The Wife Before Me: A twisty, gripping psychological thriller

by Laura Elliot

‘Your daughter obviously loves the sea,’ she said.

  Isabelle smiled and nodded. ‘Elena was a water baby who grew into a mermaid.’

  ‘You must miss her.’

  ‘It was difficult in the beginning,’ Isabelle agreed. ‘But the move to the bungalow has been a good distraction.’ She paused, apologetically, her mobile still in her hand. ‘I know this is small fare compared to the work you do but I hope you don’t mind if I ask your advice about one of the rooms?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Amelia replied. ‘Ask away.’

  ‘This one has very little natural light. Any tips on how I can brighten it?’ She showed photographs of a small living room and listened intently as Amelia made suggestions about well-positioned mirrors, wallpaper and lighting.

  ‘You make it sound so easy,’ Isabelle said. ‘I can see exactly how that will work. You’ve quite enlivened me. To be honest, I’ve been finding it difficult since Elena left.’

  ‘How long will she be away?’

  ‘Who knows? She loves it over there. I don’t see her coming back to settle here, at least not in the immediate future. I don’t blame her breaking away from me, not really. Her father died when she was young. He was the love of my life and she always felt she was playing second fiddle to him.’

  Amelia blinked back a sudden rush of tears. They came at unexpected times and now, in the midst of the annual HKM Christmas party, she was filled with an urge to lay her head on the table and weep.

  The band began to play. The crowd looked reluctant to move from their chairs but Nicholas, without hesitation, took her hand and led her onto the floor.

  ‘What was Isabelle bending your ear about?’ he asked.

  ‘Her new house. I was giving her some design tips.’

  ‘She’s worth a fortune yet she’s cadging free advice off you.’

  ‘She was simply asking my opinion. I like her.’

  ‘You’re certainly getting on well together… not too well, I hope. You know that she and Rosemary have a thing—’

  ‘That’s office gossip,’ Amelia protested. ‘They’re just good friends. Anyone can see that.’

  He held her closer, whispered in her ear. ‘You’re an expert on that subject, of course.’

  ‘Stop it, Nicholas. I’m enjoying the night. Don’t spoil it for me.’

  As soon as they returned to the table, Peter Harris asked her to dance. Instinctively she glanced at Nicholas, whose nod was imperceptible to anyone but her.

  Peter was an excellent dancer, his hands moving smoothly over the back of her dress. ‘You dance beautifully, Amelia.’ He brought his mouth close to hers, the smell of brandy on his breath. ‘Have you ever danced professionally?’

  ‘Only in my dreams, Peter. But I did attend classes with a friend when I was in my teens. We did everything from contemporary to ballet, ballroom―’

  ‘Ah! Ballroom. Wonderful. You’re a woman after my own heart.’ He stopped dancing and held her at arm’s length. ‘I’m going to have a word with the band, get them to play some decent dance music.’ He strode to the stage and stopped the singer in the middle of singing ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’. After a brief consultation, the band began to play a tango.

  ‘Let’s show ’em.’ Beaming widely, Peter pulled her into his arms, his back erect, head rock steady as he glided her forward. Amelia’s legs moved in step with his long, dramatic stride, her body pliant when he bent her backwards. The dancers surrounding them stopped and formed an admiring circle. Peter stood behind her, one hand close to her breast, the other low on her back, their bodies fusing for an instant before he spun her round. Nicholas had joined the circle. He smiled, as if amused, when Amelia flicked her leg high and the slit at the side of her dress opened to reveal her thigh. The younger men watching whistled and stamped their feet. Exaggerating the sensual chorography of the tango, Amelia stepped lightly to the music, giddy with a reckless need to taunt Nicholas. He was still smiling when the dance ended and Peter lifted her into the air. She glimpsed her reflection in the ballroom mirror. Dazzling in silver, her black hair falling back from her cheeks, her arms raised to acknowledge the applause. Her face glowing. What a picture. What a lie.

  ‘Where did you learn to dance like that?’ Isabelle asked when Amelia returned to the table.

  ‘Dance class, years ago.’ Amelia sat down beside her and steadied her breathing. ‘My friend Leanne and I used to practise every day. Luckily, I was always the woman. Otherwise, Peter would have had some problems on the floor.’ She laughed and fanned her face with a serviette. ‘Whew. Your husband is one tough taskmaster, Lilian.’

