Four Wives Read Online Free PDF

Looking down onto her property, a magnificent eight acres of rolling hills and delicate gardens, she pushed from her mind the details that needed to be tended. A patch of bark on one of the oaks that was black with the fungus that had been spreading across the town, the chewed evergreens that were evidence of a hole in the deer fencing. There would always be something, and there would be time for a list later in the day when the groundskeeper arrived. For now, she needed the feel of cool air on her legs as it swept under her nightgown, the faint warmth of the sun on her face. It was in these small moments of peace that she had come to live.
    Under her bedroom floor, she could hear the sound of dishes as Paul prepared the breakfast. There would be fresh ground coffee whose odor would fill the kitchen and linger for hours, eggs, fruit, and cereal for Oliver, her six-year-old son. The table would be set with her grandmother’s china, delicate antique silver, and soft linen napkins. Oliver would sit quietly wishing he could watch TV, but he would sit just the same because he was coming to understand his world, and the importance of his upbringing. They would discuss their plans, what he might do with the day off from school, one of those staff-development vacations that never seemed to result in a more developed staff. She thought about the chapter of
Harry Potter
they were reading together, and how she would do her best to step outside of her inhibitions to perform the voices properly’the way that made him laugh.
    Six-year-old feet bounded down the back stairs to the kitchen. Oliver was up and hoping to make it down before his mom so he could sneak in a few minutes of cartoons. Gayle smiled to herself as she walked to her dressing room, taking her time, thinking that a few minutes couldn’t hurt. She pulled the nightgown over her head, then carefully dressed herself in the blouse and silk slacks she’d laid out the night before. Like her friend Love, Gayle was a tall woman, though she lacked the soft, feminine curves that drew people in. Instead, she had a stalwart presence, a businesslike aura that she subconsciously fostered with conservative clothing and a short, blond “do,” a signature mark of professional women from the prior decade. She kept with the old school of fashion. Chanel suits, Gucci shoes and handbags, Tiffany pearls. It made people take her seriously, and allowed her to maintain a safe distance from the endless array of vultures who wanted a piece of the Haywood pie.
    Gayle gave her hair a quick comb-through and applied some cream foundation. She chose her shoes, soft Italian leather slides, then descended the back stairs.
    “Good morning, Mrs. Beck.” As expected, Paul was in the kitchen arranging the breakfast trays.
    “Good morning, Paul. How are you?”
    “Very well, thank you. Coffee?” Paul asked, pausing in his task of folding the napkins to address her properly, face to face.
    “Thank you.” Gayle sat on a bar stool at the kitchen island as she watched him pour the coffee into a china cup, the same way he did every morning. Always dressed neatly in black slacks and a white button-down shirt’a self-imposed uniform’he was a presence in the house from sunup to sundown, unobtrusively tending to their every need. His official role was to serve as the cook, though his competence and easy manner had led to an expansion of his duties over the years. With gentle eyes, closely cropped gray hair, and a smile that was genuine, the fifty-two-year-old servant had imbued the Beck household with a peaceful sense of order, and been Gayle’s daily tonic for nearly three years.
    Returning the smile, Gayle accepted the cup as he placed it in front of her from the other side of the island. She closed her eyes and inhaled the familiar aroma. The room was warm with the morning sun, and Gayle let the sensation drift within her. This room, the fine coffee, the sunshine, and, of course, Paul were like a warm