The Sins of the Mother

by Danielle Steel

  “What, you’re having affairs with the employees now? What kind of bullshit is that? What if someone saw you?”

  “We thought we were alone. And Peter is not an employee, he’s our general counsel. And what I do personally is no concern of yours. I’m sorry if it upset you, but I can assure you, we’re discreet.” She was shaking at his accusation, but she didn’t let it show. She had to take a position on the situation now, and she didn’t like what he had said. Not at all.

  “Discreet? Are you crazy, or just immoral? He’s married, he’s ten years younger than you are, and if the press gets hold of this, you’ll look ridiculous. It will invalidate all our legal positions if people find out you’re sleeping with him. And he’s a married man, for chrissake! Is this what you did when you were gone all the time when we were kids? Is this what it was all about? Did Dad know? And all your bullshit about morality—what a joke! How dare you moralize to us, when you’re screwing around with married men, and maybe you always were.”

  “Stop it!” Olivia said in a powerful tone as she stood up at her desk. She had an instant sense that Phillip was using this as a vehicle to air his grievances of the past. “I was faithful to your father every moment of our marriage, and he knew that. I was away so that I could build this business for all of us, and he knew that too. He wanted me to. He respected what I did, even if you don’t. And I respected him. Your father has been gone for fourteen years, Phillip. I’ve worked closely with Peter Williams for longer than that. He was kind to me when your father died, and has given us invaluable advice for all these years. It took me four years to get involved with him after your father died, if it’s any of your business, which it isn’t. He’s lonely, so am I, and he’s seven years younger than I am, not ten. His wife is an alcoholic, and he’s married to her in name only. And we’ve been discreet for ten years. No one ever found out about this but you. It’s not going to hurt our business, I won’t let it, and neither would he.

  “And you’re right about one thing, it’s not a shining example of morality in the absolute. But we’re real people, with real lives, with grown children in their thirties and forties. I’m single, and he’s respectful of his wife. I don’t recommend this kind of situation, but it happens. I carry a huge responsibility here, on my shoulders alone, and if the kindness of Peter Williams helps me do that, then it’s a compromise I’ve decided to make. It took me a long time to make that decision, and I did. It’s not ideal, I’ll agree with you on that. But we’re human beings, and the ideal isn’t always possible. He’s never going to leave his wife, out of respect for her, and we’re not flagrant about this.

  “I’m old, Phillip. I work hard, I always have. And if this gives us both some comfort in our later years, then so be it. You don’t get to decide what’s right for me or not. You can decide that for yourself. We all make compromises. You’ve decided it’s enough to be married to a woman who behaves like an iceberg and gives you precious little comfort, from what I can see. And I’ve had an affair for ten years with a married man. I was faithful to your father to his dying day and for years after. In all the ways that matter, I still am. I loved him when he was alive and I still do. And if this is what I choose to do, it is entirely up to me, not to you. The compromises you make in your life in order to make it work are your business. This is mine. It’s a compromise, but sometimes that’s a decision that one makes. I owe you no explanations, and I’m not going to discuss this further with you. Don’t try to cast aspersions on my behavior when I was married to your father—that won’t fly. And if you don’t like what I’m doing now, then I’m sorry. But that’s the end of it. The discussion stops right here.”

  Her son was standing across the desk from her where Peter had been a moment before, and Phillip was shaking with rage. “I stand by what I said a few minutes ago. You’re a hypocrite. I don’t know if you were faithful to my father, I hope so for his sake. But you’re no saint, Mother. You’re the mistress of a married man. I don’t care if his wife is an alcoholic, that makes no difference. He’s married and you’re sleeping with him. He works for us. You’re sleeping with the help. So don’t lecture me.” He didn’t deny what she’d said about Amanda, but he was only thinking about Peter. And he was outraged that his mother was having an affair. Olivia couldn’t help wondering if it really made a difference to him that Peter was married—maybe he just couldn’t tolerate the idea of his mother sleeping with someone other than his father. He was very black and white in his ideas, and she always had been too, but the situation had changed over the years, and she and Peter loved each other, in a quiet way.

