My Perfect Wife: An absolutely unputdownable domestic suspense novel

by Clare Boyd

  ‘Do you have time for a quick coffee?’

  * * *

  I gulped and gulped and stared at my coffee. My chin began to wobble. I wiped away an escaped tear and pulled out a rather pathetic smile for my mother.

  ‘I was going to just leave,’ I said. ‘I’m so selfish.’

  ‘Well, it might be a good idea to put some distance between you for a few days.’

  I looked into Mum’s bright blue button eyes and shame engulfed me.

  ‘But what about Dad and Copper Lodge? There’ll be loads to do.’

  ‘Oh love. I’ll help out if he needs me. Anyhow, I’d already thought about extending my trip to see how everyone at the kitchen was getting on.’

  ‘But what about Auntie Maggie?’

  ‘Brenda has said she can stay on for a few extra days.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, love. And it’ll give me a chance to have a look at my azaleas!’

  ‘Probably trampled on at the party,’ I said miserably.

  She looked genuinely horrified. ‘Don’t say that!’

  ‘There were lots of very drunk people, Mum. You wait till you see the mess.’

  She checked her watch. ‘Never mind that. Tell me some gossip about the party first.’

  ‘There’s nothing more to know.’

  She ignored my self-pity, refusing to engage with it. ‘Dad told me there was some big deal in the making. Is that true? Did you hear anything about it?’

  My neck ached as I stretched it, first right, then left. ‘With the Seacarts. The couple staying in the guest house, I think.’

  ‘Yes.’ Mum nodded. ‘I think the Huxleys wanted to impress them. That’s why they went all out on the party this year. It will make them very wealthy, he says.’

  ‘They’re already very wealthy.’

  ‘Did you see Bo Seacart? Is she as beautiful as everyone says?’

  ‘She is.’

  ‘What was she wearing?’

  ‘She was wearing a flowing dress to the floor and she had flowers in her hair.’

  ‘Is she as beautiful as Elizabeth?’

  ‘I think Elizabeth is much more beautiful.’

  I believed this was true, but I also knew it was what my mother wanted to hear. She revelled in the Huxleys’ glamour, imagining that its reflection gave her a status with her friends at the bridge club or the Rotary. It helped her to briefly escape the hardships of those she helped at the soup kitchen. There were daydreams and aspirations in her job at Copper Lodge. She was not just a run-of-the-mill gardener; she was the gardener to the millionaires in the strange-looking modern house on Bunch Lane, no less.

  ‘Did you eat any of the food? I’ve heard of those caterers, what are they called again? Let me remember now … oh goodness, my memory.’

  ‘The Foodies, yes, the hog roast looked amazing, and there was some local woman who made the most delicious macarons I’ve ever tasted. It was like eating clouds.’

  Mum swooned. ‘Did you get some of the hog roast?’

  ‘No. Not in the end.’ Tears filled my eyes. ‘Jude was meant to get me some and then … Oh God, Mum.’

  ‘Don’t say God,’ she scolded, looking over her shoulder as though He himself might have heard me blaspheme.

  ‘What have I done?’

  ‘It’s nothing that can’t be mended.’

  My mother believed that every problem in life could be fixed by a few stitches of good sense. But the mistakes of last night were now bursting through the threads that had sewn up my feelings for Lucas all those years ago.

  ‘Do you think I should tell Rob?’

  She clicked her tongue and took a sharp sip of her coffee. ‘Certainly not.’

  ‘I think the guilt will kill me.’

  ‘Goodness me, Heather, you want to ruin a good relationship just because of one silly little kiss?’

  ‘What if it was more than that?’

  She guffawed and then wiped a speck of coffee from her top lip. ‘All this over a schoolgirl crush from way back when!’

  I stirred my coffee. ‘He told me he wasn’t in love with Elizabeth any more.’

  ‘What utter tosh,’ she muttered, shaking her head. ‘Goodness knows what he was thinking, saying that to you. He must have lost his head.’

  As had I. I sighed, doubting everything about last night. ‘Or he was very drunk.’

  ‘Yes, most probably,’ she said primly.

