The Second Wife Page 8

Nicole squinted in the direction he was pointing. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I didn’t see it.’

  ‘Clearly.’ Richard moved to take her by the arm. ‘Just come in, Nicole, will you? It’s way past midnight.’

  ‘It was only a little coin,’ Nicole said defensively. ‘I’m sure the fishes won’t mind.’

  ‘Fish. No, I’m sure they won’t.’ Richard’s tone was now rather strained. ‘Though the management might. Come back inside, Nicole. Please.’

  Nicole didn’t move. ‘But the band’s shtill playing at the barbecue on the beach,’ she slurred, waving her hand vaguely over her shoulder.

  Whoops. Noticing Nicole swaying on her feet, Olivia’s mouth curved into a smirk. Someone was going to have an almighty hangover in the morning.

  ‘Even so, we need to go inside, Nicole,’ Richard repeated. ‘This is getting a little embarrassing.’

  At that, Nicole yanked her arm from his grasp and dug her heels in. ‘I am not embarrassing,’ she said, her chin jutting defiantly.

  ‘I didn’t say you were.’ Richard stopped and turned to face her. ‘I said this—’

  ‘Yes, you did!’ Nicole eyed him angrily. ‘I’m not deaf. And I’m not horrible either. It’s you who’s being horrible.’

  ‘Nicole, could you please just stop,’ Richard said tersely.

  ‘Do you want to know what I wished for? Do you?’ she asked, sounding tearful, which was most definitely going to be embarrassing.

  Blowing out an exasperated sigh, Richard plunged his hands deep into his pockets.

  ‘I wished that I knew what I’m supposed to have done wrong!’

  ‘You’ve done nothing wrong, Nicole,’ Richard assured her, with remarkable patience, considering. ‘Can we discuss this inside, please?’

  ‘I must have done!’ Nicole apparently wasn’t going anywhere. ‘Why else would you suddenly be treating me as if I don’t exist?’

  ‘Nicole, I’m not. I’m simply trying to do what’s best for—’

  ‘But you are! You’re spending more time with your daughter than with me. This is supposed to be our honeymoon. We’re supposed to be making mad, passionate love, and you’re—’

  ‘Nicole, that’s enough!’ Richard raised his voice. ‘This is childish! You know damn well why I need to spend time with Olivia. Now, you can either stay out here and make a complete fool of yourself or you can come inside. It’s up to you. I’ve had enough.’

  With an agitated tic tugging at his cheek, he turned to walk away, leaving Nicole looking disorientated and very foolish.

  Ha! Olivia thought, heading smugly back after Richard. Did the ridiculous woman really imagine he would take her side over his traumatised daughter’s? But then, she supposed she couldn’t blame her for thinking he might. She was supposed to be his wife.

  Oh. She stopped as Richard ground to a halt, turned on his heel and walked back to where Nicole was now quietly sobbing.

  FOURTEEN

  REBECCA

  PRESENT

  It was a sweltering summer’s day when Rebecca pulled on to the long, pebbled drive to Richard’s house. It truly was magnificent; the glass and white-walled façade of the property practically shimmered in the distance. Still, though, it wasn’t the kind of house she’d ever imagined Nicole choosing to live in.

  Stifling an overpowering sense of sadness, she drove on, parking the car at the front of the house and spilling out of it to see Richard emerging from the front door. Wearing tailored cotton chinos and a short-sleeved white linen shirt, he looked not the least bit fazed by the heat.

  ‘Rebecca… Becky. I’m so glad you could make it,’ he said, smiling broadly and coming around to the boot to help her with her bag. Rebecca didn’t decline the offer; she was sure she might pass out if she didn’t get some shade soon.

  ‘Is your son not coming?’ he asked.

  ‘Sam and Laura are visiting Laura’s parents in Birmingham on the way,’ Rebecca explained as she followed him into the house. ‘I just hope Laura’s ancient car doesn’t expire in the heat.’

  ‘The joys of student life,’ Richard empathised, dropping her bag by the stairs in order to fend off two bounding dogs, who, judging by their manically wagging tails, were happy to see him.

  And her, it seemed. ‘Bouncer!’ Rebecca laughed, bending to greet Nicole’s adopted dog, a scraggy but endearing little mongrel. The animal emitted a pathetically excited cry and then, not knowing who to greet first, scrambled frenziedly around in a circle.

