Her work at the gallery was equally satisfying. By mid-March she had already contracted an artist on her own and Diana made her responsible for the whole exhibition. She thrived on the work, helping the artist organize the installation, writing the press releases, preparing the mailing. She was good at this, and she loved doing it, almost as much as she loved her own art. There was something deeply satisfying about helping another artist be seen.
She was immersed in accounting and commission checks when the phone rang. She picked it up without even looking, mind still focused on the columns of numbers. “Yggdrasil."
"Hey, pet, it's Rogue. Is the boss lady about?"
Her heart stopped at the sound of his voice after all these months, all warm caramel and spice rumbling in her ear. Her whole body vibrated in response as her stomach twisted in fierce knots.
"Sarah?” He sounded concerned at the hesitation.
She mumbled something that she hoped sounded like “Just a minute” and didn't sound like her and put him on hold.
She found Sarah first as she stumbled out of the office, her skin chilled and covered in a thin sheen of perspiration. “Tell Diana she has a call,” she managed to get out before she reeled towards the restroom, the contents of her stomach surging.
Diana found her there ten minutes later, sobbing hysterically. She gathered Lindy close, rocking her gently and murmuring wordless tunes to help soothe her. “I'm sorry,” Diana said finally as Lindy's grief wore itself out. “He doesn't usually call here. I didn't even think about it. He usually calls at the house because he knows I'll have time to talk then. I'm so sorry."
"It's okay,” she sniffed, not moving out of Diana's comforting embrace. “I knew he might. I just ... I wasn't ready for it.” She closed her eyes. “He doesn't know I'm here, does he? He thought I was Sarah..."
"No, he doesn't know. I just told him I have someone new working for me. He doesn't know it's you."
Lindy drew a deep breath and sat up, wiping her eyes. “I'm sorry. I should be over this by now..."
"Should you? Lindy, did you love him?"
Lindy dropped her gaze.
"Love is not love that alters when alteration finds. If we got over love so easily, it wouldn't be such a powerful source of inspiration."
Lindy lifted her eyes to Diana's again. “Is it wrong that this still hurts, but Gabriel doesn't?"
Diana cupped her cheek gently. “You know the answer to that, sweetie."
Lindy clung to her a little tighter.
Chapter 43
The end of March was as lamb-like as advertised, with warm breezes softening the ice and snow and allowing the flower beds and containers to begin showing green tips and small shots of color around the city. The gallery exhibits changed from found object art and the hand wrought furniture to brilliant dyed silk soft sculptures and brightly colored kaleidoscope flower photographs. They left the front door open to allow the fresh breeze to air the winter stuffiness out of the space.
Lindy had her back to the door unpacking a shipment of stained glass and so didn't hear the woman who came in until she spoke. “Excuse me."
Lindy managed not to jump, the delicate glass held gingerly in her hands. She put it back down and turned with a smile. “I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in. How can I help you?"
"Are you Lindy James?"
Lindy kept her smile despite her puzzlement. “Yes."
"These are for you.” The woman handed her a thick sealed envelope and a clipboard. “Could you sign here, please?"
Lindy signed her name mechanically on the line indicated and handed the board back.
"Thank you, ma'am. Have a nice day.” And the woman left.
Lindy stared at the envelope, her name and address typed neatly on the front, the McDaniels Polk and Marks logo embossed on the flap. She knew what was in it.
She sank down onto one of the viewing benches before she worked up the courage to slit open the envelope and look at the contents.
Diana found her there. “Lindy? What is it?"
Lindy gestured numbly with the documents “Gabriel's filed for divorce. On the grounds of infidelity. And he's named Rogue as the correspondent.” She rubbed her eyes wearily. “What a mess."
"Well, it's only fair, as Gabriel is the correspondent in Rogue's divorce.” Diana took the documents from Lindy. “What's this other paper?"
"A proposed property settlement."
"Wherein it is determined,” Diana read, “that the entirety of the marital assets and equity are a direct result of the plaintiff's employment and investments, it is hereby agreed that all of said property shall be the sole custody and possession of said plaintiff with the exception of the real property located at Forty Seven Dominick Alley, which shall be turned over for the exclusive use and support of the defendant.” Diana flipped to the second page and then back. “That's all? No alimony? No other support of any kind?"
Lindy shook her head. “Just the studio. But I should manage all right. The studio should fetch half a million at least. If I'm careful, I can live off that for a long time."
"Wait,” Diana stopped her. “Sell the studio? You can't! That's your home!"
"I can't afford to keep it Diana. I have a five thousand dollar property tax bill that's due by April fifteenth, and there will be another one in the fall. That's almost half what I make here in a year. And then there are utilities and fees, plus I still need to eat. I'll just be better off selling it and renting an apartment."
"Lindy, he owes you more than this. You were married for five years..."
She shook her head in denial. “I never did anything to help support us. It's all his. And none of this would have happened if I hadn't started up with Rogue in the first place. No, this is the way things are supposed to be."
"Lindy..."
"Diana, if you don't mind, I think I'm going to go home. I'm not feeling very well."
"Okay, honey. Get some rest. Maybe you'll see things more clearly in the morning."
