'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.
Lucie could just imagine the article arriving in Seton's chambers, being passed round for them all to snigger at. It might not get passed any further than that, it might not even harm Seton's political career, but the damage would have been done among his colleagues, who would never have the same respect for him again. That afternoon Lucie drove into a town where she wasn't known and pawned the pearl necklace that Seton had given her. She would have got more if she'd sold it, but she loved the necklace so much that she just couldn't bear to part with it completely. There was always hope; she might win the lottery or something. Again she wasn't able to sleep and grew low and dejected. Rick started another campaign of softening her up, more letters, making calls, every one of which contained more threats of exposure unless she paid up. Lucie was able to intercept the letters but one afternoon Seton was home, his case having finished a whole day earlier than expected. When the phone rang Lucie was in the laundry-room and rushed to answer it but Seton got there first. He said the number, repeated it, then slowly put down the receiver. He saw her standing in the doorway and, his face grim, said,
'There was no one on the line. Were you expecting a call?'
'Er—I thought it could be Anna,' Lucie said lamely.
'Really? That's strange—because I saw Anna when I stopped off at the village shop on the way home. She said nothing about having a message for you, or that she intended to phone.'
'It was just a loose arrangement,' Lucie said defensively, but felt her cheeks redden with guilt. Immediately Seton was at her side. Taking hold of her wrist, he said grimly, 'You're lying! I know you're lying. You were expecting a call from someone else, weren't you? Weren't you?' His voice rose, consumed by anger.
'No! No, I wasn't. Let me go, Seton; you're hurting me.'
But he shook her, yelling, 'My God, I can't believe it! Are you involved with someone else? Damn you, Lucie, tell me!'
'No, I'm not! I swear to you I'm not.'
'Where are you going?'
'Out!'
'Where?'
Opening the door, he turned to give her a sneering look. 'What's the matter? Do you want to know how long I'll be out so that you'll be safe to phone him?'
Gripping her hands together in cold despair, Lucie said hollowly, 'There isn't anyone. Please, Seton, don't go like this.'
But he just gave a cold laugh that chilled her to the bone and walked out, slamming the door behind him. Lucie stared at the door in appalled consternation for several minutes, then ran to it, jerked it open and ran outside. But she was too late; Seton was already gunning the car down the driveway. She shouted but he either didn't hear or chose to ignore her.
Slowly she went back inside, and through the house into the garden, sitting on the seat at the base of the apple tree. Never before had she seen Seton so furiously angry. The thought of his fury chilled her heart, made her hurt inside for having given him the cause. She would have to tell him; there was no other way out. She couldn't let her marriage fall apart like this, not over a foul creep like Rick Ravena.
But what, then, of Seton's hopes of becoming an MP? He would stand down, she just knew; he would think it the only honourable thing to do. With a moan, Lucie put her head in her hands and swayed backwards and forwards, crying with a mixture of tortured despair and indecision.
Seton didn't come home till late that evening. Lucie had cooked a special meal for him and watched it dry up in the oven as she'd waited. She sat on the stairs near the front door, her fists clenched, terrified that he'd had an accident because he'd been so angry, and yet afraid to phone the police to find out in case he hadn't and it embarrassed him. When she at last heard the car pull up outside she almost fainted in relief and stood up, her face strained as she waited for him to come into the house. Because she had at last made up her mind to tell him everything, and just prayed that his love for her was so strong that he would forgive her.
As soon as he opened the door and stepped inside, she rushed to him, flung her arms round his neck. 'I was so worried about you! I was afraid you'd—' Lucie stopped precipitately as she smelt perfume on him— a perfume she recognised. Then she saw a black hair on his collar and a trace of lipstick on his mouth. Stepping away from him, she said tautly, 'Where have you been?'
'To the tennis club.'
Her voice hoarse and fiercely sarcastic, she said, 'And I suppose you just happened to bump into Anna.'
Seton's eyes, cold and grey as the sea, fixed on her face. 'She was there, yes.'
'And?'
'And what?'
'And what happened between you? Was Martin there?'
'No, she was there alone. She'd walked over.' Shutting the door, Seton gave her a sardonic look.
'So you gave her a lift home?'
'Yes, as it happens.'
'And did you have to damn well kiss her goodnight?' Lucie yelled, her temper suddenly flaring.
'We're supposed to be their friends; I always kiss Anna hello or goodbye, the same way you always kiss Martin. What's the matter?' he bit out jeeringly. 'Don't tell me you're feeling jealous? Surely you should know that what's sauce for the goose is equally good for the gander?'
Lucie went deathly pale, the decision to confess now entirely gone. 'I've told you that there isn't anyone.'
'And there's nothing between me and Anna.' Seton laughed contemptuously. 'Maybe you'll believe me as much as I believe you.'
'Mummy?' Sam appeared at the top of the stairs and Lucie turned to run up to him. When she'd settled him down she found that Seton had already gone to bed. She got in beside him but he didn't take her in his arms. There were only inches between them and yet they were worlds apart.
