chapter 2

Then, Beverley won the lottery.

She said it was not going to change anything when she won. Or that was what she said publicly. In actual fact, change following the win was inevitable. She did not have a huge win, just three million, but that was enough.
She paid off our mortgage first and the rest of our debts.
We moved to a four bedroomed detached house by the sea, with a garden. We sold our basic model car and she bought a top of the range model... two of them! One for herself and one for me.
We had our own maid, who made sure the household chores did not get out of control and our own gardener who visited twice a week to keep weeds down to a minimum and mow the lawn. Such expenditure had hardly made a dent in her winnings.
She gave up work altogether. She visited an expensive gym almost daily and spent the rest of her time visiting local art galleries and upgrading her wardrobe.
I continued to go to work. I did not like the idea of having nothing to do all day, every day. The first two weeks would be fine. It would be like being on holiday, but what did you do after that?

Beverley decided to invest some of her money. She bought a failing pub with a restaurant, refurbished it all and hired new staff. Once it was up and running and making a profit, she bought an old coaching inn and set about turning it into a small, luxury hotel, but keeping all the old fixtures and fittings, making a feature of it's heritage.

She eventually had a whole string of businesses throughout the area and loved overseeing her new empire.
It was at some stage of her empire building that she acquired a toy boy. I'm sure that when it started, it was all simply a bit of fun. She was flattered by the attentions of a more handsome, fitter young man than myself, but, as I learned later, the odd flirtation exploded into not just one, but a series of hot torrid affairs.

I was totally oblivious to what was happening, I have to admit. The extra phone calls she received at home could all be explained by an unexpected crisis on site.
The evening meetings, the odd night spent away from the marital bed all had what appeared to be a valid explanation.

If I mentioned her peculiar meetings, she told me it was because she had so much work on. She could do with some help from me. I didn't have to work. She said she had plenty of work for me to do.

Eventually I agreed. I worked my notice, said goodbye to my colleagues. The week after I was going to start working for my wife.

But the day before, she said she loathed me. She hated me. She wanted a divorce! She claimed I had abused her... (I hadn't) ...she showed me some nasty bruises. (I don't know where she'd got them from, they were definitely not from me!)
She was in a rage because I would not agree. She grabbed hold of my tee sheet and dragged me to the front door and literally kicked me out!