The Guilty Wife (15 page)

Her eyes more on the pavements than on the road, Lucie drove along, frantically searching the streets round the school, praying that Rick was on foot, that she would see them. What she would do if she did find them, Lucie didn't even think about; all she knew was that she had never before felt such utter terror, such mind-consuming fear.

'Please let me find him. Please don't let him be hurt.' She was babbling out prayers, tears filling her eyes but being dashed out of the way so that she could see. The fear was like a physical pain and she couldn't think, couldn't reason, knew only that her child was gone and she must find him. But Rick had had plenty of time to take Sam away: she had waited outside too long; she should have gone in as soon as she saw that Sam wasn't waiting for her. Gripping the steering wheel, Lucie turned into another street and saw a man walking with a child. Putting her foot down, she went tearing along the road and skidded to a stop beside them, narrowly missing a parked car. Both the man and the boy turned round, startled by the scream of brakes, and she saw with sick despair that the man wasn't Rick, that the boy was older than Sam.

She drove on, cars hooting at her angrily when she veered across towards the wrong side of the road, yanked the car into a straight line again, searching, searching. There was no sign of them, but Rick might have had a car; they could be miles away by now. She had to call the police. Lucie was near home, so she sped there, tore into the driveway already starting to open the door.

Sam was sitting on the doorstep.

Lucie shot out of the car and ran to him, took him into her arms. 'Are you all right? Are you all right?' He looked a bit lost and bewildered1, but he wasn't crying so he wasn't hurt. 'Oh, Sam! Sam!' She hugged him too tightly in a relief that was almost as overwhelming as the fear had been.

'A man came to take me home from school.' He struggled to get free. 'He brought me in his car but you weren't here. He said I'd got to wait for you.' Sam looked at her accusingly. 'You were a long time.'

Suddenly anger took the place of relief as Lucie set him down and said, 'Why did you go with him? Haven't I told you that you should never go with strangers? Never! Never!'

Sam tried to bite tears back but then began to cry. 'He said he was your friend. He said you sent him. And he gave me this for you.' He searched hi his pocket and brought out a letter.

Lucie stared at it for a moment, her face very pale. She could guess the contents but she mechanically tore open the envelope, her hands hardly trembling because she had gone past that now. The note was brief. 'Next time I'll keep him. Bring the money you owe plus an extra hundred the day after tomorrow. If you don't want anything to happen to the kid, then keep quiet and pay up.'

Unlocking the door, Lucie took Sam inside and let him watch television while she made herself a hot drink laced with brandy. She took it into the dining-area that opened off the sitting-room so that she could watch him while she slowly drank it. The torment she'd felt when Sam was lost still haunted her, but it had sharpened her brain, her reasoning, because now she knew that she must think only of him. And she began to think objectively almost for the first time since Rick had started threatening her.

He was, she saw, ruining not only her own and Seton's lives, but now was affecting Sam's too. She couldn't allow that. So she was left with only three alternatives. The first, obviously, was to tell Seton everything. But it wouldn't stop the blackmail; Rick would simply apply pressure to them both. He still had the press cutting with the photograph of her, he still, knew everything about her and could sell the story to a newspaper, unless they paid him not to. Seton's career and ambitions would still be in ruins.

It occurred to Lucie that perhaps Rick wanted her to tell Seton because he could get more money out of him than out of her. So telling Seton wouldn't be the end of it, wasn't a solution. The second alternative would be to go to the police, tell them everything and throw herself on their mercy. Surely if she told them that Rick had kidnapped Sam then they would have to help her? They would find Rick and put him back behind bars. But before they could do that there would have to be a trial, so it would all come out anyway. Again, it was no solution.

Then there was the third way. Lucie didnt have to think much about it; in her heart she knew that it was the only way. And it had to be done now, tonight, because the autumn sessions had begun and Seton was away until the weekend. Picking up the phone, she called her mother-in-law and told another lie, having told so many that she was able to do it quite glibly by now.

