The Second Wife

by Sheryl Browne

  ‘Those were later works,’ Isobel said, nodding towards the river studies.

  ‘Painted when she was troubled?’ Rebecca squinted at the almost angry swirls of the brush that depicted the swollen waters in flood.

  Isobel nodded. ‘They’re beautiful and evocative, but definitely the product of a chaotic mind.’ She sighed sadly.

  ‘When did it start? Her illness?’ Rebecca faced the woman, hoping for something, anything, that would allow her to believe there was more to this than that she got ill and then she died. There were just too many gaps.

  Isobel scrutinised her thoughtfully, appearing reticent to divulge information, but then seemed to relent. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘She was having some problems with her husband’s daughter when I first spoke to her. Nothing too horrendous – some issue about the fumes from the oils she used setting off the girl’s asthma, I think.’

  ‘Olivia.’ Rebecca nodded. ‘I gathered.’

  ‘You know her then?’ Isobel looked surprised.

  ‘Yes.’ Rebecca glanced down. ‘Richard and I have become friends since Nicole died.’

  ‘Ah.’ Isobel narrowed her eyes slightly, as if drawing conclusions.

  ‘Is that why she started using watercolours?’ Rebecca asked, wanting to avoid the subject of the exact nature of her relationship with Richard and concentrate on Nicole.

  ‘I believe so, which was good for us,’ Isobel said. ‘She ran the evening art class, just for a short while, in exchange for which she used the room at the back of the hall as a studio.’

  ‘Really?’ Rebecca’s eyes widened. She hadn’t known about that. ‘So she was painting in oils as well then?’

  ‘She was. It was her passion, I think,’ Isobel confirmed, chatting more easily now. ‘There are still some canvases there. I did mention them to Richard. Some art materials, too. I’ve been wondering what to do with them. There’s one canvas I’d like very much to keep, but… Perhaps you’d like to take a look sometime?’

  ‘I’d love to,’ Rebecca assured her, her heart rate kicking up at the thought that Nicole had been able to pursue her painting, which might have provided some outlet for her emotions. Not enough of an outlet though, clearly.

  ‘Olivia was also allergic to Nicole’s dog, apparently,’ Isobel went on, with a heartfelt sigh.

  Rebecca was aware of this, but it made no sense, considering Bouncer was there at the house. Olivia had never so much as sneezed. Perhaps she was now on appropriate asthma medication, Rebecca wondered. And yet, if it was asthma she was supposed to have, Rebecca had seen no signs of an inhaler.

  ‘That was one of reasons she was so distressed on the day her mother died. She was distraught at finding her the way she did, but she was also terribly upset at the thought of having to rehome Bouncer. She was devastated, confused. Ranting, almost. She seemed convinced that Olivia was trying to get rid of her.’ Isobel hesitated. ‘She claimed she’d seen Olivia running from the house after she’d found her mother, which caused Richard considerable distress, as you can imagine, but…’

  She stopped, eyeing Rebecca cautiously now, as if trying to judge how much to tell.

  ‘But?’ Rebecca urged, her heart palpitating now for different reasons.

  ‘There was something… something she said when I first met her, and which she repeated that night. It might have been because of her general confusion, but…’ Isobel’s gaze flicked down and back. ‘She seemed to think that the woman Richard was previously married to was Olivia’s mother. She wasn’t. Emily wasn’t married to Richard for long. I didn’t know her well, but well enough to know she never had children – because of her condition, she said. I did wonder why Nicole would have been confused about that.’

  As Rebecca had known she had. She’d guessed something was amiss when Olivia had said her mother had died when she was five, which meant that this woman, Emily, who’d died five years ago couldn’t have been her. She hadn’t been sure what had been amiss then. Since, realising how manipulative Olivia was, she’d wondered whether the girl might be a psychopathic liar, changing her story to elicit sympathy depending on who she was talking to. Now, she was wondering: had Richard and Olivia failed to get their stories straight?

  Who was Olivia’s mother? Had he been married to her? This man who had ‘principles’, who was ‘old-fashioned’, liked to do things properly?

  More importantly, where was she?