Somehow they got on with their lives, but again Lucie grew desperate for money. If Aunt Kate had been in the country she would, as a last resort, have gone to her for help, but her aunt was still on her travels, having taken a post teaching English in Peru for six months at a small village school miles from anywhere, at a place she could only be reached by letter and then only when a supply plane flew in once a month. Seton, perhaps in the hope of patching things up, wanted to go away on holiday and Lucie yearned to go, to get away from the pressure and stress for two wonderful weeks. But against that she had to weigh up coming home to a batch of letters and faxes that Seton might find. Full of bitterness, she said, 'I don't really feel well enough to go away abroad.'
'So we'll find somewhere in England,' he said impatiently.
She bit her lip, said, 'I'm so busy at the moment. I don't really think I can find.the time to go for a whole fortnight.'
Giving her a bleak look of withering disdain, Seton said, 'Or is it just that you can't bear to be away in case you miss some phone calls, or even some secret meetings? Is that it, Lucie? Are you meeting someone behind my back?'
'I keep telling you I'm not. I'd like to get away, but not for two whole weeks, that's all.'
So they made do with just a few days at the seaside. It wasn't a good holiday; Lucie was too uptight to relax. On their third night there, Seton drew her to him and tried to make love to her. Lucie was grateful that he still wanted her and tried desperately to respond but was so tense that she couldn't. Seton, equally desperate to win her back, terrified that he was losing her, became ever more angry. With a cry of fury he rolled off her. 'Damn you!' he yelled at her. 'I suppose you're wishing it wasn't me, that it was your lover! You'd respond to him, wouldn't you?'
'No, no! It's the baby. I'm afraid you'll hurt the baby.'
'Don't lie! It's months too soon for that. You were never worried about that with Sam. But this baby's special, isn't it? Is that because it's his and not mine?'
Lucie's mouth dropped open as she stared at him; then, lifting her hand, she hit him hard across the face. The sound of the slap echoed in the sudden silence of the room. A great tremor ran through Seton, not of pain but of despair. Gathering his things, he went into the next-door bedroom to sleep with Sam. The next morning Lucie was sick and ill, unable to get out of bed, so Seton had to look after her, and because of it they came home early, the holiday that Seton had hoped would bring them back together only having pushed them further apart.
When they got home they were invited to a round of barbecue parties given by their circle of friends. This had become a pleasant habit, each couple taking ft in turns to give a party, usually at the weekend. In die past Lucie had always been one of the first to ring round with invitations, but this year she was fervently hoping that the good weather would break before it became her turn, because she just hadn't the money. Sometimes going to the parties was a relief from her problems, but at other times she felt almost like an alien; she was under such stress that to see people living the normal life she had once enjoyed made her feel like an outsider, someone watching strange people with odd habits like laughing and dancing, having fun. She would find herself standing to one side, watching them, her heart filled with jealousy and something dose to resentment. It was the fourth barbecue that summer. At these parties Lucie and Seton had always naturally gravitated towards Anna and Martin, and automatically did so now. The two women were sitting alone, Lucie gazing pensively into space, trying as always to think of a way of raising some money, when Anna said, 'Hey, are you still there?' 'What?'
Lucie came to with a start. 'Oh, sorry.
Miles away.'
'You often ate these days. Is anything the matter?'
'Oh, no, of course not.' Lucie managed an overbright smite and began to chat animatedly for a few minutes, but after a while her eyes glazed over and her thoughts turned inward again as Anna replied. The meal had been a long-drawn-out one, the men doing the cooking but leaving the women to clear up. The childre
n had all gone inside to watch a video and now, as the day sank into a great, golden sunset, their host put on some music and people began to dance. Seton sauntered over and held out his hand to Lucie. "This is one of our favourites, isn't it?'
'Is it?' She didn't take his hand or get to her feet. The terrible chill between them hadn't melted since they'd been home and, although hi her heart Lucie hated it, somehow it seemed easier to deal with everything she was going through when Seton left her alone, when she didn't have to pretend to be happy all the time. And she didn't want to dance with him because it would mean his holding her close. He would hold his body against hers and it would turn him on, make him want to make love to her when they got home. But she knew it would only lead to disappointment and frustration again for them both when she was unable to respond, and she didn't dare to try to fake it again.
His voice hardened. 'Don't you want to dance?'
‘No.'
She saw his jaw tighten at her curt refusal, at her tone that was little short of rudeness. Then he turned to Anna and gave her a crooked smile. 'Will you take pity on me, Anna?'
The other girl was immediately on her feet, taking his hand and laughing as she went with him onto the lawn. 'Of course—but you're the last person to need pity.'
Lucie watched them go, a weight that felt like solid lead in her heart. She knew that her marriage was breaking apart at the seams but there was at least one ray of hope: in September Sam would go to school full-time and she would be able to get a job for a few months, until she became too pregnant to work. Hopefully it would give her enough money to pay Rick and she would be solvent again; then maybe she would even be able to sleep at nights. Anna and Seton seemed to be talking a lot; they both glanced in her direction and she knew it was about her. Lucie's flush was hidden by the twilight. She could guess what they were saying. Anna would be asking Seton if there was anything wrong, and Seton... What would Seton say in reply? He wasn't the type to discuss personal problems with others, even dose friends, but he had been going through a very trying time lately so he might just unburden himself to Anna, who was certainly looking at him very sympathetically.
The Guilty Wife Page 10