Barrister Thompson Unlatched: Part 1

By P. Bellamy

Evelyn experienced a perfect storm when everything that grounded her and provided her life purpose was shattered. Her children left for university and to begin their lives. Her father died; on the same week her husband began an affair. Her brother was murdered keeping her in a trench of grief.Evelyn offered her husband time to end his affair and

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing
• Release date: Oct 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9781638378921

P. Bellamy

P. Bellamy expresses her art talents in interior design, photography, painting, product design, cooking, and writing. She is a world traveler. This book has been developed through her many experiences and her passion for life and family.

Book preview

MEET THE BARRISTER

D

eparting the Royal Courts of Justice today, my emotions are in a state of shock. I am sad, depressed, and distraught. Stepping on the sidewalk, I walk straight into him. My papers fly out of my hand; my shoulder purse slips to my wrist. I am disheveled and embarrassed by my lack of composure. He reaches for my arm to steady me. He stoops to collect my papers. He straightens the papers and hands them to me. We stare at each other for a moment. He smiles with the most infectious smile. He reaches into his vest pocket and hands me, his business card. It reads, Barrister Edward C. Thompson. He says, Please call upon me should you need anything.

I came to London for the legal declaration of my divorce. I chose to stay here for a few days to take care of some business regarding my financial situation and my London house. That was the reason I found a need to call upon Barrister Edward C. Thompson. After our awkward meeting on the street, we meet at his office the next day. My business face is on, and I make no mention of my weakness from the day before. After we conduct our business, he asks if I would like a cup of tea at the little shop at the corner. I do not see any harm. I have been talking, and I am very thirsty.

It is a beautiful spring day, and we choose to sit outside. Many people stroll by our café table as we sip our tea. Edward orders a few macaroons. They are sweet, with the most delightful colours of pink, orange, and yellow. Our conversation covers a variety of subjects. It is very proper and not too detailed, but somehow, I feel as though he can read my mind.

He makes the kindest comments and is complimentary about everything I say. He is formal and proper. I can tell he is not the type to relax and allow anyone to penetrate his armor. He is tightly bound, and only through conversation does he express the slightest emotion. He sits back in his chair and looks at me. Sunlight reflects off a window across the street; bright light streams across my face. He leans forward to take my hand. He says, Oh my, you are beautiful.

I softly smile, saying, Thank you.

He sits forward a minute or two staring at me. He says, I am sorry to stare; it is not often I get to see such beauty.

The sun begins to wane as the late afternoon arrives. Please excuse me. I am meeting some friends for dinner. As he holds my hand, I lift it away from him. I smile at him.

He looks straight into my eyes and asks, Will I see you again?

My reaction to his formal behavior is also reserved, as I chose not to answer. I give him a shy smile and say, Thank you for a lovely afternoon. I turn and walk away from him.

I wonder what Barrister Edward C. Thompson thinks about me. Here I am, this tiny, petite woman with a crown of blond hair. I am fifty-one years old and now divorced. I present myself as a savvy, professional business woman, which I am. I do run a farm. I am an interior designer and contractor. I hold a BFA in fine arts and a master’s in architecture. My assets allow me to fund operations to maintain my London house as well as my family house and farm in York. One of my greatest strengths is organization and setting the stage for a party or any occasion. I am a caring and compassionate person who is generous and kind. My exterior is small and sweet. My bright smile and personality are welcoming and approachable.

I think about Barrister Edward Thompson. He has wrinkles at the outer corners of his eyes and silver in his hair with rich blue eyes. His build is tight and muscular, but thin, not bulky. The corners of his lips curl, exposing a bright smile. He is kind, sincere, and respectful. He is patient and a great listener. He is very handsome.

