Everything to Gain and a Secret Affair by Barbara Taylor Bradford

fluttered in my stomach. Holding on to the edge of the sink, I calmed myself and endeavored to regain my equilibrium before I walked across the kitchen.
    Eventually, I was able to move.
    I paused at the kitchen table and looked down at my mother.
    It struck me, with a rush of clarity and something akin to shock, that she had probably suffered greatly as a young wife. I should stop my silent condemnation of her. All of my father’s long absences must have been difficult to endure, unimaginably lonely and painful for her. Had there been a mistress? Had a woman called Mercedes really existed? Had there been many other women over the years? Most probably, I thought, with a sinking feeling. My father was a good-looking, normal, healthy man, and when he was younger he must have sought out female company. For as long as I could recall, he and my mother had had separate bedrooms, and this situation had existed long before he had left for good, when I was eighteen. He had stayed in that terrible marriage for me. I had long believed this, had long accepted it. Somehow, today, I knew it to be true.
    Perhaps my mother had experienced humiliation and despair and more heartache than I ever realized. But I would never get the real truth from her. She never talked about the past, never confided in me. It was as if she wanted to bury those years, forget them, perhaps even pretend they never happened. Maybe that was why shewas so remote with me at times. Maybe I reminded her of things she wanted to expunge from her memory.
    My mother was looking up at me.
    She caught my eye and smiled uncertainly, and for the first time in my adult life I asked myself if I had been unfair, if I had done her a terrible injustice all these years.
    â€œWhat is it, Mal?” she asked, her blonde brows puckering, a spark of concern flickering in her hazel eyes.
    I cleared my throat and took a moment to answer. At last I said in a carefully modulated voice, “Nothing, Mom. I’m fine. Listen, I’ve just washed all the lettuce. It’s draining. Could you put it in the fridge in a few minutes, please?” It seemed important to me at this moment to speak of mundane things.
    â€œOf course,” she answered.
    â€œWhat can I do to help, Mal? Should I fix the salad dressing?” Diana asked.
    â€œYes, please, and then perhaps the two of you could take out the hamburger meat and start making the patties.”
    â€œDone,” Diana said, immediately jumping up and going into the pantry.
    Looking at my mother again, I said, “I’m going to go and set the tables.”
    She nodded, smiling at me, and this time her smile was more sure. She turned back to her potato salad, mixing in the mayonnaise.
    Pushing open the kitchen door, I went outside into the garden with Trixy at my heels, leaving the two women alone.
    I paused near the door and took several deep breaths. I felt shaken inside, not only by the memory but by the sudden knowledge that all the years I was growing up I had been terrified my father would leave us forever, my mother and I, terrified that one day he would never come back.

C HAPTER E IGHT
    I t was very hot and airless in the garden, and within seconds my T-shirt was damp and clinging to me. Even Trixy, trotting along next to me, looked slightly wilted; wisely, she flopped down under one of the trestle tables when we reached them.
    Late last night Andrew and I had placed the tables under the trees, and now I was glad that we had.
    The maples and oaks which formed a semicircle near my studio were old, huge, and extravagant, with thick, gnarled trunks and widely spreading branches abundant with leaves. The branches arched up to form a wonderful, giant parasol of leafy green that was cool and inviting and offered plenty of protection from the sun. We were going to need such a shady spot; by one o’clock it would be a real scorcher of a day, just as Nora had predicted to me on Friday.
    Early this morning I had