She practised walking around the bedroom in her new shoes and decided that they didn’t hurt a bit. Then she jigged around a little and decided they would be fine to dance in. And in spite of all her reservations, she felt a soaring sense of excitement to think that she might get to dance with her husband for the first time ever.
Pulling open one of the wardrobe doors which Gabe rarely used, she was relieved to find it almost empty. She could shift some of her clothes in here. She took off her shoes and bent down to place them neatly on the rack at the bottom, when she noticed the corner of a drawer protruding, spoiling the otherwise perfect symmetry of the wardrobe’s sleek interior.
She wondered what drew her eyes to the manila colour of an envelope inside, but it was enough to make her hesitate. Was that why she didn’t immediately push the drawer shut, but slowly open it as curiosity got the better of her?
She didn’t know why her heart was beating so fast, only that it was. And she didn’t know why her husband should have wedged an envelope in some random drawer when he kept all his paperwork in the bureau in his study next door. Fingers trembling, she flipped open the top of the envelope because she could see that inside there were photos. Photos of a man. A stranger, yet...
Her heart missed a beat as she pulled out another photo. This time there were two men and one she recognised instantly because it was Gabe. But of course she recognised the other man too, because his features were unmistakeable.
High, slashed cheekbones. Piercing pewter eyes and dark golden hair. She swallowed. Two men standing outside what looked like a Parisian café. One of them her husband and the other very obviously his father.
But Gabe had never met his father! He’d told her that. She remembered the way his mouth had tightened and the bitter look which had darkened his eyes as he’d said it.
The envelope slipping from her fingers, Leila slid to her knees. He had met his father. There was photographic evidence of it right in front of her eyes. He had told her that this marriage would be based on truth, but it seemed that it was based on nothing but a tissue of lies.
Lies.
She felt the acrid taste of bile rising up in her throat and in that moment she felt utter defeat, wondering how she could have been so blind. So stupid. They didn’t have love, no matter how much she wanted it—and now it seemed that they didn’t even have trust either.
But she had ignored all the signs. She had blithely done what women were so good at doing. She had refused to listen to all the things he’d told her, because it hadn’t suited her to listen. He’d told her that he didn’t do love but she had thought—arrogantly, it seemed now—that she might just be able to change his mind.
And in that showy-off way, she had decided to throw a party which he clearly had no appetite for—he’d even told her that, too. She was planning to dress up in her new, shimmery party frock and her slightly too-high grey shoes and to explode into the flower-decked wedding room of the Granchester and make as if it were all okay. As if she were just like every other bride—happy and contented and expecting a baby. But she wasn’t, was she?
Maybe she could have been that bride. Maybe she could have settled for sex and affection and companionship, without the magic ingredient of love. She knew that plenty of people were happy enough with that kind of arrangement. But not lies. Because lies were addictive, weren’t they? You told one and you might as well tell a million.
The walls felt as if they were closing in on her, even though they were made of glass. But claustrophobia was all in the mind, wasn’t it? Just like trust.
She scrabbled around and found a sweater and pulled it on, because suddenly she was shivering. Shivering as if she’d caught a violent bout of flu. She grabbed her handbag and took the elevator downstairs and the porter she’d seen on her wedding day was there.
She rarely saw him these days, because usually she was rushing past with Gabe, or because they took the elevator straight down to the underground car park. It was as much as she could do to flash him a smile, but something on her face must have alarmed him for he rose to his feet, a look of concern on his face.
‘Everything all right, Mrs Steel?’
The unfamiliar use of her married name startled her but, with an effort, Leila pinned a smile to her face. ‘I’m fine. I just want some fresh air.’
‘Are you sure? Looks like rain,’ he said doubtfully.
Yes. And it felt like rain, too. Inside her heart, it felt as if the storm had already broken.
She started walking; she didn’t know where. Somewhere. Anywhere. She didn’t really pay attention to the route she was taking. She wasn’t used to the streets of London, but she didn’t care. A reckless gloom came over her. Maybe it was best that she got used to these streets now, so that when she was living on her own she would have a better idea of the geography of the city.
The rain began to fall. Slowly at first and then harder and more relentlessly, but Leila barely felt it, even though after a few minutes she was soaked right through. During the gaps between the loud thunderclaps above her, she could hear her phone vibrating in her handbag, but she ignored it.
She walked and walked until the riverbank became unfamiliar and the houses and shops less glitzy and much closer together. She saw people with angry dogs straining at their leashes. She saw youths huddled in shop doorways sheltering from the rain, dragging cigarette smoke deep into their lungs.
She didn’t know how long she’d been walking when she found a café. Her wet hair hung in stringy rat’s tails as she sat dripping in a steamy corner and ordered a mug of strong tea. Her phone began to ring and, uninterestedly, she pulled it out. She saw that it was Alice and that she had four missed calls—three of them from Gabe.
She pressed the answer button. ‘Hello.’
‘Leila, is that you?’ Alice sounded frantic.
‘Yep. It’s me.’
‘Are you okay? Gabe’s been going out of his mind with worry. He says he hasn’t been able to get hold of you.’
Leila stared at the steam which rose from her mug like smoke from a bonfire. ‘I’m fine,’ she said tiredly. ‘I just needed some fresh air.’
‘Leila.’ Alice’s voice now dipped to soft and cautious. ‘Where are you?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘It does. You sound...strange. Let me send a car for you.’
‘No.’
‘Then at least tell me where you are,’ pleaded Alice. ‘Just to put my mind at rest.’
Wearily, Leila looked down at the laminated menu and gave the name of the café. She would leave before Alice had a chance to send anyone, which was clearly what she had in mind. But her feet were aching and she was cold. Like, really cold. As if somebody had taken her bones and turned them into ice. So she just sat there as the minutes ticked away and the chatter of the other customers seemed to be taking place in a parallel universe.
She felt hungry, too. Hungry in a way which was unfamiliar to her and she knew that this was the baby speaking to her. Finding herself unable to ignore the unfamiliar cravings of her body, she ordered a white bread sandwich stuffed with thick slices of cheese and smothered in a sharp and pungent brown chutney.
She fell on it with an instinctive greed which seemed beyond her control and that was how Gabe found her. He walked into the humble café, his face sombre and his dark golden hair so wet that it looked almost black. Raindrops were running down over the high slash of his cheekbones and for one crazy moment it looked almost as if he were crying.
But Gabe didn’t do tears, she reminded herself. Gabe didn’t do emotions because he didn’t feel. Gabe’s hurt and pain had made him immune from the stuff which afflicted normal human hearts, like hers.
He walked