The Ranch

“No, sir.” She smiled and kissed him, and told him she would see him later. And then he slipped out on silent feet and was gone before anyone could see him. And when she saw him at the corral at nine o'clock, he looked clean and organized and official in a white shirt, a cowboy hat, and a pair of jeans. The horses were all sorted out and saddled, everyone looked rested again. Other than a faint smell of smoke in the air, you would never have known that anything had happened. But it was all anyone could talk about all day. The fire on Shadow Mountain.

It was a peaceful day for all of them, and that afternoon, after lunch, Mary Stuart called Bill in London. He was working in his room, and he sounded a little surprised to hear from her. She usually sent him faxes now and rarely called him. But he seldom called her either.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, startled to hear her voice. It was ten o'clock at night in London.

“No, I'm fine,” she said matter-of-factly, and asked him how work was, he said it was fine, and then there was an awkward silence. She told him about the forest fire then, and that Zoe and Tanya had volunteered, but she had been evacuated to another ranch. She didn't say that she had gone with Hartley. And then she totally stunned her husband. “I thought I'd come to London next week,” she said quietly.

“I told you,” he said, sounding irritated. “I'm busy.”

“I'm well aware of that. But I think we need to talk. Otherwise I'm not going to see you till September.” Apparently that didn't bother him. But it bothered her a lot. That was part of the problem.

“I might be back at the end of August.”

“I'm not going to wait another six weeks to see you,” she said simply.

“I miss you too,” he said, still annoyed, “but I'm working day and night. I told you that. Otherwise, I'd have had you come with me.”

“Would you rather I just send you a fax?” she snapped at him. It was ridiculous, he wouldn't even take the time for her to tell him it was over.

“Don't be disagreeable. I don't have time to see you.”

“That's the entire point of my visit. You don't have time to speak to me either, or make love to me, or be my husband. I don't actually think it has as much to do with time, Bill, as interest.”

“What exactly are you saying?” he said with a little chill running up his spine. He was suddenly beginning to understand what she was saying, the faxes, the silences, the fact that she didn't call. He was getting it. But very, very slowly. “Why are you coming over here?” he asked her bluntly. He had always hated surprises.

“To see you. I won't take a lot of your time, I won't even stay in the same hotel if you don't want me to. I just think that after twenty-one years, we ought to say a word or two to each other before we throw the whole mess in the trash can.”

“Is that how you feel about us?” He sounded both appalled and startled, but she couldn't deny it.

“Yes, it is, and I'm sure you feel that way too. I just think we ought to talk about it.”

“I don't feel that way at all,” he said, sounding crushed. “How could you say that?”

“The fact that you can even ask me that is the saddest thing I can think of.”

“We've both been through a great deal… And I have this very important case in London… you know that…”

“I know, Bill.” She sounded tired listening to him. He was so totally without insight that she wondered if it was even worth her while going over to see him. Just talking to him depressed her. “We'll talk next week.”

“Are we talking or signing papers?” he said, sounding angry.

“That's up to you.” But it wasn't. It was up to her. And she knew it. He'd probably go on like that forever, married to a woman he never touched, looked at, or spoke to. As far as she was concerned it was not too appealing. And having just spent ten days talking to Hartley constantly, the idea of going back to a silent, loveless marriage made her suicidal. She just wasn't going to do it. It was over.

“It sounds as if you've already made up your mind,” Bill said unhappily, and she almost said that was the case, but if she had there would have been no point going to London. And somehow she felt that she had to give him a chance to defend himself, to at least explain why he had treated her so badly for the last year, before she told him. But it was a bit of a kangaroo court, and she knew it. “Are you flying from New York?” he asked, as though that made a difference, but of course it didn't.

“I'm coming from L.A., as soon as I leave Tanya.”

“Is this her idea?” he asked, as though she couldn't have thought of it herself. “Or your other friend, the doctor?”

“Her name is Zoe. And no, it's not their idea. Bill, it's mine. I thought all this out before I left New York, and I see no point waiting two more months to tell you.”