The Wife Before Me(100)
Nicholas wraps a chamois round his fist and breaks the glass. The reflection disappears. This is an untamed landscape where imagination is honed on terror… it has to be. Leanne is dead, her body cremated. Her ashes scattered by Jay from the summit of a faraway hilltop.
Nicholas opens the back door and leans in to lift her out.
‘Nicholas―’ she begins but he clamps his hand over her mouth.
‘Shut up,’ he hisses. ‘It’s too late for apologies. This time when you hit the water I won’t be left wondering whether you’re alive or dead.’
He unties the rope from round her ankles and drags her from the car. Her numbed legs give way. When she falls to her knees, he takes her under her arms and drags her towards the edge of the viewing platform. It’s guarded by a steel safety barrier and, beyond it, rocks and rough tussocks of grass look hunched and distorted under the moonlight. Her view of the ocean is blocked by the smooth slant of the highest boulder but she can hear the waves pounding against the craggy face of the cliff.
His fist in her face, her head jerking back from the force of the blow, the pain he inflicts on her has a terrifying familiarity. He hits her again and lets her fall to the ground when her eyes close. She feigns unconsciousness but has enough awareness to realise that he is loosening the rope that binds her wrists. He stops, startled, as she is, when his car headlights start flashing and the alarm goes off. His BMW is sitting like a beacon on the summit of Mag’s Head, the ricocheting shriek amplifying its presence. Forced to loosen his grip on Amelia, he reaches one hand into his jacket in search of the keys. When he realises they are still in the ignition, he curses loudly and hesitates, seemingly unable to decide whether to ignore the clamour or drag her back to the car. He bends over her and tries to slide his hands back under her shoulders. The pressure from the rope has eased and she has enough strength to link her fingers together and swing her fists upwards towards his chin. Pain shoots along her arms when she makes contact but, as he jerks backwards, his grip on her loosens. When he tries to grab hold of her again she rolls to one side and kicks out at him. He crashes against the steel barrier and falls heavily to his knees. He is still stunned when she rises to her feet, limping at first and then running towards his car. She flings the rope aside, knowing that if she reaches it before he gains on her, she will drive it in only one direction. A knife or a car – it matters little how she destroys him.
Nicholas commands her to stop. Even now, he believes he has the power to dominate her. Hate lends her strength, fear gives her wings, or so it seems; but he is gaining on her, his threats ringing in her ears. It’s too late. She will never reach the car in time. She veers away from it, heading towards the trees and the scraggy overgrowth in a desperate attempt to outrun him.
Sixty-Two
The shriek of a car alarm stops Elena in her tracks. She sees headlights flashing, figures running across the viewing platform. She is too far away to distinguish them but it has to be Amelia and Nicholas. Exposed in this open space, she switches off the torch and moves forward, cautiously approaching the car. The alarm is silenced and the night is black again, apart from the interior light, which shines like a lone star brought to earth. The wash of the ocean is the only sound she can hear. No running footsteps to alert her to danger as she examines the BMW. A back door is open and a length of rope hangs half in and half out of the car. The windscreen is broken and the serrated shards still set in the window frame are whetted to an ice-pick sharpness.
She is about to move on when she hears footsteps. They’re too heavy to be Amelia’s. She hunkers down at the front of the car, shoves the torch underneath a wheel and waits for him to come closer. He slams the back door and the interior light goes off. Nothing to guide her but the moon. She waits until he has opened the door on the driver’s side before rising. As she moves forward, her boots splinter a shard of glass. He spins round as she is about to lunge at him. The element of surprise has gone and when her arm is twisted behind her back, the new pain on top of the injury he inflicted on her outside Rosemary’s office saps the last of her strength. As the knife falls harmlessly to the ground, she knows she has lost.
He picks it up and holds it to her throat. How many times has she faced him like this, helpless while he decides what punishment to mete out? This time will be different. She senses it in the steadiness of his hand as he prepares to take her life from her.
The ringing in her ears is back again and is even louder than the waves roiling below them. Can he not hear it? The chime of butterflies making music as they flit against each other in a deserted studio? How has the sound reached them? Has the wind carried it this great distance? The same wind that sighs his name. ‘Nicholas… Nicholas…’ A voice floating on the air, familiar yet unrecognisable, its cadences enticing him to listen as she sings out his name, louder this time. When he turns from Elena, his attention distracted, he is unable to see who is calling him but he knows, as Elena does, that Amelia is offering herself as a decoy.
Elena wants to shout at her to run – run without stopping, towards a new haven where she and Layla would be safe. But her tongue is fused to her palate, her throat too dry. He shoves Elena aside and switches on the headlights. Amelia is visible on the other side of the barrier. She lifts her hand, as if to shield her eyes from the glare, then walks slowly away from him. The grass sways and leaves a trail for him to follow. She disappears behind one of the largest standing stones before coming back into view.