‘But why, Rupert? I don’t understand. I wanted to do something with my time, and I chose Angus because I knew his charity was important to you. I wanted to do it for you.’
‘Because of Caro, OK?’ Rupert shoves his chair back and starts pacing the kitchen. ‘Because Caro worked there, and it was bad for her. She saw such awful things, heard such awful stories, and it really affected her mental health.’ He pauses for a moment, takes a minute to steady his breathing. ‘I am pretty sure that the things she saw, the things she heard about there were partly to blame for why she did what she did and I didn’t want the same to happen to you.’
‘Oh, Rupert!’ I get to my feet and go to him, wrapping my arms around his waist. ‘I’m not like Caro.’ His words from the previous evening ring in my ears and I let go of any residual anger. ‘You don’t need to worry about me, but you should have spoken to me, not gone behind my back.’
‘I know that now.’ Rupert looks down at me, and my heart breaks at the expression in his eyes. ‘I’m so sorry, Em, it’s just… all that stuff about people watching you, horrid messages… Caro said the same things to me and it was all in her head and I just got so… frightened that I reacted without thinking. I can’t lose you, too. I love you so much.’
Tears spill over my cheeks as I lift my face, reaching up to kiss him. ‘I love you too, I understand now. I don’t need to volunteer there; I can find something else.’
It’s only later, after we have abandoned the cold, flabby pancakes and gone back to bed, taking our time over making love, my skin on fire as he trails his fingers over my stomach, and down my inner thighs, that it comes to me. Later, once he is asleep and I am laid awake, fingers of sunlight creeping through the gaps in the blinds as the street below hums with the sound of a hedge trimmer somewhere further down the lane, that someone sent that text message. Someone knew what Rupert had done and had deliberately sent me that text in order to bring uncertainty and mistrust into our lives. If Rupert has lied to me about this, what else has he lied to me about?
Chapter Seventeen
‘Ready to go proper shopping?’ Sadie is standing on the doorstep, her car – complete with driver – idling at the kerb waiting to whisk us away to London for the day.
‘Ready.’ I flash her a quick smile, as I slide my new black American Express card into my bag. Rupert presented me with it a few days after I found out about his role in Angus turning me down, and although it feels like a guilt present, I accepted it without an argument.
‘Ooh, fancy,’ Sadie says as she watches me tuck my purse into my bag. ‘Rupert had some making up to do by the looks of things.’
I give her a look; not sure quite how much Rupert has told her about our argument the day after Miles’s birthday dinner. ‘No, not at all. He just knows I need to do some Christmas shopping, that’s all.’
Fatigue tugs at my bones, as I turn and scan the hallway, as if committing it to memory. Rupert has been home late every night for the past few weeks, and several times the phone has rung late in the evening, only for there to be no one there when I answer it. Every time I answer with a brisk hello, without giving my name, I am met with a yawning chasm of dead air, punctuated only by the sound of the other person’s breathing. Breathing that I have convinced myself sounds like Harry, although of course I can’t be sure of it. It never happens when Rupert is in the house, only when I am alone, and I have found myself lying awake at night, willing the phone to ring so that Rupert can answer it and I won’t sound mad when I tell him it’s been happening regularly. The idea that Harry knows where I am, that he knows when I am alone… that all he has to do is pick up the phone and dial a number and he is there, battering his way into this safe haven I have created for myself, makes my heart race and my skin prickle with fear and anxiety.
Satisfied that everything is as it should be, that if I came home and something was out of place I would know, I usher Sadie out and tug the front door closed, checking it twice, then again that the door is double locked.
‘All set?’ Sadie asks, as I turn and look over the front of the house, making sure all the front windows are closed.
‘All set,’ I say with a small smile, as the telephone starts to ring behind the tightly locked door.
Hours later, we are in the café at Harrods, a superfood salad in front of each of us, along with a glass of champagne. I would rather have had the cinnamon apple braffle – a Harrods speciality – but when Sadie ordered a salad, I felt I had to do the same. I pick at it listlessly, not enjoying the combination of beetroot and goat’s cheese. I realize that Sadie has picked out her goat’s cheese and left it to one side, so I don’t feel so guilty about doing the same. My feet are throbbing, my Am Ex has taken a beating, but I would still rather be sitting here, with a lunch
