An inconvenient wife, p.8
An Inconvenient Wife, page 8
“I never know why she does anything,” he said bitterly, hesitating a second before adding, “It could be his. That might be why she wouldn’t tell me.”
Kate stepped back, away from him, as though his words were contagious. She knew who he meant. “That’s impossible,” she said. “Hank hasn’t seen Caitlyn in months. He won’t see her.” But it hadn’t been for lack of her trying. Alex’s story about how Caitlyn was unhappy about Hank’s refusal to give her more money was true. Hank had told Kate himself about Caitlyn’s persistence. Caitlyn had signed the prenup, though, so she’d signed any rights away. She should’ve known Hank wouldn’t give in. Still, she’d left voicemail after voicemail, messages at the office, at Hank’s apartment building with the concierge, the doorman. She tried to get into the offices, only to be stopped by security.
“Are you so sure?” Alex asked.
Kate considered the question. Could Hank be the father of Caitlyn’s baby? No. They hadn’t been together in a long time, and despite Alex’s insinuation, Hank had not seen Caitlyn. Kate had been on the front lines of the collapse of Hank and Caitlyn’s marriage. Hank had divorced himself from Caitlyn long before the courts made it so. But despite herself, doubts began to creep into her head. She’d been there at the beginning, too, when Hank started his affair with Caitlyn, been head over heels infatuated with her. If Caitlyn had come to him, given him any idea that she wanted him back, wanted him in her bed, he might have given in. It wasn’t as though he and Kate had had sex before their wedding.
Maybe she should’ve just had an affair with him. She had suggested that, telling him that they should get to know each other in that way first. But he insisted that it had to be marriage.
“I want to make an honest woman of you, Kate,” he’d said when he slipped the diamond on her finger. “I want you to be my wife. Share my life, share everything. I don’t want to go halfway. You deserve so much more.”
The way he’d looked at her, his desire and need for her dizzyingly attractive. She had wanted it as much as he did when he put it that way. She hadn’t needed much convincing.
Remembering, she pushed the doubts away. He’d been done with Caitlyn. He’d wanted her. “Hank can’t possibly be the father of her baby,” she told Alex.
He rolled his eyes at her. “How well do you really know your husband, Kate?” The way he asked made her wonder if he knew more than he was letting on. “Caitlyn’s naïve,” he added. “I told her he’d destroy her. He was sucking the life out of her. He threatened her, said he’d fix it so she wouldn’t be able to work anymore. But when he called her, she went. She can never say no to him. She’s not allowed to. He owns her, and she has to do what he wants. He holds all the cards.”
Before Kate realized what was happening, Alex stepped closer, trapping her against the kitchen island, pinning her arms at her sides.
“This was after you thought you’d handled the situation with me and her,” he hissed. “After you thought Caitlyn was out of the picture and he started romancing you. Priming you to be the next one. You were never in control. You know that, right? He’s going to do to you what he’s done to her. And then he’ll move on like you never even existed.”
Kate tried to twist away, but he was too strong. Her heart was pounding, and she struggled to take a breath.
“How does it feel, Kate?” he asked, his breath hot against her cheek. “How do you think she feels?”
She thought about the gun in the drawer of her bedside nightstand, but he had her trapped.
Yet as suddenly as he’d moved in, Alex let her go and took a few steps backward, his hands up in surrender, the anger dissipating. Kate rubbed her arms where he’d held them, not taking her eyes off him.
Finally, he dropped his hands and gave her a sad smile.
“They both betrayed us, Kate. There are consequences for that.”
15 CATHERINE
Catherine poured herself a cup of tea as she stood at the island in the middle of her kitchen. The shiny, dark gray granite showed every spot, every smudge. She focused on a fingerprint next to her mug. Was it hers? Was it Lourdes’s? Was it Maril’s? She remembered watching one of those crime shows on TV about how fingerprints were as individual as a person’s DNA.