  ‘Bouncer, down!’ Richard commanded.

  ‘Aw, he’s fine,’ Rebecca assured him, crouching to the dog’s level and getting a face full of tongue for her efforts.

  ‘If a little over-exuberant.’ Richard shook his head good-naturedly and took hold of Bouncer’s collar, gently steering him towards the kitchen. ‘Basket, Bouncer. You too, Wanderer.’ He pointed them both there.

  Rebecca couldn’t help but smile. She doubted the two dogs would have been so instantly obedient if he hadn’t enticed them with treats fished from a jar on one of the work surfaces. Maybe it was a functional kitchen, after all.

  ‘I imagine you’ll want to go and freshen up,’ he said, once the dogs were settled. ‘I thought a cold drink might hit the spot first, though.’

  ‘Oh, it definitely would.’ Rebecca nodded gratefully.

  Richard smiled and headed for the fridge. ‘So, what do you fancy? I have some cold beer, Pimm’s – on ice, of course – and soft drinks. Or perhaps you’d prefer tea or coffee?’

  ‘Pimm’s sounds divine,’ Rebecca said appreciatively. A gentleman and a good host. Despite the endless questions rattling around in her head and her initial assumptions about him, with the dogs here and Richard less formal than he’d been the first time she’d met him, Rebecca had to concede that the place felt more homey, more like somewhere Nicole could have made her own, had things not started to go awry almost before the ink was dry on her marriage certificate.

  ‘I know it’s not exactly the holiday you might have planned,’ Richard said, extracting a jug of Pimm’s that was so cold from the fridge it was perspiring, ‘but I hope you can relax a little while you’re here.’

  ‘I’ll do my best.’ Accepting the glass he offered her, Rebecca sipped thirstily. She didn’t normally drink alcohol this early in the day, but he was right, it absolutely did hit the spot.

  ‘Excellent.’ He looked relieved. ‘I hope you’ve brought your swimming costume. I think you’ll need to cool off after five minutes out on the patio.’

  ‘I have,’ Rebecca assured him. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to bare herself in it, but it was as much as she could contemplate wearing in this almost tropical weather, and she could wear her loose sarong with it. Also, she needed to appear relaxed, because she very much wanted Richard to relax in her company.

  ‘Great.’ He smiled, now looking pleased. ‘I’ll put this in the outdoor fridge, along with some wine for later.’ He walked towards the sitting room and the patio doors, and then stopped and turned back. ‘But I’ll show you to your room first.’

  Shaking his head, as if despairing of himself, he smiled as he passed by again to put the jug back in the kitchen fridge.

  ‘Thank you.’ She offered him a smile back, noting that he seemed far from relaxed – more nervous, in fact. Did he know she would be assessing him?

  ‘My pleasure.’ He glanced awkwardly down and back again, his striking blue eyes coming to rest on hers. There was still a deep sadness there, Rebecca saw, searching his face carefully.

  ‘I’ll go up and get changed,’ she said, after a moment, in which Richard seemed to have drifted off somewhere.

  ‘Right, yes. Sorry.’ He pressed his fingers to his forehead. ‘My mind keeps wandering. Going over things, you know?’

  Rebecca nodded. She did know. Several times she’d found herself only half listening to her students and colleagues, endlessly wondering what had happened and how.

  ‘I thought we’d have a barbecue later,’ he said, he
ading to the hall. ‘Assuming that’s okay with you?’

  ‘More than.’ Rebecca was grateful for sustenance of any sort after her journey. ‘But you mustn’t feel you have to cater for us, Richard. We’re all perfectly capable of shopping and cooking, including Sam. Trust me, he doesn’t get waited on at home.’

  ‘We were barbecuing tonight anyway.’ Richard stepped back to allow her to go up the stairs before him. ‘Nothing fancy. Steak and salad, or veggie burgers for any non-meat eaters.’

  ‘Perfect,’ Rebecca said, thinking that he actually did seem perfect – on the surface, at least. What went so wrong, Nicole? Rebecca knew things had gone on between these blank walls that Richard and Olivia weren’t likely to open up about. Had Nicole’s final despair been anything to do with Richard’s handling of events, his attitude towards her, his treatment of her? Or had it been nothing to do with him, and he was exactly what he seemed? A caring man, still struggling with his grief and as confused as she was as to why Nicole had chosen to end her own life.

