The (True) Liberation of Kate

By Sheila Hunt

Kate Cummings is a rather romantically minded, warm, passionate woman married to Philip whom, although rather a fire-cracker as a young man, has developed into a cold, taciturn, humourless man, quick to find fault and totally unable or unwilling to put his true feelings into words.

Kate enjoys her job but I very unhappy and frustrated in her marriage. She feels she is taken for granted by her husband and her children just a convenience. Nevertheless, she believes implicitly in the sanctity of marriage and constantly tries to pull the remnants of their marriage in an effort to kid herself and others that she and Phil. have a normal relationship. Eventually, she realizes that she is trying to breath life into a relationship that died years ago; perhaps six years ago when their marriage became one in name only.

Having allowed herself to be talked into buying an unusually daring dress for an office party, she decides to go the whole hog and have her hair professionally cut, styled and coloured, a professional make-up and false fingernails. Her husband, as usual has refused to accompany her but she is thrilled with the compliments, dances with everyone who asks her and drinks far too much champagne. As the evening progresses she lets her hair down completely and exhibits a side of her personality hitherto kept well under wraps.

She is nervous to go to the office on Monday but, after a while, realizes there is no malice in the humourous remarks aimed at her, and, somehow, she has now been accepted into the bosom of the family firm of attorneys, whereas before, although highly respected, she always felt on the periphery.

Her antics at the party have interested David Wilson, the spoilt, arrogant son of the senior partner. David because of his good looks, money and charm has a string of conquests and regards women as being good for his bed and nothing else. Hes intrigued by this new Kate Cummings, so different from the polite, efficient office figure who has worked for his father for fifteen years, He decides it would be amusing to invite her to lunch. However, he finds her a stimulating companion, able and willing to discuss any topic he chooses and with a delightful sense of humour.
Luncheon becomes a regular event and the highlight of Kates week.

Slowly, a passionate , stormy relationship grows between them but Kate suspects she is at the butt of Davids whims and fancies, the same as she is with her family. She is at the cross-roads and must decide which way to go.

Davids father dies. David relentlessly turns the long established firm of family attorneys into a money making machine, politely but firmly causing the old remaining partners to feel like fish out of water and encouraging them to become consultants or take early retirement by bringing in many highly intelligent, ambitious young attorneys, exceptionally articulate and persuasive in their arguments. He eventually makes himself senior partner but begins to realize he has created a monster and does not know how to get off the treadmill! As he brings in more senior personnel they, being the cream, attract more business. In spite of having two secretaries, a personal assistant, an administrative assistant and a team of brilliant attorneys plus extremely efficient junior and senior personnel, the final responsibilities of every aspect of the firm rests on his shoulders. 24 hours a day is not sufficient for David and Kate is worried that he will work himself to death!

Her workload is constantly increasing and in spite of all the latest equipment has to employ a secretary, her eldest daughter who being a chip of the old block soon becomes her right hand.

After eight months of never seeing one another, David devises a scheme whereby he has a half-hour business discussion with Kate every Friday morning. Although she enjoys having a cup of tea and a chat about business and other matters, she is worried about Davids health. Wi

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Sep 17, 2010
• ISBN: 9781453571972

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Kate sighed, for the umpteenth time that evening, picked up her unread book and looked long and hard at her husband of twenty-eight years. There must be more to life than this, she muttered. Hey, Phil remember me? I’m the woman you promised to love and cherish, remember? She crossed to the T.V. switched it off and then turned, staring with loathing at her not so better half lolling in his armchair, glasses slipping off his nose, mouth open emitting the most raucous sounds, or so they appeared to her in her present state of mind; to another they might represent snoring. She went over to him, snatched off his glasses not caring whether she awakened him and marched off to her bedroom, slamming the door hard behind her.

Well, at least I KNOW I won’t be disturbed in here, she shouted at the uncaring walls. Another night of sitting in front of that goggle box with just a tiny light because a brighter light hurts the eyes of my Lord and Master, I’ll go stark staring mad! She plonked down on the bed. It’s not as though there’s anything worth seeing. Night after night we sit in a darkened room, staring at the box in the corner of the lounge, me half dozing and him, HIM mesmerized! She gave a harsh laugh. Even staring at the advertisements as though if he blinked a terrible catastrophe might occur. Mrs Whatsit might decide to stick to her reliable, well tried detergent and not change to the new miracle working BLOMPH! Kate laughed again but realized with a shock that it was closer to a sob. She removed her dressing gown and slippers and slipped into her chaste bed.

