The Second Wife Page 4

  ‘No, she didn’t. Sorry,’ Richard shook his head, his expression contrite. ‘It’s just that, from what Nicole told me about you, I got the impression you were single and… I’m possibly digging myself a bigger hole here, aren’t I?’

  Rebecca couldn’t help but laugh at his obvious embarrassment. ‘No, don’t worry. Nicole wouldn’t have mentioned a husband. He died, sadly, when my son was young. So, yes, I am single.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Richard nodded sympathetically. ‘I know how difficult that must have been.’

  Rebecca nodded in turn. ‘It was. More so for my son, but he survived, despite having me for a mum.’

  ‘Because of you, I’ve no doubt,’ Richard said, appraising her quietly. ‘How old is he, if you don’t mind my asking?’

  Rebecca didn’t. It was always the first question people asked when women mentioned they had children. ‘Almost twenty,’ she supplied.

  Richard widened his eyes. ‘Sorry,’ he said again. ‘For some reason I assumed he was younger. Your husband was obviously a cradle-snatcher.’

  ‘Not quite.’ Rebecca smiled. ‘So, how’s it going?’ she asked him, indicating the dining area.

  ‘That’s the last of the guests gone,’ he said, with a sigh. ‘Now begins the hard part, I suppose.’

  Drawing in a breath, he glanced down, seeming lost in his thoughts for a second, and then gathered himself and headed towards the dishwasher.

  Rebecca watched him stacking dishes expertly into it, everything in the right place, sharp knives facing downward in the cutlery basket. He obviously wasn’t a stranger in the kitchen.

  ‘You’re a natural,’ she observed.

  ‘What, at loading the dishwasher?’ Richard smiled wryly. ‘Yes, I always got full marks there.’

  ‘Oh, I thought it wasn’t your thing,’ Rebecca said, attempting to sound casual. ‘The housework, I mean. It’s just that Olivia said Nicole preferred to do all the housework herself, and you said you’d have to get a cleaner in now, and I…’ Realising she sounded as if she were judging him, Rebecca trailed off.

  ‘Wondered whether I felt it wasn’t my responsibility?’ Richard finished astutely. ‘No, I never thought that. Having nursed my wife for a while, I’m very much aware of how hard running a house is, trust me. I tried to do my share here, but Nicole was… Well, if I took on a job, she would do it again anyway. She was almost obsessive about it. To be honest, I started to worry about her mental health soon after we were married.’

  Sighing heavily again, he paused and glanced at the ceiling. ‘I wish we’d never bought this place. I swear she could see every speck of dust. I wish to God I’m made her go to see the doctor sooner.’

  He had noticed then? Realised it might possibly be more than fastidiousness? Seeing his anguish, which really did seem genuine, Rebecca stepped towards him, hesitated briefly and then placed a hand on his arm. ‘I’m sure you did everything you could,’ she said kindly. ‘It must be terribly difficult for you, losing two women you cared deeply about.’

  Richard nodded. ‘They say it gets easier with time,’ he said, insurmountable sadness in his eyes as he met hers. ‘I’m not sure it does. I still think about Emily, what I could have done differently. And now, after losing Nicole in such a tragic, senseless way, I know I’ll be doing the same all over again. If only the river hadn’t been flooded. I might have stood a chance, if I could have stayed down longer…’

  Running a hand through his hair in frustration, he stopped.

  He’d gone in after her. That was a fact. Cold prickled the surface of Rebecca’s skin as she imagined the gut-wrenching panic, to say little of the physical trauma, he must have endured while submerged under fathoms of icy water, trying hopelessly to find her. Rebecca had arrived ready to judge him. She’d had him labelled a bastard. Now though? From all angles, it seemed that he wasn’t. Still, though, she wondered why such a caring and intuitive man hadn’t been able to save Nicole before she’d gone into the water. But she reminded herself that, in reality, no one can fix someone in so much mental anguish, make their demons go away. All he could have done was be there for her, listen to her. And Rebecca didn’t know that he hadn’t.