'There's beeiba break-in at Aunt Kate's house. You know she's away? I have to go up there straight away, I'm afraid, so I wondered if you'd mind having Sam?'

She was assured that it was fine, Seton's mother obviously excited at the prospect.

'I may be away for two or three days. I'm not really sure. So could you take him to school? But please make sure that you meet him, that you're there in plenty of time,' Lucie insisted.

'Of course, my dear. He'll be perfectly safe with us.'

After packing some clothes and toys for Sam, Lucie dropped him off at his grandparents'. She hugged him fiercely again when she said goodbye, then had to hurry away, ostensibly to drive to her aunt's house, in reality to hide her anguished face. Back home, she packed a couple of suitcases with her things, then sat down at the desk and wrote a note to Seton. It was extremely short because her hands were shaking and she couldn't keep back the tears.

'I need some time alone. Please don't try to find me. Take care of Sam. Lucie.'

She propped the letter on the hall table where Seton would be sure to see it, then let herself out of her home, her life, her happiness, and drove away to an unknown and unwanted future.

LUCIE spent that night at Aunt Kate's house. It was late when she got there, almost eleven o'clock—too late to phone her in-laws to see if Sam was all right. But he would be, she knew; he was a gregarious child and enjoyed visiting his grandparents. Would he tell them about Rick collecting him from school? she wondered. It was possible, because he had been taught not-to be secretive, but she had been angry with him and he knew that it had been wrong to go with Rick, so he might keep it to himself.

The drive, and all that had happened that day, had made Lucie feel exhausted, but she didn't expect to sleep. But maybe having come to a decision at last, having taken the only step she could to get herself out of Rick's malevolent hold had given her some inner peace, because she fell asleep as soon as she got into Aunt Kale's guest bed, and slept deeply for the first tune in ages.

At first, when she woke the next morning, Lucie couldn't think where she was, then she remembered and her heart filled with desolation, and it was then that she cried in heartbroken sobs of anguish for all she'd lost. When her sobs eased a little it occurred to her that it wasn't too late, that she could go back home, destroy her note to Seton and go on with her life. But that life had become intolerabte because of the damage it was doing to the two people she loved. She had made her decision and it must be irrevocable.

Now and for always. There must be no going back, no weakness; she had to be strong for Seton's and Sam's sakes. She'd had over five wonderful, perfect years and that must be her only consolation, for the rest of her life. At just after eight she rang Seton's parents, spoke briefly to Sam, who was fine, and told them that she might have to stay in Derbyshire for several days. "There are quite a lot of repairs to be done, and the police want me to make an inventory of everything that's been taken,' she told them, dispiritedly extending her earlier story. They were sympathetic and told her to take her time, trying to hide their pleasure at having Sam to themselves for so long. Putting the phone down, Lucie wondered how they would feel when Seton got home and read her letter and they realised that they would have Sam to look after indefinitely.

Her call over, Lucie turned her attention to her own future. It wasn't a subject that greatly interested her but she would have to do something. It would have been nice just to stay here at Aunt Kate's, but this was the first place Seton would look for her.

That he would look for her, Lucie had no doubt, even though she'd asked him not to. She ought, she thought guiltily, to have made the note more definite, to have said that she would never go back, but she'd hoped that by implying she would return eventually she would gain more time. Seton might not start searching for her if he expected her to come home any day. But one thing was absolutely certain: Seton would never accept just a brief note as an end to their marriage.

So she must move on before he got home and found her letter, find a place where she could lose herself, change her name and just go on existing. Because existing was all it would ever be; her life was over now; there would never again be anything to look forward to.

Taking a road atlas from the bookcase, Lucie looked at it in a desultory way and decided to go to Manchester. It was a huge town where she could easily get lost in the crowds, and wasn't too far away. And there was bound to be a pawnshop there where she could raise money on the rest of her jewellery, her watch, which was a very good one, and the eternity ring that Seton had given her on their fifth wedding anniversary—things she hadn't been able to pawn before because Seton would have noticed.

