by Blake Pierce
Cassie sensed Trish was a stickler for the rules. It was evident in her whole demeanor. If she learned that Cassie had taken this job while on a visitor visa, she wouldn’t hesitate to report her.
Cassie didn’t think Trish liked her much anyway, and might even instinctively suspect that things between her and Ryan were not what they seemed.
She gritted her teeth. Unfair as this was, she was going to have to do it because there was no other choice. If she didn’t she would suffer the consequences and they would be harsh.
Pressing her lips together, Cassie stabbed the Send button and watched as the email disappeared.
Then she turned her phone off, not wanting to face any more incoming emails, and went to get the children ready for their day.
She checked Dylan’s bedroom with nervousness uncoiling inside her, and was relieved to find he wasn’t there and had already made his bed.
Cassie woke Madison, and when she was dressed, the two of them walked to the kitchen together. Pasting a fixed smile onto her face, Cassie wished she could be anywhere else. Anything was better than having to interact with the man who’d slept with her and lied to her and led her on, while pretending nothing was wrong.
“Morning!” Ryan greeted them. He was at the stove making omelets while Trish, seated at the kitchen table, was busy with a large book. Dylan, on the other side of the table, was finishing his food.
Cassie looked at Dylan uneasily, wishing he was the one who’d lied about what he had done and that it had been Ryan who’d told the truth.
Dylan glanced at her briefly and then returned his attention to his plate, without giving her any hint of the disturbing conversation they’d had last night.
“Morning,” Cassie replied in a faux-cheerful tone, wondering how she would manage to survive this meal. She already felt as if she was about to snap from stress. She looked from Ryan to Trish and back again, vainly hoping to pick up signs of conflict or estrangement.
“Coffee’s on the counter,” Trish said. “It’s a help-yourself morning. I need to keep my hands clean.”
“What are you doing, Mum?” Madison asked curiously.
“I’m creating a scrapbook. One of the speakers on a recent tour talked about the importance of creating physical memories and not just digital ones. We’ve been bad that way because our photos are mostly digital, but I found one album in the lounge. I’ll go into town later and get more recent photos printed out.”
Madison looked over her shoulder, but Cassie noticed she wasn’t as fascinated by the scrapbooking as she’d expected her to be. Since she loved working with her hands, Cassie assumed she’d join in and offer to help, but she didn’t.
Cassie found herself fuming all over again at the mention of family memories. This was not what you did when you were getting divorced—was it?
She felt tears prickle her eyes and worried that she might lose control and burst into hysterical sobs in front of the family. She concentrated on imagining a high brick wall in her mind, where thoughts about Ryan were imprisoned, unseen and unfelt. With the wall in her mind, she tried to maintain composure as she made tea for Madison.
“Omelet?” Ryan asked. “We’ve got a choice of ham, mushrooms, and cheese. What’s your preference, Maddie? Dylan had the works.”
Madison shook her head.
“I’m not hungry, Dad.”
Ryan laughed. “You’re the most un-morning person I know. I’m going to make you one anyway, and when you come back from school, Cassie can heat it up for you in the microwave. Sound good?”
“OK,” Madison agreed. “Ham and cheese, please.”
“For you, Cassie?”
She couldn’t bear to look at him, never mind speak to him.
“I’ll pass, thanks,” she said. “I’m feeling a bit sick this morning.”
She realized it was the truth. Her nausea was worse, and the thought of an omelet made her want to throw up.
Cassie expected someone to comment on what she’d said, or offer sympathy, but Ryan was leaning over Trish’s shoulder, absorbed by her project.
“I remember you in that wedding dress,” he said. “Wow, it brings that day right back.”
Trish laughed.
“To think how I almost chose a massive white meringue gown. Then at the last minute, my mother of all people intervened. She said, go for elegant.”
“Go for stylish.” Ryan stared down admiringly.
“Why thank you,” Trish said.
“Weren’t we married just before you got your skipper’s license?” Ryan asked.
“No. I already had that. But if you remember, I was working on my MBA at that time. You joked that I’d be project managing the wedding.”
Ryan smiled.
“You organized it perfectly. It was such a special day.”
Cassie turned away from them, unable to deal with any further revelations about Trish’s accomplishments. She guessed ten years ago, Trish would have been about the same age as Cassie was now. She had already been highly qualified in numerous skills and clearly successful. What had Cassie achieved? Nothing. All she could boast so far was that she’d been an average restaurant waitress and a catastrophically unsuccessful au pair.
How could she have thought for a moment Ryan would be serious about her?
She wasn’t a highly intelligent, multi-skilled pillar of society like Trish was. How could she not have seen this entire debacle for what it was—a husband messing around with the temporary help, behind his wife’s back?
She could never be the caliber of Trish or Ryan, she never had been and she never would be. When she compared herself to them, she felt ashamed of herself, and everything she’d ever strived to achieve. Her independence, her self-sufficiency, the few qualifications she had managed to earn, were pathetic compared to what these wealthy, successful people had accomplished.
