The Second Wife

by Sheryl Browne

  Rebecca stared at the large oil-painted canvas in awe. It was bright and light and full of life. Rather than Nicole’s usual swirls of abstract colour which came together to create something evocative and inspiring, it was representational – photorealism at its finest. It wasn’t a sad little lark this time, trapped by the bars of its cage. Meticulously painted down to the last detail, its graceful neck tall, its wings arched high, as if poised for flight, the glorious white swan was majestic in all of its elegant glory. Rebecca’s gaze strayed to the water: pearlescent blue; pinpricks of light sparkling like jewels. It was so realistic you could almost reach out and touch it. This wasn’t bleak and pessimistic. This was a portrayal of hope. These bright, optimistic strokes of light and colour had been painted by the Nicole Rebecca knew; certainly not by someone who thought they had no future worth living.

  ‘When did she paint this?’ she asked Isobel urgently, careless of the tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks.

  ‘It was the last one she did,’ Isobel said, her own eyes glassy with tears as Rebecca turned to her. ‘There’s something else,’ she added. ‘Something I think you should have.’

  Searching her eyes uncertainly for a second, Isobel glanced down and then walked to the side of the canvas to ease the frame carefully away from the wall.

  Rebecca waited, puzzled, while Isobel felt behind it, eventually retrieving something that seemed to have been secreted in the far corner of the frame.

  ‘I found it after she died.’ Hesitantly, she handed her an envelope, the handwriting on which was definitely Nicole’s. ‘It was addressed to you. It wasn’t sealed, and I confess I read it.’

  Isobel paused while Rebecca took out the letter and scanned the contents, her heartbeat slowing to a dull thud as she did so.

  ‘It confirms some of the things I mentioned,’ Isobel went on. ‘I almost posted it on to you, but… I just didn’t know what to think, whether Nicole would have wanted me to.’ She faltered, her gaze anguished as she looked back at her. ‘The thing is, you see, I did begin to wonder how much of it really was Nicole’s imagination.’

  Closing her eyes, Rebecca swallowed, and then she looked back to the letter. Two things stood starkly out as she reread it: She’s trying to get rid of me, Becky, and I’m not sure what lengths she might go to… He told me it was all in my mind.

  FORTY-TWO

  NICOLE

  CURRENT YEAR – FEBRUARY

  Richard was home. Nicole noted his car parked on the drive as the taxi pulled up. He would be surprised to see her back early – she hoped pleasantly so. She’d stopped in the village to get something special for dinner, finally deciding on smoked salmon with prawns and a cream and lime vinaigrette, mainly because the supermarket had had a recipe that looked remarkably quick. She was going to talk to him, she’d decided. She would tread carefully where Olivia was concerned – she’d already decided that was her only realistic way forward if she didn’t want her marriage to fail – but she wouldn’t walk on eggshells any more. She had a future to look forward to. Richard did, too. They should celebrate it. Would he want to? Would he be as full of anticipation as she was?

  Climbing out of the taxi, her optimism wavered. Of course he would. There she went again, full of uncertainty and maudlin self-doubt that most men would find impossible to live with. Richard had been very patient through all that had happened. He had come close to losing his temper, but he hadn’t. Nicole had been on the receiving end of a man’s explosive temper, and Richard wasn’t that man. The only thing he was guilty of was being unable to see past his love for his daughter and recognise that she was fundamentally flawed. Nicole had no reason to doubt his love for her, and it was time she stopped.

  Smiling, she paid off the taxi driver, bidding him keep the change – which was a fair amount and earned her a beaming smile – and then headed for the house. She was sure that Richard and she could get back to the easy relationship they’d had, once Olivia was living in her own little apartment. It wasn’t located that far away, so Richard could visit her often. She would tell him that Olivia was of course welcome to visit, whilst quietly hoping that she didn’t. And if she did, she would find that Nicole had put her stamp well and truly on this house, her house – and Bouncer would stay in residence. Olivia could like it or lump it. Meanwhile, she would continue as she was, being conciliatory to a degree, if need be. She would try to talk to her, offer her friendship – making sure that Richard saw the effort she was going to. If Olivia didn’t want her friendship, then no one could accuse her of not trying. Nicole wouldn’t cause any more ripples on the water during the short time Olivia was still here. It simply wasn’t fair on Richard. The poor man had been torn down the middle. It was a wonder he hadn’t moved out himself.