  ‘It’s so confusing,’ I sniffed, wiping my nose. ‘Rob and I haven’t been getting on at all.’

  ‘A few doubts are normal, love, after all this time apart.’

  ‘You’ve never had proper doubts about Dad.’

  ‘Ha! When your dad microwaves his cold dregs of tea to save tea bags, I can tell you, I have proper doubts.’

  A smile crept onto my face. ‘At least Rob doesn’t do that.’

  She handed me another napkin. ‘See? Anyway, your dad and I like Rob very much.’

  I massaged one shoulder, feeling the bruising from my father’s grip. ‘I’m not sure I care what Dad thinks of Rob.’

  My mother flinched. ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘He still treats me like I’m fourteen years old.’

  She stacked our empty cups. ‘Before you go, you two should make up.’

  ‘What’s the point?’

  ‘Because he’s your father. And because you did a very bad thing.’

  I shivered. I loved my mother more than anyone in the world, and I certainly knew I had done a bad thing, but I wanted her to acknowledge that my father had done a bad thing too. Sadly, I knew she would choose him over me. The thought of her siding with him dried my tears, making the decision to leave for Rye that much easier.

  Twenty-Two

  Watching Lucas and Agata interact was like a sport, a tennis match perhaps. If they were hiding something, their game was flawless. A clean, expert show of detachment, its backdrop the Monday morning sun and the cacophony of birds. Nevertheless, Elizabeth would watch them until she found her evidence. Her hunch about Heather had been proved correct on the night of the party, and she was now convinced she was right about Agata too, though she suspected Lucas might have tired of Agata since finding fresh blood. Either way, her eyes were skinned for the truth. She refused to let the film of denial form again. Since the party, she had felt alert, as though a doctor had given her a shot in the arm, waking her after a long sleep.

  ‘Agata and Piotr wanted to know if they could move their stuff into the barn now that the party’s over,’ she said. She took a sweet from the jar. ‘Isn’t that right, Agata?’

  Agata nodded.

  ‘Piotr’s starting on the pool house first,’ Lucas said, swallowing a mouthful of his grapefruit. He looked and smelt so clean, so clean and so groomed.

  ‘What pool house?’ Elizabeth asked, looking to Agata, whose brow had knitted.

  Lucas turned a page of his newspaper. ‘He’s going to build us one.’

  ‘You’ve talked to him about it?’

  ‘Uh huh,’ he said, sipping the last of his coffee. ‘This morning.’

  ‘We can afford it?’

  ‘Where there’s a will, there’s a way,’ he answered cryptically.

  ‘But it still doesn’t stop them moving into the barn,’ Elizabeth said.

  ‘The Seacarts might come and stay with us again next week.’ He pushed his empty coffee cup across the breakfast bar towards Agata.

  Elizabeth wanted to press and squash the grapefruit into Lucas’s face until he couldn’t breathe. It was Agata who blinked first and collected his empty cup, but her chin dimpled.

  ‘Why so soon?’ Elizabeth asked

  A splash of coffee spilled onto the saucer as Agata carried it over to Lucas. It was obvious she was close to tears. Elizabeth found a cloth and wiped the coffee away before taking the cup from her and giving it to Lucas herself.

  ‘They’re extending their trip to sign the final bits of paperwork and I thought it would be nice if they came to
dinner.’

  Elizabeth played with the sliver of lemon sherbet on her tongue, running it against her teeth. ‘The party was a success then?’

  He looked at his watch. ‘It seems so.’

  Elizabeth swallowed her sweet. ‘Dinner will be fun.’

  ‘I’ll be in my study if anyone needs me,’ he said.

  Elizabeth whispered to Agata and squeezed her arm. ‘One week until the move.’

  ‘You think?’ she snorted, a tear rolling down each pale cheek.

  A couple of days ago, before the party, Elizabeth might have zoned out right here and now and retreated to her beta blockers or her sweets, and to the suppressing of what Lucas called her bad thoughts. Today felt different. No more denial, she reminded herself. She was going to ask the tough questions, find out what she had been looking at but choosing not to see. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘You don’t … You think he … Really?’ Agata laughed.

