Chapter 12
The boys were gone by midnight. I went to bed, tried to sleep, gave up at four, pulled on my shorts, and ran to Kate’s. I took a breather outside. Ran back to Lusso.
I showered, dressed, and left before Cathy arrived. The new concierge lifted his head as I passed but didn’t speak.
I drove to Kate’s, parked, and waited for Ava. She left at just gone eight, today in her car. She looked drained. I made sure I stayed well back as I followed her to her office. She parked at the NCP off Berkeley Square, and I parked in the next street, then waited for her to emerge before following her to Rococo Union. Then I took myself to the café and sat outside, settling in for the day. My new waitress friend faltered when she spotted me before handing me a menu and bringing me a water. I ordered a sandwich at ten and tried a bite. It wasn’t unpleasant, but my stomach refused to accept it. Is Ava eating? Looking after herself? At eleven, the decorators called me to let me know they’d started and proceeded to fire a load of questions about the designs. I told them to follow the drawings. Down to every tiny detail, just follow the drawings. At eleven-thirty, I’m reminded I still haven’t paid for Ava’s wedding present when the dealership emails me again. And at noon, Rolex calls to tell me her other wedding gift is ready.
Every time the doors to Ava’s office opens, I sit up straight. Every single one of her colleagues leave and return during the morning. Then at three, she walks out. I jump up and throw a twenty on the table, following.
She goes into the car park, so I rush to collect my car and wait for her to pull out. She drives to an address in Lansdowne Crescent and goes inside a house. A client? I park down the street, my eyes lasers on the front door, and after two hours, she’s driving back to Kate’s, looking exhausted. And she hasn’t contacted me once.
Wednesday is much the same as Tuesday, except Ava looks even more tired when she emerges from Kate’s.Had I not been so stupid, I could have saved her from all this.How can she think I’m better off without her? This is excruciating. Seeing her... but remaining so far away. I stopped off at Rolex after following her back to Kate’s. Forced a smile when the staff made a big, elaborate affair of handing over Ava’s new watch. I paid on my credit card and left, unable to even force a smile.
Ava doesn’t leave the office on Thursday, so my day is even more boring, exhausting, and uneventful. I now know my waitress’s name—Bianca—and she hasn’t called the cops on me yet, so that’s a win. I also had two bites of my sandwich today. The decorators I hired for The Manor are nearly complete, which is the only surprise of my day. They’re extremely quick, perhaps because of the exorbitant amount I’m paying them.
Dan, the sleazy fucker, was leaving Kate’s when I followed Ava home. I know Sam hasn’t heard from her because he’s been at The Manor—trying to move on, as he put it. And yet he’s not ventured into the rooms and he’s been driving by Kate’s. Has he seen Dan there? I don’t know what Kate’s thinking.
Today I brave going to The Manor to face John, but before I do, and perhaps to build up my courage, I head upstairs to the extension to check our new suite. I forget how to breathe for a few seconds when I enter. Incredible. It’s everything she created. Finally. Down to every detail, they’ve nailed it. And my heart becomes even more heavy.
“Alright, mate,” the electrician says, his cockney accent thick, a screwdriver held in his mouth as he fiddles with a light switch. “Some place this, eh?” He nods to the St. Andrews cross, grinning. “Someone’s gonna ’ave some fun, eh?”
“Yeah,” I back out, wondering as I head downstairs if Ava will ever see it. I can’t consider that. It hurts too much. Hope. I have to hope.
John looks up from my desk when I enter. Then down again. I put myself in the chair opposite him, fiddling with nothing on my knee. It’s clear he’s not going to break the ice. I’ve never gone so long without speaking to him. “How are you?” I ask.
“Fine,” he grunts. “How are you?”
“Fine.”
Silence falls again, and I chew my lip, waiting for divine inspiration.
“I’m giving her space like she asked for,” I go on. What am I hoping for? Praise? Affirmation?
“I know how hard that must be for you.”
Does he? I’m not sure anyone knows how much pain I’m in right now. How lost I feel. More silence. John’s glasses are going to melt off his face soon. “Ask me,” I say, seeing the questions swirling.
“You said you thought she was pregnant.”
“I did.”
“And she’s not?”
I shake my head. “She went to the doctor’s on Monday.”
“And you know that because...?”
“I followed her there.”
“Space?”
I shrug. “No one’s perfect.”
“Fucking hell,” John breathes, rubbing his forehead. “I don’t know what to do with you anymore.” But he’s not done? “And she found out you’ve been stealing her pills?”
