The Wife Between Us(95)

Richard must be on edge; he should have realized Andy might mention the emails and letters to me. My ex-husband is the one who isn’t thinking clearly now.

I’ve never pushed him this far before, not even close. He is probably desperate to hurt me, to make me stop. To erase me from his tidy life.

I say good-bye to Andy and realize I need to get to Emma. It is almost five o’clock, the time I’d planned to leave. But I’m suddenly overwhelmed by the worry that Richard is waiting outside. I can’t walk there, after all. I will take a cab, but I still need to get to one safely.

A second exit in the back of the building leads to a narrow alley where trash cans and recycling bins are kept. Which door will Richard expect me to use?

He knows I suffer from mild claustrophobia, that I loathe being trapped. The alley is narrow and usually empty, penned in on both sides by high buildings. So that’s the route I choose.

I change into sneakers, then I wait until five-thirty. I take the elevator downstairs and fumble with the latch on the fire door. I ease it open and look out. The alley appears vacant, but I can’t see behind the tall plastic waste containers. I take a deep breath and push away from the door, sprinting down the passageway.

My heart is exploding. I expect his arms to shoot out and grab me at any moment. I push myself toward the sliver of sidewalk I see ahead. When I finally reach it, I whip around in a full circle, gasping, as I scan my surroundings.

He isn’t here; I am certain I would be able to feel his predatory gaze upon me.

I lift my arm to signal passing cabs as I hurry down the street. It doesn’t take long for one to pull over, and the driver expertly weaves through rush-hour traffic toward Emma’s place.

When we arrive at her corner, I see it’s four minutes before six. I ask the driver to keep the meter running while I mentally rehearse a final time what I need to say. Then I exit the cab and walk to the door of Emma’s building. I press the buzzer for 5C and hear Emma’s voice through the intercom: “Vanessa?”

“Yes.” I can’t help it; I glance behind me a final time. But no one is there.

I take the elevator to her floor.

She opens the door as I approach. She is as lovely as ever, but she looks worried; her brow is creased. “Come in.”

I step over the threshold and she shuts the heavy door behind me. At last, I am alone with her. I feel a rush of relief so intense I am practically giddy.

Her apartment is a small, neat one-bedroom. A few framed photographs are on the wall, and a vase of white roses is on a side table. She gestures toward the low-backed couch and I perch on the edge. But she remains standing.

“Thank you for seeing me.”

She doesn’t respond.

“I have wanted to talk to you for so long.”

Something seems off. She isn’t looking at me. Instead she is glancing over her shoulder. Toward her bedroom door.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see that door begin to open.

I recoil into the couch, my hands instinctively flying up to protect myself. No, I think desperately. I want to run, but I cannot move, just like in my nightmares. I can only watch as he approaches.

“Hello, Vanessa.”

My eyes shift to Emma. Her expression is inscrutable.

“Richard,” I whisper. “What are—why are you here?”

“My fiancée told me you texted her some nonsense about a wine refund.” He continues moving toward me, his gait fluid and unhurried. He stops next to Emma.

Some of the terror eases out of my body. He isn’t here to hurt me. Not physically, anyway; he would never do that in front of anyone. He is here to put an end to this by defeating me in front of Emma.

I rise to my feet and open my mouth, but he wrests away control of the situation. The element of surprise is on his side.

“When Emma called me, I explained to her exactly what happened.” Richard longs to close the distance between us. His narrowed eyes tell me so. “As you well know, I realized that wine wasn’t technically a business expense since I wasn’t sure we’d drink any of it at the party. The ethical thing to do was to cancel the AmEx payment and put it on my personal Visa. I remember telling you this when Sotheby’s delivered the Raveneau to the house and I stored it in the cellar.”

“That’s a lie.” I turn to Emma. “He never ordered the wine at all. He’s so good at this—he can come up with explanations for anything!”

“Vanessa, he told me instantly what happened. He didn’t have time to concoct a story. I don’t know what you’re after.”

“I’m not after anything. I’m trying to help you!”

Richard sighs. “This is exhausting—”

I cut him off. I am learning how to anticipate his line of attack. “Call the credit-card company!” I blurt. “Call Visa and confirm that charge while Emma listens in. It’ll take thirty seconds and we can settle this now.”

“No, I’ll tell you how we’re going to settle this. You’ve been stalking my fiancée for months. I warned you last time what would happen if this continued. I’m sorry about all your issues, but Emma and I are filing restraining orders against you. You’ve left us no choice.”

“Listen to me,” I say to Emma. I know I only have this final chance to convince her. “He made me think I was crazy. And he got rid of my dog—he left the gate open or something.”