  “I’m going to forget everything you just said. I’m not proud of what I’m doing, but I’m not ashamed of it either. It is what it is. Two people who need each other and have the weight of the world on their shoulders. We work hard, and derive a little comfort from each other. It keeps us going on the bad days, and there are a lot of those in this business, or any business. We’re not hurting anyone. I’m sorry if it upsets you, but we’re all grown-ups here, even you. You’re forty-six years old, and no, I wasn’t there every minute when you were growing up. I wish I had been, but I wasn’t. There were other things I thought I had to do, and your father thought so too. Maybe we were wrong. I’ll always regret what I missed. But that’s over, Phillip. We can’t get those years back. I can’t undo it, no matter how sorry I am if it hurt you. And I have a right to some comfort in my life, whether you like it or not.”

  “You’re seventy years old, for chrissake. You’re an old woman. What are you doing screwing around at your age?”

  “I’m not ‘screwing around,’ as you put it. I’m sorry you see it that way. And it’s absolutely none of your concern what I do, as long as I run this business correctly, and don’t embarrass you or myself publicly, and I’m not. The rest is up to me, Phillip. There’s no vote on this issue. This isn’t a board meeting, it’s my life, and you don’t get a voice in this one.”

  He stared at her in unbridled fury, and without another word, he turned on his heel and left the room. He was seething at everything she had said to him.

  She was shaking when she sat down at her desk again when he had left. This wasn’t the way she had wanted Phillip to discover her affair with Peter. She hadn’t wanted anyone to find out at all. But he had, and she had to live with it now. It didn’t change anything, and Phillip would have to get over it. It reminded her suddenly of her own feelings when she had realized that her mother was Ansel Morris’s mistress. She had hated it, it seemed so wrong to her. She had thought her mother was “a fallen woman.” But she was thirteen years old, not forty-six. She had discovered her mother’s affair just as Phillip had. She had seen them kissing one day, and her mother had then admitted it to her. She said she was lonely, and he was a kind man. But she had never married him, even at the end when he was widowed, despite their obvious love for each other.

  Olivia had never believed in married people having affairs. She believed in marriage and fidelity, but so had Maribelle. She had been faithful to a married man she loved and who loved her. There had never been anyone else, even after Ansel died. And Olivia had been faithful to the only two men in her life. Joe for their entire marriage, and now Peter for ten years. It was not a spotless life, but it was a good one, and a reasonable one, given the circumstances. She didn’t love it, but she could justify it to herself, and had. She had never told anyone about Peter, and hadn’t intended to, although she often had thought about telling her mother. Somewhere in her heart she knew she owed her mother an apology for what she had thought of her at thirteen. She hadn’t understood then how Ansel had protected her mother and how much he cared about her. Maribelle had needed him, just as she needed Peter, even though he was married to someone else and always would be.

  She wondered why her mother had never married Ansel, even after his wife died, but she had never dared to ask. He had died so soon after, within the year—maybe they didn’t have time. But whatever her reasons, they had been her
own. Maribelle was a good woman, and an honorable one. And so was she, whatever Phillip thought now. She felt sorry for him with his limited thinking, and harsh judgments, the resentments he had carried for years. He was unable to accept or believe that people did their best, even if they weren’t perfect. And he had settled for a wife who Olivia believed didn’t love him, and was incapable of it. It was a sad life for him. And she preferred her own compromises to his, the love of a married man who was kind to her and whom she respected. They didn’t need marriage and they loved each other. Olivia wasn’t going to let Phillip spoil that for her with his black-and-white ideas about what was right and what wasn’t. She had a right to decide that for herself about something as personal as this.

