The War of the Roses by Warren Adler

make out the tension in her face.
    'I think we should talk,' she said gently. His heart lurched as his mind leaped at the possibility of a reconciliation. It was too tempting to ignore. He wondered how he should play it. That depended on the degree of her contrition, he decided. Please, let God be magnanimous, Oliver urged.
    He followed her into the library. She turned on one of the Tiffany lamps and the soft glow enveloped her as she wiped her hands on her apron. Lady Macbeth. He smiled at the errant image. She sat down on the edge of one of the leather chairs, remarkably cool and businesslike. He wondered if it was an ominous sign, and was quickly rewarded for his curiosity.
    'You can't stay here, Oliver,' she said crisply . 'Not now.' Her voice was soft but firm. He was ashamed of his hopefulness.
    'It's a question of facing reality,' she said, sighing. 'I just feel it will be better for all parties. Including the kids.'
    'Leave them out of this,' he snapped, recalling Goldstein.
    She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. 'Yes. I suppose you're right. But certainly it won't be a healthy situation.' What troubled him most was her command of herself. Her firm assertion. You've come a long way, baby, he thought. Why are you doing this to me?
    His gaze washed over the room that he had created, the rubbed-walnut shelves, the rows of leather-bound books, filled with so much now-useless wisdom.
    'I thought I offered you a most reasonable solution,' he said, trying to capture his usual lawyerlike demeanor when dealing with clients. But the tremor in his voice gave him away.
    'Not to me,' she said quietly.
    'Reasonable? To take everything. Leave me with nothing. That's reasonable?' His voice started to rise, but he remembered Goldstein's caution.
    'It's my payment for being your security blanket for nearly twenty years. I can't possibly earn in five years what you can earn in one. No matter how great my business goes. For me, that's reasonable.'
    He started to pace about the room, touching objects. He stuck a finger into one of the cubbies of the rent table and spun it around.
    'I've invested so much of myself in this place. Surely as much as you.' He was being deliberately calm, trying to hold in his temper. He looked down at her. She seemed cold, clear-eyed. Unbending. 'I can't believe you're so ruthless about this, Barbara, considering all we shared for eighteen years.'
    'I'm not going to yield to any guilt trip, Oliver. I've come to grips with that. The problem for you to understand is that I'm thinking only of myself f or the first time in my life.'
    'And the kids?'
    'Believe me, I intend to fully discharge my responsibilities.' She frowned. 'Now who's using the kids?'
    'It's just not clear, Barbara. If I understood it, maybe I could be more tolerant.'
    'I know,' Barbara said, with what seemed like a hint of compassion. She bit her lip, a normal gesture for her when she was troubled. 'I'm changed, that's all. Not the old me. Any explanation sounds cruel. I don't want to be cruel.'
    ' "The lady doth protest too much, methinks." '
    'That's one of them. One of the things I detest so much in you, Oliver. All those literary allusions that forced me to ask for explanations, as if they were a proof of your superiority.'
    'Pardon me for having lived.'
    'Now you're getting hostile.'
    I need you, Goldstein, he shouted to himself, brushing his hands through the air as if that would dispel the conversation. Goldstein had warned him not to deal with her directl y. But how could he avoid her, living under the same roof?'
    'Did you truly expect an y other response?' he said quietl y.
    'It won't matter. I have to think of the long pull for myself.' She stood up and again wiped her hands on her apron. 'I'm sorry, Oliver. I know it seems selfish. But I have to protect my future.'
    'You're inhuman,' he snapped.
    'I can't help your perception.'
    He turned to the library entrance and paused, emptying his mind of false hopes.
    'I don't intend to