That was a relief, although Walter wasn’t surprised to learn that Jack Hollcroft would find loss of face much more painful than loss of funds. Discretion was an essential for survival in the banking world, and no bank could afford to admit that there were crooks in its boardroom.
“It’s just that we have a bank policy to deal with exactly this kind of situation,” the admiral went on. “It’s a policy that’s designed to protect us all from intimidation. And in breaking that policy, you really broke a trust.”
He nodded in contrite agreement.
“We thought it might be best if you tendered your resignation. Under the circumstances, you could certainly cite personal reasons. We’ll accept with regret and insist that you take your full benefits with you. Hopefully, that sort of arrangement won’t limit your opportunities should you decide to get back into banking at some future date.”
Walter was truly surprised. “That’s very generous of you,” he said.
Walter began drafting the resignation as soon as the admiral left. He felt relieved that it was all over and that his sentence had been so light. They could have jailed him. Instead, they were content to simply cast him out into the darkness where there was weeping and gnashing of teeth.
During his last limo ride home, Walter tried his best to fight back the morose thoughts. He didn’t want to believe that Angela had deserted him, despite the mounting evidence that she had vanished. Hogan’s investigators had opened her desk files and found them completely cleaned out of all records and correspondence. Her e-mail, which could be read from anyplace that offered telephone service, had gone unopened. Her telephone numbers continued to play her recorded voice.
Worst of all, he didn’t want to believe that she had taken his money. Hogan said that there was evidence that she had gone to Zurich, but that had to be simply the most obvious suspicion of a frustrated cop. Because if that were true, then it was also quite likely that she had been after the money all along and had been playing him for a fool. He couldn’t bear to think that she had never loved him. Worse was the possibility that her moments of ecstasy while locked in his embrace had been faked. He had never deluded himself that her desire for wealth and power had not been part of his appeal to her. But he had never suspected that had been his only appeal.
He fell into a black hole whenever his thoughts focused on Emily. During her terrible ordeal, when it had seemed that he might never see her again, he had longed for her. The moment he had seen her in the hospital, he knew that he certainly cared for her. But what did she feel for him? Love? Pity? Loathing? Any of the choices might be right. All of them could be wrong. Her mind was completely shut to him. They had to talk.
Even though they were driving through beautiful country on a perfect day, not a single ray of sunshine penetrated Walter’s thoughts. Would he ever be able to get back into the banking fraternity or would a raised eyebrow from Jack Hollcroft condemn him forever? Could he keep the house? Walter was nicely funded and even the fractional vesting of his pension would give him a decent income. But his lifestyle was based on expectations that had vanished from the horizon like a sinking ship when Angela had vanished with the money. A cutback—a very severe cutback—was inevitable.
When they reached his house, Omar raced around the car and opened die door. Walter started past him with his usual nod, but then realized that a personal driver was one of the perks he had forfeited. He turned back. “You may have heard, Omar…”
“I did, Mr. Childs,” the driver answered, still standing at attention with the door in his hand. “And may I say how sorry I am.” The musical accent made the words even more of a dirge. “I will certainly miss our conversations and I only hope that we will meet again.”
Walter put a grateful hand on the man’s shoulders. But he didn’t speak. His only thought was that if there were a next time, there was an even chance that he would be driving Omar.
He opened the front door and nearly tripped over Emily’s luggage in the front hall. There were two matching suitcases, each bulging and obviously heavy to lift, and a smaller travel bag. He looked up from the luggage in time to see his wife coming down the stairs in a knee-length skirt and a dressy blouse, not her usual daytime attire.
“Hello, Walter. You’re home early.” She stepped past the bags without seeming to notice them and went into the kitchen where a glass of wine was waiting for her. Walter followed silently. “Fix yourself a drink,” Emily suggested. “I’m ready to talk now, but we’re a bit short of time. My car is due in twenty minutes.”
