The Guilty Wife (11 page)

'Good.' He kissed her. 'I want you well again, my love.'

Still angry because she'd been pushed into a corner, Lucie pulled away from him. 'Just because the sex wasn't up to standard,' she muttered crossly, and turned her back to him.

Seton didn't say anything but she knew he was watching her. Presently he turned out the lamps and lay down, not attempting to take her into his arms, to sleep as they normally did. For a while they both lay like that, tense in the darkness, then Lucie gave a little sob and swung over to him. Immediately he took her in his arms and held her close, kissed her lips, her eyes. 'My sweet. My little love.' He comforted her as she cried, stroking her hair, her bare back.

'Hold me,' she wept. 'Please hold me. I need you so much.' Lucie clung to him, taking what comfort she could from his physical closeness, and after a while, when her tears had eased a little, she said in passiosate despair, 'Promise me you'll never stop loving me.'

Seton held her tighter and said, with distress in his voice, 'Oh, Lucie, as if I ever could.'

'Promise me.' Her voice was fierce, intense in the darkness, and her fingers dug into his arm. 'No matter what happens, promise me you'll never stop loving me.'

'I promise. Of course I promise.' Recognising "her desperate need, Seton put his face against hers, felt her tears on his own cheeks and said forcefully, 'I love you with all my heart and nothing will ever change that.
Nothing, I
swear it.'

It was as if his words cast a spell over her. Within seconds Lucie fell deeply asleep, and slept long and dreamlessly. The alarm clock went off the next morning and Lucie stirred but didn't wake. Seton brought her up a cup of tea just before he left for work, kissed and gently shook her. She spoke to him as he opened the curtains and began to sit up, but when he left she flopped back onto the pillow and went to sleep again. It was a couple of hours later before she woke fully, to find the sun already high in the sky and streaming through the windows. It took a few moments to drag herself out of the almost coma-like sleep back to reality, and then Lucie sat up with a jerk as she realised that it was Monday and Sam should be at nursery school.

Dragging on some clothes, she tore downstairs and found her son sitting in front of the television, the remote control hi his hand and his favourite video, that scared him half to death, on the screen. He was sitting in Seton's favourite armchair and had one of their best crystal glasses that had been a wedding present from Seton's parents in his hand.

He gave her a cheeky grin. Tm pretending to be Daddy,' he told her.

'So I can see.' Luck started to smile until she noticed that he had some liquid in the glass. Hastily she took it from him and smelt it. It was Lucozade. The child hadn't, thank God, gone to the length of helping himself to some of Seton's malt whisky to complete his game of pretence. Although he so easily could have done. And it would have been entirely her fault, Lucie realised with horror. She should have been awake and looking after him. The boy seemed to know what she was thinking. He said, 'Naughty Mummy didn't get up.'

He had copied the deep tones of his father when he was being stern, and sounded so like Seton that Lucie burst out laughing. 'You know what you are? You're a chip off the old block.' Gathering him onto her lap, she gave him a hug. Sam suffered it with that smugly patient look that every male who tolerates female adoration wears. Recognising it, Lucie ruffled his hair. 'You're starting young, my lad.' She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and saw that it was almost ten. 'Do you realise you should be at school? Well, it's too late now, so how about turning off this video and we'll go down to the park?'

He agreed enthusiastically and ran to get ready. Her night's steep had done Lucie good; she felt better than she had for days, her batteries recharged and more ready to face her problems, but just as they were leaving the phone rang. Immediately Lucie was a bag of nerves. 'Just a minute, Sam.' She rushed into the study in case it was another fax from Rick, but it was the answering machine that clicked on.

Seton's voice filled the room. 'Just called to check that you were all right, darling. Don't forget to make that appointment with the doctor. I'll be home as early as I can. Take care, my love.'

There were several mothers with their children at the swings. Lucie chatted with them for a while but then Sam wanted to sail his boat in the little lake so they walked down there through the trees. It was a lovely day and they strolled hand in hand, Sam carrying the boat, a birthday present from Aunt Kate, under his arm. They passed several people walking their dogs and Sam stopped to stroke the smaller ones. He looked up at her, 'Mummy, can we have a dog?'

