by Mary Birk
“Excuse me, but this is a little different. We were married to each other when you got pregnant. What if the child is Grainger’s? What do we tell the child?”
She whispered, “I don’t know.”
They were both silent for what seemed like years. She had no answers to the questions he had asked, but she knew she needed to tell him about Darby.
“There’s something else I need to tell you.”
He closed his eyes briefly. “Go on. Tell me.” His voice was flat.
“Darby guessed. She walked in on me being sick this morning, and then she went through my things. She found the prenatal vitamins my doctor gave me.”
He nodded. “I see. She would have put it together about Grainger.”
“I’m so sorry.” Anne was miserable, trying to think of something to say that would make things better. “I know this is difficult for you, for everyone. If it helps at all, I think the baby is yours. But I just can’t be sure.”
“Doesn’t help much right now, I can truthfully say. I had two nights with you. He had the rest of the time. I don’t think the odds are in my favor.” Finally, his pretense of detachment broke. He picked up the clock that sat on the bedside table and threw it against the wall, shattering it. “Goddamn it, Anne. Goddamn it.”
There was a silence between them after the violence of his outburst. Then Anne spoke, trying to make her voice calm him. “I know this is a shock. I would have given anything for it not to have happened. But you love me. I love you. We can deal with this.”
“Deal with this? How? Girl, you’re my wife. I can’t stand the thought that you’re carrying another man’s child. You know how much I want children with you.”
The lump in her throat throbbed as she tried to swallow.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Grainger will want that child, and you know he wants you. If it’s Grainger’s child, and you stay with me, how is the child going to feel knowing he was conceived from an affair you had when you were married to me? What about the rest of our children after him? Having a brother or sister in the house from when you were another man’s mistress? Can you imagine what kind of treatment that will get on the playground, or at school from their classmates?” He put his head in his hands. “No, if this child is Grainger’s, the best thing for you to do is to marry him.”
She hadn’t been prepared for that. Shaking her head, not believing he could tell her to marry another man, she reached for him. He moved away from her and her grasp came up empty.
“Terrence, I love you. I don’t want to marry him. I want to be with you.”
He got up and pulled on his jeans and a shirt. She thought he was ignoring her, or that he hadn’t heard her, but then he spoke, his voice sounding as if everything inside of him was dead. “You may have to grow up, and accept that what you want may not matter as much as what is best for the child. And I’ll have to accept that as well. Now, if there is no more catastrophic news you need to impart, I have to leave.”
“Leave? Where are you going?”
He shook his head. His face was drained of any color, and he seemed unfocused.
She repeated, “Where are you going?”
“I don’t know. Out.”
“Please don’t go.” She reached for him again, this time catching his arm, but he shook her off.
“I can’t stay here right now. I can’t stay here with you.”
“Can we talk when you come back?”
“Anne, for God’s sake, have some mercy on me. I think it would be best if you leave.”
“Leave?” Her throat hurt.
He moved away from her. “I’ll leave some cash out on the counter for you so you’ll have some money—and take the checkbook and credit cards. Could you please go stay at that hotel by your job?”
She swallowed, nodded. “Will you call me?”
He turned to leave, shaking his head.
She watched him go through her tears, feeling as if her world had been irredeemably shattered.
Chapter 32
TWO HOURS LATER, Reid returned to the flat. He could tell as soon as he opened the door that she was gone. The place felt empty, unbearably empty. On the kitchen counter he found the checkbook and credit cards he had given her, along with the cash he’d set out. A short note let him know that she had indeed gotten a room at the hotel, and she asked him to call when he felt he could. He ran his finger over the note slowly, lingering over her name as if she were someone he’d known a long time ago, then turned away from it.
He walked aimlessly through the flat, thinking of the hours he needed to survive until it was time to go to work in the morning, and ended up in the bedroom. She had made the bed, taken her big suitcase, and tidied everything. The shattered clock had been cleared away. She’d taken all of her things, erased every sign that she had been there for a few unbelievably wonderful days. He could have just imagined she’d been here, he thought. He wished that it had just been his imagination, that she’d never come, never told him.
In the bathroom he washed his face, trying to stop the raging pressure in his head. As he reached for a towel, he saw with an inexplicable relief that she had forgotten her nightgown. It still hung on a hook on the back of the bathroom door, waiting for her to float it over her head and cover her lovely body. He touched the soft fabric tentatively, as if it might disappear, and then buried his face the scent of her. He would know that scent anywhere: a mixture of her citrusy floral perfume and the sweet muskiness of her body’s own natural scent. He could be put blindfolded in front of hundreds of women, and he would be able to pick out Anne just by that smell.
After taking the nightgown down, he got some paracetamol tablets from the cabinet. On the bottom shelf, between his deodorant and his shaving cream, sat a bottle of her perfume. He took it out, uncapped it, put it to his nose, and inhaled. Mechanically, he took the perfume and the nightgown with him on his way to get brandy to wash the tablets down. The golden liquid burned his throat as he swallowed it too fast, but he quickly poured another one. He suddenly thought of something and hurried to the bedroom.
