The Second Woman

by Charlotte Philby

  Maria cleared her throat and slowed down, letting Anna come to as the girls moved ahead of her, Stella calling out, ‘Mama!’

  ‘Hello, darling … Have you had a lovely day?’ Anna pulled herself up into a sitting position as Stella sat on her knee.

  ‘Maria?’ She turned and Anna continued. ‘I’d rather you didn’t take the girls out for the day without asking me.’

  Maria smarted. ‘I’m sorry. David asked me to, and I—’

  ‘He what?’ Something in Anna’s voice made her backpedal.

  ‘I mean, he … Or maybe it was me. I’m sorry if it wasn’t what you were hoping for today.’

  ‘David asked you to take them out?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I really can’t remember whose idea it was, maybe it was mine. But I will ask next time. I won’t do it again.’

  Maria tried to smile reassuringly, while her mind worked it out: David was drugging his wife and lying to her. He wanted her to think she was losing it. Was that really what was happening? Instantly, her mind moved to Artemis, her words to Athena the night of the storm: ‘You have to believe me, Athena, I know too much! I can see it in his eyes when he looks at me. The way he talks about me, as if I’m mad or … Please just promise me that if anything happens to me you will remember what I told you.’

  Anna was working late at the office one evening, not long after they returned from Provence. Maria tucked the girls in their beds, lingering in the doorway, watching their tiny bodies rise and fall beneath the sheets. It was hard to look at the twins and not feel a burning resentment towards Anna for what she was putting them through, even if Stella and Rose were, for now, oblivious to the cradle of lies.

  How could she do it to her children? Maria understood why she herself was in this: Clive had been responsible for the death of Artemis, and it had turned out that was far from all he was guilty of. How could Maria not have relished the chance to finally make him and his men pay? At the risk of being melodramatic, it was possible to believe this was her raison d’être, as if a higher force had brought her to London for this single purpose: a chance to avenge and atone in one fell swoop. And Maria wasn’t betraying David – or at least not without just cause.

  She moved away from the door and across the landing. She didn’t feel guilty. But Anna? She had consciously made a family with a man she couldn’t have loved, with the specific purpose of betraying him. David had no idea, Maria was certain of that. How could he? And yet, he had been feeding her sleeping pills, hadn’t he? He had been intentionally telling her lies, presumably with the intention of making her question herself.

  She stopped dead in the doorway to the kitchen, at the sight of him there, a rush of fear as she imagined him tapping into her thoughts. But he hardly moved, let alone reacted to her presence.

  For a moment she felt like she was intruding. She hadn’t known anyone was home and it was unnerving to find him here, alone, a whisky bottle hanging from one hand, a letter unfolded in front of him. There was a strange energy to the way he held himself, something about the scene that made her want to back away. But she knew he must have already heard her and so she stepped into the room, moving behind him and casting a glance at the words on the page. All she could make out was the girls’ names printed in a column under official-looking text.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ she asked, praying the trepidation didn’t show in her voice.

  ‘No, it’s not. I’ve just … Never mind …’ He closed his eyes. ‘Maria, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. That night, in Greece, I …’

  Instantly she knew what he was referring to. It was the first time he had mentioned the incident with the gun in all these years, and the reference to their shared childhood caught her off-guard. She could still picture the night perfectly, feeling the breath catching in her lungs as she ran from the house, past Clive’s car returning from the port.

  Maria shook her head now, pulling a chair next to him and taking his hand. She was so moved by this flash of the old David, her friend – so reassured by the reminder of their shared history – that she momentarily forgot herself. It was impossible to reconcile the scared, bereaved boy she had observed that night with the image of the calculating, gaslighting husband that had been building in her mind moments earlier.

  ‘Stop,’ she said, comforting him. ‘It’s OK. I know, you had lost your mother. You were a child. I shouldn’t have reacted so …’

  He pulled away from her. ‘Don’t do that, Maria.’

  She stood hurriedly, moving to the sink. ‘Do what?’

  ‘Don’t be disingenuous. Don’t lie to me. I’ve had enough of people lying.’

  He took another swig from the bottle of whisky and Maria felt herself freeze.

  ‘I wouldn’t have done it.’ He stood, crossing the room in silence, the tension loosening a little as she realised what he was referring to. There was something in his voice, though, that made her wary and she kept her eyes on the floor as she felt him move towards her. He paused, their faces a breath apart, and for a moment she was transported back to the house on the island, the thrill of the faint smell of cigarette smoke on his lips as he moved in to kiss her.

  And then she felt it again, his lips, this time touching her mouth. For a second she leaned into it, parting her mouth, feeling for his tongue, and then, as keenly as he had moved forward she pulled back.

  ‘I …’ She was about to speak when the space between them was shattered by the jingle of keys in the lock. Pushing her hair away from her face, Maria moved quickly out of the room, seconds before Anna appeared at the door.

  Maria

  London, the day Anna dies

  The rain has already started by the time Maria arrives back at the hotel on Portland Place.

  Looking at her watch, she approaches the entrance, nodding courteously at the doorman as she steps inside, her mind on Anna, who will be arriving home from the lawyer’s office at any moment. Maria pictures her, her face ashen in the back of the taxi as it carries her home from McCann’s office on Queen Square, where she and Clive’s lawyer had been due to discuss David’s will.