  ‘Finish your sentence for once,’ Elizabeth said impatiently.

  ‘You think he stick to his word?’

  ‘Do you not?’

  ‘Ha!’

  Elizabeth wondered if Agata was hurt that she had been tossed aside by Lucas, replaced by Heather.

  ‘You seem cross with him,’ she said.

  Agata shrugged and picked some polish off her nails. Suddenly Elizabeth felt frightened of what she might be about to hear.

  ‘There are other jobs for people with your skills. I’d give you a good reference,’ she said quickly, wanting to shut it down, wishing she had never opened up the dialogue.

  Agata cried, ‘I not want job in this country! No more. Uh uh. I want to go home.’

  ‘That sounds like a good idea.’

  She frowned. ‘But we can’t with no passports.’

  ‘You don’t have passports?’

  ‘Lucas have them!’

  Involuntarily, Elizabeth’s head twitched to one side.

  ‘Why would he have them?’

  ‘He say he keep them in his …’ Agata mimed turning a key.

  ‘In the safe?’

  ‘He not give them back.’

  Elizabeth maintained a straight back and reached for the jar of lemon sherbets on the shelf. ‘Is he keeping them secure for you?’

  Agata shook her head. ‘When we come from Poland, yes, he nice, he say they get stolen from the van. But Piotr wants to go home now. Next week. His brother Rafal have a baby. But Lucas say no.’

  Elizabeth unwrapped a sherbet. ‘No. He wouldn’t do that.’

  Agata looked like she might spit in her face. If she had, Elizabeth would not have flinched.

  ‘He lies to you,’ she said.

  ‘You’re mistaken. You’ve misunderstood something here, Agata. I’ll ask him for the passports myself.’

  She bit down on her sweet and took another one. Old habits died hard.

  * * *

  Elizabeth was massaging Lucas’s shoulders as he lay back in a bubble bath that she had run for him. She listened to him tell her about how tiring and frustrating his day had been. Walt Seacart was reneging on some of their agreed contract stipulations, and Lucas, at the final hour, was beginning to doubt the deal would ever go ahead. As much as Elizabeth couldn’t bear the prospect of more delays, for all their sakes, his mood did not put her off. If anything, his vulnerable state worked in her favour.

  ‘Agata said the funniest thing today.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘You know they want to fly to Poland next week?’

  ‘I didn’t, but go on.’

  ‘Well, she’s under the ludicrous impression that you won’t give them their passports back!’ She laughed.

  ‘She’s misunderstood.’ He washed his face with the flannel.

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  ‘Her English is terrible.’

  Elizabeth dug her fingers deep into his knotted shoulders. ‘Why not get them out of the safe after your bath and I’ll pop them down to the camper van this evening? She’ll be very relieved.’

  ‘I’ll do it myself.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘No problem at all. You’re so sweet to care so much.’

  She kissed his shoulder. ‘I love you,’ she said fervently, closing her eyes, enjoying the warmth of his skin against her lips.

  ‘In the pool …’ he faltered. ‘With Heather … It’s not what you think. You know how much I care about you, don’t you?’

  She remembered when he had once pulled her into the bath fully clothed. They had lain in each other’s arms, her head on his damp chest, talking about plans for their future. At the memory, she laughed out loud, without meaning to, feeling elated and aroused all over again.

  ‘Why are you laughing?’ he asked in a gruff voice. And she was brought back to reality.

  Her switch from hate to love and back again, love to hate, hate to love, was weak and worn out from over-use. Knowing someone as well as she knew Lucas was a double bind. They had become too forgiving of each other.

  A reluctant creep of love re-entered her heart and a clouding-over of her suspicions about his kiss with Heather, and his midnight visits to Agata, relieved her of a burning heat building inside her. She wanted Lucas to be right; her historic paranoia had come into the mix, imprinting her bad thoughts onto innocent scenes, twisting them into what she had been programmed to expect from childhood rather than what she actually saw. What had she seen? Two grown-ups a little drunk, revisiting an old flirtation at a stressful time. Did it matter?

  * * *

  Later on, Lucas visited Agata and Piotr in their camper van, armed with their documents. Proof that he was a good man; proof that her mind was all at sea again.