Her high heels clicked on the tiles as she crossed the family room. Walter stood paralyzed as Emily settled into a single chair on the far side of the coffee table and adjusted her skirt below her knee. Then she looked up and gave Walter her full attention. He didn’t have any idea how he should begin.
“What was it you wanted to say,” she prodded.
“The luggage … are you … going away?”
“Yes. I’ll send for the rest of my things once I’m settled. Hopefully, that won’t take too long.”
“Where? Where are you going?”
“Right now, I’m going to stay with a friend in Savannah. Then I thought I might take a trip for a few months. I’m really not sure where I’m going to end up.”
He went to the wet bar, fixed a drink of his own, and carried it to the sofa. He sat, fidgeted with the ice cubes for a moment, and then raised his eyes to find her looking at him expectantly.
“Emily … I love you. I know I’ve been a fool, but I know that I love you. I’m begging your forgiveness … even though I know I don’t deserve it.”
Her expression didn’t change, but her voice softened a bit. “Thank you, Walter. And I do forgive you, even though I agree that you don’t deserve it. Fundamentally, you’re a decent man and I never want to have bad thoughts about you. I really do wish you the best.”
“Do you have to leave? If you could stay for a while. A few weeks, maybe. I’m sure we could work everything out.”
Emily shook her head slowly. “No, I don’t think so. We both still have long lives ahead of us. I don’t think we should spend them mourning over a dead marriage or trying to breathe some heat back into cold ashes.”
He was shocked. “A dead marriage? Dead?”
“I think that’s the right word,” Emily said softly. There was no anger to her tone. If anything, her voice carried a note of sadness.
“But if you can forgive me …”
“I do forgive you, Walter. You have to believe that. But that doesn’t change the fact that our marriage is over. I don’t see any reason why we should go on living together like old friends sharing an apartment. I want what you want. To be married to someone.”
“But damm it, I said I was sorry, and I am.”
“I know you are and I hope you can get over it. You’re not the only one who’s at fault. I’m sure I did as much to wound our relationship as you did. But you’re the one who…” She raised her hand with a finger and thumb extended to simulate a pistol and then she squeezed off a shot “… shot it dead.”
His face registered his confusion. “I know I cheated on you. I was … unfaithful…”
“Is that what you think? That I’m leaving because you were … unfaithful?” She shook her head sadly. “God, but you must think I’m some kind of prig.”
Walter’s voice climbed in frustration. “No! I don’t think anything like that. You have every right—”
She raised a hand to silence him. “Please, just listen, Walter, because I want to make sure you understand this. I want you to know exactly why I’m leaving.”
He jumped to his feet and began pacing. “I know why you’re leaving,” he told her. “You want to get back at me. To punish me. And I don’t blame you. It was terrible of me …”
“Will you please sit down,” Emily ordered. “Just sit down and listen!” She waited patiently until he had lowered back into his chair. “You think I’m leaving because you’re having an affair
with a woman at your office.”
“That’s over,” he interrupted. “I’ve been trying to reach her for the past few days to tell her that it’s over.”
“I don’t care whether it’s over.”
His jaw slackened “You don’t care…”
“Not any longer. I did care when I first learned about it. But I loved you, Walter. Oh, of course I was hurt, but I wasn’t shocked. You’re a good-looking man on the way to the top. I’d have been a fool not to realize that young, attractive, and very bright women would be attracted to you. Some of them would be just on the make. But some of them would honestly see you as the answer to their prayers. Someone that a fairy godmother had arranged for them to meet.”
He nodded his understanding. “Of course, but I shouldn’t have…”
“Of course you shouldn’t have let yourself be seduced. And believe me, the image of you getting it on with another woman was a bitch for me to face. I imagined that she was startlingly beautiful and when I looked at myself in the mirror I began to think that I was an old hag. And then I saw her, Walter, and she was more beautiful than anyone could have imagined. Jesus, I couldn’t even bear to look in the mirror.”