'A dog?' She looked at him in surprise, wondering if he needed something to love or just a playmate. 'I don't know, darling. We'll have to talk to Daddy about it. A dog takes a lot of looking after, you know. Have any of your friends got one?'

Sam started to answer her and she concentrated on what he was saying, but as they walked along the tree-lined path she became aware of a cold, creepy feeling stealing over her—a feeling that they were being watched. Lucie shivered uneasily and turned to look over her shoulder.

The path was empty and she could see no one in the trees. Then there was a sudden loud sound of movement nearby. Lucie gave a cry and spun round, but it was only a pigeon flying from a bush. Her heart returned to its rightful place and she chided herself for being silly, but then, with a sick lurch of her stomach, Lucie knew that she had every reason to believe that she was being spied on.

Her gaze swept round in anger now; she was ready to face up to her enemy and do battle, but Sam pulled at her hand and she realised that there was no way she could subject her child to the nasty scene that would follow if she did so. She looted round again, sure that Rick was hiding somewhere in the trees, but then let Sam pull her along to the lake.

Sitting on the seat at its edge, keeping a wary eye on Sam, Lucie remembered the letter that had come at the weekend. It was still in her pocket and she pulled it out. When she read the contents it was ahnost a relief. Rick wanted money. Five hundred pounds. Then he promised to leave her alone. He gave her a week to find it, and would contact her again with instructions on where to hand it over.

There were threats in the letter too, of course. He had found out that Seton had been selected to stand for parliament, and that no one knew of her past. These two facts were weapons in his mercenary hands, swords hanging over her head, knives to twist in her wounds.

Her hand shaking a little, Lucie tore the letter into minute scraps and dropped them in the nearest litter bin. It wouldn't be easy to raise the money, but Seton paid a generous allowance into a private account for her to use on the house, Sam and herself. And she had a little money left over from when she used to work. Somehow she would manage it.

Because she now knew what to expect, Lucie was far more relaxed during that week. Another letter would come at the end of it, she knew, but there were a few days of respite hi which she didn't have to be afraid of the phone ringing, of being watched by unseen eyes. When she and Seton made love there was no need for pretence; she was relaxed enough to be as receptive and loving as any man could want, losing herself in his close embrace, in the strength of his body. Perhaps she clung to him a little too much, and when it was over didn't want to let him go. Seton kissed her deeply, and said with pleasure, 'You're feeling better.'

'Yes, much better.'

'What did the doctor say?'

'Oh, that it was just a stage,' Lucie invented. 'He said I'd probably get morning sickness next.'

'Poor love.'

'It's all right for you, isn't it—being a man?' Lucie said on an envious note. 'You get all the pleasure and I get all the pain and discomfort.'

'Afraid there isn't much I can do about that. But isn't the end product worth it?'

'Yes, of course. Sorry. I was just being feminine.'

'I like you feminine.'

Lucie smiled. 'Well, I have to admit there was quite a lot of pleasure in it for me too.'

The letter came on the following Friday morning, delivered not by the postman but again pushed through the door by hand while she was taking Sam to playschool. It instructed her to take the money at eleven that same morning to a spot out in the more rural area of the neighbourhood, where there was a telephone box with a seat beside it. There she was to sit and wait.

Lucie drove to the place and found it to be in open country towards the top of a hill, with views all round—a perfect spot for such underhand business, she supposed. After parking the car on the grass verge, Lucie went over and sat on the seat. The sun was warm on her back but she felt cold, her nerves on edge. It was so long since she'd seen Rick, when they'd both been escorted from the court after being sentenced. She had been in shock, completely devastated, but she remembered his demonic laughter as they'd taken him to another cell. Lucie shivered and looked around her, wondering if he was there, watching her, making sure that it wasn't a trap. Then the phone in the nearby booth began to ring. At first she hesitated, then reluctantly got to her feet and went inside, picked up the receiver. Her hand began to shake violently and it was a long moment before she found the courage to hold it to her ear and say, 'Yes?'

