The Token Wife

‘No one wanted any breakfast,’ she said. ‘So I’ve had to throw all that lovely food away. It seems a wicked waste.’ She paused. ‘I’ve cleared up the kitchen, so if I’m not wanted for anything else…?’

Lou realised wearily that she was asking to be paid. She forced a smile. ‘That’s fine, Mrs Gladwin, and thank you.’ She found her bag, and handed over the cash.

Mrs Gladwin lingered. ‘Next weekend, Miss Louise? Will the family be down?’

Lou looked at her blankly. ‘I—I really don’t know.’ Nor did she care, she thought. And how absurd to think that life could just—go on. For anyone to assume that she would go on living in this house—in this village—with all the dead hopes, dead memories. When everyone must know that was quite impossible.

When she knew, beyond all doubt, that she had to get away—and fast. Leave it all behind her, and escape.

She said quietly, ‘I’m sure my stepmother will be in touch over the arrangements. Thank you for the tea.’

‘The cup that cheers,’ said Mrs Gladwin, nodding portentously, and departed.

Louise looked at the tray, with its snowy lace cloth and the pretty flowered crockery. Another act of kindness, she thought, amid the personal desolation that was beginning to tear at her. But, again, from the wrong person. She did not want Alex Fabian’s kindness. She could not bear the thought of it.

She went on staring until the outlines of cup, saucer, jug and teapot lost their separate shapes, and became oddly blurred. Until the first scalding, agonised tears began to sear their way down her face, falling faster and faster.

She began to sob, making small, desperate, uncontrollable noises, pressing her hands over her eyes so that the salty drops squeezed through her fingers. She could feel grief burn in her throat, and taste it on her icy lips.

At some moment, still weeping, she stripped off the skirt and top and threw them across the room, shuddering as if they were rank—rancid. Knowing she never wanted to see them again as long as she lived.

She went to the wardrobe, dragged out a pair of black jeans and a round-necked sweater in fine grey wool, and pulled them onto her body.

She found her soft leather travel bag, and began hurriedly to fill it with underwear, more trousers and casual tops, flat shoes.

Escape, she thought, the word echoing like a mantra in her brain. Escape…

But where could she go?

There was Somerset, she thought. She could stay with her aunt and uncle, and find kindness with them. Use their farm as a sanctuary while she tried to decide what she could do with the rest of her life.

On her way downstairs, she paused outside the main bedroom and tapped on the door.

Her father opened it. ‘What is it?’ He looked at her bag. ‘Is it Ellie? Has she come back?’

‘No,’ she said, wincing. ‘That’s—not going to happen, Dad. But I’m going away for a while.’

‘But she must come back,’ he said. He looked past her. ‘You don’t realise how serious all this is. It was part of the deal with Fabian, and he’s walked out on us. We need that injection of capital, or the business could go under. We could lose everything.’

Lou stared at the man in front of her, and wondered when he had first become a stranger.

She said, ‘I think you already have lost everything. At least everything that matters.’ She paused. ‘I’ll be in touch—some time.’

She went out of the cottage the back way, feeling fresh tears springing up as she realised how much of her life she was leaving behind. Yet knowing at the same time that she had no other choice.

She’d expected—hoped—maybe even prayed that Alex Fabian would be long gone. But there was to be no respite for her on this merciless day.

Because, as she came out into the yard, he was there, loading his own bag into the boot of his car.

She checked instantly, wondering if she could duck back into the house before he saw her. But it was too late.

He was already straightening, turning to look at her, the green eyes curiously intent.

‘So there you are,’ he said softly. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

CHAPTER THREE

SHE knew, of course, what he was seeing. The drenched eyes, the trembling mouth, and the pale face smudged with tears. She couldn’t even hide behind her hair, because her final act before leaving her room had been to drag it back and confine it at the nape of her neck with an elastic band.

Oh, God, she thought desperately. Why did this man of all men have to be around when she was at her most vulnerable?

She lifted her chin. Kept the betraying quiver from her voice. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve detained you, Mr Fabian, although I can’t imagine why that should be. We’ve said everything that needs to be said, and now we can go our separate ways.’

‘Not quite,’ he said. ‘Where are you going?’

‘None of your damned business.’ She reached into her shoulder bag, found her sunglasses and jammed them on her nose. One small barrier to shelter behind, she thought, searching for her car keys. ‘Will you please leave me alone?’

‘No,’ he said. He walked across, picked up her travel bag and slung it into the boot of his car next to his own case.

‘How dare you?’ Lou’s voice cracked with outrage. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

‘Taking over,’ he returned tersely. ‘Someone needs to. Most families are hell at times, but you seem particularly unlucky in yours. Your sister runs off with your man, and your father and his wife are too caught up in the financial ramifications of it all to notice that you’re falling apart.’

‘Thank you.’ She was shaking again, but this time it was with temper. ‘But I can manage on my own.’

The green eyes swept her dismissively. ‘Well, you certainly can’t drive in that state,’ he said. ‘You’d kill yourself within a mile.’

She glared at him. ‘Do you think I’d care?’

‘Suicide may have its attractions,’ he said, meditatively. ‘And the news might well put a temporary blight on married bliss for the happy couple, although I wouldn’t count on it. But it also tends to drastically reduce all future options. So I think you should consider living. And living well. That’s a far better revenge on your ex-fiancé.’