The Second Wife

by Sheryl Browne

  The filing cabinet yielded more – filed under ‘I’ for insurance, unbelievably. Rebecca almost laughed at the appalling temerity of the man. The sum assured on Nicole’s life was enough to allow the bastard to buy his soulless house twice over. No doubt that would be deposited overseas. What floored her, however, was that Richard Gray appeared to have had no hand in taking out the policy. He wasn’t even a co-signatory on the document. Rebecca did laugh then – a short, scornful laugh. He would have sweet-talked her into it, told her it was a necessary part of the house purchase or some such bullshit.

  Think on your feet, Rebecca. To beat him you have to become him.

  Going back to the bedroom, she pressed a hand to her forehead and turned full circle, wondering what it was she hoped to find. There had to be something she could use that would implicate him without question. Walking to the full-length fitted wardrobe, she wrenched the doors open in frustration. The cupboards were empty of women’s clothes, apart from the few clothes she’d hung there. As was Nicole’s dressing room. Richard had disposed of Nicole’s clothes, taking them to the charity shop. Rebecca had told him it was a good idea. In reality, she’d wanted to punch him.

  Steeling her resolve, she went to Richard’s dressing room, breathing in the woody scent of his aftershave. She’d thought it pleasant once. Now it made her feel sick. His suits lined one wall, in smart dark blues and greys; all made to measure, she imagined. All props, too: clothes behind which he hid his true persona. Quickly, she ferreted through the pockets, finding nothing but a few property-related business cards. It was almost as if he didn’t actually live in them but merely dressed up as occasion demanded. His shoes, mostly designer, were hardly worn and highly polished.

  Pondering where else she might look, her gaze snagged on a pair of shoes at the end of the rail, unusual in that they did actually appear to be dirty. Thus his reason for resting them on top of a shoebox, she assumed. Picking one up, she scrutinised it more closely. They were damaged, and stained … as if they’d been submerged in deep water. Closing her eyes, Rebecca stopped breathing, a heavy compression against her chest, as if she too were slowly sinking into the dark belly of the river.

  He’d tried to save her.

  These were the shoes he’d been wearing.

  This was the incomprehensible inconsistency. Why would he have put his own life at risk, searching for her until he had to be dragged out, if he’d wanted Nicole dead? Retrieving the other shoe, Rebecca examined it. Why had he kept them? Confused, imagining that she herself might be going mad, she was about to place the shoes back when something compelled her to look more closely at the box they’d been resting on. Smaller than the shoes, it couldn’t have housed them. Was it one of Olivia’s shoeboxes? Or Nicole’s?

  Curious, Rebecca placed the shoes aside, picked up the box and prised off the lid. Her blood froze. She recognised it immediately: Nicole’s handwriting on the folded piece of paper inside the box – artistic, flowery, unmistakable.

  A note addressed to her. It had obviously been written hurriedly – but that wasn’t what was causing Rebecca’s stomach to turn over. It was the pregnancy test that lay beside it.

  Nausea rising inside her, Rebecca went back to the bedroom. Sitting shakily on the edge of the bed, she braced herself and unfolded the note, focussing through her tears to read it. It was just a few lines, but each word cut Rebecca’s heart to the core.

  Dear lovely Becky,

  If I should die before we speak, please forgive me for being not keeping in touch as much as I promised I would. Please forgive me and love me, as I know you always have. Do you remember you once told me that sometimes we see only what we want to? My eyes were blind. Now, though, I see Richard for what he really is: a sick, twisted man, capable only of the incestuous relationship he has with his daughter.

  I will see you again, dear Becky. I will watch over you while I wait.

  Be happy. Don’t miss me.

  Wherever you are, a piece of my heart will always be with you.

  Nicole. X

  She’d been pregnant. Rebecca reached too late to wipe a tear from her face. It landed with a splat on the paper, causing the ink to bleed as surely as Nicole had bled inside her. She had seen them. Just as she had, Nicole had discovered them, fucking like animals. It was obvious from this that she hadn’t realised that Olivia wasn’t his daughter. She’d been carrying his child and she’d walked in on… Dear God! What must that have done to her?

  Rocking to and fro, Rebecca clutched the letter to her breast, a low moan escaping her. She would have guessed then. In that soul-crushing instant, she would have known that the madness wasn’t ‘all in her mind’, but all around her. That these two depraved individuals had used her – and why. That Lydia had been doomed to die the moment she’d met him.