  Maria closes her eyes, feeling once again the finality with which she had closed the door behind her for the last time on the house where it had all happened, allowing the surge of emotion to overcome her. Would she see the girls again? Of course she would. She wouldn’t allow herself to imagine the alternative. Instead, she imagines Anna finding the words Maria had left there, propped on the table; Anna’s fingers still shaking with the shock of the meeting at the lawyer’s office as she opened the envelope, pulling out Maria’s letter.

  David is alive. He and Clive are planning to have you killed, just as Clive did with his own wife, when she started to question the business. They will make it look like suicide and they will tell everyone that you were mad … I have made contact with Harry and together we will make sure of everything else. You can trust us.

  The hotel foyer is relatively empty. The soles of Maria’s Converse squeak as she moves towards the staircase, heading for the room David has booked her into. She still has time to change into the heeled sandals and mid-length shirt dress he has bought for her, before the pre-booked car arrives. A car not a taxi. The circle of trust has grown tighter and tighter so that it is a wonder any of them can still breathe. Given the significance of where she is headed, and why, he has been sparse on details. Nothing could be discussed, David had once again stressed, unless done through EncroChat, the encrypted messaging service downloaded to the phone David had given her the last time they had seen each other, before he left.

  Their last conversation had been brief. If we’re going to do this, you have to understand that you’re giving up everything. You can never speak to anyone apart from your mum ever again. ‘David, I don’t have any friends, apart from you. Athena has no interest in where I am or what I’m doing, you know that as well as I do.’

  It’s true. Apart from Stella and Rose, Maria has no one.

  There is n
o time to shower. She throws her belongings into the small bag David has sanctioned for the trip, with its single change of clothes and basic toiletries. Nothing else to give away the world they are leaving behind.

  A sheen of sweat glistens on her brow as she takes a final look around the room, avoiding her own reflection before heading towards the lift, the sound of the wheels of her suitcase on the carpet following her inside. When the doors open on the ground floor of The Langham, she steps out onto the marble, the clattering of her heels echoing above the discreet strains of classical music. Keeping her head focused forwards, refusing to turn towards the voices that goad her from either side of her mind, she walks purposefully towards the desk and out into the night.

  The city she has lived in for the past three and a half years is unrecognisable as she waits under the porch for the car. Tonight, the world has shifted. Through sideways rain, she looks across at All Souls Church, a cluster of tents erected under the shelter of its porch. From inside, the strains of the choir practising for their Christmas concert drifts over sleeping bodies, their harmonies bleeding into the sky.

  Briefly, Maria recalls the day she boarded the flight from Skiathos to London, intent on making something of her life. She can almost hear the explosion of noise that greeted her as she stepped off the bus for the first time, onto Green Lanes where her bedsit awaited above one of the grocery stores that dominated this seemingly endless stretch of road. Inside the doorway, the light was too sharp, highlighting the scuffed carpets and precarious light fittings as she placed her suitcase beside the narrow single bed.

  Bedding down for the night, she had forced herself not to think of her university room in Athens, overlooking the Acropolis, or the bed in her mother’s house on the island with its views across the water. This was her choice, she told herself then; she had wanted this and now she had it, and she would not wish it away. No matter what.

  Breathing in a lungful of cold November air, she exhales, letting the steam rise in front of her face as a pair of headlights momentarily blind her. The car sweeps up to the hotel and she has to steady herself against the urge to run as the driver steps out and approaches, taking her single bag and locking it in the boot. Moving away from the portico, towards him, Maria attempts a smile as she ducks into smooth leather seats, the chill of the air-con rippling over her skin.

  The man in the driving seat says nothing at first as the car pulls off.

  After a moment, he speaks. ‘Please can you pass me your phone?’ From his tone she senses this is not a negotiable question.

  Maria tenses and the man attempts to reassure her. ‘It’s just protocol.’

  ‘Of course,’ Maria says, leaning forward, her hand hovering for a moment behind the handbrake as he reaches back to take it from her. He must be in his twenties, Maria observes: smartly dressed, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up slightly to reveal a flex of muscles as his fingers close around the handset, pressing the power button with one hand.

  Maria locks her attention on the outside world as they move along Euston Road, willing herself to remain calm. There are flashes of Regent’s Park on one side, where she had once taken the twins, and Marylebone on the other, where she would occasionally accompany the family to lunch at an Italian restaurant Clive loved.

  They move onto the Westway, following signs for Heathrow. Picking up speed, the driver opens his window, the sound of the wind rushing through the car as he tosses the phone onto one of the railings.

  He watches Maria in his mirror as he closes the window again, judging her expression. She holds his eye, seemingly undaunted, as he returns his attention to the road ahead.

  Feeling her heartbeat thump in her chest, Maria closes her eyes for a split second and prays. She still went to church most weeks, in London, to the Greek Orthodox mass near the house. It was near there that Felicity had approached her the time she finally revealed herself, moving up alongside Maria as she made her way home along Holly Walk. Refusing to let herself even think of that now, fearful that she will somehow give herself away, Maria returns her attention to the here and now. The car changes lanes, the engine revving, and Maria imagines the tyres skidding beneath them – the bliss of near-oblivion as she visualises the vehicle flipping, turning in slow motion, the impact hitting her in an instant as it finally lands.