  SIX

  NICOLE

  PREVIOUS YEAR – JUNE

  The little stone-built Norman church in the heart of Worcestershire was absolutely perfect. Being divorced, the best Nicole had hoped for was a blessing after the civil ceremony. She couldn’t believe that the vicar had agreed to marry them. He recognised, he’d said, that some marriages fail for all sorts of sad and painful reasons, and he could see that she and Richard were very much in love. The fact that Richard hadn’t let go of her hand the whole time they’d sat talking to him had helped. It was all happening quite quickly, but she did love him, absolutely, and if some of her friends – not that she had many left, after the bastard ex had banned her from seeing them – couldn’t make it at short notice, then it wouldn’t be the end of the world. This was her future, her happily ever after, and Nicole intended to grab it with both hands. Becky, bless her, had said she would try her best to take some time off from the college she taught at and travel from Montrésor the day before. Nicole hoped she could swing it. If there was one person she wanted to witness her wedding, it was Becky. Though she hadn’t been able to see much of her either, she was more like a sister than a friend – the family that Nicole didn’t really feel she’d had growing up. She felt a pang of guilt when she thought of her mother. But then, she’d made her bed too, hadn’t she? Nicole visited her occasionally, rang to check she was well, but conversation beyond that didn’t come naturally.

  She wasn’t entirely sure about the house they were viewing though. It was so… white. She’d been thinking of somewhere more homey, somewhere with cross-beams and wood burners, and possibly an outhouse she could use as a studio. Richard, however, was smitten. ‘So what do you think?’ he asked her, once they’d seen every room.

  ‘Well…’ Nicole started, and then stopped, noting the hopeful look in his eyes.

  ‘It has some fantastic views,’ Richard pointed out, nodding towards the magnificent patio windows, which ran the entire length of one wall.

  ‘It certainly does.’ Nicole couldn’t help but be taken by the panoramic view before her, revealing the rolling Worcestershire countryside in all its verdant glory. ‘I’m not sure about the actual house though,’ she ventured. ‘I mean it’s beautiful, but it’s a bit…’

  Searching for the right word, she faltered, and then steeled herself to be what she should be – confident and assertive. Richard wasn’t the misogynist. He was—

  ‘White?’ he finished, his mouth curving into a knowing smile.

  Understanding. He was so on her wavelength, he was finishing her sentences. They were destined to be together. There was no doubt about it. ‘Very,’ Nicole agreed, relief flooding through her. ‘Imagine the mess the dogs would make, coming in from the fields on to those tiles.’

  Smiling, Richard wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her to him. ‘That’s what I thought when we first walked in,’ he said. ‘But then, I thought that maybe we could see it as a blank canvas. Somewhere we could truly make our own.’

  Nicole hadn’t considered that. Looking around, she imagined huge abstract paintings adorning the walls, oriental rugs on the floors and bold colours on the walls, and started warming to the idea. ‘It’s a thought,’ she said, glancing up at Richard, which was a fatal mistake. The instant he locked those mesmerising blue eyes on hers, she felt drawn to him, like metal to a magnet.

  His lips were a breath away from hers when Olivia burst into the sitting room behind them, forcing them apart like a thunderclap. ‘Isn’t it fabulous?’ she gushed enthusiastically. ‘Have you seen the swimming pool? It’s totally amazing. I’m thinking barbecues on the patio and lazy Sunday afternoons. And the bedrooms! There’s five of them! And they all have en suites.’

  Glancing apologetically at Nicole, Richard smiled amusedly. ‘I take it you l
ike it?’

  ‘Like it?’ Olivia gawked at him. ‘It’s to die for. Please say you love it too.’ She glanced hopefully between them. ‘Nicole?’

  Richard turned his gaze towards her, his expression a mixture of enquiring and hopeful.

  Still, Nicole wasn’t sure, not least about the price tag. Over one million pounds? Surely that was madness? ‘Can we afford it?’ she asked him uncertainly.

  Richard took a breath. ‘Truthfully, it would mean we’d have to pool our resources initially to buy it for cash, thereby securing a good profit up front – with the proviso I pay a lump sum into your account as soon as I make my next sale, that is. But as I have a cash buyer for my house, then, yes, I think we can. It has to be your decision though, Nicole. I don’t want you to make any wrong ones and then regret it.’

  His brow creased in concern and he looked at her searchingly.