I nod, the shame ever present. “I truly regret it.”
“Why? Because you failed to get her pregnant?”
“No, because I didn’t consider Ava in any of my backward thinking, only myself. What I needed. What would settle me. I’m a selfish fuck, and I deserve everything coming to me.”
John sighs, not saying whether he agrees or not. “The dealership’s been emailing you.” He motions to the laptop with a limp finger. “You bought a new car?”
“A wedding present for Ava.” I pull over my laptop. “I need to transfer some money to them.” I go to my bank’s website and frown at the screen. “Any idea how to do this?” I ask, clicking through various options.
“No. Sarah dealt with the online banking.”
I sigh. Of course she did. It’s become glaringly obvious that Sarah did most things around here, and John and I are up Shit’s Creek. “I’ll call my personal bank manager,” I say, scrolling through my mobile for Juliette’s number and dialing. She doesn’t answer. Why would she? She hates me. “God damn it.” I hang up and check the email from the dealership for a number, calling them instead. “Hi, Jesse Ward. Cameron please.” I’m placed on hold and use the time to try and figure out the online banking. “Fuck it,” I curse, at a loss.
“Mr. Ward, good to hear from you.”
Yeah, I bet. He must have been wondering if I’ve bailed on the purchase. “Cameron, hi. I’m sorting the transfer today. When can you deliver?”
“If the money lands today, we can get it to you by close of play.”
“Thanks. I’ll be in touch.” I toss my phone down and get up close and personal with the screen, clicking a login button. It asks me for a customer number, password, the first, second, and tenth digits of my security code, and to have my card reader ready. “My God,” I murmur, swiping up my phone and calling Juliette Cook again. No answer again. “Bollocks.”
I persist, calling her on repeat until she finally answers on a tired, “Hello, Mr. Ward.”
“Juliette, how lovely to hear your voice.” I only know John’s rolled his eyes because of the few creases that appear on his usually smooth forehead. “I need to transfer a payment to the Range Rover dealership.”
“BACS or CHAPS.”
“Pardon me?”
“How soon does the money need to be there?”
“Today.”
“You need CHAPS.”
“Great. I’ll take CHAPS.”
She laughs. “No, Mr. Ward, you have to log on to your accounts and create a CHAPS payment.”
“I’m looking at the screen now.”
“Okay,” she says slowly, hesitantly. “Type in your customer number.”
“What’s my customer number?”
“You don’t know your customer number?”
“No.” I pull my phone down a bit, looking at John. “Do you know my customer number?”
“For fuck’s sake,” John breathes. “No. Sarah knows your customer number.”
Sarah knows everything. I expect the security digits, the password, and card details are also all logged in her brain. God damn it. “Juliette,” I say, nice as pie. “I’d be grateful if you could walk me through this.”
“Mr. Ward, I’m afraid you need your banking credentials to create a CHAPS payment.”
My jaw rolls. “You’re being difficult.”
“I’m not.” She laughs. “I can’t make payments for you.”
“Look, I’m sorry Steve joined my manor. I’m sorry he?—”
“We’re trying again.”
I freeze. “What?”
“He asked to see me a few weeks ago, and I agreed. He’s no longer a member and we’re trying to make our marriage work.”
“That’s great.” I’m stumped. Is that why he didn’t answer my call? “Would you do me a favor?”
“Mr. Ward, I can’t make a pay?—”
“No, no, something else. Will you get Steve to give me a call? Not about anything sex related,” I quickly explain, feeling John’s exasperated look on me. “It’s about work. His work. I need his help.”
“I’ll let him know.”
“And the payment?”
“You need your banking details.”
I growl under my breath. “Fine.” I hang up, smashing the lid of my laptop down. “Awkward, bitter cow.”
John laughs. This isn’t funny. I’m a multi-millionaire, and I can’t access any of my money, only my credit card and current account, and I’m quite sure I can’t pay for a car on a card. “How’s Sarah?” I ask, not liking it when John’s writing hand pauses.
He puts the pen down and levels me with a serious look. “She’s in the hospital.”
I sit back in my chair, an odd ripple of dread moving through me. “What?”
“She tried to kill herself.”
Air catches at the back of my throat as I stare at John. His face is impassive, like he just told me something inconsequential. “She what?” She threatened it, but . . .
“I checked up on her Monday night. She didn’t answer. I had to break in. I found her on the kitchen floor, wrists slashed, dozens of empty pill pots around her.” He goes back to the pad he’s writing on. “I didn’t tell you because you’ve got enough on your plate.”