  Twenty-Three

  Rob held my hand as we strolled along the harbour. The rich peach colours in the sky should have been beautiful but were sickly. The humidity clung to my skin like wet towels. The clink of the boats’ masts was like a knocking on my brain, tapping away at my conscience.

  ‘I called the Sports Trust about Reese,’ I said, trying to move my thoughts away from what had happened with Lucas.

  Rob didn’t respond for a few moments. ‘Did you?’

  ‘They couldn’t tell me anything.’

  ‘Jase said something about him moving.’

  ‘Reese? Really?’

  ‘Yeah. I think.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say before?’

  ‘I didn’t know you were still looking out for him.’

  ‘Where did Jason say he’d gone?’

  ‘He said he’d bumped into him somewhere – at the chip shop, I think – and Reese told him he was getting the coach with his dad to Hastings to live. He gave him the finger when Jase waved goodbye.’ Rob laughed.

  Aggrieved by this news, and by Rob’s nonchalance, I pulled my hand away from his to push the pedestrian crossing button.

  ‘I hope his dad has found him a better life,’ I said, but I doubted it. Quietly, like a prayer, I wished him safety into adulthood and nursed my own loss, unable to shake off the feeling that it was symbolic in some way.

  Rob took my hand again as soon as I dropped it by my side. By clinging to me, he pushed at my reserve; he knew I was keeping something from him. All week he had been overly attentive and hypersensitive to my moods. As I dressed, as I ate, as I read, he had watched me. Tonight, his hand-holding, his need for this closeness, verged on aggressive.

  ‘These shoes were a bad idea,’ I said, wriggling my fingers out of his to adjust the buckle of my slingbacks. The leather was digging into my heel. It had rubbed raw in the time it had taken us to stroll the short distance from home along the seafront to our local pub.

  ‘You’ll be glad you wore nice ones when we get there,’ Rob said.

  ‘Why?’ I asked, alarmed. I wanted a quiet midweek drink; keen to continue the week as it had started, to eke out more pottering, hibernating, swimming, reading, eating, recuperating. Away from everyone who might ask questions.

  ‘Do you want
me to carry you?’ he asked.

  Before I could object, he had swung me up and over his shoulder.

  ‘I’m going to be sick, put me down!’ I gasped, laughing.

  He jogged along while I screamed and kicked my legs and pummelled his back like a kidnapped princess, realising that this was how Rob romanced me.

  He slowed when he saw an old couple coming towards us, but he kept me on his shoulder. We both nodded hello politely, as though this was the most normal situation in the world, then he galloped off again.

  At the door to the pub, he put me down and said, ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For this lot!’ He flung open the door. The long wooden table inside was filled with our friends.

  The warmth and familiarity of their huge smiles was overwhelming. Their effusive hellos and kisses gave me a sense of the old me returning. Rob took my hand again and led me to the head of the table, where there was an empty chair next to Amy. She had a bright pink scarf tied around her neck and she was grinning at me.

  ‘What are you all doing here? Have I missed a birthday?’ I asked, a little disorientated, sitting down, skimming their faces, taking stock: tall Harry and his Swedish wife Catalin; eternally single Alan with his slick hair; beautiful Gerry with her long neck and boxy smile; Ben and Johanna in their trendy T-shirts; scruffy Adam and his very smart girlfriend Bex. All there. Kind of loopy-looking. Eyes too wide. Faces a little pink.

  Then I caught Amy’s eye again. I hadn’t spoken to her in weeks. Time had flown by, peppered by the occasional text between us. Now there was an edge to her smile. One eyebrow was twitching. The same eyebrow that had twitched when I had announced my move to Connolly Close.

  ‘How’s life in Surrey?’ she asked. The rest of the table listened. I wondered how I could be both honest and oblique.

  I laughed. ‘It’s a bit like being a serf in the Middle Ages.’

  There were a few chortles. ‘They’re that bad?’ Amy asked.

  ‘No,’ I lied. ‘But it’s a different world, honestly. They’ve just thrown this insane party. The fireworks were as good as Rye’s.’