She missed Maril. Her daughter had gone to Anna’s to keep tabs on what was going on with Hank—and to keep tabs on the children. The police and the media were crawling all over that property; the children needed a distraction. She didn’t hold anything against those little ones, it wasn’t the girl’s fault who her mother was. And the boy—he would never know a real mother’s touch.
Catherine carried her cup upstairs to her bedroom. It was midday, but she had the curtains drawn so the room was dark. She put the cup on her nightstand and crawled under the thick comforter, protecting her against the air conditioning. Her laptop rested on the pillow next to her, and she slid it over onto her lap, opening it to reveal photographs of Kate Parker. There weren’t as many of this one as there had been of Caitlyn Howard; Kate hadn’t been quite so publicly visible. Most of the pictures showed her with Hank or, rather, following Hank as part of his entourage.
This wasn’t healthy, searching for images of her husband’s newest wife. But it was better than giving in to her addiction down the hall. She had to maintain some self-control where that was concerned; otherwise, she might sabotage everything she’d planned so carefully.
The landline phone rang, startling her. She tensed slightly when she saw the number on the screen.
“Yes?” she asked when she answered.
“There might be a problem.”
This wasn’t what she’d expected to hear. “What?”
“It’s gone.”
Catherine’s grip tightened on the handset. “Are you sure?”
“They searched her room at the rehab center, but they didn’t find it.”
Catherine should have known something would go wrong if she didn’t handle it herself. But she couldn’t fathom the idea of stepping outside. It had been too long. It would be like Dorothy in Munchkinland after spending her whole life in Kansas. The colors would be too bright.
It had seemed to creep up over time, this desire to stay at home, the panic that struck her when she merely thought about leaving the house. It was as though the moment she stepped over the threshold she would die. Catherine knew what agoraphobia was. She’d self-diagnosed with help from the internet. Maril didn’t like it, tried to lure her out with promises of spa days, leisurely lunches, and cocktails, and even resorted to tough love, threatening psychiatrists and antidepressants. She didn’t tell Maril she already had a stash of antianxiety medications, a doctor who came to the house regularly. Anyone would do anything for a price.
“I thought you took care of this.” Catherine tried not to raise her voice, but she wasn’t successful.
“I’ll find it.”
That was more like it. “Are you sure?”
“Leave it to me. Have I ever let you down?”
Catherine replaced the handset in its cradle and settled back on her pillows, sinking into the folds.
She recalled how Caitlyn Howard had shown up here without any notice, dressed like a teenager, in a pair of torn jeans, a loose white T-shirt, her hair blazing red, piercings lining her earlobes.
“I need to talk to you,” she’d said.
Lourdes had gone for the day, and Catherine had opened the door against her better judgment. But she’d been curious why the girl was here; none of the other wives had ever visited her, and this one, in particular, was so unexpected. Maril had told Catherine about her new “stepmother,” who was fifteen years younger than she was and an actress. Catherine had found a movie that the girl had been in, not a starring role but a surprisingly good supporting one as the best friend. She’d been even younger then, maybe only thirteen or fourteen, and being Hank Tudor’s wife had certainly been the farthest thing from her mind.
Catherine had studied her for a moment. While the camera was very kind to her, the girl was possibly even more beautiful than she appeared on-screen. She had a natural grace about her, and Catherine could understand why Hank had been taken in by her. No man would have been able to resist her if she’d set her sights on him. For the first time, Catherine found herself forgiving Hank for this indiscretion. He was a man, after all, and couldn’t help himself. And surprisingly, she also found herself feeling sorry for him. This girl—woman—in front of her had broken his heart.
Catherine led her through the great room and back to the kitchen. She may have let the girl in her house, but she wasn’t going to let her think that she was important enough for any other room. Caitlyn didn’t seem to care—or notice. Catherine wondered if it was her upbringing—or perhaps she hadn’t expected more, considering. What did Hank’s wives say about her? Did they get together over a glass of wine and gossip and laugh about the woman who was still waiting for him to come back?
