Chapter Nine
JILL AND TED finally arrive home and shut the door of the brownstone behind them.
They’d stayed for hours at the marina, waiting for news, accepting sympathy and drinking endless cups of hot, sweet tea in the members’ lounge.
They filled out the accident report, and changed back into their own, dried clothing.
They were informed that there was no possibility Greg could have survived, and that it was now a recovery operation.
But darkness had fallen, and the Coast Guard had not recovered Greg’s body.
The search was called off until morning light.
There was nothing more to be done. They were gently told to go home.
Ted had driven them home, neither of them speaking about what had happened, not yet.
Jill couldn’t wait to get inside, to be able to let down her guard.
Now, at last, Ted carefully locks the doors behind them and she slips into his arms, feels them go around her tightly.
She feels his lips kissing the top of her head.
Finally, she looks up at him. She almost can’t believe it. ‘We did it.’
‘We did.’
‘We were perfect,’ she says.
‘I think so.’
‘I need a drink,’ she says.
‘I’ll get some brandy.’
She follows him into the front room, where he pours them each a stiff brandy. ‘To us,’ he says, raising his glass.
She lifts her glass and repeats, ‘To us.’
They touch glasses – the clink of fine crystal sounds celebratory.
She takes a big gulp of her brandy, feeling it warm her chilled body. ‘We have to be ready,’ she says.
‘We are,’ he murmurs into her hair. ‘We’ve got this.’
Ted has never felt so close to his wife. She lies in his arms, warm beneath the duvet. They’ve done something momentous together, secured their future together. It’s brought them closer.
There are no secrets between them now; they are completely open with each other.
And it’s a relief that the deed is over and done, to no longer have to worry about relentless financial problems. Jill doesn’t see him as a failure.
Instead, she seems impressed with him. He’s a man of action, a man of nerve, one who takes risks, who goes after what he wants.
Well, yes, he is. It takes a certain kind of man to commit murder.
He hadn’t actually known this about himself before.
He likes this new, bolder version of Ted Westcott.
He also likes that he and Jill are in on this together, that nothing can ever come between them now.
He need not have feared her reaction to his idea of killing Greg; she had been right there with him all along.
They are soulmates. They have killed a man together and it has strengthened their bond.
He’s learning things about her too. He’s always known she was a strong woman, but he hadn’t known she was capable of this.
He would never have guessed. They are growing together, getting closer.
He gazes down at her; he has never been so in love.
And now they will be fabulously rich. Forty-five million dollars is a lot of money.
Of course, some of it will go to taxes. There will be probate fees, legal fees.
Greg had told him a small amount would go to charity.
But whatever, there will be plenty of money now.
He thinks about what they might spend it on.
Could life be any more perfect? ‘What’s the first thing we’ll buy, when the money comes through? ’ he asks her.
She crooks her head to look up at him. She seems to consider. ‘I’d like a holiday home in France. Something nice.’
‘Where?’
‘In the south. Maybe the Dordogne. Maybe a small chateau. Something with a pool.’
‘I like the sound of that.’
‘What about you? What do you want?’ she asks him.
He smiles at her. ‘Maybe a little sports car, to keep at our holiday home. Something nice,’ he says echoing her. ‘Maybe a convertible, a two-seater, so we can explore.’
‘Perfect,’ she agrees.
‘And I will give up my job,’ he says. He doesn’t like his job. He can’t wait to quit. He will be free. Completely free, to do whatever he wants. He has no regrets about what they’ve just done. For the first time in ages, he is happy.
She glances up at him again. ‘Are you sure? I mean, what will you do all day? I’d like to keep my job at the gallery.’
‘But you like your job,’ he points out. ‘I’ll find something else to do. Maybe do work for a charity. Volunteer for some boards.’
She nods. ‘That’s a good idea.’
He picks up the remote for the TV; it’s almost time for the late local news.
He keeps it muted while they wait; it will make the news, he’s sure of it.
The news outlets had been there, at the marina.
They’d wanted to talk to them as they were leaving.
But Jill and Ted hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone.
Greg’s name hadn’t been immediately released.
They’d kept their heads down and made their way to their car, unmolested.
They’d put their phones on silent and hadn’t taken any calls.
But soon everyone will know, and they will have to talk to people.
‘There,’ Jill says, and he presses unmute.
A male reporter is standing outside the marina in the dark, the wind tossing his hair.
‘Tragic news this evening. A sailing accident is presumed to have taken the life of wealthy New York businessman Greg Westcott. The forty-two-year-old was sailing his thirty-six-foot sailboat, Fortune Seeker, in the Atlantic about ten miles offshore from Manhattan this afternoon. Two others were on board – his brother, Ted Westcott, and his brother’s wife, Jill Westcott, both of whom survived.
An expert sailor, Greg Westcott was apparently not wearing a life jacket when he fell overboard in rough seas.
Attempts to rescue him were unsuccessful.
The Coast Guard has not yet recovered his body.
The search has been suspended and will resume at dawn.
A Coast Guard investigation into the accident is underway.
’ The coverage returns to the news anchor at the desk.
Ted turns from the television and looks at his wife. ‘We know they have to do an accident investigation. I don’t think it will amount to much.’
‘I don’t think we have anything to worry about,’ she agrees.
But neither of them falls asleep for a long time. They have taken a big step. They lie awake, their bodies coursing with adrenaline, excited about the future.