The Wife Before Me(58)
‘In what way?’ Yvonne dismissed the imaginary cobweb and stared at her daughter-in-law. ‘I simply asked if he gave you the respect and privacy a father should allow his daughter? Nicholas told me you and John had a painful conversation before he died.’
‘Nicholas had no right to discuss that with you. No right whatsoever.’ Amelia locked her fingers together, nails digging into the skin. ‘But I’ll answer your question. My father’s love for me was unconditional and pure. I made a dreadful mistake and will never forgive myself for doing so. Unlike your son, he had no dark side to his nature.’
‘Dark side?’ Yvonne’s shoulders shot back, her arms rising and opening out in a puzzled V. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Nicholas beats me, Yvonne.’ Saying it aloud at last. Naming it, the accusation flat, ugly, free. ‘I’m your son’s punchbag when he’s upset. Does he discuss that with you?’
‘Heavens above! What absolute nonsense.’
‘It’s not nonsense. I’ve stayed quiet for far too long. You must know that Nicholas has a vile temper. When he doesn’t get his own way, he can lash out without thinking about the consequences.’
‘I know nothing of the sort.’ Yvonne was on her feet, her cheeks enflamed. ‘How dare you turn this conversation round and imply that my son is violent towards you? Your father―’
‘My father saw right through his charms. He never wanted us to marry. I should have listened to him.’
Yvonne pulled on her jacket, her fingers trembling as she buttoned it. ‘It’s just as well I have an understanding nature and can appreciate the stress you’re going through. Otherwise, I’d find it impossible to forgive you.’ Her lips puckered in a bow of disbelief. ‘You need help, young woman. And soon, if you want to have any hope of saving your marriage.’
Come away with me, Jay had begged until he ran out of words.
Bricks and mortar, Leanne had said. Not important enough to risk her life. With each entreaty, Amelia had felt her resolution harden, her determination growing. But, now, with Jay on a flight back to California and Leanne leaving soon for Kerry, her fear came crawling back. Nicholas would be home tomorrow. Would he, with his knack of burrowing into her thoughts, somehow realise that she had been unfaithful to him? A bloodhound feeding off suspicion, he was bound to notice something – a stray hair, a non-aligned cushion, her lips bruised with pleasure, her heart breaking.
After Yvonne drove away, the wheels of her car stirring dust into a fury, Amelia entered the ice house and hid the folder that held the tattered remnants of her marriage certificate.
Thirty-Two
She waited for Nicholas to bring up her conversation with Yvonne but, instead, he talked about New York. The limitless energy and opportunities in a city that never slept. They would sell Woodbine and with his severance package from KHM, they would begin again over there. A fresh start for both of them. He had bought her gifts, a cashmere pashmina, perfume, gold earrings that she had seen in a magazine and admired. He poured champagne into slender glasses and toasted their future. She answered him in monosyllables and sipped the champagne slowly, reluctantly, yet afraid to offend him, or upset his affable mood. Did he really believe she would sell Woodbine and leave her beloved home for a future with him? He filled her glass again, ignoring her protests that she had drunk enough, seemingly unaware, or uncaring, that she showed no interest in his plans.
The following morning, Amelia awoke to the sound of music. Gentle and soothing, it floated in and out of her consciousness. Her mind drifted, then gained force as she gathered her thoughts. The curtains were still drawn, the light in the bedroom dim. The ceiling began to spin as soon as she sat up. She fell back against the pillows, closed her eyes and lay perfectly still. Vertigo – she had had it once when she was a teenager. Her doctor had diagnosed a middle ear infection. She remembered the nausea, her staggering footsteps and her belief that the floor would pitch her forward if she wasn’t holding on to the wall.
The door opened and Nicholas entered. ‘Breakfast is ready,’ he said.
She heard him set the tray down on the bedside table, felt the mattress sag as he sat on the side of the bed. His hand on her forehead was cool, his touch light as his fingers massaged her temples where two pincers of pain jabbed deep.
‘Wake up, darling,’ he said. ‘It’s almost noon. I’m going to open the curtains and let some light into the room.’
She felt the sunshine press against her closed eyelids when he whisked the curtains across. Cautiously, she opened her eyes. He was back on the bed beside her, smiling. The warmth of his gaze, his tender touch. Terror cramped her stomach and she was afraid she would throw up over the duvet.
‘Let me help you.’ He moved behind her and lifted her upright, plumped the pillows behind her. Why was he treating her like an invalid?
He suggested she start breakfast, but she shook her head. The tray was set with freshly squeezed orange juice, scrambled eggs, slivers of smoked salmon. The same breakfast as that previous occasion when she had tried to struggle her way out of the blackness. The morning after the KHM Christmas party, those images ingrained. He had fed her like a timid fledging then. Not this time.
‘I don’t want anything.’ Thankfully, the dizziness had passed and she was able to speak clearly. ‘Take the tray back downstairs.’