Chapter 37
‘You ought to know I am not to be trifled with.’
The next morning, I threw on sweats and took Rocky out. We were the first in line at the local café. I ordered a coffee to go and we walked down Columbus to the water’s edge.
For once, no fog. The sky was clean and blue. The Bay, graphite grey and restless, lapped against the breakwater. The only other people about were two homeless men sleeping beneath a tarp rigged between their shopping carts.
I let Rocky off his lead. He launched after the gulls, delighted.
The coffee was mellow and comforting. I took my time. The deed was done. Chase now knew I wasn’t coming back. According to Layla, what followed would be swift: negotiation, a settlement, then the slow machinery of legal dissolution.
The future I had envisaged as I went down the aisle, being a part of the gleaming mirage of the Fuller dynasty with its old money and social status, was gone.
No more dining at the club. And, no more having to be Mrs Fuller Junior.
I would not be contributing to the lineage.
I wasn’t a Mayflower wife. I was just… me again. Florence Elliot.
I sat for a long time, staring at the Bay. The water folded and unfolded, carrying secrets away on its current.
It hit me again. I was here because of chance. A moment in Thailand where our paths had crossed. I’d flown west chasing a fantasy. I thought I’d found my American Darcy. What I’d found was a coke-fuelled Wickham in a blue blazer and tasselled loafers.
A sharp gust came in off the water. Somewhere past the Golden Gate, the fog was lurking. I stood, clipped Rocky back onto his lead and headed for home.
‘Hey, Florence.’
I heard him before I saw him, just as I reached into my pocket for my keys. My stomach dropped.
He was leaning against a ‘No Parking’ sign, cigarette burning between two fingers, his face ashen, jaw twitching. His voice was syrupy, slack with chemicals. ‘So, you want out then?’
I stopped, only a few feet from the front door. ‘Yes,’ I said, trying to keep my voice calm.
Rocky spotted him and started pulling on the lead.
‘How did you find me?’
‘Oh, Florence, my little English Rose,’ he smirked. ‘I’ve known all along. I’ve got eyes everywhere. Fullers can get what they want.’ He pushed off the signpost, hands shoved into his pockets. The smile slipped into something colder as he stepped towards me.
‘Go away,’ I said. ‘The lawyers will handle it now.’
Rocky sniffed at his jeans and backed off, ears flat.
‘You thought you were clever, didn’t you? Got your little Rivertide nerds backing you up?’
‘And I imagine Candice is offering you… support.’
He blinked, reptilian. His lips thinned. ‘You won’t get a dollar out of me.’
‘That’s between the lawyers, Chase. Not you.’
His posture stiffened. Rocky began whining again, sensing the tension.
‘Not a dollar,’ he said again, stepping closer.
‘Go away! We’re done, over, finished, kaput. Go home!’ The word came out louder than I expected, almost a shout, and that was all Rocky needed. He lunged, knocking Chase straight to the ground.
I ran. Fumbled the keys, shoved the door open, dragged Rocky in and slammed it shut behind us.
Moments later Chase was trying to beat down the door. ‘You fucking dog! And you fucking bitch!’
I fled to the bedroom, locked the door, and phoned the police, arms around Rocky, heart thudding.
Finally, a police siren pierced the morning.