The Younger Wife(58)

And so, with the cocktail in hand, she made her way across the room. She found Stephen holding court among an eager audience, telling a story about a group of doctors who’d started a flash mob when he was on his way into surgery that morning. Heather caught his eye as she approached and he put his arm out to her.

‘I don’t know if everyone has met Heather, the lady in my life,’ he said proudly.

Heather smiled and waved at the familiar and unfamiliar faces.

Stephen looked happy but his gaze had lingered for a second or two on her glass. For the next two hours, she sipped the same drink, ready to respond to any of his assertions that she was drunk. She hadn’t had anything else to drink. And still the drive home had been tense.

‘I only had one drink, Stephen.’

‘I didn’t say anything.’

‘But you were thinking it. You have your worried face on.’

‘I don’t have my worried face on. I didn’t say anything, Heather. I don’t know why you’re sniping at me like this.’

Sniping? Was she?

When they got home, Stephen went straight to the bathroom for a shower. After a few minutes of stewing on what she’d done, Heather decided to join him. It would be just the thing, she realised, to smooth things over between them. It was steamy in the bathroom, and she couldn’t see very well, but then the shower door opened and Stephen’s arm shot out. Her legs slid out from under her, and she fell, landing hard on the tiles.

‘Are you all right?’ Stephen said, as he picked her up. ‘Did you hurt yourself?’

Heather shook her head, even though her back and legs were throbbing.

‘It’s slippery in here,’ he said, chidingly. ‘That’s why I tried to grab your hand.’

She didn’t even try to argue with his version of events this time. She knew better.

He was right, and she was going mad.

Still.

Heather had been thinking a lot about what Pam said that day at Miles’s party. That Stephen had made her life hell. Just the ramblings of an ill woman, probably. Unless . . . it wasn’t? Heather was almost certain that Stephen was the good guy, the upstanding doctor, the loving husband and father that he seemed. There was only the tiniest doubt in her mind. It was miniscule really. Still, she needed to get to the bottom of it, and fast.

Because her period was late.





37


RACHEL


On Thursday, Rachel received a reply from Fiona Arthur. Or, more accurately, from Fiona’s son Derek, who managed her Facebook account since Fiona was ninety-three now and lived in a nursing home. Derek didn’t know of any connection between his mother and Rachel’s. His mother lived in Far North Queensland, for one thing, and the Astons had neither lived nor holidayed there. Also, she was more than a quarter of a century older than Stephen and Pam. Rachel had to conclude that it wasn’t her Fiona, which was beyond frustrating, because it was starting to feel like Fiona Arthur was Rachel’s last hope for finding out why her mother was hoarding money.

Since she still hadn’t heard back from the other two Fionas, Rachel decided to try her mum again. Ever since Miles’s party she couldn’t stop thinking about how Mum had looked right at Dad and announced he’d made her life hell. Logically, Rachel knew her mother wasn’t in her right mind – indeed, she’d accused Rachel of stealing from her several times – yet, in light of the money she’d found, Rachel thought it was worth trying one more time.

‘Hello there,’ Mum said cheerily when she saw Rachel standing in the doorway.

‘Hello,’ Rachel replied. ‘You look nice today.’

In fact, she didn’t look that great. Her shirt had a soup stain on the front and her fly was undone. But Mum didn’t seem bothered, so Rachel didn’t feel the need to point it out.

She took a seat in the spare chair. Normally she’d lunge straight into small talk about the weather or what she’d been baking – nothing that required too much input from Mum and certainly nothing that required much recollection. Rachel had learned that her mother found this kind of conversation soothing and it usually made for a harmonious visit. But today she couldn’t help herself.

‘Do you know who I am?’ she asked.

Mum looked at her thoughtfully.

‘I’m Rachel,’ she said, when her mother didn’t reply.

‘My daughter’s name is Rachel,’ Mum said. ‘I have two daughters. Rachel and Natalie.’

‘Yes!’ Rachel said. ‘That’s right.’

Mum smiled. ‘Do you know them?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I also know your husband Stephen.’

Mum’s smile stalled.

‘I’ve never liked Stephen much, I must admit,’ Rachel continued, with a sick sensation of betrayal. ‘I always had a funny feeling about him. It’s hard to explain.’

Mum glanced around cagily, then lowered her voice. ‘Who have you been speaking to?’

‘No one.’

‘Because I told Diana to leave it alone. She was always pestering me about Stephen, asking where I got this bruise or that.’

‘Diana Rothschild?’

‘Yes. Pest of a woman.’

Diana Rothschild was one of Mum’s best friends. She’d been a bridesmaid at Mum’s wedding.