He placed his brandy on the nightstand, opened the bottom drawer, and carefully put her nightgown and perfume inside. He pulled down the counterpane, exposing the sheets. Maybe he would be able to sleep if he could be surrounded by the scent of her.
But the sheets weren’t the ones they had had just made love on. He realized she must have changed them before she’d left. Not yet defeated, he went down the hall to the closet that held the washer and dryer. The sheets would still be there. He’d just put them back on.
When he opened the door, he heard the dryer turning. He was too late.
He took his glass back to the brandy decanter, filled it to the top, climbed the stairs to the loft, and turned on his computer. He’d been alone before. He could do it again. He’d get through this as he’d gotten through every other disaster in his life.
He’d work.
WEDNESDAY, APRIL 8
Chapter 33
REID CLOSED THE door to his office behind his sister. “Sit if you like.” He went around to his desk and sat down. Detached, he let his eyes take in this place in which he spent so much time. Never had the bare room seemed so desolate, so empty. Like his life.
Darby’s gaze was cool, but not entirely unsympathetic. “I gather she told you.”
“She did.” He picked up his coffee mug and took a drink. He hadn’t been able to even contemplate eating anything, but the coffee at least poured some warmth on the ice that had enveloped his body. “I trust you can keep your mouth shut.”
“Yes, of course. Isn’t that what we do in our family? Keep our mouths shut?”
“Thank you.” He couldn’t spare the effort to puzzle out what she was implying. Right now, his own pain was overwhelming. But soon he’d get over it, and it wouldn’t matter anymore. It would all be in his past.
“You’ll get an annulment?”
“That’s none of your business.” He s
hut his eyes briefly. But what choice did he have?
It had been different with his father and mother. They’d had their own children together first. If his mother hadn’t come back, Terrence and his brother and sister would have grown up either without their mother, or without their father. Here, there was a better choice. The child wouldn’t have to be split between two homes. Its mother and father could quickly marry before anyone knew Anne was pregnant. The child would not grow up being taunted about his mother being another man’s whore.
“There’ll be no trouble getting a divorce with what she’s done. If you get a good solicitor, she shouldn’t be able to bleed any money out of you at all.”
“It’s none of your business.” He repeated, feeling his eyes glaze over. He knew he needed to let Anne go. Quickly. He knew it, and he’d do it, but he didn’t want to hear it from his sister.
“Jesus, Terrence, you can’t let her use you like this.”
“Shut up, Darby. Shut the fuck up.” He saw her reel from his rare use of the obscenity, but there was no other word that fit his frustration with her, and with the entire situation in which he found himself.
“I just can’t fathom how you can have anything to do with her after this.”
“She’s my wife, Darby. Even with this mess, in any contest between you and her, she wins. So again—shut the fuck up. I would like to talk about the investigation, if you can focus.” He kept his voice hard, but he wanted to cry—something he’d never let himself do.
Darby’s face clouded over. “Of course. Why listen to me? Who am I to you, anyway?”
His head hurt. “What are you talking about?”
She waved his question away. “Never mind. I need to tell you what I learned from DI Lawrence last night.”
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to clear his mind. “Go on, then.”
“All right, but don’t yell at me. The first thing is about Anne. He knows she’s here–with you in the flat. He mentioned it last night at dinner.”
Now his head was pounding against his skull. He could hardly think. “How could he possibly know? The only place we’ve gone together since she’s come was to the house. And the only other time she went out was with the designer.” He narrowed his eyes at his sister. “You’re the only one who’s been at the flat since she came.”
She shrugged. “I didn’t tell him. I’m just telling you what he said.”
He shook his head, hoping for the return of the protective sheet of ice over his heart. “It doesn’t matter, but it’s bloody odd he’d know. What else did you find out?”
“He’s adamant Von Zandt’s not involved in Ramsey’s murder.”
“Did he say why?”
“He said instinct. I had a feeling it was something else.”
“Such as?”
“I’m not sure. It was just a feeling. He did say he thought if Von Zandt had done it, we wouldn’t have been able to pin it down as a murder. That Von Zandt’s people would have done a better job at concealing the actual cause of death.”
“That crossed my mind as well. But even a professional makes a miscalculation sometimes–and even professionals sometimes use amateur help. Besides, if the train was going a bit faster, or the body position was just a little different, we wouldn’t have been able to see the puncture mark.”
Darby made a face, then asked, “Did you know Lawrence has a girlfriend that works at CID headquarters?”
Reid turned. “No.”
“I don’t think he advertises her existence.”
“How did you find out?”
She smirked. “The cow came into the pub where we were having dinner. Made a bit of a scene when she saw him with me. He had to leave and go after her.”
“What’s her name?”