Caitlyn slid onto one of the chairs at the island, making herself comfortable. Catherine admired that, her moxie. And even though she didn’t approve, she didn’t admonish her, just stood in front of her, hands on her hips, and asked, “What do you want?”
“I need information,” she said.
“Information about what?”
“Hank.”
“He’s not your husband anymore.”
“The divorce isn’t final.”
“But you’ve been carrying on with that”—she didn’t quite know how to put it—“actor.”
Caitlyn rolled her eyes at her. “Hank carried on with Nan when he was with you. He carried on with Jeanne when he was with Nan. It’s only a matter of time before he ends up marrying his assistant, Kate Parker. I’m not blind, I can see what’s going on between them. Men like him have patterns.”
Her words stung, but they weren’t false.
“What do you want from me?”
“He’s going to take everything, my life, my career, and leave me with nothing. He can’t get away with that. He can’t get away with what he did to you, and while he gave Anna that house, he treats her like a fucking babysitter for those kids he doesn’t have time for.” Her tone grew sharper with each sentence, her forehead furrowing into a frown.
Catherine hadn’t had a lot of sympathy for her, but there was something oddly endearing about her anger, an anger she was not unfamiliar with. She loved Hank, but she hated him, too, for what he’d done. She would take him back in a minute, but making him suffer was never far from her mind.
Still, she resisted. “You will be better off forgetting about him. I don’t believe I can help you.”
“You mean you won’t help.” Caitlyn’s tone was accusatory, but Catherine didn’t hold that against her.
“I don’t know what you think I can do for you.”
“Don’t you want to get even with him? Don’t you want to make him as miserable as he’s made you? Don’t you want him to come crawling back to you, his tail between his legs, realizing that no one else could ever want him as much as you do?”
Everything she said was true. Catherine had thought all of those things these past years; she’d thought them—and done things that she’d believed would bring him back to her. But so far, she was still living alone in this big house. Waiting.
She admitted curiosity about what Caitlyn Howard might be suggesting. “What do you want?”
“Nan Tudor.”
Catherine’s heart skipped a beat, hoping that her expression didn’t change. “What about her?”
“She disappeared.”
Catherine had to tread lightly. Caitlyn didn’t know anything. She could never know anything. “That’s what they say.”
Caitlyn sat up straighter. “You don’t think so?”
Catherine gave a short chuckle. “She was there one day and then she wasn’t. Yes. I suppose you can say that she disappeared.”
“Do you think that Hank had anything to do with it?” Caitlyn leaned toward her, studying Catherine’s face.
Catherine tried not to react too strongly. “Of course he had something to do with it. He was seeing Jeanne. Nan knew about it, and she knew she was out. That he would divorce her. So she left.”
“But why would she leave Lizzie behind?”
That was when Catherine decided to give her the diary. It was a spontaneous decision, but a gamble worth taking. She held up her hand. “I’ve got something that might interest you,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” She made her way upstairs and unlocked the door. She passed the computer screens without a glance and went into the closet. The small built-in safe had a keypad lock. She punched in the code, and the door popped open. Reaching inside, she grabbed the book, caressing its cover before shutting the safe’s door and heading back down to the kitchen.
Caitlyn was still sitting at the island, her fingers tracing an imaginary circle on its surface.
Catherine handed the book to her.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“Read it. You might find what you’re looking for.” Hank didn’t know it existed, that secrets were laid out in black and white. She’d wondered what she should do with it, how she could use it.
“Where did you get this?” Caitlyn, her eyes wide, had asked after flipping through the pages.
Catherine waved her off. “Just take it.”
She might have suggested that Caitlyn use this against Hank. Blackmail him with it. Or maybe she didn’t. Maybe it was all the girl’s idea.
Either way, no one would be able to tie it to her.