“I am sorry. Truly, sorry.” His voice was choking with remorse.
“But that didn’t kill our marriage,” Emily went on. “I mean, it was damn tough to take, but it wasn’t something directed at me. I figured that you had been offered a smashing piece of ass to play with and that it was too much to pass up. You were tempted and you gave in. You were weak, not evil. You weren’t perfect, but I’ve never demanded perfection from myself and I certainly wasn’t going to demand it from you. I thought you’d have your fling, be crushed with guilt, and try to sneak back into the house. And I wasn’t going to make it tough for you. Just let you know that I knew so that we both wouldn’t be living a lie. Accept your apology, just as I have now, and then try to get on with our lives.”
“But, then … what?” Walter wasn’t sure whether she was leaving him or coming back.
“Our marriage didn’t die because you were screwing Angela,” Emily said, using her name for the first time. “It ended because you were screwing me.”
He was bewildered. His hands came up in an imploring gesture. “I don’t think I understand …”
“You decided that I wasn’t good enough for you. You wanted to trade me in and start all over again with a new model. You decided I wasn’t flashy enough to capture the attention you deserved. I wasn’t smart enough to mix it up with the circle of friends you belonged in. I didn’t speak all the languages of your global empire. I wasn’t hot enough to make everyone envious of you. I wasn’t good enough in the sack to satisfy your needs. You wanted a goddamned trophy to stand in your house as a tribute to what a great man you had become and I just wasn’t big enough, or shiny enough to fit on the pedestal you had built.”
Emily was losing her calm veneer as she recited the litany of abuse. She heard a shrill, nagging tone in her voice that she couldn’t stand. She stopped, took a breath, and then drank from her wineglass. When she felt composed, she continued.
“You stopped thinking about us, Walter, which is what a marriage is supposed to be about. You discarded me and started to think only about you. And that’s not a marriage, that’s an arrangement. I don’t think either of us should settle for an arrangement.”
“I never stopped thinking about you,” Walter protested.
“Oh, I’m sure I was on your mind,” Emily agreed. “You must have been sick wondering what I would say, how much I would demand, whether I’d go away quietly or whether I’d kick up a fuss. But face the truth. All those thoughts were really thoughts about how I would affect your happiness. You see what I mean. Planking Angela wasn’t nice. But throwing me on the garbage heap was the real killer. It wasn’t sex that killed our marriage. It was selfishness. When I understood that, then I understood that I was all alone and that I better start taking care of myself.”
An automobile horn beeped discreetly outside the front door. Emily took a final sip from her glass, set it down, and stood. “That’s my car, Walter. I’d appreciate it if you gave me a hand with the bags.”
He followed her through the kitchen toward the front door. “I never traded you in like an old car. How can you say I threw you on the garbage heap?”
She stopped when she reached the luggage. “Probably not in so many words. But what did you intend for me after you rode off into the sunset with your new bride? Was I supposed to be thrilled with alimony checks? Was I supposed to devote my life to tennis? Become the queen of the singles bars? We had a life together and then you went off and found another life for yourself. Now I have to find one or else I’ll be as good as dead.”
“But I want our life together,” he said. “Angela is gone. There is no one else.”
“She’s gone?” Emily questioned. Walter’s glum silence confirmed what she already knew. “I’m sorry to hear that, Walter. I can only hope she was wonderful in bed and that she did wonderful things for your ego. Because, God knows, you certainly have paid top dollar.”
She stepped out the door, leaving Walter to struggle with the luggage. Emily waited by the car door until the driver had lifted the bags into the trunk and slammed the lid. When he was getting back behind the wheel, she turned to the confused, slumped, totally defeated man beside her.
“Good-bye, dear.” She kissed him on the cheek.
“Emily, please don’t go. I’ve lost everything. I have nothing left to fall back on. What’s going to happen to me?”
