The Guilty Wife

Kate had been a prison visitor; she was a mature and kind woman who had recognised Lucie’s basic honesty and believed in her innocence. She had taken Lucie under her wing, encouraged her to take educational courses, and given her a home until she could find work and afford her flat in Hayford. For that Lucie was eternally grateful, and she looked on Aunt Kate as a dear relation, the only person who knew the whole truth about her, and who had sworn, albeit reluctantly, never to tell Seton.

Lucie sighed, pushing thoughts of the past from her mind. They seldom came back to haunt her now; the present was too full, too happy. She rolled onto her back and Seton’s arm went across her. He murmured something in his sleep, said it again and she understood. ‘Love you, Lucie.’

She smiled and looked at his face, lit by the moonlight. He had given many of his features to his son. His mother had shown Lucie photographs of Seton taken when he had been the same age and it was incredible how alike they looked. She was glad that Sam would look and be like him; she had been too wary of her own genes to feel confident in passing them on.

His hair had fallen forward over his forehead; gently Lucie pushed it back. Her touch had been featherlight but even so his lashes fluttered and Seton said, ‘Why aren’t you asleep?’ She didn’t answer and he opened his eyes. ‘You ought to be worn out.’ Still she didn’t speak and he sighed. ‘You are an insatiable woman. At this rate I shall be a burnt-out shell by the time I’m forty.’ But he smiled as he drew her to him and began to make love to her again.

This time she slept for a while afterwards, but woke to find the room in complete darkness, the moonlight gone. Seton was deeply asleep, his breath even and regular. Lucie tried to work out how many times they’d made love since they’d known each other, but couldn’t begin to count. It was possible to work out how many days they’d known each other so intimately, but they had made love more than once in a day so often—frequently even three times or more, as tonight—that it was impossible to say.

But repetition had never staled their lovemaking. It had always been so good, so breathtaking. And the joy had always been shared; there had never been the slightest need of pretence at fulfilment, as some women she’d read about resorted to, and as some of her women friends had confided. With Seton the excitement had always been true and wonderful, both of them delighting the other, and their own pleasure the greater because of it.

Their marriage was perfect in every way. Too perfect, perhaps. Lucie knew that Seton put her on a pedestal, that his love for her fell little short of adoration. It frightened her sometimes, the force and depth of his feelings. But that was only when she allowed herself to think about it; most of the time she was just full of heartfelt thanks for having met him, for his having fallen so hopelessly in love with her.

In return she tried to make their marriage, their lives as happy and content as she possibly could. Whatever Seton had wanted she would have done; she would have devoted her life to him completely, but he’d insisted on her finishing her Open University course, and when she got an honours degree he’d encouraged her to find a job as a part-time teacher. Lucie had given that up when Sam was born, but hoped one day to go back to teaching art.

Her life was perfect, the past buried deep—and Lucie knew that she would do anything to keep it that way.

They went for a holiday to Norway, the first they’d taken abroad as a family, and it was a great success, Sam loving every minute. Lucie returned with a gorgeous tan, and the hope that she was pregnant again, which was a tremendous joy to them both.

For a while it was to be their secret, until they were absolutely sure, but the knowledge increased Lucie’s vivacity as the tan increased her beauty. At twenty-seven she was in the prime of womanhood, her body slender but rounded, her pale gold hair a fitting frame for her lovely face and eyes so full of life and happiness. It was hardly any wonder that Seton looked at her with such pride of possession, even less wonder that he couldn’t keep his hands off, that he made love to her at every opportunity.

Shortly after they got back Lucie and half a dozen of her friends—those like herself with young children and who regularly got together for morning coffee—decided to have a day out by themselves. A day off from husbands, children and responsibilities. They would go to Ladies’ Day at Ascot, have a champagne picnic, wear new outfits, outrageous hats, the lot.

‘I’m jealous,’ Seton complained as he watched her try on her outfit the day before their outing. ‘You’ll be having a wonderful time while I’m stuck in a stuffy old court listening to a man who is clearly guilty try to lie his way out of paying a hefty settlement.’ He was sitting on their bed, propped up against the headboard, still fascinated to watch her dress.

‘Tough,’ Lucie answered. ‘They only have one Ladies’ Day; you can go any time.’

‘But I really think I ought to be there to look after you. You look so lovely that you’ll have admiring men flocking around you like bees at a honeypot. And you happen to be my honeypot.’

‘For your private consumption, huh?’

‘Definitely.’

Lucie put on the jacket of her burnt orange and white suit, then added the hat, wide-brimmed but turned up at the front and adorned with big orange and white silk flowers.

He groaned. ‘Take it all off. I’m not going to let you go. You look just too lovely. Some stinking rich millionaire will probably fall at your feet, then carry you off to his yacht or his stately home.’

Lucie smiled, pretending to like the idea. ‘Sounds pretty good to me.’

Seton growled at her. ‘If any man touches you I’ll tear him apart.’

She turned to face him. ‘Such caveman stuff. Do I really look all right?’

‘My darling girl.’ Getting up, he came over to her and turned her to face the mirror. ‘Can’t you believe the evidence of your own eyes? You will outshine every woman there.’

