Page 168 of Wife After Wife

Their salads arrived, and she continued to question him gently about his life. She should have been a psychiatrist. Most of his problems, she said, stemmed from the way he’d dealt with events in his past. And it was likely that most of his health issues were reversible.

By the time they finished their green tea, Harry felt as if he’d already taken the first steps on her program to the renewal of Harry Rose.

They exited the restaurant into bright May sunshine.

“What are you up to now, Harry?”

“Back to the grindstone, I suppose. And you?”

“I might take a walk in Regent’s Park, as it’s such a nice day. Why don’t you come with me, if you haven’t got anything important on.”

“Work-life balance?”

“Exactly.”

•••

Over the next few months, with Clare’s help, Harry managed to shed the excess weight. The pain in his leg eased, and Doc Butts said he might not need another op, after all. Physically, he was almost back to his old self. He even shaved off his beard.

He’d finally managed to withdraw from the painkillers, but once he’d kicked them, he realized how they’d been diverting his emotions, switching them like a set of points on a railway line. When he should have felt grief, the pills had switched him to anger and dark moods. When he should have felt guilt—well, that had ended up at the same destination.

Now that the drugs had relinquished their control, the emotional pain came rushing in. He was floored by grief, full of remorse and guilt, prone to self-pity.

•••

Katie died the following winter and was buried in an ancient Welsh churchyard. Harry wept by the graveside, while Maria held herself together, grim-faced.

“It’s too soon, Katie was too young,” he said to Cassandra afterward as they held each other tight. “I can’t bear it.”

So many he’d loved, gone. Their lives snuffed out before their time. Katie. Ana. Janette. Caitlyn. His mother, his father. Art. Summer and Max, his and Katie’s stillborn children. Eliza’s little brother or sister that never was.

“She was at peace,” Cassandra said, gently wiping his tears away. She fished in the pocket of her skirt. “Here. She wanted me to give you this.”

He waited until he was alone, sitting on a churchyard bench overlooking the Welsh hills Katie had loved. The tears came back as he saw the familiar looping writing.

Dearest Harry

I know I don’t have long left. The love I still feel for you means I can’t let go without some final words that I hope will protect your soul, which is more important than all those worldly things you chase after. You’ve always been led by your desires, but each time you got what you thought you wanted, it didn’t lead to happiness, did it? In fact those other women brought you only grief. For my part, I forgive it all, and am praying to God that He will too. Please continue to be a good father to Maria. Finally, remember, Harry, it’s always been you.

Your ever-loving wife

Katie

CHAPTER 51

Clare

June 2012

The Lake District was working its magic on Harry, as she’d known it would. They were staying in the house she’d grown up in, a stone manor on the fells between Kendal and Windermere. She’d inherited the property from her parents and had divided it into holiday apartments. She made far more money from their rental than she did from her nursing, and there was the added bonus of having a bolt-hole far from the Big Smoke. Clare loved London, but her inner northerner often demanded to go home.

She’d been meeting Harry regularly for lunches, dinners, and evenings at the theater for more than a year now, and had grown increasingly fond of him. She loved her job, but had been lonely in London since the death of her second husband, and found herself counting down the days until she was due to see Harry again. As well as being great company, he was no stranger to loss himself, and spending time with someone who understood was comforting.

She remembered the beautiful man with the shattered leg she’d nursed back in 2001. All these years later he was still a handsome charmer, but ill health, addiction, and personal tragedy had taken their toll. She’d helped him reverse the physical decline, but he still needed to sort his head out. She sensed many demons in there.

Recently, Harry’s stress levels had been on the rise again. He’d been upset by the death of his first wife, and at work he’d been wielding the ax, he said, lopping off parts of the Rose empire that were performing badly. Some of those were up north, and the surviving workers were threatening strike action.

He’d phoned to cancel Friday’s planned theater trip. “Sorry, Clare. There’s a rebellion up north. I have to go to Manchester to sort it out. Wish me luck. I hate going up there, it’s like another country. A horrible one where they all hate me.”