  They drive for almost an hour, the occasional roar of a low-flying jet causing Maria to hold her breath. Briefly, she plays out an alternative reality, one in which the choices she has made had been different – one in which she had walked away the first time Felicity tried to bump her. One in which she had long ago boarded a different plane, back to the island, back to her mother and the safety of a world that she had longed to escape. David had been standing next to her, watching her lips move, as she made her final call to Athena a couple of days earlier. Her mother had sounded sulky when Maria apologised for the length of time since they last spoke – not that Athena had tried to get in touch with her only child, either. She had already heard about David, though not from her daughter, she stressed. No, she’d had to learn about his death in the shop, as if it was nothing to do with her. She sounded more wounded by the dent to her pride than about the death of her friend’s son. But that wasn’t fair and Maria knew it. Athena had cared about David, just as she had cared about Artemis. It was just complicated. She was complicated. But aren’t we all?

  ‘Wait, I think that was our turning,’ Maria calls out to the driver as they speed past the exit for the airport.

  ‘It’s OK,’ he replies calmly, and Maria flinches, her eyes moving to the door handle.

  Sensing her unease, he watches her in the rear-view mirror. ‘David is waiting for you,’ he says, and Maria can’t be sure if the use of David’s name is a reassurance or a threat.

  They are moving along country lanes, the headlights of their own car swerving ahead of them as they speed through dark tunnels of trees. Maria has never ventured into the British countryside since she arrived – the Witheralls preferring more far-flung destinations – and she has no idea where she is. Looking out of the window, she sees stars for the first time in England and something about the sight fills her with longing for home.

  What is she doing here? Once again her eyes move to the door handles, not that she could get away even if she did manage to escape. They would find her. There is no way out of this, not now. She breathes in sharply, picturing Stella and Rose. She is here for them, and for Anna.

  Anna. Maria jolts at the thought of her.

  If only there had been more time to prepare the plan, but it had all happened so quickly. She had barely had time to make contact with Harry. Back in London, she had felt so bold in what she was doing, so convinced she could pull this off. Now is not the time to start second-guessing. She has to trust they can do this. Whatever comes next, there is no going back.

  Closing her eyes, Maria pictures herself back in the Maldives, three years earlier. It was Christmas and her bones had ached as they stepped off the seaplane, the sand moving unsteadily underfoot as she reached the shore. Rose had fallen asleep in her lap during the final leg of the journey from London, Anna and David sitting separately at the front of the plane.

  It was a few days later, whilst pushing the girls in their buggy along one of the pathways behind the beach, that she overheard David on the phone to Clive.

  I’m doing it tonight at dinner … I know! For God’s sake, Dad. Do you think I don’t know that? I love her.

  Maria had been unaware then that she was overhearing David agree that this would be the night that he would propose to Anna, presenting her with the ring that was a physical manifestation of the circle that would draw tighter and tighter around her, until she could no longer breathe.

  As the car slows, somewhere in the depths of the British countryside, Maria pictures the wooden walkway perched above the sea which led to their suites, the glittering turquoise surface deflecting from the endless black beneath. When she thinks of it now, she imagines it as a pirat
e’s plank, the sharks circling out of sight.

  The car slows, turning without indication. It’s so dark out here, away from any streetlamp, that it is impossible to make out the world beyond the window. From the juddering movements of the car, Maria believes they are on a track; one thing is for sure, they aren’t heading for an airport.

  Whatever happens next, she cannot afford to panic. She has come this far, and David trusts her.

  The car stops. The driver switches off the engine but he doesn’t move.

  ‘Is David here?’ Maria looks beyond the windshield, where she can make out the outline of a building. She hears voices and then two men appear from the darkness, walking closer, until she sees Jorgos and another man opening the car door.

  She shifts back in her seat at the sight of the men, Jorgos’ head lit up from behind by a flush of moonlight as the clouds briefly part.

  These are Clive’s hangmen, come to kill her – come to do to Maria what they had done to Artemis, and what was lined up for Anna, too. For a moment, she is sure of that. They, or someone close to them, had been watching her when she went to meet Harry. They must have seen and heard every word. Someone had followed her to Anna’s house the night she left the letters, pausing for a moment to tuck one back inside her handbag.

  And yet she had been so careful, there is no way anyone had been tailing her. She had been so quick, and she was watching out the whole time for signs that she was being followed.

  The fear that rushes through her nonetheless, as she looks up at the men, is a flood, and she struggles to keep her head above water. Panic is the most common reason people drown, she remembers her father telling her whilst teaching her to swim; if you find yourself out of your depth, keep calm. She works hard to keep her thoughts on her father, pushing aside the image of Artemis that lingers in the corner of her mind. Is this retribution? Maria’s punishment for not having called for help the night Clive sent Jorgos to the house, the night Artemis died? She can feel now the same fear that rattled across the island the night of the storm.