miss Lindsey. Of course you do,’ he says finally. ‘I do too.’
She looks up at him. ‘That’s not what I mean. I think about how she died.’
He stares back at her, unnerved. ‘You blame me.’
‘Of course I blame you. Everyone does.’
It’s like a punch to the stomach. ‘I blame myself too,’ he says. His voice is bitter. ‘Every day. But it was an accident.’
Into the fraught silence Erica says, ‘Just because they said it was an accident doesn’t mean it was.’
He recoils in surprise, his heart pounding. ‘What?’ When she doesn’t respond, he says, his voice low, ‘Are you saying – are you accusing me of killing my wife on purpose?’
‘It’s crossed my mind.’
‘Why – why the hell would you think that?’ he asks. His heart is racing now. It had been ruled an accident. There was no question. No suspicion at all. It was a sad, tragic event. At the time, everyone had shaken their heads, looked at him with terrible pity, but no one had suggested that he’d done it on purpose. That he’d deliberately murdered his wife.
She spells it out for him now, and there’s cold calculation in her voice. ‘You remember. You told me you felt trapped, you were unhappy. I thought you were in love with me. Imagine what it was like for me when she died. I thought – I was afraid – that you’d done it on purpose.’ She adds, ‘And I’ve had to live with that ever since.’
Patrick’s mind reels. Where was this coming from? He’d told her no such thing, and they both know it. He remembers again how she’d spurned him at the funeral, turned her back on him. ‘You’re out of your mind,’ he says shortly.
‘Am I?’
He looks back at her in growing horror. So this is why she’s here. Then he takes a deep breath and speaks, trying to keep his voice steady. ‘You’re wrong. I was a bad husband, and you were a bad friend, but that’s it,’ he assures her. ‘I didn’t kill her so that I could be with you, and you damn well know it.’
‘And I’m supposed to just take your word for it?’ Her voice is sly.
His uneasiness spikes; he can feel his heart pounding hard in his chest. He says, trying to keep his voice even, ‘I don’t know what else to tell you, Erica. It was an accident. The police thought it was an accident. The press thought it was an accident. You’re the only one who seems to think otherwise – and we both know you’re pretending.’ He tells himself that he has nothing to be worried about.
But he still hasn’t told Stephanie the truth about what happened to his first wife. He wants to tell her at some point, he always meant to. And he will. He’d told Stephanie that his first wife had been killed in a car accident. But Erica knows what really happened. What if she tells Stephanie? Now, when she’s so worn out and frazzled with the twins? It wouldn’t be the best time – it would be the absolutely worst possible fucking time. Stephanie wouldn’t be able to deal with it rationally. She wouldn’t understand.
Why the fuck had he come here today? He should have known better.
As if reading his mind, Erica says, ‘Does your wife know about what happened?’
He feels himself colouring. He must not give himself away, but he’s afraid he already has.
‘Ah, she doesn’t,’ Erica says, confirming his fears. ‘You never told her.’ She’s goading him now. ‘I mean, who would marry a man who cheated on his first wife? A man who killed her – even if it was by accident?’ He stares back at her stonily, saying nothing. ‘I wonder if I should tell her?’
‘Why the hell would you do that?’ he asks.
‘Maybe she should know who she married. What if you have something like that in mind for her?’
He’s struck with a sudden fury. ‘You miserable bitch,’ he says. ‘You have a twisted, fucked-up mind.’ They eye each other in silence. He feels sick. ‘What’s going on here, Erica?’ he asks coldly. ‘Why are you here? What do you want?’
‘Money.’ Her blue eyes stare back at him, cool and unwavering.
It hits him like a blow. That’s what this is. She’s blackmailing him. She wants him to pay her so that she won’t say anything to his wife. Why didn’t he see this coming? How could he have been so naive? He snorts. ‘Well, that’s too bad, because I