  Letting herself through the front door, she bent to greet Wanderer. ‘Hey, boy.’ She smiled, stroking him under the chin and making a kissy face at him as he wagged his tail manically, looking incredibly pleased to see her – or rather the salmon. ‘Not yours,’ she scolded him, hoisting her carrier bag high out of reach. She hoped Richard had remembered to feed him. But he would have done. His love for the dog was obvious. He was always pandering to him and feeding him titbits he really shouldn’t. He’d loved Bouncer too. She knew he felt terribly guilty about Bouncer having to stay with Isobel and Mike. At least they’d been kind enough to take him in. The situation could have been so much more upsetting if they hadn’t.

  It would all be water under the bridge soon. Bouncer would be home, and Richard and she would be able to concentrate on repairing the damage to their relationship. Their marriage wasn’t broken. It was just a bit dented. Easily fixed, if she just stopped looking for reasons it should fail.

  ‘How about we go for a nice long walk with Bouncer tomorrow, hmm?’ she asked Wanderer, thinking the exercise would do them all good.

  Wanderer’s ears pricked up at that. Probably at mention of the word ‘walk’, but Nicole was sure he’d been pining for Bouncer. And some people thought dogs didn’t have feelings. One only had to look into their soulful brown eyes to know that they did.

  Nicole walked to the kitchen, Wanderer hot on her heels, where she deposited her bags and tugged off her jacket. All was quiet, she noticed. Extremely quiet. ‘Is he listening to his music with his earphones on, Wanderer?’ she asked the dog. Richard had taken to doing that a lot lately, no doubt trying to soothe away his troubles with Elgar or Brahms, those being his go-to classical composers when he needed to destress.

  ‘Richard?’ she called, checking the dining area as she headed for the sitting room.

  No sign of him in there either. She glanced through the patio doors, though she wasn’t expecting to find him out there. The evenings weren’t warm enough for swimming.

  He must be upstairs – showering, probably. Instructing Wanderer to stay, she went up, toying with the idea of suggesting to Richard that they have a second honeymoon as she went. Just the two of them this time, obviously. They might even find somewhere they could finally have that first dance. Or perhaps they could download the song, order champagne and dance in the privacy of their hotel room. It was a thought… a very enticing thought. Her mouth curving into a smile as her mind conjured up a pelvis-dipping fantasy of what they might do after they’d danced, Nicole pushed open the bedroom door – and her heart lurched to a violent stop in her chest.

  She couldn’t comprehend it at first. It was as if her brain simply refused to process what she was seeing in the full-length wardrobe mirrors on the opposite wall… in her bedroom… on her bed.

  Nicole’s stomach turned nauseatingly over.

  Two naked bodies: copulating, fornicating… She closed her eyes, but still the image was there, emblazoned graphically on her mind… They were fucking as if their lives depended on it.

  Feeling the room shift beneath her, the foundations of her life crumbling, Nicole wrenched her eyes open, only to meet the gaze of the woman Richard was pushing himself into, whose neck he was licking and kis
sing, whose breasts he was squeezing. Feral eyes. Narrowed, smug eyes. The cat that had got the cream.

  FORTY-THREE

  OLIVIA

  CURRENT YEAR – FEBRUARY

  ‘Go after her!’ Olivia yelled, as Richard came back through the front door, looking defeated. ‘Don’t let her prang my fucking car!’

  ‘Your car?’ His expression one of wry amusement, Richard glanced up to where she stood, halfway down the stairs. ‘You might do well to worry about police cars screeching up to the front door, which they might well be doing shortly. Might be an idea to put some clothes on, too – unless you’re considering fucking the entire police force in hopes of a reduced sentence, that is.’ He looked her half-naked body over contemptuously and headed for the stairs.

  ‘Don’t be fucking insulting,’ Olivia huffed disgruntledly. ‘And don’t be bloody ridiculous either. What’s she going to tell them, assuming she makes it and doesn’t wrap my car around a tree first? That she found you fucking someone she thought was your daughter? Not likely to come blue-lights-blazing to arrest you for that, are they?’