She thought also of pawning her engagement ring, but found the idea of parting with it unbearable. All she needed was enough money to last until she found a job. And if she couldn't find one right away there was always the car; that was hers, bought for her by Seton, admittedly, but it had been a surprise birthday present so was definitely hers. Lucie really wanted to keep it, though, because at the back of her mind was always the hope that when she got really desperate she could sneak back to get a glimpse of Sam, and perhaps Seton too, although that would be terribly risky. But she knew that she would have to sell it once the baby came. As yet, probably because of all the stress she'd been going through, Lucie was still slim and the baby didn't show very much, especially when she wore a loose sweater, which she hoped would be a help when she tried to get a job. Lucie put the thought of Seton's anger, if he ever found her, firmly from her mind and left shortly afterwards, stopping at a roadside cafe on the way and forcing herself to eat some breakfast, then driving on north-west to Manchester. It wasn't a place she'd been to before and the size of the city overwhelmed her. Where on earth should she start looking for a job, for somewhere to live?

She found herself passing the university buildings and pulled into the side, near a pub. It was open and she went in, found, as she'd guessed she would, that there were several young people who looked like students there, although it was still early in the term. She got chatting to a couple of girls and asked them if they knew of any cheap digs, or where she should go to look, implying that she was a mature student.

They were friendly and helpful, and soon Lucie found herself with a long list of addresses, a pile of change, and a phone booth that she commandeered for the next hour. Most of the places were already full, but eventually she managed to find a bedsit in a house where a student had canceled only a couple of days earlier. Thankfully Lucie also found a pawnshop, hocked her jewellery, and drove round to the house to look at the room. It was small and the furniture cheap and basic, but at least it was newly decorated and clean. There was a handbasin in which she could wash but she would have to share the communal bathroom and kitchen. But just finding somewhere lifted her spirits; after all, when you'd lived in a cramped prison cell for nearly three years then this was paradise in comparison. That it was also the most dreadful comparison to the home she'd just left, Lucie tried not to think about.

So now all she had to do was find a job. Here, too, she was lucky, the fact that she could work at any time and start at once allowing her to take temporary work as a candy-seller at a cinema complex where the permanent assistant had taken sick leave to have an emergency operation. There would be at least six weeks' work and possibly longer. The hours were unsociable—from two in the afternoon until ten at night, five nights a week—but LUCK didn't mind that in the least. The longer she worked, the less time she would have to think and fed bitter. It was strange, she thought wryly; now that she'd left home, now that nothing really mattered any more luck was coming her way. Maybe the goddesses of fate were trying to tell her that she'd made the right decision in leaving. The temptation to call her in-laws, to speak to Sam, had to be fought from the first day. Working evenings made it physically easier because that would have been the best time to phone, but the mental torture, the need for her child and to know that he was well, was almost overwhelming. As, too, was her need for Seton. She missed him every moment of the day, spent most of the time when she wasn't working imagining what he was doing. He would be home by now and would have found her note. How would he fed now that she'd gone?

Knowing that their marriage was a mess, he would try to be understanding at first, she supposed, but as time went by and there was no word from her he would become impatient and then angry. And when that happened he would start searching for her. But she was using a false name and felt safe, secure, both from Seton and Rick. And being safe from Rick was like having a great weight lifted from her shoulders. It was a pity that it had now settled on her heart instead.

Lucie got a half-hour break during her work shift, and took it in the staff rest-room, where she read the paper that she and Seton had always taken. Though tenuous, it was a link with home, and she liked to remember Seton flicking through the pages over breakfast and reading out some item of news that interested or amused him. Looking through it, she would try to guess which items he would have picked out. One night, only her third in Manchester, an item in the personal column caught her eye. 'L, darling, please come home or phone. We love and need you. S & S.'