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  NICOLE

  PREVIOUS YEAR – NOVEMBER

  Dear Becky,

  Please forgive me for not being in touch, as promised. I’ve been meaning to call you but so much has happened. I’m in a state of utter shock, if I’m honest. All is not marital bliss here, you might have gathered. Olivia, it turns out, is not the vulnerable, pretty young woman that she seems, still struggling to come to terms with her mother’s death. The woman Richard was recently married to, you see, wasn’t her mother. There’s obviously been some miscommunication between us; he must have had a previous relationship. I haven’t had chance to discuss it with him yet. I intend to, though not in earshot of Olivia, who would love a confrontation between us. She clearly hates me (and it can’t be because she thinks I’m trying to replace her mother, if Emily, the woman Richard was married to, wasn’t her mother – do you see?). She’s preventing me from painting. Trying to take my only friend in the world – apart from you, my lovely – away from me, claiming she’s allergic to Bouncer. She interrupts any private moment Richard and I try to find together, making communication between us impossible. Whatever excuses Richard makes for her (and I can’t blame him for that – she is his daughter, after all), Olivia is a dangerous, scheming liar. She’s trying to get rid of me, Becky, and I’m not sure what lengths she might go to. I’m bracing myself to write this – and I know you will definitely wonder about my mental state when you read it – but I think she murdered my mother.

  I can’t give you details. I’m writing this letter quickly while waiting for Richard to pick me up (I can’t drive myself, as the antidepressants the doctor prescribed yesterday me are making me woozy). I’ve been to arrange Lydia’s funeral this morning, and now I’m sitting in the little café on the high street, debating what to do. Richard didn’t come to the funeral home with me. I didn’t want him to. He doesn’t believe me; he can see no wrong in her. I think he thinks it’s me who hates Olivia. Though the truth is, hatred is all I can feel for her now. I can’t be beaten into submission again, Becky. I think you are the only person who would understand why. I have to resort to her tactics and fight fire with fire…

  Seeing Richard’s car pull up on the road outside, Nicole paused, watching him through the steamy café window. He hesitated before climbing out, dragging a hand over the back of his neck, loosening his collar – looking stressed. He was obviously as bone weary with exhaustion as she was. Neither of them had slept much since the dreadful day of Lydia’s death. Nicole wondered whether she would ever sleep again whilst under the same roof as Olivia. She hadn’t mentioned her suspicions to the police, saying only that she’d seen someone in the vicinity of the house, but their investigations had so far come to nothing, and the doctor on call had concluded that Lydia’s death was a tragic accident, which only added to her frustration. Richard had begged her not to badger the police to investigate further until they’d talked properly, which they hadn’t yet. Nicole had no intention of broaching the subject with Olivia ever present in the house.

  Stuffing the letter into her bag to finish later, she stood up as Richard finally climbed out of his car. Sighing heavily, he paused on the pavement, looking up to the heavens as if searching for answers, and then walked towards the café with his gaze fixed downwards. He looked like a man condemned, as if he were carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Nicole so wanted to ease his burden for him. But how could she? She couldn’t close her eyes and pretend none of this was happening.

  ‘Hi.’ He smiled half-heartedly as she stepped out of the café. ‘Ha
ve you eaten?’ he asked her, sweeping his gaze over her.

  His strong features were etched with such worry that Nicole had to look away. She couldn’t bear it. This was breaking him, and little by little, it was fracturing her heart into pieces. ‘A sandwich,’ she lied. She couldn’t eat. She simply couldn’t swallow.

  He nodded. He didn’t believe her. Nicole recognised his despairing expression, the one he now seemed to wear permanently when he was around her. ‘You need to eat more, Nicole,’ he said, his eyes coming briefly back to hers. ‘You’re losing too much weight. It can’t be healthy.’

  Nicole supposed that this was better than the many less-than-subtle hints the misogynist had given her regarding her weight: that her clothes were too tight, unflattering – even when she’d been pregnant; that she was revealing too much breast, etc. ‘I will,’ she said, stepping past him as he came to her side, about to place his arm around her. She didn’t miss the hurt in his eyes when she didn’t allow him to.

  Climbing into the car beside her, Richard glanced over as she buckled her seatbelt. He didn’t speak. There was safety in silence, Nicole supposed. They drove for a while, each with their own thoughts, and then, ‘Did you manage to get everything sorted out?’ he asked her.