Lindy smiled wanly. She was seeing things very clearly.
* * * *
Rogue sat in the pub, nursing his pint and absently watching the football match on the television. The photo album lay on the table in front of him, and every once in a while he would pick it up and flip through it, remembering.
"Nice rack. That your girl?” Clem asked, bringing him another bowl of pretzels.
Rogue closed the book and glared at the barkeep. “Not anymore. And keep your eyes to yourself."
"So where is she now?"
"Back in the states."
"American, eh? I always figured them for too much work, with all those hang-ups."
Rogue opened up the book and held it up for Clem to see.
"Okay, point taken."
"Now shove off. The lady and I are tryin’ to watch the match."
Clem laughed good-naturedly and headed back to the bar.
Rogue wasn't drunk, much as he'd like to be. He hadn't had a good binge since New York, four months before. She wouldn't like it.
God alone knew why he cared what she thought. She'd made it perfectly clear to him that she was through with him. But he did. She'd changed him, and he could never go back to who he was before her.
He wasn't sure he wanted to.
He still wasn't working. Kevin had been a good sport and taken it on the chin for the company, filing the paperwork for Rogue's severance as a termination and not resignation so he could get a decent severance package. He wouldn't have to worry about working for a couple of months yet.
But he'd found in meeting with other firms that he wasn't really interested in returning to corporate life. He was tired of living by other people's rules. Maybe this was a chance for him to strike out on his own...
His cell phone shivered in his pocket. He pulled it out and flipped it open. “'Lo?"
"Rogue?” Diana's voice came faintly over the line.
He covered his other ear to block out the din. “Diana? This isn't a great time
, pet."
"It can't wait,” she shouted into the phone.
"Okay, hang on.” He threw five quid on the table and grabbed up his coat on his way out the front door.
Outside was brisk and quiet, a scattering of stars breaking up the dark sky. He slipped on his duster and sat down on the bench in front of the pub. “What's up, pet?” he said into the phone. “You in trouble? Or Mercedes?"
"It's not us, Rogue. It's Lindy."
He stiffened at the sound of her name. “She doesn't need anything from me."
"Rogue, Gabriel's filed for divorce. You should be getting a copy of the papers in a couple of days."
"Me? Why..."
"Because he's named you as the correspondent. Infidelity."
"That bloody bastard..."
"It's worse. He's trying to railroad her on the property settlement. He's going to take everything. The only thing he's leaving her is the studio."
"He can't leave her the studio. It's in her name, free and clear. Any lawyer worth his salt should..."
"She's not going to fight it, Rogue. She's going to go along with it. And she's going to sell the studio."
"But she can't! She loves that place!"
"She says she can't afford to keep it. She's working, but it's not paying her enough. I don't know what to do for her. She doesn't think she deserves any more. Because of what she did with you."
"Stubborn bint,” he growled, more to himself than to Diana. “Look, I can't help her guilty conscience. Gabriel would have screwed her over without me. This isn't my fault."
"No,” Diana said calmly. “But it is your responsibility."
He couldn't reply to that.
"Michael,” her voice caught on her concern, “she needs your help."
"Dammit, girl, that's not fair!"
She didn't answer.
"Fine,” he threw up his free hand in resignation. “It's going to take me a couple of days, maybe a week. Just keep her away from any realtors until then!"
"I'll make sure of it,” Diana promised.
"Diana,” he hesitated, afraid of the answer. “She's been ... good?"
"Up until now. You'd be proud of her, Rogue. She left Gabriel. Caught him in bed with another woman and walked out. He tried to cut her off and she found herself work. She's made a decent life for herself."
He was glad. At least she was free. “I'll get back to you tomorrow. Let me know if anything else comes up. And don't let her sign anything."
"I won't! Thank you, Rogue. From both of us.” And she hung up.
He hit the end button and punched in a new number. Mess with his girl, would they? Rogue was about to show just how dirty he could play ... ?
Chapter 44
The papers weighed heavily in Lindy's purse. She had been kept busy with Diana all week, not even able to take a lunch break, and hadn't been able to do anything about them, or about getting the studio listed for sale. She just felt tired, burdened. She wanted this over so she didn't have to think about it anymore, so she could just get back to trying to put her life back together.
She knew she needed to get an attorney for the divorce, someone to make sure all the documents were in order and nothing was missed. Gabriel's friendly rival Bailey McDonald had drawn up the original papers for him. Maybe she should just see if he would represent her as well. That way they could get this done without a lot of pointless attorney haggling.
Diana was waiting for her anxiously when she got back from the post office. “There's someone in the office that you need to talk to."
"Is everything okay?” Lindy slipped off her coat as she crossed to Diana. She had never seen her so ... well, for Diana this gentle hand wringing and the eye tic was extreme agitation.
Diana took her coat and the mail. “Everything's fine. Please, just go and talk to him."
Looking back in concern, Lindy hefted her purse back on her shoulder and went into the office.
The gentleman sitting in front of the desk rose when she came in. He looked to be about Gabriel's age and Rogue's build, with a long face ending in a square jaw, silver wire frames perched on his aquiline nose. His dark hair was cut not quite short enough, and the suit, while of good quality, was perhaps half a size too big.