She settled into the rear seat. “Don’t give me set-up lines like that, Walter. Because I really do give a damn.”
She pulled the door closed. The car rolled down the Belgian block driveway, leaving him standing alone by the open front door.
Sometime Later
ANGELA STRETCHED OUT ON the hot tiles along the edge of the pool and peered over the top of her sunglasses to get the attention of the waiter. He circled behind the chaise lounges so as not to cast a shadow on any of the guests and then dropped to one knee beside her.
“Ahh, Signorina. Be careful. The sun is very high. Your skin…”
She smiled. “I don’t suppose I could get you to rub some oil on me.”
The young man tried to look serious. “I think you may need it. You’re already getting a little pink.”
“Where you’re looking, I’ve always been pink,” she said, making a point of following his glance down under her bikini top. “And on your way back, could you bring a bottle of mineral water. Ice cold.”
“Of course, and some extra ice.” He looked as if he might walk on the water in his haste to fetch the suntan lotion.
The hotel was built into a cliff on the Amalfi Coast, with rooms above each other so that every guest would have an unobstructed view of the Mediterranean. The swimming pool actually projected beyond the cliff line and had no visible edge to contain the water. Instead, the water flowed over the top on the seaward side, dropping into a catch trough that was there to keep sun worshipers from falling off the cliff. From inside the pool, it seemed as if the water were flowing gently into the sea, which was actually five hundred feet below.
She glanced through the door that opened out from the small, intimate lobby. It was empty, as it had been for the past hour. There was just the desk clerk, leaning his elbows on the counter, trying to appear alert while actually sleeping. Angela tasted the first hint of apprehension backing up into her throat.
Today was supposed to be the day. This pool, at this hotel, at exactly twelve noon. An exclusive hotel, with a reputation for assuring the total privacy of its guests. An international clientele, with no particular loyalty to the laws of any country. A view that looked down on the world’s finest watering holes and on a sea that led everywhere. It was the perfect place for two multimillionaires to begin their lives of luxury. But so far, Angela was the only one who had arrived.
She checked her watch and found that it was afte
r two. Had something gone wrong? She was about to run through the list of all the possible legal and physical disasters, but then the smiling waiter appeared, the oil and water in his hands, the towel draped over his arm. He was trying to disguise his anticipation with the bored professionalism of a physician.
He unhooked the clasp of her bra and pushed the straps off her shoulders. When he had oiled her the day before, he had managed to stretch two minutes of work into nearly half an hour. Angela had found the massage exciting and his suggestions of why he should visit her room amusing. Heck, maybe she should invite him to Sardinia.
His hands and his voice began having their effect. She felt herself relaxing into a dark, hypnotic abyss, soothed by the heat of the sun and the touch of a man’s hands moving under her arms. Without meaning to, she let herself drift off to sleep.
She was awakened not by a sound, but by the silence. His melodious voice had gone still, making her aware of the water tumbling over the pool’s edge. And his touch was different, more medicinal and less arousing. Angela blinked her eyes opened and was reassured by the shadow that was still hovering over her and spilling out across the tiles. But then she was suddenly aware that the shape of the shadow was different. She rolled over abruptly, clutching the untied bra against her breasts.
“Ah ha! It’s you. Thank god, I was beginning to worry.”
Emily sat back on her heels. “You didn’t look terribly worried to me.”
Angela sat up, reaching back to reclasp the top. Emily stood and walked to a table, set out in the shade of a tall pine. She took off her wide-brimmed straw hat and tossed it on the table, smoothed the colorful skirt she wore under a white, sleeveless blouse, and sat. Angela wandered up next to her, pulling on a beach robe.
“Want some bottled water?” she asked.
“Seems weak for a celebration,” Emily said. “Maybe a bottle of champagne.”
Angela smiled. “Why not? We can afford it.” She signaled to the waiter and sent him to find the best bottle in the house. Then she settled next to Emily.
The Trophy Wife Page 32