  Nicole glanced from him to Olivia, who was almost bursting with excitement and obviously willing her to say yes, and relented. Richard was a property developer. He knew the builder and had therefore been given the option to buy it at less than the value before it went on the market, he’d said. In the long term, he could make a substantial profit from this. Plus, it was clear that he loved the house, which was located close to the village he’d previously lived in. She couldn’t say no because of her own insecurities. She hadn’t bargained on Olivia, whose plans to flat-share with a friend had apparently fallen through, being with them, but the house was certainly spacious enough for three people without them falling over each other. It might actually be a convenient short-term arrangement for Richard, since Olivia was also his personal assistant. ‘I think I can work with it,’ she said finally, smiling back at Richard.

  ‘Yesss!’ Olivia whooped and swooped towards Richard, throwing her arms around him and planting a kiss on his cheek. ‘I love you,’ she said, turning to practically skip back out the way she’d come.

  ‘And clearly has a rather enthusiastic way of showing it,’ Richard said, glancing embarrassedly at Nicole.

  ‘Definitely.’ Nicole laughed. She couldn’t resent Olivia wanting to grab her own bit of happiness. The girl had lost her mother, under terribly tragic circumstances, and she wouldn’t be with them forever. She had plans – ambitions to work in London, a house-share with another friend who had recently secured a job there.

  Meanwhile, she could work with this. Glancing around again and seeing the vast white walls with a new eye, thanks to Richard, Nicole nodded determinedly. She could make this into a home with a heart.

  SEVEN

  REBECCA

  PRESENT

  ‘Did she not have a studio here?’ Rebecca asked Olivia as she slipped into a pair of jeans and a sweater. Now that she was staying, she was glad she hadn’t stopped off at the Travelodge on the way, as her overnight bag was still in the boot of her car. Feeling the need to get back in touch with Nicole, the person she’d become and the environment she’d lived in, she’d decided to amble around the village for a while after visiting the exhibition. Rebecca was no stranger to exploring places on her own, often walking around the beautiful village of Montrésor in her lunch hour, strolling from the college to the Café de la Ville or the crêperie, taking in the exhibition at the Halles des Cardeux on the way or simply enjoying the views. Sometimes she preferred the simplicity of solitude – craved it, in fact, after hours spent in the energetic company of students. Rebecca felt she needed that now: some quiet time alone with her thoughts.

  ‘She did use one of the upstairs rooms for a while,’ Olivia said, glancing at her in the mirror as she touched up her make-up. ‘She was worried about the paint fumes wafting through the house though. She flecked paint on one of the walls, too, and then worried about that. Dad told her it didn’t matter, that they could paint the wall over, but she was adamant it was too messy a hobby for the house.’

  Hobby? Nicole’s art was never a hobby. It was who she was. Or it had been. Her first husband had stolen that away from her, along with everything else that defined her, but Nicole had taken it back up with fervour once she’d broken free of that prison. She’d just started to sell again when she met Richard. Two of her first contemporary colour-filled canvases had sold instantly at a group exhibition at The Brick Lane Gallery in London. There was no way Rebecca could believe that Nicole would ever have referred to her work as a hobby. She hadn’t quite been able to believe that Nicole had proposed to work in a bedroom either. Given the amount of money being spent on the house, she’d assumed an art studio had been factored in. Nicole had said it was just a temporary thing when she’d asked her about it, that the studio – which would have been extremely important to her – was on her to-do list. It never had happened though, had it?

  ‘Do you mind if I take a look?’ she asked. ‘Just out of curiosity.’

  Glossing her lips, Olivia glanced again at her. ‘No,’ she said, turning towards her after a second. ‘There’s not much to see though. Just a few paintings Dad brought up from the garage. I’m not sure what they’re supposed to be. They seem… Well, a bit depressing, to be honest.’

