The Second Wife

by Sheryl Browne

  Sitting down in the chair he was ‘assisted’ into, Richard smiled wryly back. ‘I don’t doubt it.’

  ‘We’ll start with the UK accounts,’ Rebecca said, firing up the laptop. ‘And then we’ll move to the overseas accounts. If that’s okay with you?’

  Richard laughed at that, genuinely. He couldn’t help but admire her temerity. ‘Perfectly,’ he said. He would have no use now for the considerable sum he’d amassed and deposited overseas – as she’d shrewdly guessed he had – unless money bought favours in hell.

  Obligingly, he reeled the various user details and passwords off, as requested, receiving several curious glances from her and the dynamo that was Peter as he did. He supposed they’d thought he would be more troublesome. Richard had already decided there was no point fighting the inevitable. Given free rein over a man with his hands tied behind his back, Rebecca’s ‘heavy’ could hurt him. Richard didn’t particularly want to be hurt any more.

  ‘Is that everything?’ Rebecca asked, having cleared out all of his accounts.

  ‘Apart from the money in my wallet, yes. Obviously, you can help yourself to that, if you need to.’

  Her look this time was one of amusement. ‘I don’t,’ she said.

  ‘No.’ Richard smiled sardonically in acknowledgement of that. ‘So, what do you have in mind for me now?’ he asked, scanning her eyes curiously. ‘Death? Or slow death?’

  Rebecca held his gaze. ‘The jury’s still out,’ she said, a flicker of concern in her expression, which offered him some small comfort.

  Richard nodded, guessing she’d understood what he meant. ‘No doubt you’ll let me know the verdict. Meanwhile’ – he took a breath – ‘do you think I might use the bathroom? I’m feeling rather nauseous.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ Peter said, the smile on his face somewhere between contempt and satisfaction. Richard had to accept that he himself might not be the catch he’d seemed, but he really had no idea what Rebecca could see in him. He would be no challenge for her whatsoever.

  Ignoring him, he looked questioningly back to her, since she was the one making the decisions. ‘It’s internal, the downstairs bathroom,’ he reminded her. ‘No windows. I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘Yet,’ Peter added drolly.

  It took supreme effort on Richard’s part to ignore that, keeping his attention on Rebecca instead.

  She nodded her acquiescence. ‘Don’t be long,’ she said.

  ‘Thanks.’ Richard took another short breath and got to his feet. ‘I, er…’ He hesitated. ‘I might struggle to…’ He trailed off, thinking he didn’t need to state the obvious.

  The two exchanged glances. Nervous glances, Richard noticed. ‘I’m not proposing to drown myself in the toilet,’ he assured her. ‘So, unless Peter would like to assist me?’

  Glancing at Rebecca, Peter didn’t look too thrilled at that prospect.

  Still, Rebecca looked uncertain.

  ‘I’m not going to fight you, Rebecca. I’ve nowhere to go. Nowhere to run,’ Richard pointed out quietly. ‘Retie my hands in front of me, if it makes you feel more secure, just… I’d be grateful if you’d allow me some small dignity before the jury comes back?’

  Rebecca took another second, then, ‘Retie him, Peter, would you?’ she said.

  Peter looked warily from her to Richard and back. ‘Are you sure about this, Becky? He doesn’t exactly rank highly in the trustworthy stakes.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ she said, her eyes never leaving Richard’s.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said again, allowing Peter to do what he had to do, faffing about with the rope for what seemed like an eternity. Rebecca really could do better than him, he thought, finally making his way to the toilet.

  Once inside, still unsteady on his legs, Richard leaned his forehead against the comforting cool of the mirror. He was perspiring – profusely, he realised – possibly more to do with nerves than the drugs. The tap was dripping, he noticed, slowly and steadily, each drip like a nail being driven into his coffin.

  Would she leave him to die as she’d hinted she would, he wondered, his chest tightening. He didn’t think so. He doubted she would kill him at all, which was a pity. If she made an anonymous call to the police, undoubtedly the floodgates would open. Richard’s heart rate ratcheted up at the prospect of being questioned in a police interview room. The thought of being held in a cell caused his stomach to clench violently. He couldn’t do it. There was no way he would survive being locked in a room no bigger than a shoebox.

  Rebecca knew it. Knew precisely how this game would end.

  Richard felt repulsion with himself as he remembered the small boy shaking with fear as he sat alone, confined in the claustrophobic dark of the cupboard. It was while sitting there, listening to his ‘loving’ mother singing soprano along to the radio, that he’d made his decision. Finally, his patience had been rewarded. Killing her had been easy. He hadn’t felt anything very much, that day or thereafter.

  He was feeling now though: undiluted terror, chilling him to the bone. Closing his eyes, Richard tried to still the nausea churning inside him, and then, a fresh spasm gripping him, he leaned to retch the acidic contents of his empty stomach into the toilet.

  Hearing a sharp rap on the door, he straightened up. ‘Two minutes,’ he called, flushing the toilet and then hurriedly yanking the towel from the holder, his hope to suppress the noise, should Rebecca have a fit of conscience. It wasn’t easy looping it over his arm with his hands tied, but desperation, he found, was a good motivator.

