“So how are things at the office, Dorothy? Are you having a tough time
with the Boss not around? Do you need any help from me? I can volunteer for any
absent employees in case your company has a deadline to meet! Feel free to tell
me.”
Dorothy looked at her warily. Whatever had come over this woman? Why was
a busy writer volunteering for proof-reading and editing? That too, when the
Boss was not around! She smelt a fish. Cautiously she said, “Things are just
fine, Martha. Nothing that we can’t handle! Thanks for your offer anyway. It was
very kind of you.” She had guessed that Norman had told Martha to find out how
the office was functioning in his absence. She resented the implied distrust in
his behavior. Didn’t Norman trust her? Why did he ask this woman to gauge the
situation in his office? She felt
uneasy.
After a while, Martha realized that the other woman had just clammed up
and there was no point in trying to offer for help. She started talking about
the weather and her favorite soap operas. For Dorothy, warning bells rang in
her head as she wondered whether her Boss was having an affair on the sly with
this plump, middle-aged woman and whether she would be her Boss in the near
future. She had often fancied herself in the managing Director’s chair. Where
did that leave her? She felt her hands becoming clammy. She mustered a faint
smile as the other woman warmly bade her “Good Bye. Have a nice day!”
Martha almost pitied Dorothy. This was one classic case of a “Secretary
loves her Boss but he loves someone else” syndrome. She knew that she was up in
arms against a powerful ‘other woman’. She groaned inwardly, as she started her
car and started driving back home. She even cursed Norman for sending her to
face her bête noire! Had he done it on purpose, to have a hearty laugh at her
expense? Did he know that his secretary fancied him? Had he ever had an affair
or even a fling with that slim, super-efficient Dorothy? She shuddered as she
wondered about what fate had in store for her. Though she had written about
such situations, umpteen times in her stories, she had just experienced her
protagonists’ thoughts.
******************************************************************************
Norman was
watching over Nancy, as she lay, fast asleep on her huge bed. She was snoring
softly. But her lined face appeared
twisted in agony. The cancer had ravaged
her thoroughly. It had appeared
insidiously in her small intestine and then tenaciously overtaken the
surrounding organs too. The physicians
were treating her with chemotherapy but had failed to halt the swift progress
of the malignancy.
Life for Nancy
had become an unending round of pathology labs, hospitals, chemo sessions,
medicines and misery. Whatever she
ingested was vomited out. Each bout of
retching drained her. Physically, she
was battered. Her bald pate, a result of
the harsh chemo-therapy, her sallow skin, sunken owlish eyes, parched lips and
dry skin; made her appear 80 rather than the 50 that she was!
When her eyes
were open, that is, when she was awake, Norman couldn’t bear to see the immense
pain, desperation and helplessness that he saw in them. He’d realize, with sorrow, that it was those
same grayish- blue eyes that had attracted him towards her. He remembered how she had been a vivacious
young lady, in her early twenties, 22 to be precise, when she had first met him
as a rookie reporter for the ‘Standard News’ daily. She was about to interview him about the
bestseller that had sold a million copies.
That novel ‘Dogma’ had been published by his publishing house and had
been widely acclaimed and even nominated for the Booker award.
“Please may I
come in Sir?” she had asked anxiously, one bright morning, at 9 a.m. “I’m sorry
that I’m five minutes late. The traffic
on the highway, you know…..” she was babbling apologetically, as he had
appraised her from toe to top, taking in her sensible black pumps, black pencil
skirt, a white linen top with ruffles at the neck, slim watch and belt, a
heart-shaped pendant with a sparkling sapphire dangling enticingly between her
pert breasts, heaving slightly due to her anxiety, shoulder-length open hair
(brunette, he observed) and then her pretty, flushed face, devoid of any
make-up. Her spectacles framed in fiber-glass,
added to her beauty and made her appear intelligent and smart.
He brusquely
cut her short. “It’s all right
lady. You’re forgiven. Your name is Nancy, right. Let’s start the interview right away. I have an urgent meeting in the next hour!”
She was miffed
by his curtness but attracted by his powerful persona. A strong face, thick hair, broad shoulders
and natty suit in brown. Was he really a
publisher? He should’ve been in the
movies.
“Well, …….. ?”
Norman inquired as he saw her open-mouthed gaze fawning over him. Rolling his eyes, he egged her on, “Hurry up,
will you?” Those fascinating blue-grey eyes were irresistible. He was drowning in her eyes.
The interview
began in right earnest. It ended with
Norman asking her out to dinner that very night.
Over several
other dates, both Norman and Nancy realized that they gelled very well. Both were the answer to each others'
dreams. What else could they have
wanted? Why would they waste time and
youth then? They were married in a
simple, yet elegant ceremony in the local cathedral.
Norman sighed
as he remembered their wedding photograph splashed across all the papers, the
next morning. “Wealthy publisher marries
young reporter” “A fairy-tale wedding”, “The ‘write’ match” and so on screamed
the headlines. They had laughed at the
brouhaha and nonchalantly proceeded to the Swiss Alps for their honeymoon.
Over the
following 5 years, life was picture-perfect.
Two kids, Angel and Merci had filled their lives with sunshine and
happiness. Nancy was a full-time
home-maker then. Content to bask in her
husband’s glory and watch her kids growing up.
But the good things in life never last.
And so it happened with their marriage too.
To be continued....
The copyright of this novel is with Mrs. Priya Ramesh Swaminathan.
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