She had to stop herself from slinking out of the kitchen there and then. Instead, she forced her mind back to what Madison needed, seeing the child’s actual parents were both preoccupied by Wedding Appreciation Hour.
She stood up. “You should eat something before school. Can I pack you some cheese? Dried fruit? Take it with you. Eat it on the bus.”
“All right,” Madison agreed, and Cassie filled a lunch box with a selection of snacks.
“Talking of the bus, you two should get your bags,” Ryan said, glancing at the kitchen clock.
“I’ll fetch you at one,” Trish said.
Cassie realized that with Trish’s return, she had become redundant. Trish was taking the reins, and she had a car, whereas Cassie’s was out of action for who knew how long.
She needed to find out about the car. As soon as it was fixed, she was going to leave.
For her own sanity, it was the only solution.
Cassie got her coat and walked with the children to the bus stop. It was a relief to be out of the house and to be able to pretend, for a little while, that everything was normal.
Even so, she didn’t think the children were fooled. Madison wasn’t herself at all, and since she wouldn’t tell Cassie what was wrong, Cassie could only suspect that she’d picked up on the atmosphere in the house.
As for Dylan, she had no idea what to say to him. Normal conversation seemed impossible when every time she looked at him, she imagined him reaching into the cage, grabbing his pet, and snapping its neck with brutal force.
Suddenly, Cassie imagined doing the same to Ryan. It was what he deserved for the pain and anguish he’d put her through, and it gave her some bitter comfort to visualize clamping her fingers around Ryan’s strong, smooth-skinned neck and squeezing until she throttled him. Or, better still, taking one of the sharpest knives from the expensive array in the kitchen, and stabbing it deep into his traitorous heart.
Even though she knew she could never do such a thing, fantasizing about revenge made her feel better.
There was no point in going back to the house after the children had left. What would she do there? S
it around and listen to Ryan and Trish loving each other up? Although, thinking back, Cassie realized it had been Ryan complimenting Trish and her agreeing with him.
When the bus had gone, she headed into the village, hoping to walk off some of her anger. Perhaps she could find the Seafarer’s Arms and see if it looked romantic.
In the cold, gray morning, the magical charm of the village had worn off completely. It looked somber and dull, the colors muted. The few people she met along the way were unfriendly, huddled in jackets and hurrying to get out of the drizzle that had started to fall.
Cassie turned her face to the rain. The icy drops scoured her face, and she welcomed the distraction, because every word Ryan and Trish spoke, every one of his attentive gestures to her, was corroding her inside. She couldn’t bear it. She felt as if an unstoppable force was building up inside her; a toxic mix of anger and guilt. Who knew what would happen when it exploded?
She randomly turned right, then left, then right again. Zigzagging through the streets, Cassie realized the homes were becoming smaller and higher, most double-story, built onto a steepening hill. Space was at a premium here, and the elevated view was the draw card.
Then she stopped, frowning.
Parked ahead of her was a car, low-slung and white, and she was sure the number plate was the one she remembered.
FZR. Now that she saw the letters in front of her, she remembered their order clearly. That was definitely the plate she had seen.
Cassie was so embroiled in her thoughts that she nearly walked on past.
Then she changed her mind.
The driver of that car had nearly killed her in that narrow lane. This was her chance to find out who the person was, and whether it had been intentional or a terrible mistake.
Cassie marched up to the white-painted front door, raised the brass knocker, and brought it down with a loud bang.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Cassie banged the knocker a second time and waited outside the house, breathless from her uphill walk, feeling nervousness flooding in. She didn’t have any idea what she would say when the door was opened. She wasn’t great at winging it at the best of times, and thanks to the hell she’d been through since Trish arrived home, this was not the best of times.
Cassie was about to turn away when, through the stained-glass panel on the side of the door, she saw somebody approaching.
A moment later, the door opened.
Cassie found herself staring at Harriet the housekeeper.
Harriet’s greeting, “Hi, can I…” trailed off in mid-voice as she realized who was standing outside and she stared back at Cassie, horrified.
Then the housekeeper tried to slam the door in her face.
She was quick, but Cassie was quicker.
Remembering the delivery man’s strategy, she got her shoe into the gap and the door bounced off the rubber sole, giving her enough impetus to shove it back and push her way inside.
Harriet stepped back, looking wary. She folded her arms protectively across the green smock she wore. Cassie noted, bemused, that she’d changed her hair color to turquoise.
“What’re you doing here?” Harriet asked.
“Why did you try to slam the door on me?” she countered, feeling her ever-present anger boiling up again.
“’Cause I’m just cleaning here.” Harriet sounded self-righteous. “I can’t let anyone in, for security reasons. I take deliveries at the front door.”
“Well, I haven’t come to deliver anything.”
“Why’re you here then? You lost?” Harriet spat at her.
Cassie could feel her resentment, like a tangible force.
“I recognized your car.”
Now Harriet’s gaze slid away.
“My car? From where?”
“You tried to run me over on Saturday morning, while I was walking back home.”
“Why would I do that?” Harriet asked, her voice full of outraged innocence. “Are you mad, to think I’d do that?”