“Shelley something.”
Reid mused. “There’s a Shelley who works for Chief Superintendent Steynton, but it couldn’t be the same one. Steynton’s admin’s not the not the type I’d have thought would attract DI Lawrence.”
“Minger?”
“I don’t like that word, but yes, she’s unattractive.”
“If she’s downright butt ugly, then I’d guess it’s the same Shelley. On the fat side of plump and disgustingly bad skin. Dresses badly and just plain mean.”
“That’s her.”
Darby made a face. “Either she’s fantastic in bed, or there’s something else he’s getting from her. He was embarrassed of her, but terrified when she walked out. He ran after her. Left me sitting there like yesterday’s breakfast. That was a first for me.”
Considering the memos and other information that would go through Steynton’s desk, Reid thought he knew what DI Lawrence saw in the hapless Shelley. “I’ll look into that. Just now, I’d best get going. I’m off to Ramsey’s funeral.”
Her face indecipherable, Darby said, “Terrence, about Anne—you’ll be fine. You’re certainly not the only man who’s ever been in this situation.”
Reid flinched at the undercurrent of bitterness in his sister’s voice. Although he knew Darby hated Anne, this seemed to be directed not just at Anne, but also at him. Something was going on. He would have to talk to Darby, find out what it was.
But not now.
Chapter 34
ANNE’S CHEST, heavy with fatigue and hopelessness, kept her pressed to the bed. The taxi ride to the hotel last night—over an hour from her husband’s flat—had been exorbitant, but she hadn’t been able to face the prospect of negotiating the details of a train ride and then getting a taxi from there to the hotel.
She’d stayed up late last night putting all of her things away, hoping against hope—and, as it turned out, in vain—that Terrence would call. Finally, she’d gone to bed, keeping her cell phone right next to her. There had been no call, and when she’d eventually slept, it was fitfully.
When he had time to think about it, he would put things in perspective, wouldn’t he? She put her head in her hands. No, he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. There was no perspective that made this workable for a man like her husband.
If she could have the paternity test before the baby was born, at least she would know. She’d tried to get her doctor to understand how important this was; he had listened sympathetically and with a promise of absolute secrecy—even agreeing not to include Anne’s doubts about the paternity of the child in her chart—but he would not sanction an amniocentesis for that purpose only, and there was no indication she needed one for any other reason. She was only twenty-seven, too young to need testing for most of the problems for which amnios were used to screen older women.
Anne got out of bed long enough to let room service deliver her breakfast tray. She poured herself a cup of herbal tea—something she had disdained until she became pregnant and had to start watching out for things like alcohol, caffeine, and—who knew—lunch meat. She got back into bed with her cup and a piece of toast, trying to outsmart the morning sickness that had become her regular morning visitor. So far, so good. Her stomach was fine. At least there was that.
Her cell rang, and a wave of relief washed over her. Thank God. She picked it up immediately. But, instead of Terrence, Andrew’s hesitant voice greeted her.
“Hello, Andrew.” She forced herself to sound as normal as possible. This whole situation was difficult for him as well, and he’d been through so much. The loss of Lenore was still so fresh for him.
“Anne.”
She heard the relief in his voice and knew it came for him because of hearing her voice. He was such a kind, caring man, and he’d been a good friend to her, despite what she’d done to him.
“Isn’t it awfully late there for you to be calling?” She thought about where he was calling from. The house where his daughter had been kidnapped and murdered just two months before.
“I couldn’t sleep. Can you talk?”
“Yes. I can talk.” Hearing the note of weary resignation in her own voice, she resolved to make herself sound more upbeat for Andrew. In his grief, every day
had to seem interminable.
“Reid’s not there?” Andrew would know she couldn’t have taken this call from him if her husband was there.
“He’s not with me. I’m in a hotel near the job.”
There was a short silence, and she knew he understood the implications of what she’d said.
“You told him, then?”
“Yes.” She was close to tears, but she made an effort to keep control. “It didn’t go well. But I’m all right.”
“You’re not all right. I can hear it in your voice.”
“No, really, I’m all right.” She sniffed back her tears. “I knew it would be a shock to him at first. I’m still hoping after he has some time to absorb the news . . .”
“Of course.” There was another silence on the line, then he spoke. “How are you feeling? The mornings any better?”
She sighed. “They haven’t been, but today so far I’m doing okay.”
“Good. You’re eating?”
“Yes. It’s only the mornings that are bad. I’m trying herbal tea and toast right now. Please don’t worry. How are you doing?”
There was a pause, then he sighed. “Not great. I thought I’d establish a memorial for Lenore, but I can’t decide what kind.”
Anne pushed back the strands of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes. “What were you thinking about doing?”
“Maybe a ballet scholarship? Or do you think something to do with art? Or critically ill children? I just can’t decide.”
“Any of those would be good. Why don’t you wait and think about it for a while? You don’t have to decide today.”