karenulijohn

As we got to know each other better, it turned out that there was another Karen, in Seattle.  The facts of the existence of this woman sort of ‘trickled out’ over several dates.  There was even a strange kind of ‘engagement’ although they rarely talked or wrote to each other.  If I hadn’t met her, I might have thought she was a fictitious  ‘get out of this date’ sort of excuse.  Harvey and I were both scheduled to be back in the States for part of the summer; he was going back to Seattle on business, and I was going to stay with my brother George at my Grandma’s house in Pittsburgh.  Harvey insisted that everything would be all right when we got back to London.  In my mind, that meant everything would be all right for him, with his new wife, and I would have to be nice to her!

Harvey had flown out a week before I left, and the first morning I was in Pittsburgh, the phone rang very, very early. It was Harvey, and he asked me to marry him.  I said, “No, I just got here!”  He explained that he had seen the other Karen and broken up with her so that he was free to ask me.  He was perplexed and sought some explanation from my Mother who asked him what he expected, “she is only 18!”

Eventually, I arrived back in London, and I found a letter from him.  As I opened it, letters, notes and cards that I had written to him over the three or four months we’d been together, came tumbling out.  There was a short note from him that read, “I am getting rid of some vestigial clutter!”  I didn’t know what vestigial meant, but I was still insulted.

We continued to see each other, but our meetings were tense and difficult.  Finally, he decided it was over and took himself off on a business trip to Brussels.  In the meantime, I knew that I really loved him, and couldn’t go on with things as they were.  I knew the date he was returning, but I did not know the flight, or time, or even the airline.  I knew he usually flew British Airways, so I picked a late afternoon arrival from Brussels, and hired a mini cab to take me to the airport.  As luck would have it, I had chosen well.  Harvey came through customs and spotted me…and the mini cab driver.  “Who is that?” were the first words out of his mouth.  The cab driver made a hasty retreat, and I took Harvey’s arm and told him I was there to meet him and that I wanted to patch things up.  He was even more skeptical when, on the way into London I told him that I would marry him, but only if he got me a ring by Thursday.  I’m not sure why Thursday was important, but I think we were scheduled to go to the theatre.

Much later, he told me he thought I was setting him up for something.  He took me to a jewelry store in Regent Street that we lovingly refer to as Fred Hill’s Diamond Paradise.  The diamond ring was of questionable quality and my wedding band cost all of nine guineas, but I was thrilled.  No roses, no proposal on one  knee, no romantic hideaway, but I was engaged to the man of my dreams.