “I certainly did,” she said, marching past Deb into the kitchen. “You want a glass for that Coke, and some ice?”

  “I want to know if I’m going crazy. Somebody sends you long-stemmed roses and you don’t even want to take a look? You don’t even want to ask who they’re from?”

  Annie took two glasses from the cabinet over the sink and slammed them down on the counter.

  “Chase,” she said grimly.

  “Chase what?”

  “Chase sent the roses.”

  “How do you know? You didn’t even—”

  “He’s been doing it for weeks.”

  “Your ex has been sending you roses for weeks?”

  “Yes. And I’ve been refusing them.” Annie sat down at the counter and picked up her slice of pizza. “Your pizza’s going to get cold, if you don’t eat it pretty soon.”

  Deb looked down at her plate, then at Annie.

  “Let me get this straight. You went away with your ex, he’s been sending you roses ever since, and you really expect me to believe nothing happen
ed between You?”

  “That’s exactly what I expect you to believe,” Annie said, and she burst into tears.

  * * *

  Half an hour later, the pizza had been forgotten, the diet Cokes had been replaced by a bottle of Chianti, Annie’s eyes and nose were pink and Deb had heard the whole story.

  “The bastard,” she said grimly.

  “Uh-huh,” Annie said, blowing her nose into a paper towel.

  “The skunk!”

  “That’s what he is, all right. Taking me to bed and then telling me how terrific it was—”

  “Was it?”

  Annie blushed. “Sex was never our problem. Well, not until the very end, when I was so hurt and angry at him for never coming home....”

  “Other women, huh?”

  “No.” Annie blew her nose again. “I mean, not then. At the end, there was somebody, even though Chase said there wasn’t.”

  “Yeah,” Deb said, “that’s what they always say. So, if it wasn’t some foxy broad, why didn’t the oaf come home nights?”

  “Oh, he came home. Late, that’s all. He took all these courses, see, so he could learn the things he needed to build up the business he’d inherited from his father. He worked crazy hours, too. Most days, he’d leave before sunrise and not get back until seven, eight at night.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And then, when things took off and the company really began to grow, he went to all these parties. Chamber of Commerce things. You know, the sort of stuff you read about in the paper.”

  “And he left you home. God, the nerve of the man!”

  “No. I mean, he took me with him. And then I decided I didn’t want to go to these things anymore.”

  “I can imagine the rest. The jerk went by himself and that’s when he began to fool around. He met this society type with a pedigree and a face like an ice sculpture and she was lots more appealing than the house mouse he’d left at home, right?”

  “Well—well, no. He didn’t meet anybody. Although, eventually, he—he got involved with his secretary.”

  “How disgustingly trite. His secretary! Will men never learn?”

  “He said it wasn’t what it seemed to be, but I knew.”