  Fuck! He cursed as the smashed glass of the mirror crashed into the sink.

  The rap on the door this time was urgent. The handle rattled noisily as Richard grabbed the most suitable shard of glass he could find.

  ‘Shit! The bastard’s actually going to do it.’ He heard Peter’s voice close to the door. Several loud bangs on the door were followed by the sound of splintering wood, as he pressed the sharp point of the glass to his jugular. Would they try to save him? Richard thought not, as he drove it hard home.

  SIXTY-FOUR

  OLIVIA

  PRESENT

  She’d wondered why they hadn’t tried to stop her, hadn’t pursued her. They’d seen her leave, she was sure, slipping through the patio doors rather than throwing herself out of the bedroom window – which she was sure Peter wouldn’t have tried to prevent her from doing. Perhaps they realised, Olivia thought, that the police, who she’d seen from the fields were approaching the house, would find her. They’d taken her purse, leaving her with no money or any way to obtain any. She had nowhere to go but the streets.

  They were concentrating on their goal: relieving Richard of his funds. She’d felt sorry for him, almost, as they’d led him from the pool house, pushing him and shoving him, his hands trussed behind him, blood all over his shirt, his face the colour of death. They would be gone from there now, more than likely. Richard, too, taken away in handcuffs. He would struggle in prison. He’d told her once – confided in her – that he didn’t think he would survive it. Had he ever loved her? Did he know how much she’d loved him, she wondered, wiping a slow tear from her cheek. Had he even cared for her? She thought not; knew he couldn’t possibly have cared, now that she’d seen him making love with a woman, rather than fucking as a means to an end. She wished she could tell him that that was why she’d written down everything about her involvement and posted the letter through the police station door before she’d come here. She knew he’d only ever viewed her as a means to an end, no more than that.

  She’d been nothing to him. Was nothing.

  She’d never imagined herself succumbing to a state of emotional abandonment where she lost all rational thought, her sense of identity. Lost sight of her. It happened gradually, subtly and insidiously, until you really did believe the madness was ‘all in your mind’, as Richard had so often told the women he’d tortured.

  She’d tortured.

  Olivia knew how that felt now.

 
She knew from experience that her passing from this life into oblivion wouldn’t take long. Her limbs flailed instinctively as she slipped into what would become her watery grave. The water was cold, much colder than the surface air. Hypothermia would set in quite quickly as her body constricted surface blood vessels to conserve heat for her vital organs. Richard had explained it all to her once.

  It was happening just as he’d described it: her head began to throb as her heart rate and blood pressure increased. She could hear it, the strange whooshing, gurgling sound, which wasn’t the water around her but the sound inside her. Her muscles tensed suddenly and she shivered uncontrollably. Her lungs, bursting within her, screamed at her to draw air. Once she did, of course, her lungs would fill and she would be gone. Her hope was that her core temperature would drop rapidly and that her wasted life would fade to black before that happened.

  Her tears of regret mingled with the murky water as her thoughts ebbed and drifted. It wasn’t snapshots of her past life that flashed before her. The images that would fade with her were of them together, bodies entwined, tongues seeking each other’s – languid, sensual movements as they sought to pleasure each other, gaining pleasure from the knowledge that she was watching. Rebecca, at least, knew she was. As they’d reached the heights of ecstasy, she’d turned her smiling face towards her and whispered, ‘It’s all in your mind’.

  The other women, Olivia saw them too, with their confused expressions, their bewilderment and deep disillusionment, which soon gave way to fear as realisation dawned. They’d been trapped. Butterflies in bell jars, they’d continued to flutter until their colours faded and their fragile wings crumbled to dust.

  Wanderer, offering her unconditional love whatever her mood; she saw him, patient and loyal on the hall rug, waiting for the familiar thrum of her car engine, her key in the door. She would miss him. She wished she’d been nicer to him; hoped that they would look after him. Be kind to him.

  Pain and sorrow turn to wisdom in time. You should have been more vigilant. Those were Rebecca’s last words to her. Olivia wished she had been.

  SIXTY-FIVE

  REBECCA

  PRESENT

  Richard’s eyes had fluttered open as they’d carried him out. He’d actually smiled. The sad smile of a condemned man, his fate a fait accompli. He would live, the paramedics had assured the police officers attending, who’d in turn assured her that he would be placed on suicide watch once released from hospital into custody.

  Sadly, Olivia hadn’t survived. Peter thought she’d escaped justice. Thinking about the way she’d chosen to die, Rebecca thought not.

  Listening to the last strains of Elgar’s, ‘Nimrod’, Rebecca walked away from the funeral, which had been attended by no one other than herself, and went straight to see Nicole. Would she have minded her being there? Knowing her friend’s caring and forgiving nature, Rebecca suspected she wouldn’t. Had she been alive, Nicole would probably have attended herself.

  There would be an investigation into the proceeds of Richard and Olivia’s appalling crimes, of course, all of which had been accounted for – bar any that was rightfully Nicole’s, plus a little bit more. ‘I doubt they’ll miss that amongst the other millions,’ she assured her, kneeling to place her flowers on the grave. Not roses. Faded pink just wasn’t Nicole. A delicate spray of colourful freesias suited her better.

