Page 154 of Wife After Wife

“You’ve made afoolof me,” he said, slamming the table with his hand.

Her plate of toast jumped.

“Harry, I love you. It meant nothing!” She was desperate to make him understand. “It’s over. I’m so sorry.”

His face twisted in contempt. “I’m sorry too—that I ever believed in you. That I thought you might have changed from that little slut I met at Annabel’s.”

In a flash, his disgust undid all the self-belief she’d built up.

“Ihavechanged. So much. Harry, please. It’s one stupid mistake.”

“Yes,mystupid mistake, to think you were more than just another gold digger. Well, you’ve got what you wanted. You’re famous, so now you can fuck right off back to the cesspit you came from. I wish I’d never set eyes on you. Goodbye, Caitlyn.” He left the room, and she heard him climbing the stairs before a distant door slammed.

She sat in the kitchen, numb, immobile, staring at the table in front of her. The family cat, Wolsey, jumped onto her lap, and she picked him up and buried her face in his fur, and the tears came.

Eventually she stopped crying. What was she supposed to do?

The children were in the playroom, and Harry was probably shut in his study. She headed upstairs. All along the landing—or the first-floor gallery, as it was properly known—were Rose family portraits. As she passed, she sensed Harry’s venerable ancestors looking down on her disapprovingly.

She sat on the edge of their bed, staring into space again. She seemed incapable of thought. Then, her mobile rang. Automatically she answered it.

“Caitlyn?”

“Who is this?” She shouldn’t have picked up; it was probably to do with this morning’s article. But only a few people had this private number.

“Tom Cranwell, Harry’s lawyer.”

“Oh, he—”

“I’m speaking on Harry’s behalf. He’d like you to leave the house. Pack your bags, take nothing that isn’t yours, and that includes any chattels.”

Chattels?

“A car will pick you up; I’ll give you half an hour. You need to decide where it’s going to take you. Then you need to organize a lawyer. As you’ve established a successful career, thanks to Harry’s support, there will be no settlement—and you signed the prenup. However, if you agree not to speak to the press about your private life with Harry, a reasonable fee will be paid under a one-off special agreement. Is that understood?”

Blood was rushing in her ears, her heart was pounding, her palms sweating. How was she even still sitting here? She wanted to curl up on the floor or run through the house screaming. But she couldn’t move, her limbs seemed to have disconnected from her brain.

“Caitlyn?”

“Where can I go?”

“That’s not Harry’s concern. Do you have a friend in town?”

She thought. “No.”

“There must be someone?”

“Only my old boss.”

“Then I suggest you call him.”

“Her. Not all bosses are male, youwanker.”

Good. A spark. She was feeling something again.

“The car will be there in twenty-five minutes.” He hung up.

Caitlyn made a conscious effort to do something, anything, to move this nightmare forward. How could she rewind it to the dream?