Sleep eluded her however. She switched on the bedside lamp, propped up her pillows and picked up her book. Within a few minutes she became uncomfortably aware of a draught from the open window. After she had closed the window, re-adjusted her pillows, tucked her dressing gown around her, changed her position a dozen times, she gave up the idea of reading and replaced her book on the bedroom table.

She then switched on the radio, found a station playing pleasant music, switched off the light and with the music softly playing gave herself up to the usual fantasy. Tonight, however, she felt guilty. Maybe it was because her partner was losing his anonymity and acquiring an identity—a man she saw every day but who couldn’t possibly be interested in her—she was old enough to be his mother!

During breakfast, she made another attempt to communicate with her husband but received the usual non-committal answers, mainly confined to Hm, yeah, umm and no more toast—it sits on my stomach.

After this stimulating discourse, Kate cleared the breakfast things, made far too much lather for such a small amount of dishes and buried her hands in the white foam. Serves him right if I find someone more interesting, she thought rebelliously. She caught sight of her face in the kitchen mirror. Mm, not bad for my age. She would be reaching her fiftieth birthday in a month’s time. She clinically studies her reflection. Not as lined as most women of my age . . . complexion still good . . . healthy looking hair—just a few grey hairs . . . eyes still large and lustrous. Funny, they somehow look younger than the rest of my face. ‘Come to bed eyes’ as they were often called by her ever hopeful boyfriends of yesteryear, prior to meeting Phil.

Realizing that time was galloping on and she had a bus to catch, she took her hands out of the mountain of foam, leaving the dishes in the sink, rinsed her hands under the tap and dried with a tea towel, noticing how her diamond ring sparkled after it’s long soak.

As she refreshed her lipstick, tidied her hair and packed her handbag, her attention was riveted on her diamond ring, which she had worn every day for over twenty-eight years. Suddenly, she whipped off both her wedding and engagement rings and threw them into her dressing table drawer. Feeling liberated she walked quickly to her bus stop.

Hi, Kate. Cutting it fine as usual! the pleasant amused voice belonged to a long-legged young brunette whom Kate had come to know at the bus stop.

Hi, Jean. Kate laughed. I wasn’t sure I’d make it this morning. She walked to the back of the queue, nodding a general ‘good morning’ to all the familiar faces.

You wouldn’t have done. It’s late! . . . Here it is.

The bus, as usual, was crowded. Kate noticed Jean had taken a seat next to an old man with a briefcase and was indicating that there was a vacant sea on the other side of the aisle. With the general bustle she easily feigned she did not see the vacant seat and carried on down to the back of the bus where a lady reluctantly moved her over-large bag to enable Kate to sit.

Normally, she enjoyed chatting with Jean who had a lively mind and an impish sense of humour but this morning she needed to be on her own to think.

Strange, she mused, how I looked forward to the children growing up and leaving home. I knew that Phil and I had grown apart, but I honestly felt that without the children forever in the foreground of our lives we could get to know each other again.

I guess we let things go too far; drifted too far away from each other. A further thought projected itself into her mind. Did we EVER have anything in common? His interests have always been different from mine . . . which is probably why he did his damndest to make me give up mine. Always used the children as an excuse knowing I would never do anything to hurt them. Not that that’s done me any good. Hasn’t increased my worth in their eyes. Probably would have thought more of me had I followed my desires, put my career first. Oh well, there’s no point in dwelling on that—water under the bridge—I made the wrong decision, one of many. What a mess I’ve made of my life!

However, she did daydream, for a while, of how different things would have been had she allowed herself to be guided by her singing teacher instead of her conscience. Had gone ahead with her singing career and taken a chance on losing her children.

