His only reaction was to step on the gas.

Lorraine reached into her massive handbag, pulled out her cell phone, and took a deep breath. How many more deep breaths am I going to need in my life? she wondered. She was sick of people telling her to take a deep breath. Everyone from the baggage claims supervisor to her estranged husband, Conrad. She’d had a wonderful three months away, and now it was back to reality.

P. Conrad Spreckles picked up on the second ring.

“I’ve landed,” she told him.

“Back on home soil,” he responded in a remote tone.

“They lost my luggage.”

“It’s probably wandering the earth. Just like its owner.”

“I wasn’t wandering the earth, dear. I was acting in an important new play that could be a springboard for my career.”

“In a remote town in England with a population of eleven people. You may as well have performed it in our basement up here in Greenwich.”

“We had wonderful audiences,” Lorraine protested. “You wouldn’t know since you didn’t bother to come. Listen, Conrad, we need to talk. But right now I’m too tired. I’ll sleep at the loft and take a car to Connecticut in the morning.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said flatly. “I filed for divorce.”

Lorraine gasped. She was shocked that he’d taken such a drastic step. Not that she wanted to stay married. But she was hoping to be supported for a while longer while she pursued her career. Doing her best to sound saddened, she murmured. “Well, Conrad, if that’s how you feel…”

“It’s how I feel.”

“Okay. I’ll spend the night at the apartment…”

“You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I sold it.”

“You sold it?” Lorraine shrieked. The cabbie turned around to take a quick look, then shifted his attention back to the road. She lowered her voice and hissed, “How could you?”

“Funny you took the news very well about parting ways with me. But the thought of losing the apartment…”

“You had no right.”

“I had every right. The loft was mine. It says so very clearly in the prenuptial agreement you signed two years ago.” Conrad laughed mirthlessly. “That was when I believed you loved me for me instead of my money.”

“I did love you…” Lorraine protested. “I mean I DO love you.”

“Serves me right for letting my head be turned by a beautiful woman more than twenty years younger. Anyway, time to move on. I’ll sell the house—the love nest we were going to be so happy in for the rest of our lives—and you’ll get half.”

Lorraine felt physically ill. “Who did you sell the loft to?” she sputtered.

“Our next-door neighbor Jack Reilly and his new wife, Regan. When they returned from their honeymoon three months ago, I made them an offer they couldn’t refuse. They’re already in the process of combining the two apartments. I’m sure they’ll find a lot more happiness within those walls than we ever did. Although I suspect you might have experienced more happiness there than I ever knew about.”