  Amelia’s efforts to draw the other woman into the conversation failed. Lilian Harris, who had been drinking steadily throughout the night, simply nodded and signalled to Peter that she needed another vodka.

  Nicholas sat beside Lilian and enquired about her family. Two sons, two daughters, adults now; he knew their names and the details of their education and careers. Amelia listened to his easy flow of conversation. His memory was a tool he used to charm and control. Why was she only seeing this now?

  He continued talking to Lilian, who reached into her evening bag for her lipstick and drew a red slash on her lips. ‘We’ve had this fascinating conversation about my family every year since you joined the firm, Nicholas.’ She snapped the bag closed. ‘I’ve always admired your ability to entertain me for my allotted time span.’

  ‘Lilian, you make it sound like a chore,’ Nicholas protested. ‘I always look forward to talking to you and catching up on your family’s achievements.’

  ‘But you never ask about me. My achievements.’

  ‘Your achievements are obvious. Four wonderful children―’

  ‘Indeed. When are you going to provide me with an opportunity to ask about your children? I sincerely hope you’re not firing blanks into your lovely wife.’

  A nerve twitched in his cheek but, otherwise, Nicholas seemed unaffected by her comments.

  Peter coughed and slammed his glass on the table. ‘Time to go, darling.’ He lifted a black velvet pashmina from the back of Lilian’s chair, his discomfort obvious as he draped it over her shoulders. ‘I’ve an early flight to catch in the morning.’

  ‘Of course you do, darling.’ Lilian stood and gripped the edge of the table. ‘He’s off to New York for his Christmas shopping.’ She nodded vaguely at the group around the table. ‘Peter always knows where the best tat is cheapest and available.’

  ‘You take care of yourself, Lilian.’ Christopher Keogh’s expression was sombre as he kissed her cheek.

  ‘You too, Christopher.’ Her brittle shoulders lifted and fell. ‘Give Rita my love. I hope she’ll be back to full health soon.’

  ‘That reminds me.’ Christopher reached for his camera. ‘I want a group photograph before you go. Strict orders from Rita.’ He set the timer and joined the group in time for the flash.

  ‘Lilian’s rudeness was unfortunate.’ He pulled his chair closer to Amelia after the Keoghs left. ‘I’ve never seen her behave like that before.’

  ‘Do you think she was upset because I danced with Peter?’

  ‘She’s an unhappy woman, Amelia. I suspect you’re the least of her worries.’

  ‘How is Rita?’ Amelia asked. ‘I’m sorry she wasn’t able to be here tonight.’

  ‘The chemo’s tough,’ he replied. ‘But we’re both hopeful of a good outcome.’

  The band had finished playing and a DJ was erecting his turntables on the stage. This was a general signal for those remaining at the main table to leave. More smiles, more handshakes and hugs.

  Apart from giving their address to the taxi driver, Nicholas remained silent as they were driven through the glittering city. His fingers drummed against his knee and his profile, reflected in the taxi window, could have been carved from granite.

  Twenty-Six

  Back at Woodbine, he opened a bottle of cognac and poured two measures into tulip-shaped glasses.

  ‘A toast to m
y beautiful wife.’ He handed one to Amelia and lifted his own glass in salute. ‘You were quite sensational on the dance floor.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said and clinked his glass with hers. His mood was benign. When had she started using that word? Benign, as opposed to malignant. She swirled the cognac and sniffed its nutty aroma, the hint of honey, vanilla. This was an aged cognac. Billy Tobin had bought it for her father on his fifty-fifth birthday and John had only used it to celebrate special occasions. She sipped it slowly, aware that Nicholas, seated in John’s favourite chair, had already finished his. Did he think he was drinking a shot? Some cheap concoction that would give him a quick buzz? How dare he take over her father’s chair, open his precious cognac, plant such ugly suspicions in Amelia’s mind? She lowered her eyes, afraid that Nicholas would realise what she was thinking.

  When she had finished her drink, he followed her up the stairs and steered her towards the bathroom, his hands planted firmly on her hips.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Amelia paused in the doorway, her body, so pliable on the dance floor, tensing.