And because he didn’t want me to feel guilty. I feel so guilty. Fuck, what have I done? “What hospital?” I ask, standing.
He looks up at me. “No.”
I turn and walk out, dialing Sarah, and she answers after just one ring. “What hospital are you at?”
Silence. Surprise?
“Answer the question, Sarah.”
“The Royal London,” she says, sounding as meek as I’ve ever heard her sound. “They’ve discharged me. I’m waiting for a taxi.”
“Cancel it. I’m on my way.” I hang up, looking back at John stomping after me. “She’s been discharged.”
“Then I should go.”
“I’m going.”
“For fuck’s sake,” John mutters, reluctantly backing down, holding up a bunch of keys. Sarah’s. “You’ll need these. Call me.”
I reverse my steps and take them, my emotions all over the fucking place. Guilt, hurt, anger.
Drew’s coming up the steps as I’m leaving. “Where are you going?” he asks as I pass.
“Did you know Sarah’s in the hospital?” I question, trying and failing not to sound accusing. His silence speaks volumes. “And no one thought to tell me?”
“You’ve got enough on your plate,” Sam says, appearing on the steps with John.
“No, I fucking haven’t,” I yell. “Because my wife’s walked out on me, and I’m not allowed to even try and win her back so, actually, I’ve got fuck-all on my plate to deal with because I’m giving her fucking space!” I get in my car and wheel-spin off, blinking back the anger, because of all the emotions, that one’s the most potent. For someone who supposedly loves me, Sarah doesn’t half know how to stick the fucking knife in.
Fucking woman.
I have enough deaths on my conscience.
It takesme a moment to realize it’s Sarah sitting on the wall outside the hospital. She looks small, pale, and weak. Drained. I’ve never seen her be anything but perfectly made up, tits out, shoulders back. A salacious smirk stretching her red painted lips. Today, she’s the polar opposite—her blond hair scraped back, her chest covered with a fleece hoodie, her shoulders hunched in. The sleeves are pulled over her hands. Hiding the bandages.
I get out and walk to the wall, stopping nearly toe to toe with her. Her head is low, and I can see the effort it takes for her to lift it and look up at me.This is not the Sarah I’ve known for years. She didn’t even look this pitiful when she lost her daughter. I wince away that thought, feeling more guilt.
She blinks, her blue eyes glassy. “You didn’t have to come,” she says quietly.
I press my lips together and crouch to relieve her of the strain to look up at me. Just fucking look at her. “I did,” I reply softly, knowing I could be making things so much worse, but I’m unable to stop myself from caring. Her bare, dry lips tremble as she tries to hold back her tears. I’m at a fucking loss, unsure how to navigate these murky waters. I know I won’t be increasing my chances of making amends with Ava if I help Sarah try to get back on her feet, but I don’t think I can turn my back on her. Not even after everything she’s done. I didn’t want this. I never knew it might come to this.
I reach for her arm, pushing back the material of her sleeve to reveal a bandage. “Sarah,” I breathe in despair. “What have you done to yourself?” A tear drops onto her cuff and soaks into the material.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, her voice croaky, as she pulls down the sleeves again, holding them in place with her fingers, pinning them to her palms.
“Come on,” I say, cupping her elbow and taking her weight, helping her stand, feeling her exhaustion. “Let’s get you home.”
I walk her slowly to my car and get her in, putting her bag in the boot. The drive is long and silent, and it’s only when I pull up outside her flat that I realize I’ve never been inside. Feeling inevitably on edge, I get her out and walk her slowly up the steps, letting us in with the keys John gave me.
I’m sure I can thank John that the blood and pills have been cleaned up. But it’s desolate. It’s the only word that comes to mind when I get her inside, settling her on the couch. “I’ll make tea.” I go to the kitchen and search for mugs. I find one in a cupboard with one plate, one bowl, and one glass. “Jesus,” I whisper, getting it down and going to the drawers, pulling one open after the other. All empty except for the bare minimum utensils and a few knives and forks. I lift the kettle off the stand. Empty. I go to the fridge and pull it open. There’s a pint of milk. Out of date.
I close the door and look around the room. It’s a shell. Soulless and cold. This is simply an address.
Breathing out, I rub my hands down my cheeks. This was like my apartment, my life before Ava. I knew Sarah’s life was me and The Manor, but this has knocked me.
I had sex and drink.
Sarah had her whip and The Manor.
Now I have purpose, and Sarah has nothing.
Because I took it away.
