The Wife Before Me(5)

‘Elena.’ He enters, his hand outstretched. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m coping, thank you.’ It’s a glib response that he accepts with a smile. He must understand that polite platitudes are the only way to bat aside unanswerable questions.

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ He nods towards Rosemary. ‘Sorry for the interruption. When would it be a good time to call back?’

‘I’ll be free to see you after four,’ Rosemary replies. ‘Leave the file with me and I’ll have a look at it before we meet.’

The room seems emptier when he closes the door behind him. It is as if a spark has been extinguished, which is ridiculous; but the high flare of colour on Rosemary’s cheeks suggests that even she seems affected by his departure.

‘I’ll ring you soon to arrange lunch,’ she says when their meeting ends. ‘You’ve a lot to absorb and decisions to make. I’ll help you any way I can. I don’t make friends easily and Isabelle was a special person in my life. I’ll never forget her support when my husband died. I want to give that support back to you. You must ring me any time you feel like talking, do you understand?’

‘Thank you.’ She will weep if she doesn’t escape Rosemary’s kindness.

The solicitor, recognising her distress, walks briskly with her to the elevator and waits until Elena is inside before turning away.

Nicholas Madison is standing by the reception desk talking to another man when Elena steps out of the elevator. She walks faster. It’s too soon after Zac to feel such confused and strong emotions about a man she hardly knows, yet she wills him to turn and notice her. The automatic glass doors open and she is about to step outside when he calls her name.

‘I apologise for intruding on your meeting with Rosemary,’ he says when he reaches her. ‘If I’d known you had an appointment with her today I’d have organised lunch. I know that Peter Harris is anxious to see you and offer his condolences in person. Unfortunately, he’s abroad at the moment but―’

‘No need to apologise. Our meeting was just coming to an end.’ She stands awkwardly before him, aware of his eyes, his intense scrutiny that makes her feel as if all his attention is focused on her only. ‘Lunch isn’t necessary.’

‘Then coffee, perhaps?’ He checks his watch. Impeccable white cuffs, she notices, like everything else about him. His suit fits so perfectly it must be bespoke and his shirt has a pristine crispness that suggests it’s been professionally laundered. No mud on his brogues to mar their sheen. She has a sudden image of him on a lofty chair, a shoeshine boy at his feet. Private school, university, a gap year travelling and a junior partnership shortly after he joined the company; these are the details Elena has gleaned from Rosemary, who referred to him as the Golden Boy of KHM Investments. Elena has no difficulty believing her.

‘I’m about to take a break,’ he says. ‘Would you care to join me? There’s an excellent café next door. It’ll be quiet at this time of the afternoon.’

‘Thank you. That sounds good.’ She has already had coffee with Rosemary but the thought of returning to an empty bungalow holds little appeal. The glass doors close behind them with a quiet swish.

‘I’m sure it’s been a difficult week for you,’ he says when the coffee is served.

‘I managed to get through it okay.’ Why burden him with the truth, especially when he must be consumed by his own heartache, which she cannot even begin to comprehend?

Two weeks, the search for his wife lasted, Susie had told her. Boats, big and small, plying the waters, helicopters flying overhead, walkers on the beaches and rocks keeping watch to see if her body had been washed in on the tide.

Her mother had phoned to tell her about the tragedy. Elena had been fruit picking on a farm outside Brisbane at the time and had yet to meet Zac. That would make it about two years ago. KHM Investments had closed down as a mark of respect on the day of his wife’s funeral— no… it couldn’t have been a funeral. A memorial service, Elena remembers now. How awful it must be to mourn his wife yet hope that somehow, against all the odds, she would return to him.

The sun, breaking free from clouds, shines a harsh light through the café window and emphasises his prominent cheekbones. A nerve quivers in his right temple as if, in that instant, he knows what she is thinking. Should she sympathise with him? What should she say? It’s still a recent tragedy, yet not recent enough to offer some bland comment about a woman she had never known. Better not to make any reference to it and embarrass both of them.

‘Do you have any plans for the future?’ He interrupts her thoughts. ‘Will you stay here or return to Brisbane?’

‘How do you know I live in Brisbane?’

‘I spoke to Rosemary about you after your mother’s funeral.’

‘Why?’

‘Why?’ He sounds surprised by her bluntness. ‘I was curious. Just as you and your friends were curious about me at the cemetery.’

‘That was Tara.’ She is embarrassed, remembering their conversation about him. ‘She liked your car. What did Rosemary tell you about me?’

‘That you were still in Australia when you heard Isabelle had died. To receive such terrible news when you were so far away… that must have been tough.’

The mug of coffee shakes in her hand. Hot liquid sloshes over the edge and scalds her fingers. She struggles for composure as she dabs her eyes with the tissue he hands her. These outbursts come regularly and always at the most unexpected times. She can look at photo albums Isabelle had filled – each photograph dated – and remain dry-eyed. She has managed to discuss the details of the will with Rosemary and stay calm. But small things, like the sight of Isabelle’s hair clips on the dressing table or a handwritten recipe she had struck behind the tea caddy can reduce Elena to wretched, hiccupping sobs.