Chapter 7
7
Friday marked a full week since Stephen’s departure. It was also four days since Martha had first been sighted in the Thames.
‘Come on, girl,’ Fiona muttered, flicking through the television channels until she found a news item that was discussing the whale. From the angle of the camera, she looked almost stationary and, although Fiona didn’t know if it was actually possible, paler.
‘Do whales turn pale?’ she asked herself. It definitely looked that way but, then again, perhaps it was just the change in the weather. The darker clouds turning the river a deep brown could well be emphasising the contrast with Martha’s skin. Still, it was another question for the Internet which, she’d discovered, had the answer to every sperm-whale-related question she’d asked it so far.
A sperm whale’s life expectancy? Over seventy years. That one shocked her to start with. Gestation period? Fifteen months. She didn’t envy that. Do sperm whales mate for life? Thankfully, the answer to that one was no. It was tough enough thinking of Martha calling out her clicks – that was how whales communicated – to her pod and her children, let alone imagining a devoted, non-adulterous spouse desperately crying out for her. Every free moment Fiona had, she was on her computer, learning everything she could about Martha and her situation.
Not that she had that many free moments. At work, she was more on top of things than she could remember being in years. She’d spent the whole of Thursday sending out informal emails to all her clients, to see if there was anything more she could do for them. She also managed a full hour of staff appraisal for Annabel and booked her in for two professional development courses in January.
Friday morning, she’d decided to spend at home, working on reorganising the bookshelves and clearing out any remaining nooks and crannies that had escaped the blitz earlier in the week, all while checking in on Martha. Professor Arkell had been AWOL for a couple of days. It was a shame. She preferred him to the older, more-gentrified expert they had replaced him with. This guy was sombre and pessimistic. Not what she wanted to hear at all. At least Professor Arkell tried to put a positive spin on things.
At twenty-to-one, she got ready to leave for yoga. The class didn’t start until three, allowing plenty of time to grab some lunch, then perhaps go for a stroll along the Thames. She’d seen on the news that small crowds had been gathering along the riverfront, watching preparations for a full-scale rescue operation that was being planned for Martha, if she didn’t manage to get herself back on track by the end of the weekend. Given that the chances were the great whale would be moving on in the next few days, one way or another, Fiona didn’t want to miss the opportunity to see her in the flesh.
Dusting down its case, she hooked her yoga mat under her arm, checked her keys were in her bag, and went to leave. Her fingers were barely on the handle when it turned and the front door sprang inwards.
‘Stephen!’ Her voice caught in her throat. ‘You’re back.’
Dressed in his usual work attire, he had his phone pressed to his ear.
‘I’ll call you back,’ he said, and lowered it to his side. ‘Fiona.’ Her name came out like a gust of wind. ‘I didn’t think you’d be here. I thought… Brussels.’
It was as if all the tension she’d been under for the last week had suddenly been released. He had come back, just like she knew he would. A sigh of relief left her, as she fought the urge to throw her arms around him. She wasn’t an arms-throwing type of woman and he wasn’t the type of man who would like that anyway, but the urge was there.
‘I decided not to go away. Better to be here. Sort things. You know.’
His eyes moved past her to the hallway.
‘You’ve been making some changes.’
‘I have. Come in. Come and see.’ She stepped back, her pulse rate climbing as he brushed against her. ‘I think you’ll like what I’ve done. In the dining room particularly. Come in. Don’t just stand there.’
He walked in slowly, as if he were expecting an ambush. It was nerves, she could tell. Most probably about the apology he was going to have to make. He’d never been good at that. Not that she was great either but, right now, that was hardly the issue. It wouldn’t be her who would be doing it. And she would give him a little time to find the right words.
‘You’ve moved the painting.’ Having reached the dining room, his eyes sought out the changes. ‘It looks good there.’
‘It really does. I don’t know why we didn’t put it there before. There are other changes too. All over. And I thought we could get another. Another Tuan, I mean. I’d forgotten how beautiful it is.’