  ‘Something you’ll like.’ He gently but firmly propelled her forward and closed the bathroom door. Standing behind her, he turned her towards the full-length mirror set into the tiled wall and unzipped her dress. Slithery as a snake shedding skin, it fell to the floor. Amelia released her breath. The fabric had encased her like a suit of armour, yet she had been unaware of its restraints until she was out of it.

  ‘Let’s go into the bedroom, Nicholas,’ she said.

  ‘Not tonight.’ He breathed the words against the nape of her neck. ‘I want this to be extra special.’

  He moved away from her and turned on the taps. Water cascaded into the bath. Steam rose and obscured her reflection.

  ‘I’ve been looking forward to being alone with you all night,’ he said. Slowly, deliberately, he eased down the thong she had worn and unhooked her bra. He removed his own clothes and left them in a tidy bundle beside hers. She used to enjoy watching him undress, his unselfconscious suppleness as he kicked off his shoes or unbuttoned his shirt. Now, as the muscles on his arms rippled, she thought of a panther, its graceful stealth as it drew closer to its prey.

  ‘Not here, Nicholas.’ Amelia stepped back from the bath and tried to ignore the gushing water. To show nervousness would only make the situation worse. ‘I want to be with you, too. But this is not going to work.’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ he replied. Aroused and eager, he took her hand. ‘We can make it happen. I love you. I know you doubt that sometimes. I’m sorry I give you reason to do so. But nothing will ever change my feelings for you.’ He cupped her face, kissed her lips. ‘I want you to be happy with me.’

  ‘I am, Nicholas.’

  He shook his head. ‘You’ve lived with fear since you were a child. It’s distorted your ability to know true happiness. Your father―’

  ‘Please don’t talk about him. I can’t bear it.’

  ‘You’re shaking. Are you frightened of me?’

  ‘No… no. I’m cold. And tired. Let’s go to bed.’

  ‘Don’t be afraid, Amelia. I’ve been waiting all night for this moment.’

  His grip was firm and confident as he led her towards the bath, where bubbles frothed and the blue lights shining on the wall cast an unearthly hue over their bodies.

  ‘Take my hand,’ he said. ‘I won’t let anything happen to you.’

  She searched his face for anger, the hardening of his features that always signalled a mood change. The violence that would start soon afterwards. Could she trust the emotions she saw there, his tenderness and desire, the love that he claimed to be an enduring one? She lowered herself into the fragrant water. Jasmine, she thought. The sweet scent clung to the steamy air.

  Nicholas sat beside her and slid his arm round her shoulder, drew her closer to him. ‘Do you know what I was thinking when you were dancing with Peter?’ Without waiting for a reply, he continued. ‘It takes two to tango and I’m the only one who knows the right moves.’ He slowly stroked a sponge across her breasts. ‘How does that feel, Amelia?’

  She unclenched her teeth. ‘Good,’ she whispered. ‘So good.’

  He leaned forward and turned off the taps. ‘That’s not so frightening, is it?’

  ‘Not with you beside me.’ She was no longer able to distinguish between a lie and the truth. The heat from the water was draining her energy and making it difficult to focus.

  ‘Every man at that party desired you tonight,’ he said.

  ‘You’ve a vivid imagination, Nicholas.’

  ‘Don’t call me a liar.’

  She tried to concentrate on what he was saying but his voice seemed to be coming at her from a great distance.

  He did not sound jealous, nor angry, but she had ceased trying to judge his moods by these outward signs. ‘I’m not,’ she replied. ‘Let’s just say you’re slightly biased.’ Her body jerked when he pressed a button on the side of the bath and a jet of water surged against her back. A second jet erupted between her thighs, the pressure sending rippling waves across the surface. A racing tide; she needed to escape but her body refused to obey her.

  ‘You breathe sex when you move, Amelia.’ He continued stroking her with the sponge. ‘You’re a flirt. Such a tease… those poor slavering goons watching you. If they could see us now.’

  ‘I love you, Nicholas,’ she said. ‘I’m not remotely interested in flirting with anyone but you. That’s not what’s bothering you. It’s Lilian Harris. What she said. Her behaviour was appalling.’

  ‘But you were responsible for it.’

  ‘If anyone was responsible for upsetting her, it was her husband.’