I chose to stay at the Ritz Hotel, as it is convenient to the train station and the courts, where my business in London convenes. Several of my dear friends from York have travelled to London to take me to dinner tonight. As I arrive at my hotel, the lift stops at the third floor, and I enter my room. I lay out my evening dress and jewelry. I did not bring my wedding ring, since I am no longer married. Everyone else will be wearing their’s. I choose to wear a simple pendant and small post earrings. Not my usual dash of sparkle and shine. Today, reality hit. I am not a married woman. I feel sad, but I pull myself together and slip on my beautiful light-blue beaded gown. The last three and a half years have been difficult. Tonight is a new night! I am going out to dinner with dear friends. It is the first night I have been single in more than two and half decades.

I enter the lift, and in seconds it whisks me downstairs to a waiting group of cackling and humming women. They have ordered a bottle of champagne, and I am handed a glass as I step towards them. My eyes move around the circle of friends, and I am impressed with the beauty, elegance, and intelligence of the group. We are all well-educated and accomplished women. There is a doctor, an accountant, an attorney, two interior designers (me and Nora), and a school headmaster in our group. I have known these women for more than twenty years. We have played tennis together every week at my house in York.

As we adjourn to the dining room, sweet, soft music fills the air, with songs from America. Frank Sinatra is singing, his voice as crisp as a fall morning and as silky as my chemise. The dining room is beautiful. Pale pink chiffon streams across the ceiling and gathers in the center. Hanging from the center of the circular room is a large sparkling ball. When the stage light rotate, light rays reflect off the ball, and speckles of light twinkle across the room. The room looks magical. Our table is a large round banquette with white linens. Hydrangeas of blue and pink are in small glass vases on each table. A petite lamp with a tiny shade flickers light on our table. Our group of six women is more beautiful than the surroundings.

After our drink service, a large, highly polished silver cart is ushered in by the waiter to our table, offering prime rib and mashed potatoes or pomme frites. Soon the waiter brings a large bowl of crisp vegetables (lettuce, tomatoes, carrots, beets, spinach, watercress, and hard-boiled eggs) and spins a lovely creamy dressing around the bowl, gently mixing it before serving. The salad course is colourful and refreshing.

For dessert, the Ritz Hotel is featuring a floating island. A soft, fluffy meringue is poached, and a delicious caramel sauce surrounds the meringue. The chef tops the dessert with a star anise. The pungent flavor of the anise drifts across the spoon. It is rather dreamy. The dessert is light and full of flavor.

The volume of the music lifts. My attention is drawn to an elegant voice singing A Lovely Way to Spend an Evening. Many of the diners now dance under the sparkling ball. Some of my party has gone to powder their nose. I sit quietly listening to the song, stirring my floating island.

Suddenly I hear, Hello, Evelyn! I look up, and there stands Barrister Edward Thompson! What a treat to see him twice on the same day. His presence is breathtaking. He is wearing a midnight-blue tux. His attention towards me is provocative. He asks me to dance.

I shake my head no, replying, It has been years.

He holds out his strong, muscular hand. As I take his hand, he kisses mine, and then he escorts me onto the dance floor.

He guides us beneath the sparkling ball. He dances lovely, I float with his embrace. He smiles, staring into my eyes. He moves as close to me as possible. Our bodies touch. I inhale deeply. He lifts my chin and provides me a long, passionate kiss.

When we return to the table, I introduce the barrister to my friends. He excuses himself to rejoin his party. With his arm around my waist, he pulls our bodies together, facing each other. I feel his arousal between us. He bends towards me. As his lips brush my ear, he whispers, Would you have dinner with me tomorrow evening?

It will be my last night in London, but I agree.

He kisses me, whispering, I shall call upon you at the hotel at eight o’clock. Oh, it’s formal. He moves his head in front of me, searching for my approval. He smiles, kisses me, and departs.

My friends are giggling and laughing at my awkwardness around Barrister Thompson. They gather around me, asking, Who is that man? Where did you meet him? He has some nerve coming over asking you to dance.

I look at my friends’ faces and smile. I proceed to explain, "I met him outside the court after the declaration of my divorce yesterday. I walked straight into him.

Perhaps it has been too long since anyone has paid attention to me. He did not look at me as tonight’s à la carte or furniture. Perhaps his interest in me is that he thinks I am an attractive woman. Whatever his intention, I do feel pretty and like a woman.

