I've been back in England for almost 3 years now after my divorce and a trip to the bank would change my life forever. I was married for 15 years and two weeks after I returned to England to settle my late father's affairs I received his letter with the divorce papers. What he was offering in alimony was far more then even my lawyer said he would have asked for. His letter told me the reason was because his girl friend was pregnant with his child. I had found out about his affair over a year ago so it was no surprise to me. My lawyer wasn't going to charge me anything because he wouldn't have to even get involved with the case, I told him to still send him a big bill as he said he would pay for my lawyer. My lawyer did that and even split it between us. The only conditions for the alimony was that it had to go to a certain bank where he had opened an account for me.
The bank was in a kind of out of the way place. Surrounded by a lot of small owner operated businesses. It seemed to be out of place where it was. I would never see more than three tellers at a time and usually only one. Yet I never had to stay in the bank more than five minutes to complete my business, one of the tellers told me it was because almost all of their customers were small businesses that just made night deposits and almost never came inside the bank.
Now to better understand my story I have to now go back in time to before I met my husband.
When I was 14 years old I only had to put on a little make-up and everyone thought I was at least 20 years old as I was tall by then and wore a 34B bra. My father owned and ran his own pub. At 15 my father got the flu so bad he had to stay home for a week mom and I ran the pub that week. Mom in the kitchen cooking and me with make-up tending the bar. Only a few regulars knew I wasn't old enough but they didn't tell anyone else. I found that many of the new customers that came in would quickly start hitting on me for dates and I liked being treated as an adult. From that time on I would always try to act as adult as possible until I found that I wanted to be around adults more than the "kids" of my own age. I soon found as I was almost 16 and now a 38B cup I could go into other pubs and I wasn't asked my age because I looked to be about 22 years old or older. This of course would lead to dates with older men, some becoming more intimate of course. I never told any of them my real age. That's how I met John Clarkson, my future and now ex-husband.
When I met John he told me how he was in a big worldwide corporation and he was on his way up the corporate ladder. We got very intimate and three months later I found out I was pregnant. John wasn't happy about that especially after learning I was only 16. John immediately took me to my father. John and my father talked in the other room for almost two hours. When they came out my father told me to come with them. We got in John's car and drove for about 1 hour north of London to a small town church there. John and my father talked to the priest there for 30 minutes and then we were married. I was in more of a state of shock then my father had been hearing the news of my being pregnant. We drove home in silents, when we got there my father got out of the car saying he'd be right back. A few minutes later he came out carrying a suit case. He and John put it in the car. My father then came to the car window.
"Well, good luck to the both of you."
With that John drove back to his and I guess now my house. Three months later John was transferred to Paris, so I was going there too. We would be there for three years before John would be transferred again.
Six months later in Paris I gave birth to my son who I called Eric. John was a loving father even if he wasn't an attentive husband. I would always feel as if he felt I might have slowed down his climb up the corporate ladder. While in the hospital I met an older retired English school teacher named Vicky Watson who would become my best friend and mentor. She helped me to learn French and not only finish my education but to inspire me to continue my education.
During the next year with Vicky's help I finished my high school education and graduated with honors too top it off. Then on to college with encouragement from Vicky. I found that unlike my early school years I not only did very well, but I liked school and learning now, I'm sure that this was influenced by Vicky being my friend and mentor.
Two and a half years in Paris and not even the born and raised French could tell I was not originally French. John told me that in about six months we would be transferred to Spain, so I started Spanish classes and found that I seemed to have a flare for learning languages. In seven months we were in Madrid, Spain and I spoke almost perfect Spanish by then and in three months the Spanish people couldn't tell that I wasn't Spanish. Of course I continued college. Even taking a course in Italian knowing it was another country John's company also had offices in. It was more of a hope that we might go there one day, (which we would, but not for six years). Vicky and I kept in contact by writing and telephoning.
My son, Eric was now going on three but I didn't see the problem that was starting for him at the time. In Paris I had spoken to him in English and French and he understood some of each language. Now I would speak to him in English, French, Spanish, and sometimes Italian. It never hit me that this might be confusing for him. This would come back to haunt me later.
Our three years in Spain were great, I had graduated from college, with honors I might add. And after talking to Vicky on the phone I was sure I would continue with more college after a little break. John did get transferred again, but not to Italy as I hoped for, instead it was to Bonn, Germany.
German was the hardest language for me to learn. It was a year and a half before I felt confident in speaking German. John now in a position that allowed him to have a chauffeur hired a man named Karl Muller. Karl would drop John off and pick him up. The rest of the day he would be my chauffeur during the day. Karl of course spoke German, but he also spoke Italian and some French. Karl would later teach me how to drive, something I hadn't done yet. He was about a year older than me and good looking. I however was married and would not let anything happen because of that.
Eric's problem was getting worse now that everyone around him was speaking German and I didn't help by speaking one or another language to him. I thought he was just a shy boy and like many parents felt it was cute instead of a problem. He was 2 and a half when we left Paris, 5 and a half when we left Spain, 8 and a half when we left Germany, are next country would be Italy and we would leave when he was 11 and a half , the last country before my divorce would be Paris, France and when he was just one month short of age 15 years old I was in England because of my father's death. It wasn't shyness that was his problem it was language. Every time he learned enough to talk to possible friends we moved to a new country. Eric didn't have the flair for languages that I had and I didn't see that. How was he going to make friends especially girl friends?
When we went to Italy Karl came along as our chauffeur and even when we later when to Paris he would again be our chauffeur, but I noticed that he seemed to be more my chauffeur then John's chauffeur. As John almost never used him as a chauffeur and I think Karl was happier not having to drive him around.
During my last year in Paris I asked Karl to drive me to John's office so I could surprise him with a lunch I had made. I was trying to bring a spark back into our marriage which seemed to have become passive in the last few years. Karl seemed a little disturbed by my request but he got the car ready and we left. I asked Karl to drive down a different road just before our normal turn because I wanted to see a new restaurant I had heard about that might be a good place for dinner if lunch worked out as I hoped it would. We were almost at the restaurant when I asked Karl to pull over to the side. I'd seen John's car parked in front of the restaurant. I could see the tables out front and John was sitting there with a woman, a woman I knew from Germany. His secretary Heidi Berman. A few minutes watching them told me they were more than just old friends. I could tell that Karl also saw them, but he looked both embarrassed and very mad at the same time. I asked Karl to drive me home. Karl was very quiet on the way home. When we got there I asked him to come into my study after he parked the car.
Karl entered my study his head hanging down looking at the floor. He knew I was going to ask him about John and Heidi Berman. "Karl, look at me. I'm going to ask you some questions and I want the truth do you understand me," I said.
"Yes, Mrs. Clarkson, I will tell you the truth as much as I know of it," Karl said.
"How long has Heidi Berman been in Paris?" I asked him.
"She transferred from Italy the same time your husband did." He told me.
"She was in Italy? When did she get to Italy?" I asked.
"She transferred from Germany the same time your husband did." He told me.
"Are you telling me they have been having an affair since they were in Germany?" I asked almost screaming it out.
"In Germany I can't be sure, but since Italy and now France I'm positive they have been having an affair." He said and again he looked down at the floor.
