Everything to Gain and a Secret Affair Read Online Free
Author: Barbara Taylor Bradford
together, my father and I and my bridegroom, and rode out to Kennedy Airport in one of the grand stretch limousines my mother had hired. Just before we headed in different directions to catch our planes to different parts of the world, he had hugged me tightly, and as we said our good-byes, he had whispered against my hair, âIâm glad you did it your way, Mal, hadthe kind of wedding you wanted, not the big, splashy bash your mother would have preferred. Youâre a maverick like me. But then, thatâs not half bad, is it? Always be yourself, Mal, always be true to yourself.â
It had pleased me that heâd said that, about being a maverick like he was. We had been very close since my childhood, an emotional fact that I suspect has been a constant irritant to my mother. I donât believe she understood my father, not ever in their entire life together. Sometimes Iâve wondered why they married in the first place; they are such opposites, have come from worlds that are completely different. My father is from an intellectual family of academics and writers, my mother from a family of affluent real estate developers of some social standing, and they have never shared the same interests.
Yet something must have attracted Edward Jordan to Jessica Sloane and vice versa, and they must have been in love, or thought they were, for marry they did in 1953. They brought me into the world in May of 1955, and they stayed together until 1973, struggling through twenty years of bickering and quarreling, punctuated by stony silences that lasted for months on end. And there were long absences on the part of my father, who was always off to the Middle East or South America, seeking the remains of ancient civilizations lost in the mists of antiquity.
My father aside, my mother has never understood me, either. She is not remotely conscious of what Iâm about, what makes me tick. But then, my mother, charming and sweet though she can be, has not been blessed with very much insight into people.
I love my mother, and I know she loves me. But for years now, ever since I was a teenager, Iâve found her rather trying to be with. Unquestionably, there is a certain shallowness to her, and this is something which dismays me.She is forever concerned with her social standing, her social life, and her appearance. Not much else interests her, really. Her days revolve around her dressmaker, hair and manicure appointments, and the luncheons, dinners, and cocktail parties to which she has been invited.
To me it seems such an empty, meaningless life for any woman to lead, especially in this day and age. I am more like my father, inasmuch as I am somewhat introspective and serious-minded; Iâm concerned, just as he is, about this planet we inhabit and all that is happening on it and to it.
In many ways, the man I married greatly resembles my father in character. Like Daddy, Andrew cares , and he is honorable, strong, straightforward, and dependable. True-blue is the way I categorize them both.
Andrew is my first love, my only love. There will never be anyone else for me. We will be with each other for the rest of our lives, he and I. This is the one great constant in my life, one which sustains me. Our children will grow up, leave us to strike out on their own as adults, have families of their own one day. But Andrew and I will go on into our twilight years together, and this knowledge comforts me.
Suddenly, I felt the warmth of the sun on my face as its rays came filtering through the branches of the big apple tree, and I pushed myself up from the wrought-iron seat where I sat. Realizing that it was time for the day to begin, I walked back to the house.
It was Friday, the first of July, and I had no time to waste today. I had planned a special weekend for Andrew, Jamie, and Lissa, and my mother-in-law, who was visiting us from England, as she did every year. Monday, the Fourth of July, was to be our big summer
It had pleased me that heâd said that, about being a maverick like he was. We had been very close since my childhood, an emotional fact that I suspect has been a constant irritant to my mother. I donât believe she understood my father, not ever in their entire life together. Sometimes Iâve wondered why they married in the first place; they are such opposites, have come from worlds that are completely different. My father is from an intellectual family of academics and writers, my mother from a family of affluent real estate developers of some social standing, and they have never shared the same interests.
Yet something must have attracted Edward Jordan to Jessica Sloane and vice versa, and they must have been in love, or thought they were, for marry they did in 1953. They brought me into the world in May of 1955, and they stayed together until 1973, struggling through twenty years of bickering and quarreling, punctuated by stony silences that lasted for months on end. And there were long absences on the part of my father, who was always off to the Middle East or South America, seeking the remains of ancient civilizations lost in the mists of antiquity.
My father aside, my mother has never understood me, either. She is not remotely conscious of what Iâm about, what makes me tick. But then, my mother, charming and sweet though she can be, has not been blessed with very much insight into people.
I love my mother, and I know she loves me. But for years now, ever since I was a teenager, Iâve found her rather trying to be with. Unquestionably, there is a certain shallowness to her, and this is something which dismays me.She is forever concerned with her social standing, her social life, and her appearance. Not much else interests her, really. Her days revolve around her dressmaker, hair and manicure appointments, and the luncheons, dinners, and cocktail parties to which she has been invited.
To me it seems such an empty, meaningless life for any woman to lead, especially in this day and age. I am more like my father, inasmuch as I am somewhat introspective and serious-minded; Iâm concerned, just as he is, about this planet we inhabit and all that is happening on it and to it.
In many ways, the man I married greatly resembles my father in character. Like Daddy, Andrew cares , and he is honorable, strong, straightforward, and dependable. True-blue is the way I categorize them both.
Andrew is my first love, my only love. There will never be anyone else for me. We will be with each other for the rest of our lives, he and I. This is the one great constant in my life, one which sustains me. Our children will grow up, leave us to strike out on their own as adults, have families of their own one day. But Andrew and I will go on into our twilight years together, and this knowledge comforts me.
Suddenly, I felt the warmth of the sun on my face as its rays came filtering through the branches of the big apple tree, and I pushed myself up from the wrought-iron seat where I sat. Realizing that it was time for the day to begin, I walked back to the house.
It was Friday, the first of July, and I had no time to waste today. I had planned a special weekend for Andrew, Jamie, and Lissa, and my mother-in-law, who was visiting us from England, as she did every year. Monday, the Fourth of July, was to be our big summer
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