Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
IMOGEN
If Alexander had walked into this room and punched me in the face, the shock wouldn’t be as great as it is while I clutch the divorce papers in my trembling hands.
Between the idyllic day we spent in London on Wednesday and now, something has gone horribly wrong. I refuse to believe he’s faked these last couple of weeks. I’ve watched him fall for me. And like I said to him, he isn’t that good of an actor.
Whatever his motivation is for having these papers drawn up, I am not signing them. He can shove it. I’ll fight for him, for us both, until he gives me a better reason than yeah, sorry, babe, changed my mind.
Bullshit.
As my shock recedes, it’s replaced with a strong desire to throttle my husband until his eyes pop out of his head. I storm to his office. He does not get to drop a nuclear bomb and walk away without proper discussion.
The odd thing is that Alexander has given me what I wanted, what I plotted for since the day I arrived, yet I don’t want that any longer. I want him, and I won’t let him wreck what we have until he gives me a far better reason.
Barging through the door, I’m ready to give him a piece of my mind, except his office is empty. On his desk lies an open notebook, the same design as the rows and rows of journals, and his laptop, also open.
Alexander never leaves his laptop open, nor have I ever seen him leave a journal out. He mustn’t be in his right mind, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to take advantage of his momentary memory lapse.
Glancing over my shoulder to make sure he hasn’t crept up on me, I make my way behind his desk and pick up the journal.
I don’t have to read much to get the answers I’m looking for.
I knew he didn’t want a divorce, although even his private thoughts don’t tell me why. It doesn’t matter, though. Nothing will make me sign these papers now I know he wants me.
I need answers, but it’s clear to me that my husband has no intentions of giving them. And as Charles told me when I first arrived at Oakleigh, no one makes Alexander do something he doesn’t want to do.
Think.
The answer comes to me in a blinding flash. If Alexander won’t tell me why, maybe his therapist might have some insight into what could possibly have changed in less than three days. Except, I don’t know where Lilian operates from.
Unless...
He goes there every Tuesday, which means…
With another furtive glance at the door, I open the calendar app on his laptop and scroll back to earlier in the week. Right there, at two o’clock until 3 o’clock, reads Lilian’s name with an address and a phone number. It must be a recurring appointment, and he’s never bothered to remove the address. Whatever the reason, I’ve hit pay dirt.
After jotting down the details on a Post-it note, I tear the divorce papers into tiny pieces, stuff them back in the envelope, and write a quick note that I also put in there. On the envelope itself, I write: Private, along with his name.
Then I call Lilian. She answers on the third ring.
I explain who I am and tell her what’s happened. As I expected, she quotes client confidentiality at me, but that doesn’t mean she can’t see me. Help me figure out what to do next. That’s not breaking any client code.
It takes some persuasion, but eventually, she agrees to see me. I hang up, and I’m halfway out the door and heading for the garages to get a car when I stutter to a halt. Ah, fuck. There’s no way I’m getting off this property without at least two bodyguards following me, and if I do that, they are bound to report back to Alexander. He’ll jump to conclusions about why I’ve gone to see Lilian, and I’ll make things worse instead of better between us.
I rack my brains for a way off this estate without anyone knowing. Saskia won’t help me, nor will any of Alexander’s brothers, not even Tobias. They’re all as security conscious as he is. Plus, they’re bound to take his side.
Wait. I’ve got it. As much as smiling is the last thing I feel like doing, I break into a grin. Vicky. She’s a rule breaker. She’ll be only too happy to help me.
I head back to my old rooms and close the door. Dialing Vicky’s number, I wait for her to answer.
“Hey, Vicky. I need your help.”
The walk to the church where Alexander and I got married takes me twenty-five minutes. Vicky, God bless that woman, is waiting for me, butt resting against the hood of her car.
She grins as I approach and pushes herself upright. “Well, this is rather cloak and dagger. What’s the gossip?”
“I need you to take me into London, but no one can know. I can’t have bodyguards following me.”