Those gabbing girls suggest I entertain the idea of spending more time with him. They say, Honey, you are glowing.

I guess I am shy or lack confidence, but I did already agree to dinner tomorrow. It is hard to believe that I would agree so quickly when I am just divorced. I can’t even think of myself as datable since I was married, and for so many years. I blush at the thought.

My girls all point and laugh. They all agree it is perfectly proper.

It is difficult to describe how I felt with Barrister Thompson tonight. To be held in the arms of a man (other than my now ex-husband) was a surprise. We danced in the middle of the floor—and the way he held me. His smile is wide and bright. Mostly, he makes me feel desired. His voice is comforting, rich, and deep.

For a few moments, I wonder who his voice reminds me. Of course! He sounds like Ronald Colman. I think about movies Ronald Colman starred in, that are my favourites. I love Lost Horizons and Random Harvest. I think James Hilton wrote the books with Ronald Colman in mind.

As the taxis line up at the front of the restaurant and my dear friends begin to disband, I hug each one and thank them for coming all the way to London tonight. Most of my friends have a house in London. They keep their London homes for social and family gatherings but especially for seasonal balls.

As I open my hotel room door, dread comes upon me. My friends knew me in much happier times when I shined, as I hosted the parties at my London house, especially for the Winter Ball.

MY PAST

Y

esterday, I became legally divorced from my husband after twenty-seven years of marriage. I have adored my husband since we met in the summer, when we were eighteen years old. Early in our marriage, my husband wandered between jobs and finally chose to return to school to obtain his master’s degree. I worked and put him through school as he attended a few morning classes and spent the rest of the day at the pub. He did not help with cooking, dishes, or anything household related. I loved him. I did the best I could to make it through the thin times.

Not a day since I met my husband did I entertain thoughts or actions of another man. My father, a military man, taught me commitment. If you say you are going to do something, you do it. I had no reason to look towards other men. My husband was handsome and smart. He eventually worked as a stockbroker, and his income was well above average. We have two children, a girl, and a boy, who are now in their mid-twenties.

Our life was wonderful. We had it all! We had a nice house, country club position. We shared our love and passion with our friends and family. Our happiness exuded and radiated to all who knew us. I am an excellent cook and hosted many dinner parties. I renovated our hundred-year-old house as the designer and contractor. I played tennis three days a week with my girls. Angela and William were our closest friends, and we got together at least twice a week.

Our house was always filled with family and friends. We held many informal gatherings with food and drink. There was always opportunity to gather.

Then a perfect storm hit my life. My father died, my husband detached, my brother was murdered, my children left for university, and my dearest Betty (my mother-in-law) was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.

My husband relied on me to facilitate any actions or responsibilities required towards our family. I hired a cleaning service for his mother, as well as lawn care and personal care. My husband knew I was his reliable source.

When my father died, my husband lost his way. He questioned his own mortality and went in search of himself. He had several affairs and had prostitutes in various cities. He met a woman identical to him. She was a narcissist, selfish and condescending—a mirror of what my husband had become.

Their relationship existed for three and a half years before I faced the truth. The timing could not have been worse for me. Nearing the end of the perfect storm, I was diagnosed with a rare form of muscular dystrophy. I lived with so much pain and loss. No one knew what I was experiencing.

Many times I cried for my husband to help. Even small things like organizing his mother’s medication. Never did he come to help. He was so entrenched his personal activities were his priority.

I knew my husband was unfaithful, but I prayed he would recognize my suffering and pain. I needed him to love me and help me get through the darkest days of my life. Instead, he became detached and found more opportunities not to come home.

My husband most frequently shared company with a woman who was not the kind easily satisfied. She had bottle-red hair and no eyelashes. She had a pudgy kind of body. Her breast implants were huge. Her capped teeth looked like Chiclets. She competed with everyone in her path. She thought she had won the beauty contest. But make no mistake, she was no beauty queen. She would not be the type who would rally for world peace or take care of orphans. Her goal was self-centered. She had been married three times and was married when she began the affair with my husband.