  ‘As much as I could.’ Nicole nodded, her throat tightening as she forced back tears that were too close to the surface. She’d discussed possible dates and talked about Lydia’s life, looking for anecdotes, of which she sadly couldn’t relate many. They’d talked about the type of service she might prefer and hymns Lydia had liked. She’d chosen the coffin. Through all of this she’d managed to keep the emotion reasonably in check, until the young funeral employee had asked her which address she would like the hearse to leave from. The funeral home, Nicole had finally confirmed, realising that, with Lydia’s house sold, there was nowhere else. She wouldn’t bring her anywhere near Richard’s house and Olivia.

  It was where she would scatter the ashes that had triggered the tears. She didn’t have any idea, and it hurt to realise how little she’d really known her mother, how little they’d known each other. Lydia had loved her orangery, but Nicole couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her there in the company of strangers.

  ‘I wish you’d let me help you, Nicole. You shouldn’t be doing this on your own.’ Glancing at her again, Richard reached for her hand. Nicole didn’t move it away, but nor did she tighten her hold around his.

  Drawing a breath, Richard squeezed her hand briefly and then drew his away. ‘Can we talk?’ he asked, a hopeless edge to his voice. ‘We need to,’ he pushed, when she didn’t immediately answer. ‘We have to try, Nicole. We can’t go on like—’

  He stopped as his phone rang. From his sharp intake of breath, Nicole guessed who it was. ‘I have to get this,’ he said, his tone guarded. ‘I can’t ignore it after… with things the way they are.’

  After her supposed attempt at suicide, he was struggling to say. Nicole didn’t comment. To suggest that this is exactly what Olivia wanted – him at her beck and call, night or day – would only incite argument, which would help no one with emotions already running so high. She was surprised when he took the call on his hands-free. But then he had no other choice while he was driving, she supposed.

  ‘Liv, hi,’ he said, a wary edge to his tone. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Where are you?’ Olivia asked, her voice sounding small and vulnerable, like a child’s, rather than an adult’s. Knowing exactly what she was up to, how skilfully she was playing Richard, Nicole felt anger rise in her chest.

  ‘Not far away, sweetheart,’ Richard answered, his tone reassuring. ‘We won’t be long.’

  ‘Okay,’ Olivia said uncertainly. ‘Is Nicole all right?’ she asked, sounding actually concerned, to Nicole’s utter disbelief.

  Richard’s eyes flicked towards her. ‘As much as she can be,’ he said, his expression uncomfortable. ‘We’ll be back soon. Ten minutes at most.’

  ‘Good.’ Olivia’s sigh of relief was audible. ‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ she said kindly, causing Nicole to gasp. She really ought to get an Oscar, she thought bitterly.

  Olivia looked worriedly from her dad to Nicole as they came in through the front door. ‘I’ve made it strong and sweet,’ she said, nodding towards the kitchen. ‘I know it won’t help much, but…’ She gave her a sympathetic smile.

  Nicole looked away. She had to. She was dangerously close to giving vent to her anger.

  ‘Thanks, Liv,’ Richard said, looking awkwardly between them. This was a terrible situation for him to be in. Nicole felt for him. But it wasn’t of her making. He needed the scales peeled from his eyes. However painful it was, he needed to see his daughter for what she truly was.

  ‘I’ll leave you two to it,’ Olivia offered nobly. ‘I’ll be upstairs if you need me.’ She was looking at Richard when she said it, Nicole noted, hinting that she’d be there to help when he found himself under attack from his demented wife.

  We won’t, she was tempted to say, but she restrained herself. She waited until Olivia had gone up and was heading along the galleried landing to her room before walking to the kitchen of the soulless house that could never be a home.

  Richard followed her. ‘I’ll pour the tea,’ he offered, walking across to pick up the teapot, but then stopping and placing it shakily back down again.

  Nicole watched as he drew in a long, ragged breath. ‘Christ, I can’t do this,’ he uttered wretchedly, pressing his fingers hard against his temples. ‘Talk to me, Nicole,’ he begged, his voice choked as he turned to her. ‘Tell me what to do. I have no idea.’

  Nicole searched his face. He looked utterly jaded, with dark circles under his eyes, fear in his eyes. She couldn’t make it go away. Couldn’t tell him everything was going to be all right, or pretend she was. It couldn’t be. She couldn’t be. Surely he must realise that? ‘You could believe me,’ she said simply, swallowing back her own tears.