  ‘The purchase of the property will be completed soon,’ she chatted on, taking the wilted flowers from the urn and replacing them with the fresh ones. The property on the high street was an ideal choice, she thought. Richard hadn’t completed the renovation, so the apartments wouldn’t be quite so luxurious now, each converted into a share for two families – women with or without children – who needed sanctuary from controlling, abusive partners who regarded it as their right to rob them of their lives.

  ‘I thought employing a security guard might be a good idea,’ she went on, sure Nicole would agree. So often these broken women were found by their tormenters and felt they had no choice but to return home again. Rebecca wanted her venture to be different, to provide true security in comfortable surroundings until these victims of crime were able get their lives back on track and start afresh. No doubt she would hit snags along the way, be accused of being idealistic, meet the wrath of neighbours not wanting such a project on their doorsteps, but… ‘It’s a start, at least.’ Laying a hand flat on the ground where her friend rested, she hoped she could hear her, that she would be happy that Richard had been punished in the worst possible way for his sins against her. ‘From little acorns… I’m hoping this will be the first of many – in time, obviously.’

  Rebecca stopped, her attention drawn by a sleek black BMW gliding along the path towards the church. ‘That will be Edward.’ She turned back to Nicole. ‘My new councillor friend,’ she reminded her, certain that if Nicole judged her, it wouldn’t be badly.

  ‘He’s quite good-looking, in a lived-in sort of way,’ she went on, knowing that Edward would be happy to wait. She’d seen from the greedy look in his eyes that he was interested in more than a ‘professional’ relationship the second she’d offered him a bribe to ensure her business went smoothly. Well, needs must. She’d been aware that purchasing the property she’d had her heart set on would be tricky.

  ‘He’s older than me, but not too off-putting to climb into bed with. He treated his first wife abysmally, according to rumour.’ Rebecca knitted her brow scornfully. ‘But I’ve yet to establish all the facts…’

  THE END

  If The Second Wife had you gripped, you’ll love The Affair – an addictive psychological thriller that will have you hooked from the first page.

  Get it here!

  THE AFFAIR

  Get it here!

  The moment she opened her eyes, she knew everything had changed. The stale taste of alcohol; her uneasy stomach. She looked at her husband sleeping peacefully, and knew she would never tell anyone what happened last night.

  You will think you know what happened to Alicia that night.

  You will see a desperate wife, lying to her husband.

  You will watch a charming lover, trying to win her back.

  You will judge her, just like everyone else.

  You will assume you know what happens next. But everything you think you know about the past, the relationships, what drives Alicia and her husband to lie... is wrong.

  If you loved The Girl on the Train, The Wife Between Us and The Sister, you’ll love this compelling and gripping psychological thriller from Sheryl Browne. The Affair will have you hooked from the very first page!

  Available here!

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  BOOKS BY SHERYL BROWNE

  The Babysitter

  The Affair

  The Second Wife

  A LETTER FROM SHERYL

  Thank you so much for choosing to read The Second Wife. I really hope you enjoy it.

  I would love to hear from you via Facebook, Twitter or my website. If you would like to keep up to date with my latest book news, please do sign up at the website link below. Your details will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time.

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  This a story about relationships, some of which sadly turn sour. Sometimes people find themselves in situations that might be abusive in some way. They’re never quite sure how it happened and, perhaps for financial reasons or because of low self-esteem, might struggle to find the strength to leave. Some might even feel guilty at abandoning their partner. Controlling relationships are not an easy subject to look at and my fervent wish is for anyone reading this book to realise it is written from the heart. Guilt is such a negative emotion. The message I hope to convey is that, personally, I found it okay to ditch the guilt that came
with starting to put myself first in certain situations. Looking after myself was my first step: the diet, the hair, the clothes, the make-up – whether I wore it or not. I chose to start doing that for me. These were baby steps. The bigger strides came later.

  As I write this last little section of the book, I would again like to thank those people around me who are always there to offer support, those people who believed in me, even when I didn’t quite believe in myself.

  To all of you, thank you for helping me make my dream come true.

  If you have enjoyed the book, I would love it if you could share your thoughts and write a brief review. Reviews mean the world to an author and will help a book find its wings.

  Keep safe, everyone, and Happy Reading.

  Sheryl x

  www.sherylbrowne.com

  THE BABYSITTER

  Get it here!

  You trust her with your family. Would you trust her with your life?

  Mark and Melissa Cain are thrilled to have found Jade, a babysitter who is brilliant with their young children. Having seen her own house burn to the ground, Jade needs them as much as they need her. Moving Jade into the family home can only be a good thing, can’t it?

  As Mark works long hours as a police officer and Melissa struggles with running a business, the family become ever more reliant on their babysitter, who is only too happy to help. And as Melissa begins to slip into depression, it’s Jade who is left picking up the pieces.

  But Mark soon notices things aren’t quite as they seem. Things at home feel wrong, and as Mark begins to investigate their seemingly perfect sitter, what he discovers shocks him to his core. He’s met Jade before. And now he suspects he might know what she wants…