Meeting his gaze in their reflection, Lucie said, ‘I’m not going for that. We’re just going for a giggle. But I wish you were coming. I want to share everything with you.’

Recognising an unsure note in her voice, Seton put his hands on her shoulders and gently turned her towards him. ‘You will have the most wonderful time with your friends,’ he said firmly. ‘You will bet on all the races and win a fortune. You will have a most delicious picnic and drink lots of champagne. And when you come home I will whisk you upstairs, take off all your clothes except that fantastic hat and then make love to you exactly where you’re standing now, in front of the mirror.’ She flushed, as he’d known she would, in the way that still delighted him.

She moved away, began to change back into her ordinary clothes. ‘Your mother has been dropping hints about us having another baby; she’ll be so pleased when we tell her.’

‘Of course; my parents have found a new lease of life since they’ve become grandparents.’

She laughed. ‘They might not be quite so keen after they’ve had Sam all day tomorrow.’

‘And overnight,’ Seton grinned.

Lucie gave him an old-fashioned look. ‘When did you arrange that?’

‘I haven’t yet—but I’m certainly going to now that I’ve seen you in that hat.’

‘You’re incorrigible.’

‘It’s your own fault, woman; you shouldn’t be so sensational.’ And he kissed her again.

The next day was warm and sunny but without a breeze, exactly right for all those hats. As Seton had predicted, Lucie had a wonderful time. They had a stretch limo to take them to the racecourse and set out their picnic in the car park, alongside all the Rolls-Royces and Bentleys. Because they were all women together they could let their hair down and there was a lot of laughter, especially after they’d opened the second bottle of champagne. Lucie was enjoying herself as much as the others until a photographer she hadn’t noticed came along and took a shot of them all as they clustered round the frothing bottle of bubbly with their glasses.

‘That was a good one,’ the photographer remarked. ‘It might be accepted by a paper. Give me your names for the caption, ladies.’

Lucie hesitated but decided to be cautious. ‘I don’t want my name in a newspaper,’ she said to Anna, the friend next to her. ‘Please see that he doesn’t get it.’ And she got to her feet and walked quickly away.

When she got back ten minutes later the man had gone.

‘You didn’t give him my name, did you?’ she asked, trying to sound casual.

‘No.’ Anna hesitated. ‘But Fiona talked to him, gave him her name. I think she’s a bit squiffy,’ she admitted. ‘But don’t worry; why on earth would they put us in the paper when they’ve got all these beautiful women and outfits to choose from?’

Which was very true. They packed away the picnic, walked down to watch the races, and Lucie forgot about the photographer in the excitement of picking two winners.

And Seton kept his promise—more than fulfilled it as he made love to her that night in front of the mirror, their passion for each other seeming to be doubled as they not only felt but saw themselves giving and taking such glorious pleasure. ‘Hold your hat on, sweetheart,’ Seton groaned out. ‘Because I’m going to blow your mind.’

That made Lucie start to laugh, but soon she was gasping, her eyes closing in exquisite sensuality then opening to see their straining bodies in the mirror. She moaned, the eroticism of it almost too much to bear, and then cried out in ecstasy as Seton lifted her off the ground and held her to him. They were free tonight, with Sam not there, to give voice to their excitement, to cry out the other’s name, to give full rein to a hunger that was heightened but never satiated.

Lucie woke late the next morning, able to sleep in because Sam wasn’t there and Seton didn’t have to go to work. She showered and dressed, taking her time, smiling when she saw her discarded hat on the floor. Carefully she packed it away in her wardrobe, sentimentally thinking that she would keep it for ever, take it out when they were old and grey and smile in happy remembrance of the past night.

Seton had made breakfast and was sitting in their big, sunlit kitchen reading the paper. He glanced at the back page then gave an exclamation of astonishment. ‘Lucie! Your picture’s in the paper!’

‘What?’

She looked over his shoulder as he held the paper for her to see. It made a good photograph, in colour, all of them in their chic outfits, laughing and happy as they held out their glasses to catch the fountain of bubbles like diamonds in the sun. Lucie was in the forefront, easily recognisable, the most attractive of them all, and her name was clearly given, along with the name of the village from which they all came.

Seton said, ‘How amazing. You didn’t tell me you’d had it taken.’

‘I forgot. There were so many beautiful women there, and lots of photographers going around. I didn’t think they’d ever print it.’

‘But it’s a wonderful shot. You all look so happy.’ He grinned at her and put his arm round her waist. ‘I told you you’d be the most beautiful woman there.’

She gave him a hug and sat opposite him, helping herself to cereals, looking across at the photograph as Seton read the rest of the paper. Her heart sank a little and Lucie wondered if she had changed much over the last ten years. Would anyone who had known her then recognise the same person in the sophisticated young woman in the picture? On the whole she thought not, and they certainly wouldn’t recognise the name of Lucie Wallace, of course. That thought made Lucie feel considerably better, enough to make her laugh at her fears as absurd. She was safe now—safe and secure in the world that Seton had given her.