  She called Peter’s cell phone with a shaking hand, and he answered immediately with a worried tone.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I am,” she said firmly, determined to be, despite her son’s tantrum and his accusations and low opinion of her. What mattered was how she viewed herself, and she knew she had done the closest thing to right she could, for all concerned. “He’ll get over it. He’s a very rigid person, and he has a loveless marriage. It makes him harsh and unreasonable about everyone else. And he has a lot of old scores to settle with me, and grudges he can’t resolve. In a way, this has nothing to do with you. It’s just an opportunity for him to stay angry at me.” She knew him well.

  “I’m sorry I ran out on you. I felt bad leaving, but I didn’t think you wanted me there while you talked to him.”

  “I didn’t,” she confirmed. “You did the right thing.”

  “What did he say?”

  “A lot of very ugly things. He wanted to know if I cheated on his father, and of course I didn’t. Maybe it was good for him to hear. And he’s old enough to know what’s going on with us. He’s nearly fifty—at his age he ought to be able to accept human frailty in others. If he can’t, he’ll never be able to forgive himself for anything. Someone once said that being grown up is being able to accept your parents as they are. The trouble is that most of us don’t grow up in that sense. We want our parents to be perfect and live up to our ideals. Our children want us to forgive them unconditionally for their mistakes, but they don’t want to forgive us anything. At some point that no longer works. Phillip has some hard lessons ahead of him. Cass is the same way. She’s never forgiven me anything, particularly not being there when her father died. I blamed myself for that too, and I spent years thinking that he might have survived if I’d been there. He wouldn’t have, and there are other mistakes I’ve made. But this isn’t one of them. We’re not hurting anyone, Peter, as long as your marriage is intact, and you’re not hurting Emily with this, and I don’t believe you are.”

  “She’s been an alcoholic for more than thirty years,” he said sadly. “We’re not stealing anything from her. Our marriage was over long before you came along.” It was what he had always told her, and she believed him. But he sounded worried anyway, about Olivia, and her son’s attack. It was hard being lambasted by your children, and he felt sorry for her. His own had no idea that he was involved with Olivia, although they knew their parents were married in form only. His daughter had urged him to get a divorce years before, but he felt a responsibility for Emily, and his son turned a blind eye to what was going on but he knew how sick his mother was. She had destroyed their family when the children were young, getting drunk at their school events, not showing up, or passing out when their friends were there. She had been a humiliation to them all their lives, and they respected their father for staying with her. It was easier for them in some ways. He was always there to take care of her, so they didn’t have to.

  “Do you want me to come by tonight?” Peter asked her gently, and Olivia smiled.

  “Yes, I do,” Olivia said honestly, “not just because of this. I missed you while I was gone.” They usually spent a night or two together every week. He had nothing to explain to Emily. She didn’t know if he was there or not. They had had separate bedrooms for twenty years, and there was a housekeeper to keep an eye on her. He offered no explanations, he just left, and could be reached on his cell phone at all times.

  “I missed you too. I’ll come at eight.” It was six-thirty by then. They both had a few things to finish up in their offices, and it would take him an hour to get to Bedford. She’d arrive at about the same time. She had no live-in help. And no one ever knew when he spent the night. It worked perfectly for them. He always left before her daily housekeeper arrived. Olivia knew that she suspected, but had no idea who Olivia’s occasional nighttime visitor was. They had managed to maintain total discretion for ten years, until tonight. It was unfortunate that Phillip had discovered them, but it wasn’t a tragedy. It was evidence of her humanity. Now Phillip’s ability to be human, and adult, remained to be seen.

  “See you at eight,” Olivia said quietly. “Drive carefully. I love you, Peter,” she reminded him, and he smiled.

  “I love you too. See you soon,” he said, and they hung up. Olivia left her unfinished files on her desk. She was tired tonight. It had been a long day. And the altercation with Phillip had worn her out. She might not look it, and everyone said she didn’t, but she felt every minute of her age tonight.

  A few minutes later she picked up her handbag and briefcase and turned out the lights in her office. She was looking forward to seeing Peter.