But there was something about his eyes ... ?
"Miss James, I presume,” he said, his voice soft and light with a cultured British accent that made her heart tighten. “How do you do? I am Sidney Rhys-Jones. I will be representing you in this matter."
She was dumb struck. “I beg your pardon?"
"In your divorce. Please, won't you sit?” He gestured to the desk chair, continuing as they sat. “Now, I've taken the liberty..."
She interrupted him. “Mr. Rhys-Jones, I'm sorry, but I don't need representation in my divorce."
"Actually, Miss James, you do. New York legal codes strictly mandate adequate representation for all parties in any divorce suit brought within the state."
"No, what I mean is I already have someone representing me."
"And that would be...? He waited patiently.
"Bailey McDonald."
"Your husband's attorney.” When she nodded, he took off his glasses to meet her gaze, his gentle blue eyes steely. “Miss James, I would hardly call that adequate representation. Mr. McDonald was hired to look out for Mr. Stevens’ interests and not your own. As is made plain by this travesty of a property settlement. We should have no problem getting this thrown out straight away..."
"Mr. Rhys-Jones, I'm not interested in challenging the divorce. The faster we can get this over with, the better I'll like it."
"While I understand the sentiment, that is no reason to let him take advantage of you."
"I don't think it is taking advantage at all. I'm still coming out of the marriage with more than I went into it with. Considering I have never contributed financially, I think it's more than fair."
"Mr. Stevens went from a junior litigator to a full partner during the course of your marriage,” Rhys-Jones explained patiently. “He is now earning in the high six figures annually. You provided material support in his rise within the firm by giving your services as wife and hostess these last five years at the expense of developing your own career. There is ample precedence in the law for the wife in such cases to be eligible for half of the marital assets."
"I don't want it!” she protested angrily. “I don't deserve it. We wouldn't even be here if I hadn't..."
His voice softened. “Are you talking about your liaison with Mr. Fitzwilliam?"
She closed her eyes, trying not to see Rogue in her mind. “I gave Gabriel reason to think our relationship was ... something I couldn't live with."
"What if I could show you that Gabriel wasn't the wronged party in this?"
She was confused. “What do you mean?"
He pulled a stack of folders out of his briefcase and set one thick file in front of her. “This is documentation of a six month affair he had with Hope Fitzwilliam, ending in that woman's divorce two years ago."
"I already knew..."
"This is a record of receipts for hotel registrations, flowers and gifts of an inappropriate nature to Miss Caroline Sinclair dating back over five years, the most recent being a fur coat given February fourteenth of this year, three days before your separation."
Lindy stared at it.
He placed another file down. “This is a statement from Ms. Leah York, attesting to the fact that the encounter you walked in on was not their first and that the affair had, in fact, begun in July of last year. Ms. York had been led to believe Mr. Stevens’ story of yours being an open marriage and was none too happy to find out she had been deceived. She is more than willing to testify should it come to that."
She felt sick.
He laid down half a dozen more folders, each slim. “These are sworn affidavits from various employees, coworkers and friends in which they outline how Mr. Stevens propositioned them for sex. Most damning of all,” he slid one of the files forward, “i
s the statement of Ms. Kathleen Fallon, who attests that on no less than ten occasions did Mr. Stevens make iniquitous advances on her. She is able to give dates and particulars, and like Ms. York is willing to testify to every particular."
"And finally,” he pulled out one last file, “receipts, eyewitness accounts and photographs providing evidence that in late October of last year, Mr. Stevens began an intimate relationship with Mrs. Sophia Masters, wife of Mr. Stevens’ employer, Henry Masters.” He spread all the files out. “So you see, Miss James, if you are to use infidelity as a criterion for this property settlement, you would in fact be deserving of the lion's share of your marital assets."
"How did you find all this?” She could barely get the words out.
"It wasn't difficult to find once I knew where to start. One source usually led to another."
She reached out a hand slowly, not quite touching all the evidence laid out before her. “Was he ever faithful to me?” she asked in a small, quiet voice.
"I'm sorry."
She pulled herself together, wiping away the tears that threatened. “So what do we do now? I still want this to be over as quickly as possible..."
"And you don't want to feel indebted to him, either.” She nodded. “Alright then, this is my proposal. We don't want you dependent on unreliable alimony checks or other regular payments from your husband, and presumably you don't want to incur a punitive judgment against him either, such as claiming the house. Is that correct?"
"I don't ever want to see that house again,” she declared emphatically.
"Then I suggest we ask for a flat settlement payment. Five hundred thousand dollars, to be paid immediately upon final judgment, and assumption of all expenses incurred from the divorce, including a living stipend for your maintenance until final settlement."
Lindy's eyes grew huge. “So much?"
"He can well afford it,” the attorney insisted. “And that is fifty thousand a year over ten years, which is less than most city school teachers make. He could do a lot worse. And this,” he tapped the Sophia Masters file, “will guarantee that he goes along with it. He values his career too highly to risk Henry Masters finding out about it. He'd be doing legal aid work so fast he wouldn't know what hit him."
What They Call Sin Page 30