For the majority of this time; I thought my husband was unaccustomed to coming home to a wife who was grieving. I was always the happy, positive one! My father and my brother had died, I became an empty nester, my dearest Betty had Alzheimer’s disease, and I was doomed to a future of being disabled. Not another person on earth could handle all these life events without some depression and grief. I admit these events affected my usual happy and positive personality.

On the days my husband returned home, he grew more angry and violent towards me. He would grit his teeth and slap me, push me down, scream into my face. I did nothing to cause his displeasure. In fact, I went out of my way to double my efforts to care for his needs. I made him three meals a day. I handled all his laundry, his aging mother, his household chores, and our children. He literally had nothing to worry about. I took care of everything. I knew the fight was inside him.

I had more dignity than to lower myself into a competition with his whore. I was his wife! I had nothing to gain. I provided my husband with time to end the relationship, but he couldn’t. I filed for divorce. Divorce is against my Catholic principles and morals. I met with a priest several times, and he told me I had done nothing wrong. My life was in danger. Violence was no way to live. My husband put me in a position of opposing my character and beliefs.

I repeated to myself for months, I deserve better than this. I deserve better than the way I have been treated. Here today, after the legal end, I make an astonishing revelation. My ex-husband does not deserve me. I am too good for him. It seems crazy, but I have come full circle. I worried why I was not good enough, but the truth is, he was not good enough for me. I deserve someone who would walk on burning coals and adore me while doing it. I deserve someone who watches my hands reach for something and meets my hands to help. I deserve a partner who completes me. My ex-husband did not adore me. He did not complete me. I was treated as a servant, no better. The long and short of it is that I was taken for granted.

Honestly, I tried harder to keep our marriage together. We had a lifetime of many experiences, travel, and history. We had two children. I could not imagine losing all this. The priest told me to find a place safe from the violence. God knows I did the best I could to keep my marriage together. I have no blame in creating the ill feelings my husband had for me and our marriage. I told the priest that I upheld my vows, and I was always kind and thoughtful. I loved my husband, and I wanted us to return to our former blessed life.

I was very disappointed in my husband’s lack of involvement with our children as they moved into their lives. He never visited the universities or came along to visit our children during the school year or ever again. It is very sad. Both of my children craved their father’s acceptance and affirmation. My husband’s mentality was out of sight, out of mind. To this day, he has never given our children the affirmation or acceptance they needed.

Back at the hotel, I realize I have been sitting at my dressing table for some time recounting my memories and sadness. Should I continue to hold the Winter Ball? It is the day of the year when I feel the excitement and anticipation of using all my talents to present such a special evening. Moreover, what if someone else takes over the Winter Ball? It has been part of our family for nearly a hundred years.

Looking down at my dress from dinner with my girls, I haven’t even finished unbuttoning my gloves. I must return to reality and a good sleep. I am blessed with such wonderful friends, and we had a lovely evening. Oh yes, Barrister Edward Thompson—something to dream about tonight.

TOMORROW NIGHT

T

he early-morning light blasts beams of bright light through a sliver between the drapes. It is a new day. The early purple sunrise turns to a bright yellow, and I ring for my tea. I slip into my silk robe over my nightdress and tie the satin ribbons to secure it. I have a quick passing grin about what will come this evening with Barrister Thompson. I quickly correct my thoughts to prepare for the arrival of my breakfast. I sit down at my desk to pen notes to my lovely girls, thanking them for such a wonderful night. It is nice to share life events with the support of those who lift your heart. I am so blessed to have friends like them.

There is a light tap at my door. I open the door, and a silver cart containing a continental breakfast is ushered in. A serving of fresh-squeezed orange juice (the oranges are from Sevilla, Spain), a glass of Pommery champagne, a bowl of berries, and pain au chocolat with freshly churned butter. In keeping with tradition, there are three bars of chocolate in the crisp, light croissant. In the 145-year tradition, the Ritz Hotel delivers a leather-framed copy of the London Times newspaper. I open it, and the news is not very interesting. At this time the world is at peace (mostly, except for the craziness in the United States and the Middle East), and as always, local factories are having disputes. I did notice the prime minister is holding a dinner tonight for his re-election party. I carefully close the leather-framed cover and finish half of the breakfast.

