A Special Relationship by Douglas Kennedy Read Free Book Online Page B

to marry him, he overstepped the mark on several occasions, eventually treating me (in true lawyerly style) like a reluctant juror who had to be won around to his point of view. With Tony I didn’t even need to respond to his comment about ‘awaiting an update from someone.’ He knew that he was asking me to make a big decision, so all I asked him in reply was, ‘And you still won’t be going back for three months?’
    ‘Yes, but the editor does need to know my decision by the end of the week.’
    And he left it at that.
    Besides doing a lot of serious thinking, I also made several key phone calls – the first of which was to Thomas Richardson, the editor-in-chief of the Post, and someone with whom I had always had a cordial, if distant relationship. As an old-school Yankee, he also appreciated directness. So when he returned my call, I was completely direct with him, explaining that I was marrying a journalist from the Chronicle and was planning to move to England. I also said that the Post was my home, and I certainly wanted to stay with the paper, but the fact that I was also pregnant meant that I would eventually need a twelve-week period of maternity leave, commencing about seven months from now.
    ‘You’re pregnant?’ he said, sounding genuinely surprised.
    ‘It looks that way.’
    ‘But that’s wonderful news, Sally. And I can completely understand why you want to have the baby in London …’
    ‘The thing is, we won’t be moving there for three months.’
    ‘Well, I’m certain we can work something out at our London bureau. One of our correspondents has been talking about coming back to Boston, so your timing couldn’t be better.’
    There was a part of me that was alarmed about the fact that my boss had so eased my professional passage to London. Now I had no reason not to follow Tony. But when I informed him that my transfer to the London bureau of the Post seemed certain, I also said that I was terrified of this huge change in circumstances. Once again, his reply (though predictably flippant) was also reassuring – telling me that it wasn’t as if I was going behind the veil. Nor would we be moving to Ulan Bator. And I would have a job. And if we found that we couldn’t stand being behind desks in offices … well, who’s to say that we were indentured to London for the rest of our lives?
    ‘Anyway, we’re not the sort of people to become each other’s jailers, now are we?’ he said.
    ‘Not a chance of that,’ I said.
    ‘Glad to hear it,’ he said, with a laugh. ‘So, I don’t suppose it will be the end of the world if we get married in the next few weeks, now will it?’
    ‘Since when did you get so damn romantic?’ I asked.
    ‘Since I had a conversation with one of our consular chaps a few days ago.’
    What this ‘chap’ told Tony was that my passage into Britain – both professionally and personally – would be far more rapidly expedited if we were husband and wife. Whereas I would be facing months of immigration bureaucracy if I chose to remain single. Once again, I was astounded by the rate at which my life was being turned around. Destiny is like that, isn’t it? You travel along, thinking that the trajectory of your life will follow a certain course (especially when you’re starting to crowd middle-age). But then, you meet someone, you allow it to progress, you find yourself tiptoeing across that dangerous terrain called ‘love’. Before you know it, you’re on a long-distance phone call to your only surviving family member, telling her that not only are you pregnant, but you’re also about to …
    ‘Get married?’ Sandy said, sounding genuinely shocked.
    ‘It’s the practical thing to do,’ I said.
    ‘You mean, like getting pregnant for the first time at thirty-seven?’
    ‘Believe me, that was completely accidental.’
    ‘Oh, I believe you. Because you’re about the last person I’d expect to get intentionally knocked up. How’s Tony taking