April 2013
The moment I heard him say it, I knew, who on earth did he think he was talking to. 'It's my way or the highway.' I suppose it could be such an innocuous expression but with the look on his face and the tone of his voice all things finally changed. As they say enough is enough and so it was. A light in my head went on and a space in my heart was confirmed as a piercing black hole.
I fell into the relationship gung ho and stupid, looks, charm and money swayed the intuitive concern in the back of my mind and the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. The age difference did not matter, I hardly knew my dad so I did not think he was a replacement father figure. Nerves I thought! Of course the minute my mother met him she was completely ensnared in his web of charm and conceit and of course the wealth he had could only be a plus. Her everlasting criticism of me still remained but at least this was now tempered with 'He is absolutely wonderful he must see something in you I've missed' But of course what he had seen was a very needy and unloved twenty five year old. I had all the prerequisites of a trophy wife, beautiful with an intellect yet emotionally stupid.
It was a whirlwind romance and of course once he had asked my mother's permission to marry me, even before he asked me, I understood I was doomed. She 'who must be obeyed' would never forgive passing up on such a 'superhuman, funny, wonderful potential husband' for her daughter. Frank was such a credit to the family and through him she could expunge any stigma that remained from my father leaving her. The worse thing my father did was not in the leaving but in the fact that he actually left her for nobody. I remember her constantly spitting and fuming that 'Nobody was better than me'. The worse thing my dad did to me was that he left me with her, from then on I was not allowed to call her mum or even mother but Susan! After all how could someone as youthful looking as her have a daughter my age! And indeed she had only been sixteen when I was born.
Of course Frank played into this so well, I feel that there must be a word stronger than sycophantic but as this moment I can't think of it but he was this and more. I now totally understood my mother and realised that she was a product of her history. What I would not forgive her for was for her lack of insight into her life experiences and then vesting her troubled experiences onto me. Mind you I must admit that after some time I used to love being shut in the cupboard under the stairs, the peace and solitude helped me to gain strength and cope with life when she let me out. Of course I still used to scream shout and pretend to cry, I really did not want her to know that I grew to love it there. I became so used to it that I sneaked in a torch and a book, so I was always prepared. Susan would have killed me if she had known; mind you when one of the teachers queried a bruise I think that really frightened her and she did not lay a hand on me again.
I knew now was the time to sort myself out, maybe I was like dad after all! Susan had told me I was completely useless like him, disorganised like him, stupid like him and as practical as a chocolate oven like him. In fact apart from my looks obviously stunning like her, everything useless came from my dad. My degree in Fine Arts and my masters in ceramics all were to her 'airy fairy' work that counted for nothing. The open contract with Liberty's and Harrods were meaningless. Dad had managed to come to his senses and leave, hopefully now I would find the same gumption and tenacity. No rushing, no letting on but very careful planning would be the key. I certainly did not want either of them believing they could make me return, though I did feel that mum would be more likely to sink into a 'Poor Me' act again. But under Frank's influence anything could happen, I felt the worm had turned and from now on it was definitely going to be my way to the highway.
I had always kept my own bank account though shared a joint account with Frank, he liked to believe that he kept me and was not in the least interested in my so called 'peanuts' I earned from my ceramics. How to maximise what I had inherited was the problem. The trust from my grandmother was mine as indeed was the jewellery, her present to me. This was kept in the bank which only Frank could access, but for the time being I did have all the insurance photos. Over the course of the next few months I visited Hatton Garden every time I went to see the buyers at the various stores. They were of course very appreciative of the value of my jewellery and thought that it was sensible to have realistic copies made from the photos. The problem was how to get the originals from the safe at the bank and swop them over but I was in no hurry. Frank felt that I was dully compliant and indeed complacent with his indifference and dalliances, life for him was fantastic. He was having his cake and eating it and he appeared happy keeping a mistress, whoever she happened to be.
I maintained my trophy wife role and as Frank was chairman of a premier football team, we frequently either entertained lavishly or were attending at benefits etc. Each time I would ask Frank for a different piece of jewellery and each time a fake went back the next day into the bank. Clever though he thought he was Frank could not tell the difference. This was for me the most nervous and cautious of times, I decided to engage a publicist and knew that Max Peters had worked for many of the other so called trophy wives that had been dumped, duped or divorced without consideration or the willingness of these so called professional husbands to even be fair. A concept I realised that both my mother and Frank had in common.
Meeting with Max also solved my next problem, how to identify who was the best lawyer for me in my situation. Meeting with her provided me with a clear idea of what evidence I needed to make this divorce as painless as it could be. The house was in an offshore company set up in my name, Frank had told me not to worry my little head about it, as it was purely for tax purposes. This was where my grandmother's trust had been placed. My solicitor advised that all she would need to do was have his name removed from the signatories and he would no longer have any access to any of these funds. After all he had set it up as my company. He had kept his penthouse flat near the team ground which was where I believed most of his shenanigans were carried out. The private eye said gathering the information would be a doddle.
The football team were off to Europe and Frank would be away for three days and at last my time had come. The off shore company was wound up and the deeds of the house and money were transferred to my business account. The locks were changed on the house and all of Frank's belongings were delivered to his flat. The shock for me had come with the evidence found by the private detective. Any weakening of resolve went and I am sure his mistress, my totally 'wonderful' mother, phoned him immediately. At the start of the football match a process server gave Frank the divorce papers. He reported back that Frank had thought he wanted his autograph! After the match a note was passed to Frank; Max Peters was on the phone wanting to talk to him; the team had lost and his mood was foul. Photographs etc. were emailed to him and Frank was left to stew.
Frank came to his senses and agreed to an amicable divorce, someone leaked a photo of him and my mother in a compromising situation. And indeed I swear it was not me, I think it must have been the private eye, perhaps even a disenchanted football fan. All in the entire world is now my lobster and I feel that I have done incredibly well for someone once thought of as a chocolate oven!