Money was no longer the problem it had been earlier in our relationship. Paul's penchant of excessive spending remained absent. While our recent purchases of furniture and articles for the house were all top of the line and far more costly than what I would have spent, I did not complain, rationalizing they were long term acquisitions for all of us. We agreed on a monthly budget for running the household and while I dismissed the idea of servants, I accepted a cleaning person every other week and a man to handle the grounds. Forcing Paul to mow the lawn or shovel snow seemed a tad pushy.
I knew once the children were in school and the house was settled, I would itch for more to do with my time. I broached the subject to Paul of the possibility of working outside the house. He surprised me by readily agreeing. When I visited Paul's office, one of his employees suggested my joining Paul's business, but we both vetoed that idea on the spot.
"Do you want to go back to teaching?" he asked. I didn't think so.
"Maybe I'll consider substituting or helping out. I'll have my hands full at home for a while. I'm just putting you on notice for the future." I knew whatever I decided; I wouldn't take on anything detrimental to my commitment to my family.
Thatcher Wright pulled me aside when Paul was busy on the phone. He closed his office door and I was ready for a confrontation. Instead, he was a perfect gentleman and apologized. He admitted he'd over reacted to Paul's prospective marriage and was only looking out for his bosses' best interests. He also apologized for cow-towing to Karen's desire for complicity and now recognized, or so he said, I was the best thing that ever happened to the North family.
"Paul's delegated raising those children to too many uncaring or unqualified people. It's not that he doesn't love them, but he's a novice at raising children, and he spends too much time working." I was overwhelmed but appreciative.
When Paul pulled Thatcher into a meeting with a nervous business owner, I was left alone in the company of my future husband's secretary. Mrs. Baldwin was a friendly lady with whom I'd spoken on the phone. She was smartly dressed and in her early sixties according to my husband. She looked ten years younger. Judith . . . we were on a first name basis . . . had a son and daughter in college. I knew from Paul she was a widow whose husband had died of a heart attack when the children were in high school. I decided to take the opportunity to pick her brain.