  Perplexed, Rebecca followed Olivia into the furthest room at the end of the long galleried landing. Her heart squeezed inside her as her gaze fell on the canvases stacked against one of the walls. These hadn’t been produced by the Nicole she’d known. Reminiscent of Goya’s black period – debilitating illness and impending death driving him to the darkest regions of his mind – these paintings seemed terribly pessimistic. A predominance of swirling dull greens and greys, they were in stark contrast to the bright, optimistic strokes of light and colour Nicole had always favoured. Rebecca felt a cold chill run through her, as if someone were treading lightly over her grave. Was this work a reflection of her mental health, the inner demons she must have been struggling with as she’d spiralled into deepest depression? Why on earth hadn’t Nicole reached out to her in those weeks preceding her death? Rebecca had been juggling like mad. With the sale of her own house imminent, she’d been looking for somewhere to temporarily rent until end of term, but she would have found a way to be there for her. She would have dropped everything. She should have made it clearer to Nicole that she would.

  Going over Nicole’s messages and emails in her mind, Rebecca was subdued on the way to the village. Richard was also quiet, she noticed, seemingly miles away as he drove.

  ‘Okay, Dad?’ Olivia asked him, reaching to place a hand on his arm.

  Richard nodded. ‘Just thinking.’ He glanced sideways at her. ‘You know.’

  Olivia gave his arm a squeeze. ‘Difficult not to, isn’t it?’

  ‘Definitely.’ Richard drew in a long breath. ‘Rebecca?’ He met her eyes in the rear-view mirror. His were full of concern, she noticed. ‘How are you doing?’

  Rebecca smiled. ‘Coping,’ she said. ‘Lost in my own thoughts, too, to be honest.’

  Richard smiled back understandingly. ‘If you need to talk…’ he offered.

  ‘Thank you,’ Rebecca said, and then, feeling conflicted, turned her gaze to her window. She hadn’t known what to expect when she’d met him – certainly not that he’d be all that Nicole had claimed. Yet, he appeared to be.

  ‘Would you like me to pick up the dogs?’ Olivia asked him as they pulled into the small car park at the end of the high street. ‘I could always go out again once we get back. Or pick them up tomorrow. You seem too distracted to be driving.’

  ‘No. Thanks, but I’d rather pick them up now.’ Richard seemed adamant. ‘They’ll be pining. Bouncer will need some reassurance. I think Nicole would have wanted me to make sure he wasn’t too distressed above everything else.’

  She would have. Rebecca swallowed back a small lump in her throat.

  ‘What about you, Becky?’ Unbuckling her seatbelt, Olivia twisted to face her. ‘Would you like some company at the village hall? Or would you rather be on your own?’

  Well, that was definitely astute. The girl could clearly read people well. ‘If it
’s okay with you, I think I would rather be on my own.’ Rebecca smiled gratefully.

  ‘No problem.’ Olivia smiled warmly back. ‘I’ll have a browse of the library and then pop in to see one of my friends. She’s only five minutes outside the village. I’ll see you at the café in, say, a couple of hours? It’s about halfway along the high street. You can’t miss it.’

  ‘Perfect,’ Rebecca said, climbing out.

  ‘See you later.’ Richard offered her a small smile as he climbed out alongside her. His expression was concerned, Rebecca noted.

  Nodding, she smiled back and set off through the pretty streets towards the village hall, which was a short walk from the church where Nicole’s wedding had taken place, only to be tragically followed by her funeral.

  There was no one manning the door to the hall, she found. Obviously, they were unconcerned about anyone stealing the paintings, which were marked up for sale at around fifty pounds. They were good – subtle light and reflection depicting the muted tones of the Worcestershire landscape. But the very fact that the colours were muted just wasn’t Nicole, whose work had always screamed vibrancy. There were many studies of the River Severn, again in muted, swirling tones: studies of the actual water rather than the surrounding landscape, all of which seemed disturbingly prophetic now. How long had Nicole stared into that cold, foreboding water, Rebecca wondered. What had been going through her mind?

  Growing more perturbed, Rebecca moved on, perusing the animal portraits it seemed Nicole had also taking to painting, including one of Bouncer curled up with a golden retriever – Richard’s, presumably – which made her smile, albeit sadly. Surely she must have been content when she’d painted that?

  Approaching the next frame along, Rebecca’s step faltered. Moving closer, she squinted hard at the painting, which depicted a little lark on the perch of a huge art deco birdcage. It was bleeding. Rebecca’s heart skittered against her ribcage as surely as the bird had flapped fearfully at the bars of its cage. A single blood red teardrop fell from the very tip of its wing.