  Richard was crouching down by the side of the pool when Rebecca ventured out on to the patio – talking to Olivia, who was in the pool, she realised.

  Noticing Rebecca, Olivia gave her a wave and twisted to glide under the water, surfacing three yards or so later. Clearly at home in the water, she swam like a fish. Rebecca was immediately reminded of Nicole’s email, the one she’d sent from her honeymoon, which had shocked her to the core. She’d wondered at the time about one point in particular: Nicole’s fear of ‘making a judgement without all the facts’. Rebecca had sympathised with the girl, but hadn’t Nicole been entitled to the facts? If not from Olivia, who’d apparently taken umbrage at Nicole’s comment, then from Richard? Nicole had been his wife, after all.

  Nicole had called her, once she’d got back to the UK, as she’d promised she would, but even then, she still hadn’t been sure about the exact details of the attack. She’d been concerned about trying to mend fences with Olivia, concerned about Zachary and Peter. Most of all, she’d been concerned for Richard, who’d found himself torn down the middle. He’d been amazing, Nicole had told her: there for her, even though it was impossible for him to take sides; caring, as he always was. But how concerned had he truly been when things had escalated thereafter? Had he been there for her then? Cared for her then?

  Shielding her eyes from the sun, Rebecca looked towards Richard as he stood up and walked towards her. His shirt open at the front now, under the almost blistering heat, he looked more at ease – genuinely pleased she was here. Genuine. He’d almost drowned trying to save Nicole, she reminded herself. No matter how many times she pondered it, what had happened simply didn’t make sense.

  ‘Okay?’ Richard asked, his forehead creased in concern.

  ‘Yes.’ Rebecca shook herself and mustered a smile. ‘Just thinking.’

  Richard nodded. ‘I never stop,’ he said, a noticeable swallow sliding down his throat. ‘I wish she’d felt she could confide in me. She did at first, but then… I go over it and over it, but I still can’t work out why she suddenly felt she couldn’t.’ He shrugged sadly.

  And Rebecca stared at him, confounded. Was he saying he hadn’t realised the extent of Nicole’s distress? If not, why not? Had Nicole, fearing his disillusionment or disapproval, glossed it over? Up until her last email, she’d maintained that he was a caring, thoughtful man. But would such a man truly have been that blind to her emotional pain? Unless, of course, Nicole hadn’t seemed particularly distressed in the days prior to her death? It was possible that the way she’d chosen to end her life might not have been as impulsive as it seemed. That she might have made her decision before that fateful day and felt somehow lighter for it. That thought landed like a cold stone in Rebecca’s chest.

  FIFTEEN

  NICOLE

  PREVIOUS YEAR – AUGUST

  It was almost too pristine to use as an art studio. ‘What do you think, Bouncer?’ she asked her loyal little man, who was sniffing the now bare floorboards. He sat down, looked confusedly up at her and emitted a soulful whine.

  ‘Yes, that’s what I thought.’ Nicole smiled and stroked his soft, silky head. ‘We can work with it, though, hey, boy?’

  Sighing, she looked around the upstairs room she’d chosen as a studio and decided to make a start by pinning a selection of the photographs she’d taken in Bali, some of which she’d had blown up, to the stark walls. These would be her inspiration – something that had been sadly lacking since they’d returned from their honeymoon that wasn’t. The vibrant red, gold and white of the sacred Barong masks, with their black bulging eyes, and the verdant green of the tropical foliage would be the basis of her colour theme downstairs. She’d decided on large canvases, three of them, which would bring much-needed colour to the long sitting room wall. For their bedroom, she was thinking of white sands and blue seas: colours to evoke a sense of calm. It was coming together – in her mind, at least.

  Pondering using Indonesian batik fabric for the cushions and bed throws, she headed downstairs to make the first of many trips to her car for her art supplies, Bouncer on her heels.

  Olivia was still lounging on her bed as Nicole passed her room for the third time, lying on her tummy, her feet raised behind her, bobbing to some tune or other on her phone. Thinking better of asking her for a hand, since Olivia now only bothered to speak to her when Richard was around, Nicole left her to it, and made a fourth – and hopefully final – trip down again.

