The Guilty Wife Read online

  Seton's voice filled the room. 'Just called to check that you were all right, darling. Don't forget to make that appointment with the doctor. I'll be home as early as I can. Take care, my love.'

  There were several mothers with their children at the swings. Lucie chatted with them for a while but then Sam wanted to sail his boat in the little lake so they walked down there through the trees. It was a lovely day and they strolled hand in hand, Sam carrying the boat, a birthday present from Aunt Kate, under his arm. They passed several people walking their dogs and Sam stopped to stroke the smaller ones. He looked up at her, 'Mummy, can we have a dog?'

  'A dog?' She looked at him in surprise, wondering if he needed something to love or just a playmate. 'I don't know, darling. We'll have to talk to Daddy about it. A dog takes a lot of looking after, you know. Have any of your friends got one?'

  Sam started to answer her and she concentrated on what he was saying, but as they walked along the tree-lined path she became aware of a cold, creepy feeling stealing over her—a feeling that they were being watched. Lucie shivered uneasily and turned to look over her shoulder.

  The path was empty and she could see no one in the trees. Then there was a sudden loud sound of movement nearby. Lucie gave a cry and spun round, but it was only a pigeon flying from a bush. Her heart returned to its rightful place and she chided herself for being silly, but then, with a sick lurch of her stomach, Lucie knew that she had every reason to believe that she was being spied on.

  Her gaze swept round in anger now; she was ready to face up to her enemy and do battle, but Sam pulled at her hand and she realised that there was no way she could subject her child to the nasty scene that would follow if she did so. She looted round again, sure that Rick was hiding somewhere in the trees, but then let Sam pull her along to the lake.

  Sitting on the seat at its edge, keeping a wary eye on Sam, Lucie remembered the letter that had come at the weekend. It was still in her pocket and she pulled it out. When she read the contents it was ahnost a relief. Rick wanted money. Five hundred pounds. Then he promised to leave her alone. He gave her a week to find it, and would contact her again with instructions on where to hand it over.

  There were threats in the letter too, of course. He had found out that Seton had been selected to stand for parliament, and that no one knew of her past. These two facts were weapons in his mercenary hands, swords hanging over her head, knives to twist in her wounds.

  Her hand shaking a little, Lucie tore the letter into minute scraps and dropped them in the nearest litter bin. It wouldn't be easy to raise the money, but Seton paid a generous allowance into a private account for her to use on the house, Sam and herself. And she had a little money left over from when she used to work. Somehow she would manage it.

  Because she now knew what to expect, Lucie was far more relaxed during that week. Another letter would come at the end of it, she knew, but there were a few days of respite hi which she didn't have to be afraid of the phone ringing, of being watched by unseen eyes. When she and Seton made love there was no need for pretence; she was relaxed enough to be as receptive and loving as any man could want, losing herself in his close embrace, in the strength of his body. Perhaps she clung to him a little too much, and when it was over didn't want to let him go. Seton kissed her deeply, and said with pleasure, 'You're feeling better.'

  'Yes, much better.'

  'What did the doctor say?'

  'Oh, that it was just a stage,' Lucie invented. 'He said I'd probably get morning sickness next.'

  'Poor love.'

  'It's all right for you, isn't it—being a man?' Lucie said on an envious note. 'You get all the pleasure and I get all the pain and discomfort.'

  'Afraid there isn't much I can do about that. But isn't the end product worth it?'

  'Yes, of course. Sorry. I was just being feminine.'

  'I like you feminine.'

  Lucie smiled. 'Well, I have to admit there was quite a lot of pleasure in it for me too.'

  The letter came on the following Friday morning, delivered not by the postman but again pushed through the door by hand while she was taking Sam to playschool. It instructed her to take the money at eleven that same morning to a spot out in the more rural area of the neighbourhood, where there was a telephone box with a seat beside it. There she was to sit and wait.