  When had she written this? Feeling Nicole’s fear, her complete desperation, Rebecca tried to imagine when she would have hastily scrawled it. And where she’d left it, that Richard had been able to retrieve it. Might he have witnessed her writing it? Had she written it just prior to breathing in the rancid water that had killed her? In which case, he would have known exactly where to find it.

  Retching, Rebecca clamped a hand to her mouth.

  She must have been so, so terrified. So scared for her baby, the child she’d desperately wanted. Now Rebecca knew. Without a shadow of a doubt, she knew that Nicole hadn’t intended suicide. No matter how confused and emotionally broken she’d been, she would not have obliterated her child’s life by taking her own.

  No, he hadn’t tried to save her. He’d probably gone down to make sure she did in fact drown. Or else he’d found out very late in his depraved game about the pregnancy. Had he experienced a pang of conscience? Highly unlikely. Richard Gray wasn’t capable of feeling anything.

  Inhuman bastard! Rebecca’s heart hardened to stone. She would have vengeance for her friend. If it was the last thing she did on this earth, she would see him rot in hell.

  Attempting to calm herself, Rebecca squeezed her eyes closed – and then snapped them open as she heard a car approaching on the pebbled drive.

  FIFTY-THREE

  RICHARD

  PRESENT

  ‘You’re back early.’ Rebecca smiled down from the landing as Richard walked through the front door.

  ‘Yes. Liv – she, er… wasn’t feeling too well.’ Aware that Olivia actually looked like death warmed up, Richard glanced guardedly up at Rebecca.

  ‘Oh no.’ Alarmed, clearly, Rebecca hurried down. ‘Is she all right? Where is she?’

  Richard nodded towards the kitchen. ‘Grabbing some water. She’ll be okay. It’s probably a bug of some sort.’

  Olivia reappeared then, a glass of water in one hand, which she undoubtedly needed, her other hand clutched to her throat. Richard gave her a point for initiative there, at least. She would have some make-up in her room that would hide any evidence come morning.

  ‘Liv?’ Rebecca looked her worriedly over. ‘You look terrible. Is there anything I can do?’

  Taking a sip of water, Olivia shook her head. ‘No. It’s just a sore throat,’ she croaked. ‘I think I’ll go straight up though.’

  ‘Good idea.’ Her expression concerned, Rebecca watched her go. ‘Do you need anything?’ she called after her. ‘A hot drink? I could warm you some brandy?’

  ‘No. Thanks, Becky,’ Olivia assured her weakly. ‘Water’s fine.’

  Glancing at Richard, Rebecca followed her progress up the stairs and along the landing. ‘Do you think I should take her some paracetamol or something?’ she asked him. ‘She sounds terribly hoarse.’

  ‘Better not. She’ll take a sleeping tablet, more than likely,’ Richard said, looking Rebecca over. She looked pale, definitely troubled. Only about Olivia’s health? He still wasn’t convinced that Olivia hadn’t started to lay the poison for him. Judging by her attitude lately, there was something going on in her scheming little head, of that he was sure. Rebecca seemed to be acting perfe
ctly naturally though, smiling at him when he came in and meeting his gaze.

  ‘Sleeping tablets?’ The worried little furrow in her brow deepened.

  ‘Prescribed by her GP,’ Richard supplied. ‘She didn’t sleep well after… certain events. She still takes them occasionally.’

  ‘The attack.’ Rebecca nodded, a mixture of annoyance and despair flitting across her face. ‘Poor Liv. Poor you. I know you worry so much.’ Smiling sympathetically, she walked across to him. ‘I hope she knows she’s lucky to have you,’ she said, kissing his cheek softly. ‘We both are.’

  Richard smiled self-effacingly back, his concern abating somewhat. ‘So,’ he said, snaking an arm around her waist and tugging her towards him, ‘did you manage to get your bath, or did we spoil it by coming back early?’

  She didn’t look as if she had bathed, still dressed in the jeans and shirt she’d been wearing when he left. Jeans that fitted in all the right places, which were quite a turn-on.