She rubs her hands together. “Ooh, an adventure. I’m in.”
“Aren’t you going to ask me anything else? Like why?”
“Do you want to tell me?”
I grimace. “It’s kind of personal.”
“Then, there’s no need for me to know, is there?” She opens the car door. “Let’s go.”
“Umm, I need to ride in the trunk, otherwise we’ll get stopped at the gatehouse.”
“Trunk?” She frowns. “Oh, you mean the boot. Gotcha.” She opens the trunk. “It’ll be a bit uncomfortable. I’ll get you out once we’re clear of the all-seeing De Vils.”
I touch her arm. “Thank you, Vicky. I owe you.”
“What are friends for?” She jerks her chin. “Get in.”
After checking my surroundings to make sure we’re not being watched, I climb inside. Vicky winks, then slams it closed. It’s dark and smells a little musty, but I won’t have to be in here for long. It’s easy for Vicky to come and go from Oakleigh, which is why she was the best choice. Not to mention she enjoys taking risks, and this is a risk for her.
Neither Alexander nor Nicholas will be best pleased if they know she helped me sneak off the Oakleigh estate. Although, since Alexander served me with divorce papers, he doesn’t have a say in where I go or what I do any longer.
I could murder him for being so stupid. If I manage to figure out, with Lilian’s help, what prompted him to serve those papers to me, I’m going to slap him about the head with them. Except, I tore them into tiny pieces.
Whatever. I’ll find something else to hit him with. A hockey stick, maybe.
I feel the car slow and then stop. Vicky shouts something, but I can’t make it out, then we’re moving again. It’s not long afterward when she stops again and the trunk opens.
“Out you get.” Vicky lends me a hand. “Ooh, I feel like such a rebel. I’ve helped the princess escape from the Devil.”
I dust myself off. “I hope you don’t get into trouble over this.”
“Pah.” She slices her hand through the air. “That family might think they’re all that, but they don’t scare me.”
Vicky turns up the music, and we sing along to the radio. She doesn’t ask me anything about where we’re going or why. I tell her to take me to Hampstead Heath, where Lilian’s office is located. The traffic is light, and we make it into London within an hour. It takes a further thirty minutes to drive north of the river, but eventually, Vicky stops the car outside a pretty flower shop on the main thoroughfare through the town.
“This good?”
“Perfect.” I take my cell out of my purse and hand it to her. “Can you take this for me and drive out of the area?”
She catches on fast. “Afraid Alexander can track you?”
“Oh, I know he can track me. He’s made no secret of the tracker he put on my phone.”
For the first time since she picked me up, she looks unsure. “For good reason. I think you should take it. Just in case.”
“In case of what? It’s broad daylight, and I’m not going far.”
“Then, let me take you wherever it is you’re going and wait outside.”
I shake my head. “If Alexander does track me, I don’t want him to know my precise location. I have my reasons. Please, Vicky.”
It takes a few seconds until she relents. “Fine, but I’ll be right here in an hour. If you arrive early, go into that coffee shop over there. Don’t hang around on the street.”
“I promise.” I think it’s overkill, proven when I get out and close the door, and not a single soul pays any attention to me.
I wave, then set off toward Lilian’s office.
A bronze plaque reads: Lilian Hay (MA Hons MBACP Sn Accred). That’s a lot of letters to have after someone’s name, and I haven’t a clue what they mean, but she sounds important. I lift the gold knocker and rap once. I don’t have to wait long for the lock to turn. The door opens, and a woman in her mid-fifties stands on the other side, her dark hair cut into a short bob. She has the kind of no nonsense yet compassionate face. I can see immediately why she’s a therapist.
“Hello, Imogen.”
“Lilian. Thank you for seeing me.”
She stands back, waiting for me to enter, then closes the door behind me. “I really shouldn’t be, and like I said to you on the phone, if you’re expecting me to share anything that Alexander and I talk about in our sessions, I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted trip. ”
“I understand completely. I’d never ask you to break any confidences, but, Lilian, I’m so confused. All I need is to externally process what’s happened, and maybe that will help me figure out what went wrong.”