“It was your car. I saw it for certain. And there’s nobody else in this village who’s been nasty to me except you. You have been appalling right from the start.”
Harriet took a step back, nearly tripping over the lime green knotted rug on the hallway floor.
“You have been insufferable. Geez, how unprofessional can a cleaner be! Swearing at your boss, insulting people in front of young children. You even went through my trash can! What the hell was that about?”
“Look, I can explain—” Harriet began.
Cassie’s rage was rising now; she couldn’t stop it.
This wasn’t just about how Harriet had behaved. Everything was boiling to the surface. Her anger over the unfairness of what had happened and her shattered hopes and dreams. The helpless fury that surged inside her when she thought about the way Ryan had treated her and how he had lied. Finally, she had the chance to vent it all on somebody who deserved it.
“You can’t explain a thing. You’re a sad, jealous, mean bitch. And you ended up hating an innocent person so much that you tampered with their car and then tried to run them over while they were walking home.”
Harriet had gone pale.
“I never did that. Honest.”
“You’re going to deny everything now? Lie and deny, is that the route you’re taking? Well, I know for sure that it was you on the road, and if you try and kill somebody and then lie about it, it makes you an even worse person than I thought you were.”
Using the vicious words as weapons, Cassie could see from Harriet’s face that they were finding their mark.
“And are you such an attention whore that you swerve into someone because their employer didn’t want to date you? Seriously, is that how evil and egotistical you are?”
“I didn’t try to kill you,” Harriet muttered.
Cassie pounced on the inadvertent confession she’d made.
“So it was you. Thank you for admitting it.” Her voice rose, high and sharp. She took another step forward and again, Harriet retreated.
Behind her, Cassie could see a carpeted staircase going up to the top floor, and an open door leading into a small, tidy kitchen.
“Now that you’ve told me you’re an attempted murderer, let’s get onto the topic of your behavior at the house. Parading yourself in front of your employer; staying late so you can try and flirt with him. Did you not get the memo he wasn’t interested, even when he told you so? And why take it out on me, you selfish bitch?” Her voice became a scream.
“Please stop shouting,” Harriet whispered.
Glaring into Harriet’s stricken face, Cassie realized that there was another interpretation to the housekeeper’s behavior.
The way she’d lingered in the house until Ryan came back, and rushed to meet him, wearing far too much makeup for the simple job of house cleaning. Cassie had thought, and Ryan had confirmed, that Harriet had just been flirting. Now, Cassie remembered her anger when she was ignored, the way she’d stormed out of the house, the near-deadly incident on the road. She realized Harriet’s reaction had been well out of proportion to an innocent flirtation that had been cut short.
Harriet had been distraught, furious, and vengeful. Her behavior had been on par with what Cassie was feeling now. Therefore, it must be for the same reason.
“Wait a minute.” She was breathing rapidly. “You did sleep with him, didn’t you? I’ve just figured it out. Now everything makes sense. You and he—you had a fling. And when you walked in last Monday, you thought it was still on?”
She knew, watching Harriet’s eyes, that she was right. She put her hands on her hips and stared her down, daring her to deny it.
“Yes,” Harriet whispered. “We slept together.”
Then she did something Cassie hadn’t expected at all.
She burst into tears.
These weren’t ordinary tears. They were sobbing, wailing hysterics, as if Harriet had been holding an ocean of misery inside herself. She buried her face in her h
ands, collapsed onto the carpeted stairs, and cried her heart out.
Cassie’s anger melted away and she started to feel desperately sorry for Harriet.
Under the stairway was a door that led into a bathroom. There, she grabbed a handful of tissues for Harriet. Then she sat down beside her on the step and rubbed her back.
“It’s OK,” she soothed her. “Don’t be sad. Please.”
Her sympathy only made Harriet start to cry harder, and Cassie felt a chill of guilt that the cleaner had no support structure, and had endured her experience alone.
It took a few minutes for her sobs to die down and for her to regain enough control to speak.
She rubbed her face with the tissues, and Cassie handed her another bunch.
“Yes. OK, you’re right. I slept with him. But you’re making it sound like it was all my doing.”
She turned to Cassie and stared at her through swollen, reddened eyes.
“I promise on my life it wasn’t like that. That wasn’t what happened at all.”
“Do you want to tell me?” Cassie asked.
While Harriet was blowing her nose, Cassie brought her a glass of water from the kitchen. As she set it down on the stair beside her, she couldn’t help feeling a sense of incredulity. When she knocked at the door, she’d never imagined this would happen.
“He came on to me,” Harriet said.
Cassie felt cold at the words.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Am I sure?”
Now that she was over her tears, Harriet’s spirit seemed to be returning.
“Of course I’m sure. I know when a guy comes on to me and that’s what he did. He flirted with me for a couple of weeks. Suddenly he always seemed to be home when I was there, and then in the same room when I was there. Talking about how it was a marriage of convenience between him and his wife, and they were basically separated. I mean, it seemed true enough. She was hardly ever around.”
Listening to Harriet’s version, Cassie felt as if she’d been yanked out of reality.
How many different stories had Ryan told? It seemed he would say whatever suited his needs.