  ‘Sadly, no.’ She sighed regretfully. ‘I felt a bit off, to be honest, so I snuck a quick lie-down on the bed, and the next thing I knew you were coming through the door. I thought it might have been a touch of food poisoning from lunch, but now I’m hoping it’s not Liv’s bug. You’ll end up with two women to nurse.’

  ‘It would be my pleasure.’ Richard brushed her lips with his as she looked up at him. ‘Why don’t you go and run that bath now?’ he suggested. ‘I’ll come up with wine and oil your back.’

  ‘Mr Gray.’ Rebecca made eyes at him, feigning shock. ‘Surely, you don’t mean just my back?’ Smiling enticingly, she leaned into him.

  Richard felt a surge of desire run through him as the pink tip of her tongue parted his lips, combined with an immense rush of relief. He’d been worrying unnecessarily. Shame about Olivia’s bruises, but she had brought it all on herself, he thought, pulling Rebecca closer, his hands trailing the length of her back as he took up her invitation and closed his mouth hungrily over hers.

  FIFTY-FOUR

  REBECCA

  PRESENT

  Richard’s expression had been one of bleary-eyed surprise when Rebecca went back into the bedroom in her outdoor jacket to grab her handbag.

  ‘Bit keen, aren’t we?’ Easing himself up on his elbows, he’d blinked at the alarm clock and then curiously back at her. ‘Off anywhere interesting?’

  ‘Dog walking,’ she’d told him. ‘One of the dogs has been ill during the night.’ Rolling her eyes good-naturedly, she’d kissed his cheek and suggested he catch up on his beauty sleep. Richard hadn’t suspected a thing.

  It was no trial walking the dogs – quite the opposite, in fact. They were probably the best company she had right now. Wanting solitude, to be alone with her thoughts, Rebecca had inevitably arrived back at the secluded vantage point Nicole had painted from, the wind whipping her hair and her tears mingling with the slashing rain as she looked across the deep lock gates. Had Nicole attempted to cross them?

  Her heart heavy, Rebecca stepped towards them. They were wet and slippery with moss. In the damp night air, Nicole’s passage across would have been treacherous. Had he followed her onto them? Pushed her from there? Rocked the gates, knowing she would lose her footing? Or had he shoved her violently from the bank? Feeling her terror, Rebecca’s stomach constricted painfully. She could see her face, looking back over her shoulder, pretty and fragile – petrified, as she tried desperately to get away from him. And she would have. She would have fought for the child growing inside her.

  She would never have endangered that pregnancy. She’d been here because of him. Wherever he sent her sprawling into the water from, she’d died because of him. She had to do this. Fury burned white-hot inside her. All she had to use against Richard Gray were Nicole’s letters. Letters written by a woman who was supposedly out of her mind. She needed more.

  Distractedly watching a Canada goose, gaggle of young in tow, waddle along the bank on the canal side of the lock, Rebecca was pondering her next move when a male voice spoke quietly behind her – ‘Rebecca’ – causing her heart to skid to a stop in her chest.

  ‘Bloody hell! Becky!’ Peter moved fast, wrapping an arm around her waist and snatching her back from where she teetered dangerously close to the edge.

  ‘Christ, sorry,’ he said quickly, easing her into his arms as she turned. ‘I should have called ahead. I must have scared you half to death. Are you okay?’ he asked kindly, as Rebecca clung to him, trying to calm the riot of emotion inside her.

  Rebecca nodded. ‘Yes,’ she managed after a second, her heart rate returning to somewhere near normal. ‘I thought…’

  ‘I gathered,’ Peter finished, his expression a mixture of concern and anger. He knew exactly what she’d thought. ‘Come on,’ he said, giving her a reassuring smile, ‘let’s get back to the car park. This damn place haunts me.’

  Rebecca knew that feeling. She thought about it incessantly. In her dreams, she saw it. And every time she did, she felt Nicole’s pain all over again.

  ‘Come on, boys.’ Peter beckoned Wanderer and Bouncer. ‘That goose will have you two for breakfast.’ Tongues hanging excitedly, the dogs took one last uncertain look across the lock at the hissing goose, and then, clearly realising they were no match for it, turned to bound after them.

  ‘How are you doing?’ Peter asked, glancing worriedly at her as they walked.

  ‘Coping,’ Rebecca answered vaguely. ‘You?’ She looked him over searchingly as they stopped.