I brief her on what happened, from how loving he was on Wednesday to his sudden production of divorce papers and his retreat from me. Lilian lets me talk, occasionally nodding, but I get the feeling I’m not telling her anything she doesn’t already know. By the time I get to the part where I ripped up the divorce papers and left them for Alexander to find, I’m exhausted, and even more pissed off with him.
“I don’t understand what could have changed in such a short space of time.” I rub my forehead. “Without sharing anything you’re not supposed to, if you were me, what would you do?”
She leans forward, her palms flat on her desk. “If I were you, I’d keep pushing him to talk. I can’t advise you any more than that. But what I will say is that man loves you. Don't give up on him. He'll tell you eventually.”
“Will he?”
“I’m sure of it. He’s…” She grimaces as if she wants to say something, but isn’t sure whether she’d be stepping over the line. “Just talk to him. Don’t let him control the narrative or push you away. He loves to try to do that. It’s an avoidance technique, one he has mastered.”
“Okay, thank you.”
I came hoping for answers, knowing I wouldn’t get them. Even saying out loud what’s happened has been helpful, though, so I’m not sorry I came. I know he loves me, and that’s enough for me to fight for him. He can run from whatever his issue is, but I’ll keep coming back, holding up a mirror until he tells me what’s so troubling to him that he’d go this far to push me away.
The irony of having had those divorce papers in my hand when they’ve become the last thing I now want isn’t lost on me.
I thank her and leave. It’s thirty minutes before I’m due to meet Vicky, and I don’t want a coffee. I wander down the high street, peering in the windows of a few of the shops. There are some unique little antique shops I’d love to explore, but if I go inside any of them now, I’ll lose track of time and miss meeting up with Vicky.
“Imogen!”
The sound of a male voice shouting my name makes me freeze. As I turn, though, happiness rushes through me.
“Will!” I glance both ways, then cross the street. “It’s great to see you. How’ve you been? I’m so sorry for what happened. Alexander should not have fired you, and believe me, I made it clear what he did was out of order, but by then it was too late. You’d left, and I didn’t know how to get in touch with you.”
He beams at me. “It’s fine. I have a new job at a yard not too far from here, and I’m much happier there than I was at Oakleigh.” He leans in conspiratorially. “I never liked my boss all that much.”
Relieved, I chuckle. “That’s wonderful.”
“Want to get a coffee?” he asks, gesturing up the street away from the main road. “There’s a great place a little farther along, and it’s far cheaper than the chains on the high street.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t. I’m due to meet my friend soon.”
His face falls. “Oh, that’s a shame.” He toes the ground with the tip of his shoe, his shoulders bowed in disappointment.
I glance at my watch. I’ve twenty minutes until Vicky is due to pick me up. I can’t bear seeing his sadness and knowing I’m the cause, especially after everything Alexander did.
“Maybe a quick one.”
“Excellent. Let me grab my wallet from my car. It’s parked over there.” He points to a battered four-door sedan. “It’s not much, but it gets me around.”
“I can pay.”
He looks offended at my offer, shaking his head. “No. Let me. Please.”
We make our way to his car. Will opens the back door, reaching in to grab his jacket. He straightens, but when he turns around, the cheerful smile is gone. Instead, his eyes are narrowed, his lips thin.
“I’m sorry, but your husband has this coming.”
A needle plunges into my thigh, and I scream. His hand clamps over my mouth as he spins me around, jabbing a knee into the back of mine. Folding forward, my face meets the back seat. Arms like jelly, I try to push myself upright, but it’s futile.
“What have you given me?” I slur the words, and my vision blurs. “Will…?”
He tosses a blanket over me, and the door slams. I struggle to keep my eyes open, my body heavy and unresponsive. The car moves away, and my last thought is for my husband.
Alexander, I’m sorry.