The Guilty Wife (12 page)

The first week she left only eighty pounds in the litter bin. Within an hour a fax came through with the usual threats

—threats to which Lucie was starting to become immune. She knew that Rick wouldn't do anything while he thought he could still get money out of her. Somehow she managed to keep him at bay for another three weeks or so, but by then had run completely out of money.

When Seton came home one evening, she said as casually as she could, 'Do you think you could let me have some money? The washing machine broke down today and I had to pay the repair man cash, so it's completely cleaned me out.'

Seton's eyebrows rose in surprise. 'Why wouldn't lie take a cheque? He usually does.'

'It wasn't the usual man from the village. He's— he's on holiday. So I had to get someone else in a hurry. He would only take cash.'

Seton took his wallet from his pocket. 'How much was it?'

'A hundred and fifty,' Lucie invented, her hands balled into fists under the table. 'He had to replace some parts,' she added desperately when she saw his astonishment.

"That seems an awful lot; the machine isn't that old, is it?'

'I needed it, Seton.'

Handing her the money, he said, 'Yes, of course. But promise me you won't use the man again, darling. He sounds like a cowboy, probably working illegally.'

'OK—promise.'

Lucie took the money with relief, and knew that she was safe for another couple of weeks, but then she was completely devastated as Seton handed her a piece of paper and said, 'The record of all the calls to and from the fax machine came through today, but there are several that were sent here that I don't remember receiving. Do you know anything about them?'

For a moment Lucie's mind was paralysed, too shocked to think of an excuse. Feebly she said,'Are— are you sure you didn't get them?'

'Quite sure.' Looking at her, seeing the sudden whiteness of her face, Seton began to frown. Quickly, her voice terse with fear, Lucie said, 'Well, I don't know. I may have received some. Does it matter? We don't have to pay for incoming ones, do we? Is that what you're worried about?'

'No, but I—'

Without waiting for him to finish, Lucie got to her feet. 'I think I hear Sam,' she said, and hurried out of the room, afraid of the astonished, questioning way Seton was looking at her.

By now it was high summer, the playschool had broken up and she took Sam out as much as she could—to get out of the house as much as anything.

Seton was late coming home one night, having gone to an obligatory dinner with the other members of his chambers to mark the end of the session. When he finally arrived, around midnight, he found the house in darkness and Lucie asleep in bed. He undressed in the bathroom and crept into bed as quietly as possible, but Lucie moved, turned over, although she didn't wake.

It was during one of the mini-heatwaves that sometimes hit the country and the night was very warm and humid. Seton lay still, afraid of disturbing her, but Lucie began to toss around, evidently in the grip of a bad dream. She cried out and began to throw her arms around. Quickly Seton caught hold of her and called her name.

'Lucie! Wake up, darling.'

She woke with a shuddering cry of, 'No! No!'

'If s all right, you were only dreaming,' he soothed.

'Was I?' Lucie leaned against him for a minute, trembling from reaction and with the sweat of fear still on her skin. It was Rick who'd caused the nightmare; he often invaded her dreams just as he had invaded her life. A thought occurred to her and Lucie said, 'Did—did I say anything?'

'You called out something.' He added slowly, 'It sounded like a name but I couldn't make it out.'

'Oh. How strange,' Lucie said hollowly, then quickly changed the subject. 'Did you have a good dinner?'

'Very good.' He began to tell her about it but then yawned.

'Go to sleep. Tell me in the morning.'

He nuzzled her neck. 'I'm not
that
tired.'

'Go to sleep.'

Seton chuckled but was almost immediately asleep.

Lucie, though, lay awake and still, facing the terrible possibility that she would say something in her sleep that would make Seton suspicious. It was impossible to go to steep again, and she felt so hot. Sliding out of bed, Lucie looked in on Sam then padded downstairs to the kitchen for a cool drink. Even the tiles of the kitchen floor felt warm to her bare feet. She wandered into the sitting-room and pulled open the curtains. It was a beautifully clear night, the full moon lighting the gardens as if it were day. Pulling open the patio doors, Lucie went outside, hoping to cool down, but it was almost as hot outside as it had been in bed, even though she was wearing only a thin cotton nightdress.