  Finally, with everything brought up from her car, she went to the garage to fetch the blank canvases she’d already stretched over their frames. Propping one against her new studio wall, she turned to open her art box and was greeted by the familiar smell of oil paints, linseed oils and thinners. She took a deep breath, feeling soothed. It would be all right, she assured herself. Richard and she would get back on track soon. As Richard had said, Olivia was hardly going to recover immediately from her ordeal, thus her reluctance to socialise very much, which meant she was always home. Nicole tried not to feel put out about it. It was just a temporary thing, as was Olivia’s inability to sleep. She was wandering about at night, which meant that Richard and she were uncomfortable with any close intimacy. She did wish, however, that Olivia didn’t have an uncanny knack of popping up every time Richard and she tried to steal even a kiss.

  It wasn’t Olivia’s fault. She was a young woman who’d lost her mother, she reminded herself. Yes, it was a while ago, but still her loss would be painful. It had occurred to Nicole that, despite their getting along initially, Olivia might feel she was competing for her father’s affection now he’d remarried. Things would work out. Olivia just needed some time. And Nicole really needed to work off her frustration. That in mind, she set about priming the canvas with PVA glue, which would seal the fabric and allow her brushes to flow more freely. Nicole wanted flow – lots of it.

  After applying one thin coat, she went to make a quick coffee, leaving the glue to go tacky before she gave it a second coat to ensure a good seal. She was heading back into the room, mug in hand, when Olivia said behind her, ‘Oh my God, what is that smell?’

  Nicole jumped, cursing silently as her coffee slopped over the sides of the mug. She placed it carefully on to the work table she’d set up and turned around. ‘What smell?’ she enquired, smiling pleasantly.

  ‘In here.’ Her hand under her nose, Olivia screwed up her face as if encountering something putrid. ‘It’s like dead fish – and it’s wafting everywhere.’

  ‘It’s just glue,’ Nicole said, surprised. She couldn’t smell anything. But then, she was probably used to it.

  ‘Glue?’ Olivia gawked. ‘But isn’t that poisonous, inhaled in quantity?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so,’ Nicole said, her smile now on the tight side. ‘It’s just wood glue. The sort they use for furniture.’

  ‘Well, it’s foul.’ Olivia scowled. ‘You shouldn’t be using it indoors.’

  Nicole’s heart sank. Surely she wasn’t go
ing to spoil this for her too? ‘I’ll close the door,’ she offered. ‘And open the window. Perhaps you should open yours too?’ she suggested. ‘It’s quite warm outside.’

  Her scowl deepening, Olivia folded her arms. ‘I hope this isn’t going to be a regular thing,’ she said moodily.

  Stunned, Nicole simply stared at her. Did the girl really dislike her that much? She was trying to understand her outbursts: Olivia would be highly emotional, possibly blaming herself for what had happened, wondering what she’d done to invite the abuse inflicted on her. Nicole had been there. She was trying to give her space, not to criticise her or make her feel uncomfortable or do anything to make her feel she wasn’t welcome here. But now she was the one feeling uncomfortable, creeping around for fear of upsetting anyone. And, actually, it wasn’t on.

  ‘It’s my home, Olivia,’ she pointed out, holding her gaze determinedly.

  Olivia, however, didn’t flinch. Her amber eyes narrowed; she seemed equally determined to outstare her. ‘You should keep that dog downstairs, too,’ she said smugly, as Nicole, sensing all-out war, eventually looked away. ‘I’m allergic to dogs’ hairs.’

  But not to Wanderer, over whom Olivia fussed regularly. Nicole’s heart plummeted. Disbelieving, she watched as Olivia strolled back along the landing, a slow smile curving her mouth as she turned to close her bedroom door.

  The penny dropped resoundingly. She was doing it deliberately. This was nothing to do with her emotional trauma. The girl was getting some kind of kick out of this. She was clearly trying to cause friction between Richard and her, and possibly trying to make life so intolerable that Nicole would leave. Well, Nicole had news for her. Summoning Bouncer, she clenched her teeth hard and slammed her own door. If the gauntlet was down, then she would bloody well fight. No more creeping around, trying to make herself invisible. She’d done enough of that in her life. This was her house, and she’d do what she damn well liked in it.

  Grabbing the primer, she set to with gusto, giving her canvas its second coat of PVA. Olivia would just have to hang her scheming little head out of the window, wouldn’t she? With any luck, she’d fall through it, Nicole thought bitchily, and then felt immediately guilty.