Roses Are Red - Miranda Rijks Page 0,77
true. Adam had all that money, but he died. It was Adam who wanted the trappings of wealth: the fancy cars, the big house, the latest media gizmos. I don’t need any of that. What I need is the love I give to and receive from my family and my business. I love Cracking Crafts, and I feel so privileged that I’m doing work that brings me joy and fulfillment. And soon enough, the kids will have left home, and then I’ll definitely need my work to keep me busy.
I call DC White, but he’s not there, and before I can say Please don’t forward the call to DI Cornish, he is on the line.
‘Lydia, what can I do for you?’
‘Did you know that Ajay Arya was convicted for GBH?’ I ask.
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Is he still a person of interest?’
‘Why are you asking, Lydia?’
‘Um, it’s just…’ I don’t want to get either DC White or Patrick’s contact into trouble, so I can’t admit knowing about the red car. ‘Are you still investigating Adam’s death?’
‘Of course, although the investigation has been scaled back somewhat.’
‘So Ajay isn’t a suspect?’
‘I can’t comment on that, Lydia. We have talked about this before.’
‘Are you saying that we may never know why Adam died?’
‘That is a possibility, Lydia. I’m sorry.’
As soon as Patrick gets home, I tell him about Ajay’s offer. His face lights up.
‘But that’s the ideal solution, isn’t it?’ he says, grinning at me.
‘No. I don’t want to sell.’
‘But why not? You can take the money and live an easy life. Go on holidays, meet your friends for lunch, decorate our new home.’
‘Is that how you see me, Patrick? As a lady who lunches?’
‘No. I’m thinking about what’s in your best interests. You have been increasingly stressed over the past few weeks. You haven’t been sleeping well, and frankly, I don’t think you’re coping. This could be the answer to all of your problems.’
‘What? So you can take my money and run off into the sunset?’
I regret the words as soon as I utter them. Patrick’s face hardens and a pulse thrums in his forehead. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, but I know the damage has already been done.
‘Is that how you see me, Lydia? A freeloader?’
His face is bloodless. He turns, walks out of the kitchen, and slams the door behind him. I hurry after him, but he is already through the front door, which he also slams. I watch as he gets into his car and drives away at full pelt, little stones thrown up from the driveway, his rear lights fading too quickly.
‘Oh shit, what have I done?’ I murmur to myself as I sink onto the flagstone floor.
24
Patrick doesn’t return for supper, so I tell the kids that he had to go and visit his poorly sister. I try calling him several times during the evening, but his phone goes to voicemail. Eventually, I go to bed, but I toss and turn listening out for his car, wondering where he is. At 1.30 a.m., even though I hate doing it when I’m alone in the house with the kids, I take half a sleeping pill. The alarm clock wakes me, and – to my total relief – Patrick is lying asleep next to me.
I know I was out of order last night. Just because I read an article in the papers about romance fraud doesn’t mean that Patrick is a fraudster. He has done nothing but show love and affection to me. As I sit up in bed, my head spins and my throat feels totally raw. At first, I assume it’s because I was so upset last night, but when I try to get out of bed, a bone-aching lethargy almost makes me tumble. I am freezing cold. I sit on the edge of the bed, shivering, my teeth rattling.
‘What’s the matter?’ Patrick asks, levering himself up.
‘I think I’m sick,’ I say. ‘And I’m really sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have said those things.’ My voice is croaky.
He rubs my back. ‘And I shouldn’t have walked out. At least we’ve got our first really big fight out of the way.’
I lean back onto the bed, relieved that we appear to have weathered the storm. ‘I don’t feel well. I think I’ve got a fever.’
He puts his hand on my forehead. ‘You’re burning up. Get back into bed and I’ll get you a jug of water and some paracetamol. I told you that you needed to take a step back