  ‘She fell down the stairs,’ Richard pointed out exasperatedly. ‘She’s bleeding.’ He looked down at the hall tiles, which were stained a stomach-churning red. ‘Though Christ knows from where.’

  ‘Not my problem, though, is it, since it was you who pushed her?’ It was ammunition to use against him, should she need it – and they both knew it. Olivia folded her arms across her breasts, eyeing him smugly.

  ‘She fell,’ Richard stated flatly. ‘I need to get dressed.’

  ‘You really are a stupid bastard,’ Olivia growled as he attempted to squeeze past her. ‘Why the hell didn’t you get rid of her earlier, at the river? I thought that was why you’d driven her. One little push, that’s all it would have taken, and she would have sunk into oblivion. How hard could it be, for fuck’s sake?’

  Shit! Olivia saw the flash of thunder in his eyes – too late to step away from him.

  ‘Don’t,’ Richard seethed, clutching hold of her wrist, wrenching her arm upwards and forcing her back against the wall. ‘Just don’t, Liv,’ he warned her, pushing his face close to hers. ‘We play by my rules. No one else’s. Got it?’

  His gaze was intense, dark, an implicit warning therein. ‘All right, all right.’ Noting his unflinching fury, Olivia backed down. ‘Look, I’m sorry.’ Lowering her eyes demurely, she allowed her free hand to stray to his most vulnerable parts, which usually distracted him from his dark moods. ‘I just thought—’

  ‘Well, don’t!’ Digging his fingers hard into her wrist, Richard eyeballed her angrily. ‘Thinking doesn’t suit you,’ he said, smiling languidly as he pushed himself closer, locking his mouth hard over hers.

  Bastard, Olivia thought, nevertheless accommodating him as he as he forced her legs purposefully apart with his other hand. Olivia felt her pelvic muscles contract, her will to resist evaporating as his fingers explored with easy expertise. She was wet already at the thought of what he might have in mind. Anger-fuelled sex was guaranteed to be orgasmic; painful, but highly satisfying.

  ‘Do it now,’ she whispered urgently, dangerously near the peak of arousal. But Richard pulled abruptly away, turning to continue on up the stairs without even a glance.

  ‘Bastard!’ Olivia threw after him, stunned.

  Richard didn’t so much as flinch.

  Massaging the welts already forming on her wrist, Olivia fumed inwardly. How dare he? He would be nowhere without her. Nowhere. Apart from behind bars. Did he honestly imagine he could have pulled any of this off without her?

  Apart from actually fucking them, it was her doing all the hard work, manipulating his pathetic victims until they were as pliable as shit. And then he does this! Seething, Olivia followed him.

  FORTY-FOUR

  NICOLE

  CURRENT YEAR – FEBRUARY

  She was nearing Isobel’s house when she saw his car. Facing the oncoming traffic, his sleek black Jaguar idled at the side of the road ahead of her, the low growl of its engine like a predatory animal stalking its prey. Sweat wetting the palms of her hands, Nicole slowed, and then clamped her eyes closed as he flicked his lights to full beam, white, bright lights, slicing across her vision.

  He was waiting for her to climb out. Cold trepidation prickled the entire surface of her skin. He wanted her to climb out, to run, and then he would follow her and bowl her down like a skittle. He meant her harm. Her heart squeezed painfully inside her as she recalled how his kindness had turned to cruelty in an instant, his attractive features becoming savage, hostile and unflinching. Her every instinct screamed at her to stay in her car. His every instinct would be to quiet her, she was sure of it. She’d discovered him, stripped away the veneer to reveal the monster underneath, ignited a fury that far surpassed any she’d seen in the misogynist’s eyes. Richard’s eyes had been like ice-cold glaciers, midwinter blue, pools of pure hatred.

  Splaying a hand in front of her face, Nicole squinted, and then dropped her gaze and reached for the gearstick.

  He revved his engine.

  Nicole’s stomach cramped violently.

