Convenience

Part 87

Beatrice said quietly, "That is all that it took." She sighed. "If a man couldn't even remember to wish his wife a happy birthday, then it was hardly likely that she registered, at all, on his radar!"

David replied bluntly, somewhat stunned, "I looked after you!" Dumbfounded. "You know." Disconcerted. "When your grandfather died." Her startled look allowed him to say, "I told you to contact me if you needed anything."

Beatrice almost shrieked at him, "Right, of course! You told me to contact you?" Idiot, she called him in her mind. "You! Not some assistant!"

David nodded, as if what he said was ok. "I didn't hear from you, so I sent ..."

"That is why your staff arrived in the evening, asked a few questions and then departed. Brilliant!" She huffed. "You consider that ok, looking after me?" She was so close to loosing her temper. She inhaled. Waited a second, and then she exhaled, "That is what you consider a husband would do? Send another person, to do what you as a husband would do?" She furrowed her brow before saying with sarcasm, "Any husband would do that?" He grimaced. "Really?" She glared.

The colour in his cheeks changed to a deeper red. His guilt grew.

Beatrice's voice became more strident. "Your assistant called to ask if I needed anything. Why didn't you?" He cringed, ran a hand around his neck. She added, "Couldn't be bother to talk to me?" She threw him a fulminating glance. "Do you know how it feels when a husband delegated a stranger to contact their wife?" David rubbed the back of his neck. She continued to glare. "Embarrassed. Mortified. Humiliated."

David flinched. "Fuck." He felt awful. An idiot. A really stupid bastard.

For a moment neither of them moved.

Beatrice shook her head. She sniffed and struggled to pull herself together, again. "If that was your conclusion of a husband's responsibility or attitude, why would I want to return to that situation?"

Repentant, he said, "I am so sorry Beatrice." He let out a long sigh.

She ignored his apology. She looked up at him, her eyes smarting with unshed tears: frustration and hurt. "It changed my life route." She told him firmly. "You're right. I changed."

"I..."

She put up a hand to stop his interruption, "I relocated to Raglan. I couldn't manage my home. It was too big for me." She ran a finger beneath her nose, and sniffed. "If it hadn't been for the fact that I sent you a letter with my address and informing you that I had sold the house, I doubted whether you would have even noticed I was no longer in Auckland!"

He grimaced.

"You told me, over five years ago, that you wanted a divorce!" She reminded him. "I assumed you would follow through and divorce me. My fault. Leaving it at that and not following-up. Kept my wedding ring on my finger. Definitely my fault." She sniffed; she knew why she had kept the ring. "Then out of the blue, five years later, when you suddenly remembered that you hadn't follow through, and you want me to sign. You wanted a divorce." She shook her head, "And now, what, five weeks later, you want us to give this marriage a chance?"

There was silence. Cautiously she moved and reached for her car door. David reached for the door.

"Let go of the car door!" She was close to tears. She couldn't remember the last time she had been this mortified, angry or that scared of her emotions. And tired. Emotionally tired.

"I never intended to hurt you: Back then, or now." He said gently. He could see that she was dejected and he sensed her discomfort. "I can see you are upset."

"I'm fine." Beatrice mumbled.

"No. You aren't." He said quietly. "Let me driving you to your hotel?"

She shook her head. "No need." She pinned a smile to her lips. She needed to stay in control otherwise she was going to embarrass herself further. So, without even giving him another look, she said, "There really is no need." She held onto her fake smile.

"Beatrice. I am really sorry." His gaze lingered on her eyes and then her lips before returning to her eyes."Just come back to the office and have a coffee, and maybe..."

"Oh, I don't think so." Beatrice said softly. Her mask slotted into place. She didn't want a replay of today another day. She muttered to herself as she turned away. She was still upset. But she conceded that she knew they had to have a meeting. The best thing to do is to finish this relationship, Beatrice thought. Sort this situation. So she started bailing out of this situation. She felt nervous, but she said, quietly, "We need to meet to sort the Trust. And our divorce."