The garden was large and completely surrounded the house, and because it was old there were full-grown trees and a high hedge all round that hid it from the nearest neighbours. Sam's paddling pool, an elaborate one with seats at the edges, stood in the shadow of one of the beech trees. The water in it was warm, but Lucie was so hot that she scooped up double handfuls of it and tossed it over her face, feeling the liquid splash onto her cheeks then trickle down her neck and her chest.

Kneeling, she poured the water over her arms, and didn't care that it also soaked the front of her nightdress, making the material cling and become transparent. Getting to her feet, Lucie walked through the garden, threading her way between the bushes and trees, the grass soft under her feet. The church clock chimed one, in the distance an owl hooted and she stopped to listen. Suddenly there was a movement behind her and she swung round, gasping in fright.

'If s all right, it's me.' Seton pushed a branch of the philadelphus aside, the exotic scent of orange-blossom filling the air. 'Couldn't you sleep?'

'No, it's so hot.'

He looked at her figure, silvered and shadowed by the moonlight, and his breath caught in his throat. 'You're so lovely.' Reaching out, he put a hand on her wet breast, caressed it until the nipple hardened, until her eyes closed and she began to pant with desire. Then he let his hand travel down, still caressing her through her nightdress, teasing her into a flame of frustrated hunger, his gaze drinking in the growing passion in her face, glorying in his power to arouse her, in the growing excitement of his own lean, hard body. When her gasps became moans and she began to writhe beneath his hand, Seton backed her against a tree trunk, then slipped out of his sleeping shorts and took her in a blaze of primeval passion that was joyous both in the taking and the giving, a fit act for the night and the place.

Afterwards he carried her inside and they stood together under a cool shower, Seton supporting her in his arms; then they went back to bed, still wet as they were, because to have dried themselves would only have made them hot again. Lucie slept then, deeply, peacefully, and didn't wake until Seton brought her breakfast in bed the next morning.

She sat up, laughing happily when she found she was naked. Seton bent to kiss her breasts and she let him for a few moments and smiled as she pushed him away. 'I'd better put something on; Sam might come in.'

She went to get up but Seton said, 'No, you stay there. Ill get it.'

He went to her chest of drawers, and pulled open the top drawer to take out a clean nightdress. She saw his shoulders tense, felt his shocked silence. Then he turned with a small piece of paper in his hand and she recognised the card that had come with the roses Rick had sent.

FOR a long moment they just stared at each other. Lucie had been too taken by surprise to try and brazen it out and her face was suffused with guilt.

His face very pale, his voice terse with anger, Seton said, 'I take it this is the card that came with the roses you
didn't
receive?'

After a moment Lucie nodded, unable to find her voice.

"They
were
meant for you, weren't they.' Although he phrased it as a question Seton made it a statement, because he had already seen the answer in her face. 'And just why did you find it necessary to lie to me, to tell me that load of rubbish about a mix-up at the florist's?' Seton's tone was so harsh that she flinched; never before had he spoken to her like that.

'I—I forgot to send the card back,' she ventured.

Striding across the room, Seton flung the card on the bed. His voice filled with scorn, he said, 'Don't you dare lie to me, Lucie. Remember, I can easily check it out. Check if my own wife is lying to me,' he added, with the deep bleakness of betrayal.

Lucie couldn't look him in the face. She glanced down, saw that her bare breasts were showing and pulled the covers over herself. She knew that now, if ever, was the time to tell him the whole truth, but the scorn and anger, the disillusionment she'd seen in his face, just at this, made her too afraid to tell him.

'Who were they from, Lucie?' The words came out like a whiplash.

'I don't know! Yes, they were for me,' she admitted desperately, 'but I don't know who they were from. There's no name on the card. Look for yourself.'

'Maybe there didn't need to be a name. Maybe you knew full well without a signature.'

"That isn't true!' With inner wretchedness she tried to make the lie as convincing as she could. 'I didn't know who they were from. I just knew they weren't from you, that you'd never send flowers or a message like that. But Anna was with me when they came and she thought you'd sent them. I didn't know what to do. I threw the flowers away,'

she finished placatingly.

