A Proper Wife

“They do not both live in San Francisco, Ryan. The girl lives somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“How should I know?”

Ryan looked at his grandfather, his face grim. “Didn’t Bettina tell you?”

“She may have.”

“Grandfather, dammit, did she tell you where Devon lives or didn’t she?”

The old man shrugged. “Chicago, I think.”

“Chicago? What in hell is she doing there? What’s she living on, if she’s not tapping into the trust funds? Does she even know anybody in C

hicago?”

James’s eyebrows lifted. “Which question would you like me to answer first? Not that it matters. My answer is the same to all three. I’ve no idea. And, when one comes right down to it, why should you give a tinker’s dam?”

Ryan’s mouth opened, then shut. He turned away, busied himself pouring more cognac, then looked at James.

“I don’t. I’m just—curious. After all, when our divorce is final, the papers will have to be sent somewhere. I thought, all this time, they could be sent care of Bettina, that Devon was—”

“That she was what? Living with her mother? Did you picture the two of them laughing up their communal sleeve at what a fool you’d been to have fallen in love with the girl?”

“Dammit, Grandfather, I did not do any such thing!”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” James said mildly. “I’d hate to think you’d turned into a hermit because you were carrying the torch for your own wife.”

“Carrying the...” Ryan laughed. “Where on earth did you get that idea?”

“Oh, from the fact that you’ve taken to coming here every Friday for dinner, instead of begging off so you can paint the town red with your friend, Frank Ross.”

“I still see Frank. It’s just that—look, there comes a time in a man’s life when he’s bored, playing around...”

“Your secretary says you stay late at the office nights and you spend half your weekends there.”

“That’s crazy,” Ryan sputtered. “And besides, it’s my business if I work late. What the hell right have you got to question Sylvia—and what right has she got to tell you how I spend my time?”

James smiled slyly. “She didn’t. It was just a lucky stab in the dark.”

Ryan glared at his grandfather. Then he began to laugh.

“You’re a sly old devil,” he said. “But you’re wrong about Devon. I didn’t love her.”

“Didn’t you?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” James took the glass of cognac Ryan held out to him. “I was afraid you might go storming off to Chicago and make a fool of yourself when you found out she was seeing somebody.”

“What?”

“I said—”

“I heard what you said, dammit! How can she be seeing somebody? She’s still married to me.”

“Technically, I suppose she is, but—”