May 15
He’s filed for a divorce. Officially. It’s about time. One thing I’ve learned being away is that absence really does make the heart grow fonder. He’s been sending me love letters, through Tom, and he’s gotten more and more lovesick as the months have gone on. He’s promising me everything: marriage, a family, a share in his business. He says he doesn’t want a prenup, that it would “sully” our deep love for each other. Tom disagrees, but Hank is being adamant. It’s all a bit heady for me to take in. I have never felt so completely loved. He is willing to sacrifice everything for me. Me.
I’ll only admit it here, but it’s incredibly empowering. He’ll do anything I ask him to, but I’m careful not to push it. I have to balance this new leverage I’ve got. I want him as much as he wants me, but I also want the life he’s offering. I want the power that being Mrs. Hank Tudor offers. I want what Catherine has—or, rather, had.
Maybe I should feel bad about her. He loved her once. I know that. And she’s been instrumental in building the business. She was kind to me when I started working for her, and treated me with a lot of respect. It was only later, when she suspected about me and Hank, that she changed her attitude toward me. Still, she only became distant and reassigned me to duties that I wasn’t sorry to give up when I quit. She was never cruel. I wondered sometimes why she didn’t fire me, but maybe she was in a little bit of denial. Or maybe she wanted to keep me close, keep an eye on things. Who knows.
But she’s not going to win this. He’s moved out of their house, bought a new penthouse in the city. He wants ME.
This is why I have to go back. It’s time to stake my claim and begin my new life.
16 ANNA
Anna kept her eye on the clock. Kate should be back by now. Joan seemed oblivious to her worry as they went about their day, cleaning the empty rooms, doing laundry. Maril was helpful by keeping the children busy. After the beach, they’d gone out for ice cream, the quiet settling over the house like a warm blanket. When their work was finally done, and with no guests to be concerned about, Joan headed to the pool to do some laps and Anna took her tea out onto the porch and settled into a wicker chair.
She glanced over at the marsh next door, and she could see the yellow crime scene tape flapping in the breeze. How could something so brutal happen so close to her home? Her inn had become a refuge—for her guests, but also for her and Joan. And the children. They felt safe here. Ted had never known anywhere else. Did Lizzie remember the brief time with Jeanne before Anna came into her life? She’d been so little when Nan left, only three, but every once in a while, she’d claim to remember her—“She smelled like flowers, Anna, really. Like the lawn right after it’s cut. She was so beautiful. She had long hair, like me, but it was brown, not red.” It was possible the memories were real.
Anna had skimmed the journal before she tucked it away, enough to see how much Nan had loved her daughter. By all rights, it belonged to Lizzie, but Anna’s instincts told her to keep it hidden for now. Lizzie was getting older, but Anna didn’t think she was old enough yet for the revelations within its pages.
She didn’t like having the diary, worried that Lizzie would discover it, but Kate said it was easier to keep it here until they could figure out what to do with it. Figure out how it made its way from Nan, who’d been missing for eight years, to Caitlyn. Had Hank known about it? That Nan had chronicled their courtship, their marriage? There was so little that he didn’t know. None of them had secrets they’d been able to keep from him—or Cromwell.
Anna took another sip of her tea. It had grown cold, but she didn’t mind. She wondered about Kate, the sixth wife, if she’d survive. Kate seemed as though she could handle him, but sometimes she was a little too cocky, a little too independent. Hank liked a woman whom he could believe was subservient, even if she wasn’t.
The sound of tires on the cobblestones made her sit up straighter. A car door slammed, and she stood and walked around to the front of the porch. Trooper Pawlik—that older officer who’d spoken privately with Hank—was already coming up the steps. Will Stafford’s second man, Murphy, was on his heels.
Anna nodded at him. “It’s fine, Murph,” she said, although it wasn’t. Not really. Hank wouldn’t like it if she talked to the trooper without either him or Tom present.
Pawlik acted as though the exchange hadn’t taken place. “If you don’t mind, Ms. Klein, I’ve got some follow-up questions.” He didn’t wait for a response, but met her at the door. She wasn’t quite sure what to say; it was clear he was going to ask his questions anyway, so she led him into the house.
