Booktree.ng_Forgotten-Witness

and a hint of extraordinary perfume. Although she called to
her husband, the other men in the room immediately
acknowledged her with admiring looks. She rewarded them
with a quick and winning smile.
Lydia Patriota was a lovely woman many years the senator’s
junior but blessed with a grace and carriage that belied her
youth. She was the second Ms. Patriota, the first having passed
on some fifteen years earlier leaving behind Ambrose and two
children who were now grown, successful, and above
reproach. Of Lydia’s many charms, the fact that the second
Mrs. Patriota did not want her own children despite being of
childbearing age was high on Ambrose’s list of things he liked
about her. He had no desire to be the butt of jokes about his
virility, nor did he wish to leave a child orphaned should life
not bless him with immortality, neither did he have time to
spend with a little one. That he and Lydia loved one another as
perfect, powerful, pretty people can was just icing on the cake.
He had no doubt that, at his passing, she would be a most
lovely widow and that she would truly mourn him. Luckily,
she would not be wearing weeds anytime soon.
“Is there anything else you gentlemen need for the
evening?” Lydia asked.
“Thank you, dear, we’re fine.” Ambrose answered for the
four men in the living room.
“I’ll be going upstairs then,” she said. “Don’t keep my
husband up too late. And Woodrow, I don’t care who you are,
honey, don’t smoke in the house. Standing next to an open
window does not draw the smoke out on a night like this.
You’ve only succeeded in making the room chilly and stinky.”
With that, she left the men to their confab and went to her
bedroom thinking how interesting it would be when the stairs
she climbed were those in the White House. Behind her, the
men chuckled their appreciation. There was something quite
nice about a beautiful woman who wasn’t afraid to slap their
wrists. Ambrose, as Lydia’s husband, took great delight in
their delight. For Lydia, after all, belonged to him.