Living a Lie

by Cox, Josephine

  “Come on, you lovebirds!” Georgie’s voice sailed across the lawns.

  “If you like, you can climb into the back of my minibus, and I’ll take you to the reception in style.”

  The black cars were dismissed. Everyone clambered into the minibus, with Miss Davis up front. They sang all the way to the reception and Georgie was still merrily singing when Kitty put her to bed three hours later.

  “You’re a disgrace, Georgie gal,” she murmured, kissing her on the forehead before covering her with the blanket.

  “You swear like a trooper, and don’t give a damn, and you still can’t take your wine without giggling and falling asleep.”

  She turned out the light and softly closed the door, saying with a contented smile, “But, so help me, gal, I wouldn’t change you for the world.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  With trembling fingers Sonny picked up the receiver for the third time. Again she hesitated. How in God’s name could she expect anyone to believe her? What she had overheard was so bizarre, so unreal, she could hardly believe it herself.

  She laughed, but it was a dry harsh sound.

  “You always had a talent for picking the wrong man,” she told her reflection in the hallway mirror, “but this time you’ve found the devil himself!”

  A tide of emotions rippled through her as she recalled the conversation she had just heard. She was angry. Angry with him. Angry with herself. But more than that, she was desperately afraid.

  I Tony Bridgeman had deceived her, in a way so cruel I and evil she could never have envisaged it.

  Tears sprang to her eyes. Impatiently she brushed them away.

  “You should go to the police,” she said aloud. But then she dismissed the idea.

  “They won’t believe you either. You’re not talking about being battered or raped. You haven’t been robbed or threatened, and so far as you know Mr. Tony Bridgeman has never broken the law in his life.” She spoke his name bitterly. Her expression hardened.

  “In fact, the bastard’s done nothing that might interest the police.”

  She didn’t know which way to turn.

  “You can’t deal with this on your own. Sonny,” she decided aloud.

  “This isn’t the age old tale of a man choosing his wife over his lover. This is far more sinister.”

  Shuddering, she glanced round, as though fearing he might be in the room, watching, listening.

  She couldn’t understand why she hadn’t suspected anything. Dear God, she must have been blind. But then love was blind! But, oh, if she hadn’t gone there today. Her heart turned over. Laughing nervously she quipped, “You know what they say, don’t you?” while gazing at her own image in the hall mirror.

  “Eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves.”

  It was ironic really. She’d gone to his house, full of excitement at the thought of their snatching a few minutes alone. She’d wanted to share her wonderful news. The news they had both been waiting for.

  Well, now she knew, didn’t she? Knew him for the monster he was, and his wife too. She remembered how they had laughed; what they had planned. Her blood turned to ice. Even now, with the shock subsiding and her reason returning, the truth was too awful to contemplate.

  She had gone to his house, her heart brimming with hope for the future. She had left in a daze, filled with dread as she drove down the road like a maniac. Funny, she thought, how love could turn to hate. But then, they did say love and hate were two sides of the same coin.

  She glanced at the door.

  “Hurry, Martha,” she muttered.

  Her gaze shifted back to the mirror. Her own image stared back, white-faced and stark. In the eerie silence, the insistent ticking of the grandfather clock was the only note of reassurance. The soft rhythm mingled with the beat of her own heart. And that of the child inside her.

  Instinctively she laid a hand across the gentle mound of her stomach.

  “Ssh!” In calming the unborn, she also calmed herself.

  “Think, Sonny,” she whispered.

  “What to do? What to do?”

  Frustrated, she dropped the receiver into its cradle and began pacing the floor.

  “I should go to the police,” she muttered bitterly. Deep down she prayed she was wrong; that tomorrow would come and everything would be normal, that he would smile at her and all her fears would melt away. She thought about his smile, that wonderful handsome smile that had won her over.

  “Evil bastard!” In that moment she could have killed him with her bare hands. Hands that couldn’t stop trembling. Hands that had caressed every inch of his body.

  Reaching into the dresser drawer, she took out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter a slim gold lighter engraved with the words “To my lovely Sonny’. Impulsively she threw it to the far end of the room, where it bounced off the carpet and slid beneath the jardiniere.

  A shadow crossed the glazed front door. Nervously she swung round, peering through the glass.

  “Martha?” She stepped forward, waiting.

  Praying it was not him. A moment passed. There was no one there. She reached into the drawer once more, groped around and swore.

  “Bugger it!” Having thrown down the lighter, she couldn’t find any matches.

  Snatching up the pack of cigarettes, she strode into the lounge and went to the fireplace. On tiptoe she searched the high mantelpiece, her fingers creeping from one side to the other. With a sigh of relief, she took down the box of matches. While she lit the cigarette her hands shook uncontrollably, her mind in turmoil. Hurry, Martha!

  Where the hell was she?

  Pausing a moment, she considered her options but there was no real choice left to her. Frustrated, she seated herself in the wicker chair beside the door. This morning she had woken and thrown open the curtains to another beautiful spring day, happy that she was going to work, excited as a child because she would see him. On the frequent occasions when he came into the main office, he would thrill her with discreet, suggestive glances. At lunchtime they would get into their cars and drive away in different directions, to meet a few moments later in Aspley Woods. In his roomy Jaguar they would sit and talk and kiss, making plans for their future together. And often, when there were no walkers around, they would get into the back and make love. To her it was wonderful. To him it had all been part of a greater plan.

  Right from the first she’d hated all the secrecy, but he was adamant.

  It was: “A necessary, but temporary arrangement,” he’d said.

  “No one must know,” he’d told her.

  “Not until I’ve made the break from Celia, and we’re free to spend the rest of our lives together.”

  He promised her the world. And, like a fool, she had believed him.