  Lucie drove to the place and found it to be in open country towards the top of a hill, with views all round—a perfect spot for such underhand business, she supposed. After parking the car on the grass verge, Lucie went over and sat on the seat. The sun was warm on her back but she felt cold, her nerves on edge. It was so long since she'd seen Rick, when they'd both been escorted from the court after being sentenced. She had been in shock, completely devastated, but she remembered his demonic laughter as they'd taken him to another cell. Lucie shivered and looked around her, wondering if he was there, watching her, making sure that it wasn't a trap. Then the phone in the nearby booth began to ring. At first she hesitated, then reluctantly got to her feet and went inside, picked up the receiver. Her hand began to shake violently and it was a long moment before she found the courage to hold it to her ear and say, 'Yes?'

  'You cut me off the first time I rang you. I didn't like that.' The voice was harsh, vicious, but still recognisable. She didn't speak and he said, 'Apologise, you bitch!'

  Strangely, when she heard his voice, a great deal of her nervousness left her. It was something real, solid, and reminded Lucie that he wanted this money as much as she wanted his silence. So she said curtly, 'Do you want this money or don't you?'

  Ignoring her, Rick shouted, 'You heard me. You're going to damn well apologise. I'm going to make you lick my boots. Now, say it.'

  A flood of anger ran through her and Lucie said acidly, 'I'm sorry you went to prison for nearly murdering that policeman, Rick.'

  'That's more like it. I—'

  'Yes, I'm sorry you were only put away for eleven ,years instead of your whole life! In fact I'm sorry that you even exist.'

  'Why, you cheap tart; I'll teach you to—'

  'Go to hell!'

  Lucie went to slam down the receiver but heard him yell, 'Wait!'

  After a moment she put it back to her ear. 'Well?'

  'You're going to pay for that. How would you like that kid of yours to have a nasty little accident?'

  She had a sudden recollection of his casual tolerance of his sister's children, and said, 'You wouldn't hurt a child, Rick.'

  'Wouldn't I? How would you know? Maybe not when you knew me before but I've been inside for eleven long years. That changes a man, makes him feel vindictive, especially when he's been shopped by someone he trusted—

  someone he loved.'

  Lucie gave a laugh she didn't recognise as her own. 'Rubbish,' she returned shortly. 'You never loved anyone but yourself in your whole life.'

  He swore, viciously, disgustingly. Lucie put down the phone, leaned against the wall, feeling sick. Immediately it rang again, the sound insistent in her ears. Reluctantly, after a long moment of rebellious hesitation, she picked it up and said clearly, 'If you swear at me again you'll never get your money.'

  'You want all your posh friends to find out about you, then, do you? Want your husband's party committee to know that you've lied through your teeth to them?'

  'That depends on how much you want this money, doesn't it?'

  'Bitch!' he swore at her again, then hastily added, 'Don't put the phone down. There's a litter bin beside the seat; leave the money in there. Then go away and come back again in ten minutes.'

  'Why?'

  'Because I want to count it and check it, that's why.'

  'If s all there.'

  'Do as you're told and come back hi ten minutes, woman,' he ordered. 'Or you'll be sorry.'

  Lucie left the money in the bin and drove away; she was in two minds about going back, afraid that Rick might be there, but eventually did so. To her relief there was no one around. Getting out of the
car, she sat on the seat again and in a few minutes the phone rang.

  'I want your home phone number.'

  'No.'

  'If you don't give it to me you'll be sorry.'

  'Well, I'm not going to so you'll just have to lump it, won't you?'

  'And so will you. That was a nice down payment,' Rick said sneeringly. 'Now you know how to do it, you can bring a hundred pounds every week to the same place at the same time. Or else.'

  'What? Are you crazy? You said you'd go away and leave me alone.'

  'So I lied,' he laughed triumphantly. 'One hundred pounds a week, or you'll see your name plastered all over the papers.'

  'You wouldn't dare!'

  Rick laughed again. 'You just watch me. But first maybe I'll go and see that husband of yours; I'm sure he'd be interested to hear all about the times we were together, all the little tricks I taught you. Does he enjoy them, Lucie?

  Does he—?'

  Slamming the phone down, she cut off his hateful voice. Oh, God, now what was she going to do?