I give up on the tea and get the glass, filling it with water and taking it to her. I sit on the chair opposite, unable to stop myself from taking in this room too. Bare minimal furniture. No photos on the walls, nothing lying around—no books, blankets, or cushions. It screams loneliness.
Solitude.
I have never, not once, thought about Sarah’s life before she met Carmichael. Her family. Did she have any? Does she now? I quickly pull my wondering into line. I can’t go there. Especially not now.
“How’s Ava?” she asks.
“Let’s not talk about Ava,” I say, feeling I need to keep her separate to this.
She nods, looking down into the glass. “She looked beautiful,” she says. “On your wedding day.”
I can’t look at her, the shell of a woman before me, taking me into unknown territory. “Sarah, I don’t know what to do,” I admit.
“You must miss me,” she says, shocking me as I glance at her, full of caution. “I mean around The Manor,” she goes on. “Doing things. Working.”
I laugh, uncomfortable. “Yeah, kind of. I needed to pay for something earlier. Couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Well, because your brain stores all the information I needed to log into my accounts.”
She quickly grabs her phone and swipes, handing it to me. “Here.”
I look down at the screen and see the banking app open. She still has access to my accounts? Of course she does. Fucking hell, how stupid can I be? She could have cleaned me out and disappeared. I’m not sure if I should be more uncomfortable that she hasn’t. That’s she’s still here. After trying to take her own life. I eye her warily and take her mobile. I still have no idea what I’m looking at or what information to input. I shake my head and hand it back, slightly embarrassed.
“You could send me the details and I’ll make sure the money is sent.”
Shame on me, I take her up on her offer, forwarding the email from the dealership. She doesn’t ask any questions, just goes right ahead and sends the hundred grand in a few short, very easy minutes. “Done.” She smiles mildly. “You also have a meeting with Niles on Monday.”
“What for?”
“The new stock is being delivered.”
“Right.” New stock. New stock for my sex club. “Thanks.”
Hope seems to pour into her eyes as she looks up at me, and it makes my wariness double. “I could apologize to Ava,” she says.
“What?”
“For how I’ve been. What I’ve done. I could?—”
“What have you done?” I ask softly.
Sarah’s eyes drop to her lap, and a few beats of silence fills the room before she breaks it. “I texted her from John’s phone to get her to come to The Manor,” she says quietly. “So she could see me.” A swallow. “With you.” Intimate. Not sex, but it’s the next best thing for Sarah. Her whip goes hand in hand with sex. “I told her ex-boyfriend you’re an alcoholic and that Ava mentioned him often.”
“You told my wife’s ex that she talked about him often?” She fed him?
Sarah nods. “I know I can never have you, but I didn’t want to lose you either.”
I close my eyes and breathe calmly. “You could have destroyed something amazing for me.” Even though, in the end, it could be my actions that do the most damage.
“I know, and I’m so sorry. It’s only because of how much I care for you.”
I’m sorry too. I fucking hate what Sarah’s version of caring for me has done to my life. And yet here I am, amid my own turmoil and fears, making sure she’s okay. Because, God damn me, I care.
Five days ago, Ava said she loved me. Married me, for fuck’s sake. Said she wanted me as hers forever. Now? She hasn’t called me. I’ve given her space. I’m sorry I’ve done that. The last time I sent her away, when I was drunk and repulsively emotionally abusive, she came back. She wanted to know I was okay.
She cared.
Now? She’s not reaching out to me, not worried for me. I could be lost in vodka for all she knows. Doesn’t she care about that? I wince at the sharp pain in my heart. My wife doesn’t care anymore. So where does that leave me?
A key sliding into the lock on the front door pulls both of our attention there, and John walks in, looking tense and worried, obviously by what he might find. I didn’t call him. He looks between us. “I have to go,” I say, standing, feeling anger rising. Not because of Sarah, but because of Ava’s silence. She doesn’t care.
I walk to the door, and John moves out of my way, letting me pass. I stop on the threshold, looking back at Sarah. “Don’t ever do anything like that again, do you hear me?” It’s a low blow, but I know she’ll listen because now she knows I actually care. I just hope she doesn’t push me for more than my concern.
I leave and drop into the seat of my car, staring at the steering wheel, my fists balling, sending a shooting pain up the arm of my damaged fist. I look down at the fading blemishes and bruises. The fist that I damaged breaking free of a headboard to get to my wife because I thought she was choking. Because I care.
Taking my anger out on my Aston, I pull away fast.
My wife doesn’t care anymore.
She doesn’t care.
What the hell am I supposed to do with that?