V Is for Vengeance

Then we have a deal. Next time I swear I’ll go without making a fuss.”
    “Perfect. I’d like that.”
    “Meanwhile, enjoy yourself.”
    “I’ll do my best. Full report afterward.”
    “Love you.”
    “You too,” he said. “I’ve got another call coming in.”
    As soon as she was off the phone, Nora picked up her handbag and car keys. She stuck her head in the kitchen, where Mrs. Stumbo was down on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor.
    “I have some appointments this afternoon, but I should be back by five. As soon as you finish, why don’t you take the rest of the day off. You’ve been working way too hard.”
    “Thank you. I could use the time.”
    “Just be sure to lock up. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
    Within minutes, she was heading south on the 101. She took pleasure in the drive because it gave her an opportunity to conduct an emotional self-examination. She needed to assess the situation with all the calm she could muster. She knew she was right about Thelma, but so far she had no proof. It didn’t have to be evidence that would stand up in court. The situation would probably never come to that, but she wanted the satisfaction of knowing she was right. Poor substitute for having her marriage intact. Channing made a point of keeping his credit card statements at the office so there was no way to determine when he and Thelma had first hopped in the sack. Looking back, she could probably pinpoint the business trip where it all began.
    Repeat encounters wouldn’t have been conducted at the office because privacy there was in short supply. Half the partners worked late, showing up at all hours to finish business that couldn’t be squeezed into the typical ten-hour day. Channing and his beloved Thelma, the whore, would have cavorted at the house in Malibu, thus saving the expense of a hotel room. Nora would have to boil the sheets before she slept in her own bed again.
    She spotted a CHP black-and-white lurking at an overpass, invisible to northbound traffic. She glanced down at the speedometer needle, which wavered between eighty-seven and ninety miles an hour. She took her foot off the accelerator and put her racing thoughts in neutral. Maybe she was more stressed out about Thelma than she knew. In her mind, once she’d recovered from her initial humiliation, she’d felt curiously detached. The fact that her husband was involved with someone so common left her more insulted than devastated. From a practical standpoint, she could see how convenience and proximity made Thelma the logical choice. Channing’s moral sensibilities were finely tuned. He would never screw around with another attorney in the firm and certainly not with one of his partners’ wives. He was much too pragmatic to risk a breach of that magnitude. A violation of professional ethics could well blow up in his face. There were certainly countless Hollywood actresses, clients of his, who’d have jumped at the chance to seduce and be seduced, but that was another line he wouldn’t cross. Thelma was a hireling, one down by definition. If the affair turned sour and he ended up firing her, she might sue for sexual harassment, but that was probably the worst she could do. Knowing Channing, he’d already set up safeguards against the day.
    What puzzled her was that aside from her injured pride and innate snobbery where Thelma was concerned, she felt no sense of betrayal. There was no question Channing had deceived her. After the surprise wore off, she’d expected to feel outrage or anguish or loss, some fierce emotional response. In that first flash, she’d pictured a furious confrontation, accusations, recriminations, bitter tears, and remonstrances. Instead, the revelation simply allowed her to step away from her life and take another look. She had no doubt the affair would have an impact, but for the moment she couldn’t anticipate the form it would take. She was operating on autopilot, going about her business as though nothing had changed.
    An hour and a half later, she turned left off Pacific Coast Highway onto the steep, twisting road that led to their primary residence. Channing had purchased the last buildable half acre along the ridge. The lot was dominated by the sprawling glass-and-steel structure he’d commissioned. She experienced a strange form of agoraphobia each time she returned. There were no trees and therefore no shade. The views were stunning, but the air was dry and the sunlight was unrelenting.