  Driving home, Lucie realised that she should have expected this; having got one comparatively modest payment out of her, Rick was hardly likely to leave it there. She was open to blackmail and he knew it. There would be no end to it.

  Lucie saw with horror that it could go on all her fife. She must do something, stop him somehow. But the only way she could think of was to go to the police. And they would immediately go to Special Branch and inform them that she was a security risk. Which meant that Seton would be quietly dropped as the next parliamentary candidate and he would never know why. But she would, and she would feel guilty about it for evermore. So which would be worse—to be blackmailed by Rick or to rum Seton's happiness, his ambition, his life?

  It was no contest. Somehow she would have to find enough money to keep Rick quiet. Not as much as he'd asked for, of course—that would be impossible—but enough out of her housekeeping money every week to keep him satisfied.

  The first week she left only eighty pounds in the litter bin. Within an hour a fax came through with the usual threats

  —threats to which Lucie was starting to become immune. She knew that Rick wouldn't do anything while he thought he could still get money out of her. Somehow she managed to keep him at bay for another three weeks or so, but by then had run completely out of money.

  When Seton came home one evening, she said as casually as she could, 'Do you think you could let me have some money? The washing machine broke down today and I had to pay the repair man cash, so it's completely cleaned me out.'

  Seton's eyebrows rose in surprise. 'Why wouldn't lie take a cheque? He usually does.'

  'It wasn't the usual man from the village. He's— he's on holiday. So I had to get someone else in a hurry. He would only take cash.'

  Seton took his wallet from his pocket. 'How much was it?'

  'A hundred and fifty,' Lucie invented, her hands balled into fists under the table. 'He had to replace some parts,' she added desperately when she saw his astonishment.

  "That seems an awful lot; the machine isn't that old, is it?'

  'I needed it, Seton.'

  Handing her the money, he said, 'Yes, of course. But promise me you won't use the man again, darling. He sounds like a cowboy, probably working illegally.'

  'OK—promise.'

  Lucie took the money with relief, and knew that she was safe for another couple of weeks, but then she was completely devastated as Seton handed her a piece of paper and said, 'The record of all the calls to and from the fax machine came through today, but there are several that were sent here that I don't remember receiving. Do you know anything about them?'

  For a moment Lucie's mind was paralysed, too shocked to think of an excuse. Feebly she said,'Are— are you sure you didn't get them?'

  'Quite sure.' Looking at her, seeing the sudden whiteness of her face, Seton began to frown. Quickly, her voice terse with fear, Lucie said, 'Well, I don't know. I may have received some. Does it matter? We don't have to pay for incoming ones, do we? Is that what you're worried about?'

  'No, but I—'

  Without waiting for him to finish, Lucie got to her feet. 'I think I hear Sam,' she said, and hurried out of the room, afraid of the astonished, questioning way Seton was looking at her.

  By now it was high summer, the playschool had broken up and she took Sam out as much as she could—to get out of the house as much as anything.

  Seton was late coming home one night, having gone to an obligatory dinner with the other members of his chambers to mark the end of the session. When he finally arrived, around midnight, he found the house in darkness and Lucie asleep in bed. He undressed in the bathroom and crept into bed as quietly as possible, but Lucie moved, turned over, although she didn't wake.

  It was during one of the mini-heatwaves that sometimes hit the country and the night was very warm and humid. Seton lay still, afraid of disturbing her, but Lucie began to toss around, evidently in the grip of a bad dream. She cried out and began to throw her arms around. Quickly Seton caught hold of her and called her name.

  'Lucie! Wake up, darling.'

  She woke with a shuddering cry of, 'No! No!'

  'If s all right, you were only dreaming,' he soothed.

  'Was I?' Lucie leaned against him for a minute, trembling from reaction and with the sweat of fear still on her skin. It was Rick who'd caused the nightmare; he often invaded her dreams just as he had invaded her life. A thought occurred to her and Lucie said, 'Did—did I say anything?'