  ‘Christ!’ Richard shouted, causing her to start. ‘Believe what? Your ludicrous suggestion that my daughter had something to do with your mother’s death?’ He stared at her incredulously. ‘It’s insane! It’s all in your mind, Nicole! And I have no idea what to do about it. None.’

  ‘I am not insane! Or stupid, or vile or pathetic, or blind!’ Nicole’s tears sprang forth, every one of the hurts she’d suffered at a man’s hands coming to the fore; every insult, every humiliation, causing her cheeks to heat up and her temper to flare. ‘She’s been manipulating me! Manipulating you. Making you think that it’s all me, and it’s not! It’s—’

  ‘Nicole, stop.’ His face taut, Richard took a step towards her.

  Nicole immediately backed away. ‘No! Do not come near me!’ She glanced over her shoulder, an instinctive reaction, for means of escape, and then back to him, a turmoil of emotions churning inside her – fear, grief, guilt and most of all fury. ‘I won’t lie down and take it. I won’t be bullied, Richard. Not by you; not by anyone!’ She broke off with a sob.

  ‘What?’ Richard looked her over, clearly bewildered. ‘Jesus, Nicole…’ Sounding now more shocked than angry, he tentatively reached out to take hold of her hand. ‘I’m not going to bully you or hurt you, I swear I’m not. I wouldn’t. Please… just let me help you.’

  Nicole flinched as he eased her towards him, but she didn’t pull away.

  ‘Come and sit down,’ he said softly, wrapping an arm around her. ‘Please,’ he said, when she didn’t move. ‘You’re upset. You haven’t eaten. You’re unsteady on your feet. Sit down. I’m concerned about you.’

  Nicole allowed him to lead her to the breakfast table, where he guided her gently to a chair. Helping her down into it, he searched her face, his own pale and apprehensive, and then crouched down in front of her and clasped her hands in his.

  ‘Nicole…’ he started hesitantly, taking a deep breath. ‘I’ve spoken to Olivia. She’s aware she’s been behaving unreasonably, but—’

  ‘Unreasonably?’ Nicole stared at him in a
mazement. ‘She’s been an absolute monster. She is a monster.’ Her determination not to discuss any of this while Olivia was in the house flew out of the widow. ‘This isn’t hormones. It isn’t grief, or your daughter feeling a bit jealous because you have another woman in your life. She was at my mother’s house, Richard. Why won’t you—’

  Nicole stopped, her heart ricocheting off her ribcage as Olivia appeared and promptly burst into tears.

  Letting go of her hands, Richard got to his feet, his look now that of a man who didn’t know which way to turn.

  ‘I came to apologise,’ Olivia blurted out. ‘I didn’t mean… Oh God…’ Breaking emotionally off, she pressed the back of her hand to her nose. ‘I’m so sorry, Nicole. I’ve been vile to you. An absolute bitch. I don’t know why. It was after the thing with Zachary. I felt so… stupid and pathetic and weak. And when you didn’t believe me, I… I just felt so lonely suddenly, and I…’

  Richard went to her as she sobbed, huge tears cascading down her cheeks. Of course he would. No father would stand by and watch his daughter breaking her heart.

  Nicole got warily to her feet.

  ‘I wasn’t at your mother’s house, Nicole. I swear I wasn’t. Dad was here with me. I would never do anything so awful as to scare an old woman. Please believe me this time, Nicole. Please don’t keep thinking the worst of me. I can’t bear it.’

  Olivia looked into Nicole’s eyes, her own beseeching. ‘I wasn’t there,’ she repeated. ‘If you can’t bring yourself to believe anything else I’ve said, please believe it wasn’t me you saw there.’

  Stupid, pathetic, weak. Lonely. Nicole felt every one of those feelings. Were Olivia’s words genuine? She was shaking, she noticed. Gulping back sobs now. Richard tried to comfort her, to hold her, but she wouldn’t let him, stepping away instead and holding Nicole’s gaze.

  Seeing the desperation in her eyes, Nicole swallowed hard, her resolve wavering. Doubt clouded her recollection. She hadn’t actually seen her. Not her face, anyway. Was it possible she’d convinced herself, just because she had wanted to believe the worst in her? She could have been wrong. Her emotions had been all over the place, even before she’d discovered Lydia. Her every instinct had screamed at her that it was Olivia she’d seen, but she might have been mistaken. And yet…