Today, I have a few errands to run while I am in London. Harrods has received a pair of beige leather gloves I ordered from Italy. I love Italian leather. It is buttery soft, and feeling my hands cradled in the finest leather gives me pleasure. Harrods will have the new summer collection, and I would like a pale blue for the summer.

After shopping, I have lunch with my financial advisor to bring me up to speed on my accounts. The divorce has brought on so much to think about. While I am sure my funds will be ample, I do want to continue to travel and hold my Winter Ball. My advisor assures me there is no concern for many generations.

My London house needs some repairs and renovations. I will design my new plan once I get back to York. I would like to repaint and buy new linens for my bedroom. My husband’s humiliation and the memories, especially sex and sleeping together, have obliterated our love nest. I am thinking of decorating very feminine. I really like the art deco / Hollywood look with the mirrored furniture and shiny duchess satin bedcovers. What about satin sheets!

After my day of errands and window shopping, I stop at a sidewalk café for a cup of tea. I place the lovely olive-green shopping bag with a gold-stamped Harrods that contains the beige and the blue gloves on the chair next to me. I sip my tea and look up to enjoy St. Paul’s Cathedral. It has an amazing dome and brings a sense of tranquility and peace.

I consider my wardrobe for dinner with Barrister Edward Thompson. I feel anxious, nervous, and slightly frightened. I have not been on a date since before I married twenty-seven years ago. Before my marriage, I never dated anyone other than my husband. The barrister is calming and gracious; I am sure it will be an enjoyable evening. His kiss on the dance floor was intriguing because he exposed his emotions and desire for me.

Returning to the Ritz, I am greeted by my London house neighbor. He asks, Why you are staying in a hotel when you could stay at my home?

I love my neighbors Angela and William. William is originally from York, and that is how we became such great friends.

He says, Evelyn, you are always welcome.

On this occasion, I don’t want company. I need some alone time. I have so much to process about becoming divorced. Divorce is the last thing I could have ever imagined happening to me. I would never want to exhibit negative emotions, risking a breakdown at someone else’s house. Even staying at my London house, where I lived with my husband—I am not ready to face. My husband has recently moved out of the London house. The staff has not been alerted to my visit, and nothing would be prepared for my stay.

No one could ever want for better friends than Angela and William. For so many years, we gathered on Friday nights, usually until the wee hours, playing cards, listening to music, or having cocktails. Mostly, being with Angela and William, we laughed. William is a great storyteller, and our history goes back twenty-seven years. I feel close to them and happy to be near them, but the divorce has changed the way I look at things. Do friends and family think of me differently? How will I fit into my social circles being a single person?

They ask me to join them for a polo match in a month’s time. I agree to attend. I stand, asking to be excused. I have dinner plans tonight. I make no mention of Barrister Edward Thompson.

I begin to dress for my dinner date. I call for the hotel attendant to secure the buttons on the back of my evening gown. I dab a few drops of Nocturnes parfumé behind each ear and on each temple, and I allow a drop to run down my cleavage. The only jewelry I am wearing is small diamond hoop earrings and a diamond pendant. I grab my small beaded bag with drawstring handles and leave my room.

The lift delivers me to the lobby. Standing at the center of the stairs in front of the lift, in the most prominent position, is Barrister Edward Thompson. His appearance is like a Hollywood movie star. His tails are pressed precisely, perfectly, and his collar is perfectly stiff. His bow tie is tight and straight. My eyes move towards his face, which is complete with a huge smile and a welcoming demeanor.