With her husband’s gaze still on the picture, she sidled up beside him, just as she would have done, all those years ago, when they’d spent their free time trawling galleries together. It was such a long time ago. A lifetime. The fluttering in her chest started up again. It was ridiculous, she thought, feeling like this just because she was standing next to him. Ridiculous, but good. Thinking of the past, she moved to slip her hand into his.
‘What’s that?’ she asked.
Her first assumption had been a bag of freebies from work that he’d come to put in the fridge but, on looking down, she discovered he was holding a large envelope, not a carrier bag.
Flushing, he pulled it to his chest.
‘Stephen?’
‘I thought you’d be away,’ he repeated, quietly.
She shook her head in confusion. ‘I don’t understand.’
His cheeks darkened.
‘Stephen, what’s that in your hand? Was it in the post? Is it for me? You’re being very odd.’
Something was off. His stoicism. His avoidance of her questions and her gaze. It was as if her brain was on delay. She couldn’t seem to piece it all together. When she finally realised, it was as if someone had hit her in the stomach. She staggered back.
‘You’re serious? You’re not serious. You can’t be.’
‘Fiona, listen.’
‘No. No!’ She snatched the envelope out of his hands. Tearing at it, she ripped the seal and pulled out the documents. The subject line shouted out at her. ‘Divorce papers?’ She shook her head and read them again, as if the words must be transmuting between the page and her eyes. ‘How? You’ve only been gone a week!’
He stared at the carpet.
‘Fiona, this has been coming for a long time.’
‘No.’ She pulled his head round, forcing his eyes to meet hers. ‘No, it hasn’t. What happened to working through our rough patches? Talking about things? We were supposed to be a team.’
His eyes narrowed, meeting hers. ‘A team? Fiona, let’s be honest, the only side you ever support is your own.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘It is and I’m not saying that’s a bad thing.’ He retrieved the papers from her hand. ‘Look, it worked well once. It did. We both got a lot from it.’
‘Pardon?’ Her jaw dropped. She couldn’t be hearing him right. It sounded like he was discussing a bloody business deal, not a marriage.
‘We’ve had a good few years. And Joseph, well, he’s grown into a great young man. We did well. And I’ve done well. And so has your business. But you know it wouldn’t be where it is without me.’
That was the final blow.
‘Excuse me?’ She edged backwards. ‘I built that business from the ground up, Stephen.’ Her voice quivered with rage as she spoke. ‘Me. On my own.’
‘With connections I gave you. And that’s absolutely fine, it’s how it’s sup?—’
‘Are you kidding?’ she cut him short. ‘You’re going to take credit for what I’ve achieved, because you made a couple of introductions to your golf club buddies?’
‘Fiona, all I was trying to say is that the last?—’
‘Get. Out.’ The enunciation couldn’t have been clearer as she spat the words into his face.
‘Fiona, look, if I said?—’
‘I said get out before I do something we’ll both regret.’
He drew back his shoulders. ‘Look, I’m sorry if I offended you. That wasn’t the plan. And I don’t want to rush you on this.’ He placed the envelope down on the table. ‘I guess it has come as more of a shock than I thought it would. But there’s no point pretending. And the sooner we get this sorted, the sooner we can both start moving on with our lives.’
The modicum of self-restraint which she had so far managed to hold on to evaporated.
‘Start moving on?’
‘Fiona, I?—’
‘Isn’t that what you started doing a year and a half ago? Isn’t that what this is all about?’
‘I shouldn’t have said anything.’
‘Oh yes, because lying about it is just so much better. Let me guess, she wants the money from the house?’ She didn’t wait for his answer. ‘Well it’s not happening, Stephen. My money went into this home. My money from my business. If you think that I’m going to stand back and let you take that from me, you’ve got another thing coming.’
His jaw clenched. She held her breath, anticipating his next move. He’d come back with his own counter, defend his position as alpha male. Well just let him try.
His eyes went down to the papers, then came back up.
‘I’ll leave these here and grab a few things. Take your time,’ he said.