Seton stood glaring down at her, the frown deep on his brow. 'Did you phone the florist to see who'd sent them?'

'Yes, but they said it was you.' Lucie was glad that there was one truth in all this.

'It wasn't.'

'I know that. I've just said so. I thought it might be some kind of sick joke. Perhaps even from that phone pest who called,' she added on a note of inspiration.

'So why on earth didn't you tell me?' Seton sat down on the edge of the bed. 'Are you afraid of me, am I such a monster?'

'No, of course not. I didn't want to worry you, that's all. But you do get jealous. You sounded really angry just now.'

And, taking refuge in woman's oldest weapon, she started to cry.

Putting his arms round her, Seton kissed her forehead, but said in a voice that was still cool, 'I can't believe that you lied to me, Lucie.'

'I'm sorry,' she said inadequately. 'It just sort of happened. I meant to tell you and then it was too late, and...' Her voice tailed off.

'Have you received any other nuisance calls?'

'No,' she assured him, 'there's been nothing since the number was changed.'

'Nothing else has come to the door?'

'No.'

His voice tightened. 'Or on the fax?'

She hesitated for only a second, before giving a definite, 'No.'

But Seton had heard the pause, felt the instant of tension that had run through her before she spoke. Slowly he released her and stood up, his face set. He looked down at her but Lucie avoided his eyes, making a business of straightening the covers. Abruptly he said, 'Eat your breakfast. I'll go and see to Sam.'

Lucie watched him go, relieved that she had got off so lightly but knowing that their marriage would never be quite the same again. Up to this morning Seton had trusted her implicitly, but now there would be reservations. However much he tried to hide it, he would always wonder if she was being completely honest and open. That aspect of it made Lucie feel wretched, but strangely she also felt profound relief; at least she wouldn't have to lie about the flowers again, but she cursed herself for having forgotten the card.

The feeling of relief was short-lived. That week she had to give another dinner party, Sam needed two new pairs of shoes because he'd outgrown all his others, and also he was invited to the birthday party of two of his friends, twins, for whom Lucie had to buy presents. So when she came to find the money for Rick all she could raise was fortyfive pounds. She left it in the usual place and drove straight home—to an empty house because Sam was spending a couple of days with his doting grandparents so that she and Seton could go out to dinner that evening with friends. As she walked into the house Lucie heard the phone ringing. After checking it wasn't a fax, she lifted the receiver. 'Hello.'

'You thought I wouldn't get this number, didn't you?' Rick's voice, full of angry menace, hit her like a blow. 'You stupid bitch, you should know better than that. I'll always be able to reach you, any time I want. Where's the rest of my money?'

'It was all I had,' Lucie protested, knowing it wouldn't do any good.

'Then find it!" He shouted the words at her. 'Sell something. That house is loaded with stuff. I know,' he added venomously, 'because I've looked all round it.'

'No.' Her voice was a horrified whisper.

He laughed. 'I was a burglar, remember? Do you really think I couldn't break into a soft touch like that? I saw the bed you sleep in with that law-abiding husband of yours. What does he think of you having been a thief's cheap tart? Or haven't you told him?' His tone quickened at her silence. 'No, I bet you haven't. I bet he doesn't know.' Rick laughed again. 'I'm going to enjoy telling him all about your shady past. Pity I won't be there to see it, though.'

'If I had the money I'd give it to you,' Lucie said shortly. 'Surely something regularly is better than nothing?'

She tried to be reasonable, but he ignored her, saying sharply, 'I'm getting tired of your games. I'm going to send you a present on the fax, and if you don't pay up the day after tomorrow I'm going to send that same little present to the head of your husband's chambers. And because you've mucked me about and put me to a lot of trouble you can add another two hundred to the payment.'

'But that's impossible! I can't—' She heard the receiver go down at the other end and slowly replaced her own. The fax came through a few minutes later. It was a copy of a newspaper article written at the time of the trial, giving the whole sorry story and taking it for granted that, because she'd been found guilty by a jury, she must therefore be guilty. The article included a photograph of Lucie, taken at the time, when she was sixteen. The photograph was ten years old, of course, and she'd looked much younger then and her hair had been longer, but anyone seeing it wouldn't fail to know it was her.