  'You called out something.' He added slowly, 'It sounded like a name but I couldn't make it out.'

  'Oh. How strange,' Lucie said hollowly, then quickly changed the subject. 'Did you have a good dinner?'

  'Very good.' He began to tell her about it but then yawned.

  'Go to sleep. Tell me in the morning.'

  He nuzzled her neck. 'I'm not that tired.'

  'Go to sleep.'

  Seton chuckled but was almost immediately asleep.

  Lucie, though, lay awake and still, facing the terrible possibility that she would say something in her sleep that would make Seton suspicious. It was impossible to go to steep again, and she felt so hot. Sliding out of bed, Lucie looked in on Sam then padded downstairs to the kitchen for a cool drink. Even the tiles of the kitchen floor felt warm to her bare feet. She wandered into the sitting-room and pulled open the curtains. It was a beautifully clear night, the full moon lighting the gardens as if it were day. Pulling open the patio doors, Lucie went outside, hoping to cool down, but it was almost as hot outside as it had been in bed, even though she was wearing only a thin cotton nightdress.

  The garden was large and completely surrounded the house, and because it was old there were full-grown trees and a high hedge all round that hid it from the nearest neighbours. Sam's paddling pool, an elaborate one with seats at the edges, stood in the shadow of one of the beech trees. The water in it was warm, but Lucie was so hot that she scooped up double handfuls of it and tossed it over her face, feeling the liquid splash onto her cheeks then trickle down her neck and her chest.

  Kneeling, she poured the water over her arms, and didn't care that it also soaked the front of her nightdress, making the material cling and become transparent. Getting to her feet, Lucie walked through the garden, threading her way between the bushes and trees, the grass soft under her feet. The church clock chimed one, in the distance an owl hooted and she stopped to listen. Suddenly there was a movement behind her and she swung round, gasping in fright.

  'If s all right, it's me.' Seton pushed a branch of the philadelphus aside, the exotic scent of orange-blossom filling the air. 'Couldn't you sleep?'

  'No, it's so hot.'

  He looked at her figure, silvered and shadowed by the moonlight, and his breath caught in his throat. 'You're so lovely.' Reaching out, he put a hand on her wet breast, caressed it until the nipple hardened, until her eyes closed and she began to pant with desire. Then he let his hand travel down, st
ill caressing her through her nightdress, teasing her into a flame of frustrated hunger, his gaze drinking in the growing passion in her face, glorying in his power to arouse her, in the growing excitement of his own lean, hard body. When her gasps became moans and she began to writhe beneath his hand, Seton backed her against a tree trunk, then slipped out of his sleeping shorts and took her in a blaze of primeval passion that was joyous both in the taking and the giving, a fit act for the night and the place.

  Afterwards he carried her inside and they stood together under a cool shower, Seton supporting her in his arms; then they went back to bed, still wet as they were, because to have dried themselves would only have made them hot again. Lucie slept then, deeply, peacefully, and didn't wake until Seton brought her breakfast in bed the next morning.

  She sat up, laughing happily when she found she was naked. Seton bent to kiss her breasts and she let him for a few moments and smiled as she pushed him away. 'I'd better put something on; Sam might come in.'

  She went to get up but Seton said, 'No, you stay there. Ill get it.'

  He went to her chest of drawers, and pulled open the top drawer to take out a clean nightdress. She saw his shoulders tense, felt his shocked silence. Then he turned with a small piece of paper in his hand and she recognised the card that had come with the roses Rick had sent.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  FOR a long moment they just stared at each other. Lucie had been too taken by surprise to try and brazen it out and her face was suffused with guilt.

  His face very pale, his voice terse with anger, Seton said, 'I take it this is the card that came with the roses you didn't receive?'

  After a moment Lucie nodded, unable to find her voice.

  "They were meant for you, weren't they.' Although he phrased it as a question Seton made it a statement, because he had already seen the answer in her face. 'And just why did you find it necessary to lie to me, to tell me that load of rubbish about a mix-up at the florist's?' Seton's tone was so harsh that she flinched; never before had he spoken to her like that.