  Please… God! Emitting a guttural sob, crunching gears jarringly, she rammed her foot down on the accelerator, reversed sharply and swung the car into a turn.

  She mounted the pavement.

  He rolled further towards her.

  Fear wedged like a knot in her chest, Nicole bit hard on her lower lip, suppressing a cry of pain as the car thudded heavily back on to the road, and then she drove. Gripping the steering wheel tight, ragged sobs now escaping her, she pushed the car on, panic constricting her breathing as she watched the speedometer climb.

  She had no phone. As she pictured her bag sitting in the kitchen where she’d left it, nausea rose debilitatingly inside her. No way to get help. She was completely alone. The police station was in the opposite direction, the direction Richard had been parked in. Had he thought she would go there? Swiping snot and tears from her face, she tried to focus. Her headlights were dim, the streetlights non-existent. Of course he’d thought she would go there. This was about much more than his incestuous, depraved sexual urges. She tried and failed to block out the image of him with Olivia, her gloating cat’s eyes meeting hers in the mirror.

  It had something to do with Lydia. Icy fingers trailed the length of Nicole’s spine. Everything to do with Lydia. She’d seen someone – a figure darting from the house, silhouetted against the dark. It hadn’t been an animal, a figment of her imagination. She’d seen it! Why had she let him convince her she hadn’t? She tried to think, to get the disjointed cogs of her brain to go round. The luxury apartment. The purchase hadn’t been completed. Her mother had died days before the papers were due to be signed. There had never been a luxury apartment. That certainty landed like a cold stone in her chest. That’s why he was desperate to catch her – to stop her prompting any investigation. It was obvious. Blindingly obvious. How could she have been so stupid? So pathetic? So weak and utterly malleable?

  Her eyes flicking towards the rear-view mirror, she saw the ominous sweep of his lights on the road as he rounded the bend behind her. He was catching up, closing the distance between them, pushing her on further. The road was narrow, potholed and bumpy, each rise and dip juddering painfully through her. She had no one to run to. Nowhere to go. Beyond this road, there was no more road, only a short dirt track, leading straight to the river.

  Nearing the rudimentary car park, Nicole pulled to a stop.

  He cruised up behind her, stopping four or five yards off, his engine back to idling. Waiting. Anticipating.

  She wasn’t going anywhere. He knew it. She’d driven herself into a corner. A strange sense of calm washing through her, Nicole made sure the letter she’d hurriedly scrawled to Becky was well hidden under the mat in the seat well – hoping that someone other than him might find it – and turned her attention to the water. She’d painted here, wanting to embrace the perfect tranquillity of this
little oasis, fascinated by the turbulent waters as the canal locks drained into the swirling River Severn. The almost primeval feeling evoked by a lone heron swooping over the water had caused her thoughts to stray to Emily, and she’d contemplated how lonely and scared she must have been, how bleak and black her future must have seemed.

  Now, Nicole felt she knew.

  Despite her bubble of hope, she, too, had no future, it seemed. Richard had never intended her to have one. He’d told her to be careful not to stray too near the edge. Had it given him a kick, she wondered, warning her of her impending death? Wiping salty, slow tears from her cheeks, Nicole switched off her engine, drew in a deep breath and reached for her door.

  Richard’s movements were languid as he climbed out of his car. Wearing a dark T-shirt and fitted black chinos, both of which flattered his toned physique, it seemed that, even as desperate as he must have been, he’d dressed immaculately – or perhaps appropriately, to blend in with the night.

  He really was extremely handsome, she thought, as his classically rugged good looks were caught in the beam of his headlights as he walked to the front of his car. A man who stopped hearts, quite literally.

  Turning to face her, he didn’t speak, waiting instead for her to say something, she assumed – scream accusations at him, become hysterical, weep.

  She wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t beg or plead or grovel. It would only make this moment more painful. She didn’t want to leave this world sprawled at the feet of the man who had finally destroyed her.

  Lifting her chin – wanting to preserve whatever dignity he might leave her – she spoke evenly. ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ she said. Concise and to the point.

  Richard cocked his head to one side.

  ‘You’re killing your unborn child.’ Nicole enlightened him without emotion, though her heart bled inside her as painfully as her womb.