  ‘Whom you encouraged. It’s not the first time Peter Harris has made a fool of someone at the Christmas party. It’s a standing joke in the company. Who will it be this year? I never thought it would be my wife. You made quite an exhibition of yourself.’

  ‘That’s so unfair.’ Her voice should be trembling uncontrollably. Instead it was flat, expressionless. ‘We danced the tango. I followed Peter’s steps. It’s a dramatic dance.’

  ‘From where I was standing it looked more like a lap dance. All you were short of doing was screwing him on the floor.’

  ‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that. Have you any sense of the damage you’re doing to our marriage by treating me this way?’ She should sound angry but her words had slurred into a drawl that sounded unfamiliar to her. She tried to grip the edge of the bath and stand but her fingers slid helplessly away. She was unable to struggle when he grabbed her legs and pulled her down, shoved her head under the water. It roared in her ears, filled her mouth, blinded her. This was her nightmare, her memory, ready to claim her once again. She surfaced, gasping. She had to escape but her body was flaccid and she was unable to find the strength to push him away. He was smiling when he forced her down again. Blackness filled her eyes and it was no longer possible to fight him.

  * * *

  Nicholas was spooned against her when she awoke. Amelia wrinkled her nose against the rancid smell of stale alcohol permeating the bedroom. Her mouth was dry and had the sour taste of too much drink. The cognac she had had when they returned from the HKM party was strong and Nicholas had poured a large measure. Before that she had had wine with her meal and vodka afterwards. This was going to be a severe hangover. She touched her lips, convinced they were cracked, bleeding, but they felt smooth under her fingers. She shivered, cold despite the heat from his body, and swung her feet to the floor.

  Anxious not to awaken him, she moved quietly to the window and pulled back the edge of the curtain. The sun was a blurred disc behind an early morning mist. Her dress lay across the back of a chair, her underwear folded beside it, her shoes underneath. The muzziness in her head increased as she tried to remember undressing. The bathroom. Her mind steadied. She had been in the bathroom with Nicholas, her dress slithering from her body. Beyond that, nothing.

  She crossed the l
anding to the bathroom and stood beside the ostentatious bath with its jets and lighting effects. The shower gel and deodorants Nicholas used were arranged on the shelf above the bath and the surface was spotless. She was overcome by a sudden wave of nausea. Her knees weakened. Afraid she would collapse, she pressed her hands to the wall and gasped for air. She exhaled loudly but was still unable to ease the constriction in her chest. For a dizzying instant, the bathroom swayed. A memory returned. Shoulder to shoulder – they had sat together in this bath as bubbles frothed and jets of water pummelled her.

  ‘Amelia!’ The bathroom door opened and Nicholas, wearing a T-shirt and boxers, entered. His hair was ruffled, his eyes slightly bloodshot. Otherwise, he looked the same as always, yet when he took her hand she had to stop herself from instinctively recoiling.

  ‘The morning after the night before is never easy,’ he said. ‘Come back to bed. This has to be your duvet day. I’ll make breakfast for you.’

  ‘No, I’m okay. I’m up now.’

  ‘You drank a lot last night. You need to sleep it off.’

  ‘I’ve work to do―’

  ‘Work can wait. It’s Saturday. Come on, do as I tell you.’ He had switched on the electric blanket and when she was back in bed he tucked the duvet tightly around her. ‘Cocooned from everything.’ He smiled down at her. ‘I’ll be up to you with breakfast shortly.’

  Alone in the room, she lay motionless. A blackout, that had to be the answer. It had happened once before, in her teens. A party at Mark’s house when his parents were away on holiday.

  They had raided the drinks cabinet, making cocktails from a recipe book Mark produced, and she had ended up being collected by her father, who carried her to his car. The following morning, chastened and still suffering, Amelia had promised him she would never take another drink until she was eighteen. Her friends remembered everything that had happened that night but Amelia’s memory had stopped functioning shortly before she collapsed on the floor.

  Nicholas returned with a tray. Freshly squeezed orange juice, toast lightly buttered, scrambled eggs sprinkled with slivers of smoked salmon, a pot of tea. She didn’t think she would be able to keep the food down but it was easier just to smile and thank him. He sat on the edge of the bed and waited for her to eat.