'You cut me off the first time I rang you. I didn't like that.' The voice was harsh, vicious, but still recognisable. She didn't speak and he said, 'Apologise, you bitch!'

Strangely, when she heard his voice, a great deal of her nervousness left her. It was something real, solid, and reminded Lucie that he wanted this money as much as she wanted his silence. So she said curtly, 'Do you want this money or don't you?'

Ignoring her, Rick shouted, 'You heard me. You're going to damn well apologise. I'm going to make you lick my boots. Now, say it.'

A flood of anger ran through her and Lucie said acidly, 'I'm sorry you went to prison for nearly murdering that policeman, Rick.'

'That's more like it. I—'

'Yes, I'm sorry you were only put away for eleven ,years instead of your whole life! In fact I'm sorry that you even exist.'

'Why, you cheap tart; I'll teach you to—'

'Go to hell!'

Lucie went to slam down the receiver but heard him yell, 'Wait!'

After a moment she put it back to her ear. 'Well?'

'You're going to pay for that. How would you like that kid of yours to have a nasty little accident?'

She had a sudden recollection of his casual tolerance of his sister's children, and said, 'You wouldn't hurt a child, Rick.'

'Wouldn't I? How would you know? Maybe not when you knew me before but I've been inside for eleven long years. That changes a man, makes him feel vindictive, especially when he's been shopped by someone he trusted—

someone he loved.'

Lucie gave a laugh she didn't recognise as her own. 'Rubbish,' she returned shortly. 'You never loved anyone but yourself in your whole life.'

He swore, viciously, disgustingly. Lucie put down the phone, leaned against the wall, feeling sick. Immediately it rang again, the sound insistent in her ears. Reluctantly, after a long moment of rebellious hesitation, she picked it up and said clearly, 'If you swear at me again you'll never get your money.'

'You want all your posh friends to find out about you, then, do you? Want your husband's party committee to know that you've lied through your teeth to them?'

'That depends on how much you want this money, doesn't it?'

'Bitch!' he swore at her again, then hastily added, 'Don't put the phone down. There's a litter bin beside the seat; leave the money in there. Then go away and come back again in ten minutes.'

'Why?'

'Because I want to count it and check it, that's why.'

'If s all there.'

'Do as you're told and come back hi ten minutes, woman,' he ordered. 'Or you'll be sorry.'

Lucie left the money in the bin and drove away; she was in two minds about going back, afraid that Rick might be there, but eventually did so. To her relief there was no one around. Getting out of the car, she sat on the seat again and in a few minutes the phone rang.

'I want your home phone number.'

'No.'

'If you don't give it to me you'll be sorry.'

'Well, I'm not going to so you'll just have to lump it, won't you?'

'And so will you. That was a nice down payment,' Rick said sneeringly. 'Now you know how to do it, you can bring a hundred pounds every week to the same place at the same time. Or else.'

'What? Are you crazy? You said you'd go away and leave me alone.'

'So I lied,' he laughed triumphantly. 'One hundred pounds a week, or you'll see your name plastered all over the papers.'

'You wouldn't dare!'

Rick laughed again. 'You just watch me. But first maybe I'll go and see that husband of yours; I'm sure he'd be interested to hear all about the times we were together, all the little tricks I taught you. Does he enjoy them, Lucie?

Does he—?'

Slamming the phone down, she cut off his hateful voice. Oh, God, now what was she going to do?

Driving home, Lucie realised that she should have expected this; having got one comparatively modest payment out of her, Rick was hardly likely to leave it there. She was open to blackmail and he knew it. There would be no end to it.

Lucie saw with horror that it could go on all her fife. She must do something, stop him somehow. But the only way she could think of was to go to the police. And they would immediately go to Special Branch and inform them that she was a security risk. Which meant that Seton would be quietly dropped as the next parliamentary candidate and he would never know why. But she would, and she would feel guilty about it for evermore. So which would be worse—to be blackmailed by Rick or to rum Seton's happiness, his ambition, his life?

It was no contest. Somehow she would have to find enough money to keep Rick quiet. Not as much as he'd asked for, of course—that would be impossible—but enough out of her housekeeping money every week to keep him satisfied.