  Phillip waited until he was in his car to call his brother. He had thought about what to do about what he’d discovered. He thought the others should know. He knew what a bleeding heart Liz was, and she’d probably think it was touching or romantic. He didn’t. And he hadn’t spoken to his sister Cass in years. But he wanted to tell John. He was sure he’d be as outraged as Phillip was. And Phillip didn’t buy the story that she’d been faithful to their father. He wondered now if that was why Cass looked so different from the rest of them. Maybe that was why Olivia had never been home. Maybe she’d been screwing around for years. Who knew what had really gone on? He felt sick when he thought of finding her kissing Peter. They had looked passionate as they embraced. Phillip’s stomach turned over when he remembered it. It was seven o’clock when he drove home, one in the morning in Paris. He called John at the Ritz, where he was staying with Sarah and Alex. His brother sounded sleepy when he answered.

  “Something wrong?” John asked his brother quickly. Their grandmother was ninety-five, after all, and their mother was now ten years older than their father when he died. He was always afraid of something happening to them, or his wife or son. But they were in Paris with him, so he knew it wasn’t them. And a business crisis was always possible too. “Are you okay?” John asked, sitting up in bed, as he turned on the light. Sarah was sound asleep, dead to the world.

  “No, I’m not. And you won’t be either when I tell you what’s going on.”

  “Shit. Granibelle or Mom?” Phillip was hitting his worst fears, and John hadn’t picked up on the anger in his voice.

  “Our mother. She’s having an affair with Peter Williams. She has been for ten years, or so she says. Who knows how long it’s been going on, or if she cheated on Dad before that, when she was never home.” It was a lot to absorb all at once, as John tried to sort through what he was saying.

  “Mom’s having an affair?” It sounded unlikely to him.

  “Yes, she is,” Phillip confirmed in an undertaker’s voice.

  “How do you know?”

  “I found them wrapped around each other in her office, when I walked in on them an hour ago.”

  “They were having sex in her office?” John sounded stunned.

  “No, they were kissing,” Phillip said precisely. He would have had a heart attack if they’d been making love. “She admitted the affair to me after that. He left, and she and I had a talk about it. And he’s married, if you’ll recall.”

  “Yeah, I remember that. He’s a nice guy, though. At least he’s not some fortune hunter thirty years younger than she is.” He
knew their mother was too sensible for that, but he was actually surprised to hear that she was romantically involved. He thought all she cared about was her work. He thought it was kind of nice to know that that wasn’t the case and she was human after all. Their father had been gone for nearly fifteen years—the anniversary was coming up shortly. That was a long time to be alone. “Is it serious?”

  “Of course it’s serious. He’s married. How much more serious can it get than an affair with a married man? And for ten years. Imagine if the press gets hold of that.”

  “The press isn’t going to care who she’s sleeping with,” John said sensibly. “They don’t report affairs in the business section of The New York Times. She has a right to do what she wants. She has a right to be happy, Phillip. She carries a hell of a lot on her shoulders. She’s had no one to support her in that since Dad. He helped her a lot, and now she’s all alone.”

  “Bullshit. She has us,” Phillip said, sounding pompous, as John thought about it.

  “Not really. We work for her, but we don’t support her. When the shit hits the fan, she’s the one it hits, and she works it out on her own. Did you get in a big fight with her about it?” John suspected that he had, and he was sorry for her. Phillip was always so critical of her, and so was Cass. They never forgave her anything from the past, and this was just the kind of ammo Phillip would use against her to prove all his old theories about how bad she was.

  “Yes, I did,” Phillip admitted without remorse.

  “Did you actually accuse her of cheating on Dad? An affair she got into four years after he died is hardly proof of infidelity in their marriage.” John sounded upset as he asked his older brother the question. Their mother didn’t deserve to be beaten up for having a discreet affair. And if she’d been involved with Peter for ten years, none of them had ever known, which was proof of how discreet she was.

  “As a matter of fact, I did accuse her of that. It shows she has no morals, which casts a shadow on everything.”