Would she have been successful? Her singing teacher was sure—had mapped out a marvelous life, singing all over the world, at the best opera houses—La Scala, Italy, Metropolitan New York, Covent Garden, London. She sighed. Madame had been so sure—had staked her retirement on the fact. Fancy, Madame was confident she could live on 10% of my earnings. What would have been my earnings!!! She was brought out of her reverie by the lady with over-large bag indicating she wished to alight at the next stop. With some difficulty Kate stood up as the bus lurched around the corner. The lady squeezed past, banging her bag against shoulders and heads, apparently oblivious to the dirty looks aimed at her back and the mutterings.

Kate resumed her seat and her musing. What had Phil ever done for this marriage? What has he done to show he wants the marriage? He couldn’t even be bothered with the children . . . makes a terrific fuss of the grandchildren but his own . . . did he ever change a nappy? Ever get up at night, even when they were ill, or I was ill? Did he ever in fact, spend a minute at their bedside when they were ill at any age, day or night? Did he ever help with the homework? . . . NO! everything was my responsibility. The fact that I was also working all day in an office and had to cook dinner and catch up on my chores never meant a thing. By the time she reached her destination she was convinced her marriage had been a mistake; it was a disaster . . . should never have taken place.

Good morning Mrs. Cummings the ever smiling receptionist greeted her.

Morning Ruth

Mrs. White ‘phoned. She said she and her husband would be a little late this morning; the car wouldn’t start or something.

O.K. thanks for letting me know. Is this my mail? I’ll take it now if you don’t mind. She returned Ruth’s smile, hoping she looked more pleasant than she felt, and walked along the corridor to her office. On closing the door she surveyed the piles of folders awaiting her attention and sinking into her chair sighed deeply.

After a few minutes she gave herself a brisk talking to and got down to the day’s business. As she was waiting to talk to a bank official, quietly humming along with the routine recording playing on the line during the transfer, her door opened and in popped the head of her friend Margaret. Is it O.K. if I bring the rest of me in or are you too busy to talk.

Kate laughed. Since when are you too scared to come into my office—boots an’ all?

Margaret entered the office, glancing down at her dainty shoes. Sorry luv, but I ain’t got me boots! They both laughed and she sat down on the comfortable chair on the opposite side of Kate’s desk.

Kate commented on the slowness of bank officials in responding to their ringing telephones and indicated that they could chat whilst she was waiting.

Kate I don’t want to interfere. Tell me its none of my business if you wish but Ruth told me this morning you looked very upset when you arrived and your voice was hoarse. Are you sick or something? You don’t look your usual cheerful self.

Kate looked into the troubled eyes of her friend of many years standing. Maggie, its sweet of you and Ruth to worry about me but really its nothing . . . I just got out of the wrong side of the be . . . be . . . be-ed and to her chagrin burst into tears.

Margaret practically sprang over the desk to take her into her arms, rocking her back and forth as if she were a child and murmuring there, there.

After a good cry, in which she had not indulged for years—not on her own behalf anyway, and many tissues, she poured out the truth, as she saw it of her marriage.

Margaret was shocked. My dear, I’ve never met Philip, but I always thought . . . from what you said . . . I had no idea—you’re always so cheerful and smiling. You’ve even straightened me out once or twice when I’ve had a fight with Harry. Kate . . . Kate, you’re not thinking . . . Oh surely not, after all these years . . . you’re not thinking of divorce?

I don’t know what to think Kate said in a dead voice. I just know that all these years I’ve been kidding myself that Phil and I had some sort of relationship. Our marriage has certainly not been made in heaven or anything like it, but we rubbed along pretty well . . . but for the last eight years or so, since the children grew up and did their own thing . . . I’ve been such a fool! I should have realized that the only attraction Phil had for me was the fact that he was the first and only man with whom I made love.

Margaret gasped How . . .

Kate continued in the same dead tone. It’s laughable I know. I know now how green I was but I was brought up with the old fashioned idea that a girl remained virgin until she married and then stayed true to her man till death do they part. Silly isn’t it. She blew her nose hard. You see . . . you see Maggie, I had broken the rules. She gave a watery smile. As they say in the classics ‘my flower had been plucked’ before marriage so I had to put that right. Stupid isn’t it. I didn’t even realize what I was doing at the time. I’ve often asked myself why I married a man with whom I had nothing in common, but I’ve never realized the true answer until now. She blew her nose again. threw away the tissue and picked up a folder from the top of the pile. Margaret, I’m sure I don’t have to ask you but you will keep this conversation confidential, won’t you?

