“How dare you compare your stupid piano recital to my profession. I went to school five years, plus a year in Italy, to earn my degree. I’m a licensed professional, Agnes, not a housewife dabbling in a hobby with a googley-eyed effete.”
“Not a recital, Norman, a competition. It’s a competition.”
How typical of Agnes, he thought, correcting him on the details when he was making a point. He provided for this family – his wife, Grace, Harold, the house she’d insisted they bought the very minute he acquired a position – despite his urging, they move slowly on a house, a private school for Grace. To be sure, they used Agnes’s inheritance to buy and furnish the house, but he bore all the burden of paying its expenses.
“What does it matter? I’ve requested that you withdraw from the silly event, and you haven’t done it. A man has a right to loyalty from his wife.”
“That’s right, Norman, I’m your wife. Not an indentured servant.”
Loyalty. It’s behavior like this that drove him back to Cristina for a month’s fling. She’d better be more respectful of his position as head of the household, he thought. Otherwise, he’d just have to find another woman to spend his time with. Not Cristina this time – too dangerous, too close to Agnes’s smothering eyes.
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