Chapter 109
She had approached the house with extreme caution and was surprised—and alarmed—to find that it wasn’t necessary.
The press pack had inexplicably deserted Robert’s house.
Calm had returned to this quiet cul-de-sac, but it was a mournful silence—the modest detached house looked lonely and desolate as the rain swept over it.
Helen stood still, getting more saturated with every passing second, as she debated what to do.
Desperate to see for herself what Robert was going through, she had come to Cole Avenue in silent pilgrimage, but it was obvious now that something had happened.
Something had driven the clamoring hacks away.
She was still standing there debating what to do next, when the front door opened.
A middle-aged woman shot a look here and there, as if expecting to be jumped, then hurried to a small hatchback that sat in their drive.
She deposited a suitcase in the back, then turned again toward the house.
Then she paused and swiveled to take in the sight of a beautiful woman in biking leathers standing stock-still.
Suspicion, then a moment of comprehension in Monica’s face, before suddenly and unexpectedly she started marching toward Helen.
“Where is he?” Helen blurted out.
“What have you done?” Monica spat back, fury rendering her words shaky and unstable.
“Where is he? What’s happened?”
“He’s gone.”
“Gone where?”
Monica shrugged and looked away. She obviously did not want to let Helen see her cry.
“Where?” Despite her shame, Helen’s tone was angry and impatient.
Monica looked up sharply.
“He must have gone last night. We found a note this morning. He . . . he says he probably won’t see us again. That it’s for the be—”
She broke down. Helen went to comfort her, but was angrily shrugged off.
“God damn you for what you’ve done to him.”
She marched away into the house, slamming the door viciously behind her. Helen stood in the rain, not moving. She was right, of course. Helen had wanted to save Marianne. She had wanted to save Robert. But she had damned them both.