Margaret patted her gently on the shoulder Of course my dear . . . I wouldn’t dream . . . you know what you tell me will never get past these walls. I’m so sorry. Will you be alright? Would you like me to drive you home?

You’ve done wonders for me, just listening. Kate assured her, speaking almost in her normal tone of voice. Funny, but even after all these years, now I know the truth, it’s as though a burden is rolling off my back. Thanks again for listening. I guess we had better get down to what we are paid to do. She glanced at her watch Gee, I’ve got some people coming to sign their documents in half an hour’s time, or, possibly, I hope, a little later. They’ve apparently got car trouble.

The ‘phone, having long since been placed back on it’s cradle by Margaret, was now picked up again by Kate who dialed the bank’s number once more. I’d better get this information before they arrive, otherwise, I’ll cause them further delay. She smiled gratefully at her friend Thanks Maggie . . . Oh! Please tell Ruth I appreciate her concern but I only have a slight cold. O.K.?"

CHAPTER TWO

Kate, being a level headed person, after her short spasm of rebellion, settled down to her usual, somewhat humdrum, existence. After she and Phil had arrived home from their daily jobs, she would warm up the T.V. dinners in the microwave and make a salad or concoct a very quick meal from the contents of the refrigerator. Phil would pour a couple of beers and put out some potato chips. All was consumed with less than a dozen words. After their sparse repast, Phil would retire to his bedroom, lie on his bed and read a book and Kate would do a few chores around the house and then bath, donning her nightdress and dressing gown.

After switching on the lounge light she would read a magazine article or do a crossword puzzle, sighing resignedly when Phil arrived from his bath, switched on the T.V. and switched off the light. Sometimes, Kate, muttering an excuse, would take her book or magazine to her bedroom and attempt to read there but the lights were all wrong. The ceiling light threw its main light onto the bottom of the bed, causing her to perch on the end and arrange her body in an uncomfortable position so as not to throw her shadow on the page. The bedside lamp had a most attractive shade but, because of its design, was dull and lit up only the right side of the bed and due to the design of the furniture did not light up the pillow area and again she had to perform contortions.

One day, she read in a mail order magazine about a light designed just to light up the page of a book and discussed this with Phil. After looking at the article he said No need to send for that . . . cost a fortune in batteries anyway. I’ve got a lamp in the garage I’m sure I can adapt. He did, but it was short-lived because no matter how she adjusted it, Phil complained the light hurt his eyes.

Over the weekend, a major change took place at No. 6 Elm Avenue. From being quiet it became rather noisy. Both of their daughters had made disastrous marriages, which had ended in abandonment and pregnancy. Patricia who preferred to be called Tricia, the eldest daughter worked hard during the week but regarded the 48 hours from Friday evening to Sunday evening as ‘joling’ time. One cannot ‘jol’ too well, accompanied by a child so it had become customary for her to leave James with his grandparents for the weekend and for them to return him to his mother on Sunday evening.

Carol divorced and struggling financially, in spite of her mother’s more than generous help was a far more conscientious, although over protective mother, to her pretty little daughter Fiona. They lived close by and her yellow jalopy could be seen more often than not parked in the driveway of No. 6 weekends and public holidays.

Kate dearly loved her children and grandchildren but heartily wished them elsewhere weekends. Being together for some hours always brought out the worst sides of their nature and enlarged the chips they had on their shoulders. Carol, highly critical of everyone was especially critical of James and James was openly aggressive towards his aunt. Phil shouted at everyone and was excessively curt towards Kate. For some unknown reason he felt that pleased Carol. Carol’s doting attitude towards her daughter caused feelings of jealousy and insecurity in James, which resulted in his general insolence and, if he thought he could get away with it, a pinch or two on Fiona.

Phil and Kate felt it unfair that they should be burdened with James every weekend; a boy who kicked against authority, would not co-operate and was so destructive. Kate knew, if she insisted, Tricia would accept the responsibility of her own child but at what price! Knowing the self-willed, rather selfish personality of her eldest daughter she could not take the chance. Fiona was a delightful little girl but becoming very spoilt and quick to take advantage of the unusual situation. Weekends were something to be endured rather than enjoyed!

Kate always looked forward to returning to the office on Monday,