  ‘The same.’ Peter shrugged, glancing away and back. ‘I still can’t believe she’s gone.’

  Seeing the deep sadness in his eyes, Rebecca felt for him. He was a good man, caring enough to be here for her, taking time out from his life. He’d loved Nicole, but only ever from a distance. Like his son, Peter was shy. Too shy to have made the first move. Rebecca so wished he had.

  ‘I’ve brought the other items we discussed.’ Peter nodded towards his car. ‘I didn’t tell him what they were for, obviously, but I got Zach to look online for me. He’s quite the technical whizz kid.’

  ‘Aren’t they all nowadays?’ Rebecca smiled. ‘Let’s hope it works, for Zach’s sake as well as Nicole’s.’ And Sam’s and Laura’s, she thought. They’d both been touched by this, as had Lydia and the other women whose lives had been over the day they met Richard Gray: Emily’s. Whoever Olivia’s mother was. More?

  Peter opened his back-passenger door to retrieve an innocuous-looking carrier bag. ‘Zach agreed with you,’ he said. ‘He reckons using a smartphone for voice recording from any distance would probably mean low-quality audio data. And being caught, of course.’ He paused, his face now etched with worry as he searched hers. ‘You will be careful, won’t you, Becky? Call me selfish, but I really don’t want to lose another friend.’

  Rebecca reached to squeeze his arm. ‘I will. I won’t put myself at risk. I promise.’

  Peter nodded, but he didn’t look totally convinced. ‘Just make sure to call me if anything gets out of hand,’ he said. ‘I’d be more than willing to step in and break the bastard’s neck.’

  ‘Which would mean you’d be arrested and I would lose a friend – someone I’ve grown very fond of,’ Rebecca pointed out. ‘Plus there’s the fact that that wouldn’t be painful enough.’

  Not nearly enough, compared to what Nicole had endured, but Richard Gray might at least suffer some of the same psychological torment when he realised that he’d been ensnared in his own evil web and had no way out – bar one.

  ‘No.’ His thoughts clearly on a par with hers, Peter pulled in a terse breath. ‘But immensely satisfying.’

  ‘Granted,’ Rebecca had to agree. ‘If this doesn’t work, I’ll help you hold him down and we’ll revert to plan B.’

  Nodding, Peter smiled half-heartedly. ‘We looked at several possibilities, but decided on this,’ he said, fetching an item from the bag.

  Rebecca examined it curiously. ‘An air freshener?’ her mouth twitched into a surprised smile.r />
  Peter looked pleased. ‘Good, isn’t it? I’ve got three, just in case. It’s voice activated. Over 140 hours’ capacity, no flashing lights or beeping when recording, plus it’s scented.’

  ‘Perfect.’ Rebecca was impressed. She’d imagined all sorts of obtrusive devices that would be technically beyond her. ‘Clever you.’

  ‘Clever Zach,’ Peter reminded her. ‘It’s Windows and Mac compatible. You just need a USB cable to connect it to your laptop and a folder of recorded audio files will pop up.’

  Rebecca’s smile widened as he produced the USB cable from his bag. He really was nice. One of the good guys, thank God. Rebecca had begun to think they didn’t exist, until she’d confided in him. ‘Tell Zach thanks for me. And thank you, Peter. I think you’ve restored my faith,’ she said, leaning across to hug the man Nicole should have fallen in love with.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  OLIVIA

  PRESENT

  Hearing a light tap on the door, Olivia eased her head up from the pillows she’d been propped up on all night. Lying flat had been impossible, her throat seeming to close up, causing her to gag. She’d hardly slept a wink. Richard’s fault. All of it. Thinking he had a right to push her around, bully her, hurt her. He would be nothing without her. Still under the thumb of her drunken bitch mother, he would have been sexually starved, financially controlled and utterly humiliated. She’d been the one to make him see he had a way out – one that would make him a rich man. She’d planted the seed that had grown them a fortune. He couldn’t have done any of it without her. Yet now he seemed to think he could just cast her aside. That wasn’t going to happen. She loved him. He belonged to her! She wouldn’t damn well let it happen!

  Inching the door open, Rebecca peered around it and then came quietly in. ‘Hi, Liv. I brought you some breakfast,’ she said kindly. ‘Just scrambled eggs. I wasn’t sure whether you’d fancy anything much.’