As I approach him, his eyes examine me top to bottom. I glance into his eyes, and I slowly turn around. I am wearing a deep-blue beaded gown with a lovely crossover front. The V neckline is very décolleté. The horizontal gathers around the waist of the dress are tight, accentuating my hourglass figure. The skirt hugs my curves. There is a split on either side of the skirt that is open to mid-thigh. My wrap is a white mink bolero. When I turn back around facing Barrister Thompson, he smiles. He leans forward and says, You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

I smile at him. He assists me with my bolero.

I step forward, and he gently takes my hand, placing it on the crook of his arm. I float down the stairs as if I am on a Turkish carpet. As we walk across the lobby of the Ritz, someone to the right flashes a photograph of us. I do not know why. The doormen open both doors to allow us to exit. As we step onto the sidewalk, again a flash, flash, and flash! I turn to look behind us, thinking someone important must be behind us, but no one is there.

The door of a black limousine is being held open by the driver. I sit and lift my legs into the car. I reposition myself to allow Barrister Edward Thompson to follow. He sits very close to me. He rests his hand on my knee as he smiles. He looks into my eyes. Quickly his eyes fall upon my dress and, probably, the cleavage my dress provides. I think he likes what he sees, because he lifts his eyebrows.

Once the car begins to roll forward, Edward whispers an apology for the photographers.

I ask, Why they are taking your photograph?

As if this is not important enough to mention, the words roll out of his mouth. We are having dinner with the prime minister of England tonight.

I lean back, shocked, and ask, Why?

He answers, Because I am the chairman of the prime minister’s re-election campaign.

Our car halts at #10 Downing Street, and there stands a Beefeater on each side of the door, in full regalia. I feel insignificant compared to the English royalty who have gathered here.

After the greeting line, we are served champagne in gold-rimmed glasses, each with five tiny sparkling diamonds embedded in the crystal in a straight row. I handle my glass with the utmost gentleness, hardly sipping a drop but admiring the sparkles of the diamonds.

After I lift the glass for a quick sip, Barrister Thompson, with my hand in the crook of his arm, leads me to a quiet corner. He holds out my arm and steps back to observe my gown. He says, You are the most amazing woman I have ever met. You are gorgeous! It is my honor to hold you on my arm tonight.

I blush. No one has spoken to me like that in years. It feels good to be appreciated and respected.

Suddenly there is a hush around the entire house as the queen and prince arrives. Everyone steps to the walls around the room, to allow the prime minister to greet them. The prime minister leads the queen and prince towards the dining room, and everyone begins to line up. The attendants in the dining room hold their hands out for the ladies and walk them to their seats; the men follow and are seated. The men are seated across from their wives, except me. I am just a date! Looking at the incredible tableware and the people seated around the table, it is obvious,- this is not a typical evening.

The attendants with the cloche dishes stand behind the guests. When everyone is in place, each waiter sets a dish in front of a guest, and all at the same time, they lift the cloches to reveal the beautiful food beneath. The edge of the plate is decorated with tiny violets, and serving herring is the perfect English gesture. It is too beautiful to eat. I pick at mine while the jolly fellow next to me begins introducing himself and his bride of thirty-four years. He is a slight man with white hair and a headful! He is very pleasant, and I enjoy his conversation. Every so often, I nod to his wife in approval of his information.

Barrister Thompson is seated across from me. Candlelight flickers on his face with a warm glow. I am happy to see a fairly familiar face. He looks at me and smiles. His flirts from across the table are welcome, and I feel rather warm inside. In my private thoughts, I yearn for his arms around me. I wonder how it would feel if he made love to me. He sits there with all the proper behavior, but he does make eye contact often, which makes me feel comforted.

My thoughts return to the dining table, and I look around at the group of London elite. They are in a different a stratosphere than me or my guests at the Winter Ball, though my circles of friends are involved with meetings and events with royalty and the English government.

As the eight-course meal continues, the prime minister’s booming voice quiets the table full of guests who want to hear what he is saying. He is very involved with foreign countries and is particularly interested in the American alliance. The queen speaks up to also include the countries of Australia and New Zealand, who are important on the same topic.

I drift for a few minutes, thinking about my trips to Australia and New Zealand. I love the countries and their people. They were genuinely interested