Page 173 of Wife After Wife

“Wouldn’t exactly be the first time. Isn’t that what investigative journalism’s all about?”

“OK, let’s put it more bluntly. That hot water, if it were used to make a cup of tea, could see you on a slab in the mortuary following an inexplicable poisoning incident.”

“Like Ana, you mean.”

Harry felt the blood draining from his face. “Howdareyou. What sort of crass comment is that?”

“Sorry. I’ve just always found it weird, you know? Forget I ever said that. I’ll go back to my cave.” She headed for the door.

“Terri.” His tone was icy.

She turned and met his eye.

“Kill the interview. I don’t want you anywhere near that man.”

Terri

It was a high-risk strategy, but it had worked. The look on Harry’s face had got her further than all those dead-end leads she’d followed since Percy had shared his conspiracy theory with her.

The coroner’s report, hospital records, and eyewitness accounts had led nowhere. A bacterial infection in a wound had caused toxic shock syndrome. Highly unusual, but it happened.

The last person who saw Ana alive was the office cleaner. The police had attempted to track him down, but he’d left the company, whose questionable employment practices didn’t include checking immigrants’ papers. The police felt his disappearance was more likely due to a fear of the authorities rather than any connection to Ana’s death.

Nobody in the office remembered her injuring herself on the guillotine. But apparently it didn’t need to have been an obvious wound. Small but deep would have been enough, like a slip of the bread knife.

And there it had dried up. Until Harry had sacked that odious creep Cranwell for sexual harassment. Tom was bitter, and only too happy to share his thoughts on Harry Rose with Terri. Yes, of course a journalist protects her sources, she’d said.

He’d told her Ana had demanded half of Harry’s assets, which had mostly been tied up in Rose and were security for sizable Russian investment into the company. And about a meeting with Caitlyn Howe, thattragic girl Harry had married after Janette. There had been an attempt at blackmail by her lover, who’d claimed he had evidence that Harry’s relationship with Caitlyn had begun years ago, when she was only fifteen. It had been a lie, apparently, but the interesting part was that front and center in the photo the boyfriend had provided as evidence was Andre Sokolov. Harry had apparently told Caitlyn that while he wasn’t worried about the blackmail attempt, Sokolov might not be so unconcerned. There had been a death threat—Cranwell had heard it with his own ears.

Terri opened up her wallet and pulled out a photo of herself with Ana, taken outside a Covent Garden café. “I haven’t forgotten you,” she whispered. “It’s not over yet.”

She propped the picture up against her computer. In spite of Cranwell’s revelations, her investigations had continued to lead nowhere. But Terri wasn’t one to give up. She’d decided to say something to Harry about her suspicions and gauge his reaction. This morning, she’d had the opportunity.

Harry’s face had said it all. His ruddy cheeks had paled; he looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

What had Harry done? And what was she going to do about it?

Harry

Obviously he couldn’t sack Terri. God, but she was clever. He remembered back to the reasons he’d employed her in the first place. He’d wanted to keep his enemy close. She’d always known too much. Now, it seemed she’d made the connection between Ana’s death and Andre.

Nothing could be proved. Andre would never confess, and there was no one else. And of course, Harry had never meant for it to happen. His failure had been in not recognizing Andre’s intent.

All he could do was get on with life and hope Terri let it go. Why would she want to bring him down?

He turned his mind to pleasanter things. Clare had moved in, butthey still weren’t married. He’d proposed to her (again) last weekend, and although she’d refused him (again), he knew he was wearing her down. His children loved her, even Maria, and Clare was properly part of the family now. Charles and Megan approved too. Well, who wouldn’t? Clare was intelligent, sensible, fun.

“Is she superstitious?” Charles had asked, after Harry confided he’d been turned down yet again.

“Not that I know of. Why?”

“The curse of Harry Rose’s wives. Might be safer to remain Ms. Barr.”

Harry had considered the comment to be in spectacularly bad taste.

Terri

July 2016