The Other Side of Love Read Online Free PDF

honeymoon bridge or rummy.
     
    His mother had fanned her cards on the tooled green leather.
    “Gin,”
    she’d said, her tone pleased yet not triumphant. Rossie Wyatt Kingsmith was a great one for driving a hard bargain with wholesalers, yet with her spouse she was non-competitive, nurturing, protective. She never snowed him up when he struck a bad business deal or nagged him to stop his harmless boasting.
     
    “The card shark strikes again,”
    Wyatt said.
     
    They both turned.
     
    “Wyatt.”
    Humphrey beamed.
    “You’re home early.”
     
    “We were just about to have ice-cream,”
    Rossie said.
     
    “Thanks, Mom, but none for me. On the way home I grabbed a steak and some cheesecake.”
     
    This was the cook’s night off, so Rossie went to the kitchen. Wyatt waited until she’d set down the crystal bowls before springing his news.
     
    “Well, it looks as if I’ll bump into you two in Berlin,”
    he said in a casual tone.
     
    “What?”
    Humphrey’s spoon halted halfway to his mouth. He had worked endlessly to convince Wyatt to join in the Kingsmith reunion at the Games.
    “You’re spending Jkigust in Newport, aren’t you?”
    w
    “Well, it’s like this, Dad,”
    Wyatt said.
    “That was arranged before I promised to represent my country on the basketball squad.”
     
    “You’ll be playing in the Olympics? How absolutely ripping!”
    Humphrey lapsed into the slang of his English schooldays as he hugged Wyatt.
    “They must have heard how good you are.”
     
    “I wouldn’t put it quite like that.”
    Wyatt was grinning. His friends”
    big complaint was that they never satisfied their fathers, but Humphrey formed a one-man fan club.
    “The team all work at Universal Studios. Because of this Jewish thing in Germany, the studio refused to support them financially. Some of the guys couldn’t afford passage or to take the time off. They needed players. I applied. The coach, it seems, was at the Columbia-Yale basketball game.”
     
    “So he saw for himself how good you are!”
    Humphrey chortled.
    “I can’t wait to cable everybody!”
     
    Rossie had been staring down at her ice-cream, which, being homemade, was melting rapidly. Her hair was neat, her face perfectly
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    made up, yet she looked vaguely dishevelled.
    “What about your friend in Newport?”
    she asked.
     
    “St John’ll understand.”
     
    “You promised to spend the month with him.”
     
    “What’s come over you, Rossie?”
    Humphrey asked.
    “Wyatt’s received a great honour.”
     
    “Berlin …
    “
    Rossie spoke softly, as if to herself, then added firmly:
    “You shouldn’t break a commitment.”
     
    “Hey, it’s great the way you’re cheering me on,”
    Wyatt snapped. He finger-combed his hair.
    “Sorry, Mom,”
    he said quietly.
    “I’m bushed, is all.”
     
    “Go on to bed, dear.”
     
    He was too keyed up to sleep. He sat at his sleek modern desk, writing to St John, explaining why he wouldn’t be able to make it this summer. He paid a couple of bills, balanced his ten-plan chequebook. He showered. He was in bed reading a Dashiell Hammett mystery when a single tap sounded on the door.
     
    “It’s me,”
    Rossie called softly.
     
    “Come on in,”
    he said, splaying the book.
     
    Her tailored navy-blue silk robe was neatly tied, her brown hair smooth, yet once again Wyatt had a sense that his trim mother wasn’t well groomed. Maybe it was because her fists were clenched. She sat on the foot of the bed.
     
    He nodded towards the envelope propped on his desk.
    “That’s to St John. Mom, he’ll get a kick out of my being on the team.”
     
    The alarm-clock ticked, a car racketed up 72nd Street. Then Rossie opened her hand. The large gold pocket-watch was misted by the heat of her palm.
    “This belonged to my first husband,”
    she said.
     
    He could feel his jaw come unhinged.
    “What?”
     
    “I was married before.”
     
    “You were? That’s a closely guarded