Free The Guilty Wife by Sally Wentworth Page A

just two more days. Coming home after taking Sam to his nursery class, she picked the post up from the mat and found a letter addressed to herself, the address handwritten. There were other letters so she got herself a coffee and went into the garden to read them hi the sun. The handwritten letter was quite short. It said:
    Why bother to change your phone number, Lucie? You should know I'll always find you. Remember the last time we met? In court? I'll never forget it—and I'D make sure you don't either. She should have realised that he would find out her address. With trembling hands Lucie put the letter back into the envelope. The address was clearly and accurately written. He had found out the number of the house as well as the name of the street, and it had been posted two days ago.
    Going inside, Lucie put the letter in the empty grate and burnt it, pushing the poker viciously into the embers. Now what was she going to do? But there was only one thing she could do, and that was ignore it. Sensibly, Lucie told herself that if Rick got no satisfaction from baiting her then he would eventually give up and leave her alone. She tried very hard to convince herself of that, but she began to dread picking up the post or answering the doorbell as she waited with inner terror for the next communication.
    But for the next two days there was nothing. Everything was back to normal and Lucie began to feel a little more confident and to look forward to Seton's coming home for the weekend. She was giving a dinner party on Saturday night for some members of the local selection committee—a sort of thank-you for having chosen Seton—so on Friday she was busy shopping and preparing, as well as looking after Sam and sprucing up the house. The phone in Seton's study gave a couple of rings, then stopped, and she knew it was a fax coming through on its dedicated line. Lucie finished the pavlova she was making, pleased with the way it had turned out, popped it in the fridge, then washed her hands and went to look at what had come through. She tore the sheet off the fax machine, read it, and nearly died. 'Don't think you can escape me. I'll always be able to reach you. By the way, I like your car.'
    When Seton came home hi the early evening Lucie tried to pretend that nothing had happened, that her nerves weren't shot to pieces, but she was unable to hide it completely, and after kissing her Seton looked at her hi concern.
    'That wasn't much of a kiss! Is anything the matter?'
    'It's been a hectic day, that's all, and I've got a bit of a headache. Do you think you could give Sam his bath while I get dinner?'
    'Bath this brat?' Seton swung Sam under his arm, the boy giving a shriek of pleasure. 'I suppose I could manage that.'
    He took him upstairs and by the time he came down an hour later, after putting Sam to bed, Lucie had dinner all ready. Usually this time was very precious, when they caught up on all the news while he'd been away, when they would talk and laugh across the table, pledging then-love for each other hi every glance, in every smile. But tonight, when they sat opposite each other, Lucie felt almost like a stranger. The terrible secret she was hiding somehow set her apart, and she found it difficult even to talk naturally. She managed to ask him how his week had gone, and Seton began to tell her about the hotel where he'd stayed with a couple of other barristers, two of whom Lucie knew. 'Peter Brent has invited us to join them for a weekend at then: cottage in Wales,' he told her. 'Evidently there's a lake nearby where they go sailing. It sounds fun. What do you think?'
    But Lucie was gazing down at her plate, her fork poised over it, and her thoughts right here instead of in Wales.
    'Lucie?' Seton leaned forward and touched her hand. 'Hey, come back to me.'
    'What? Oh, sorry.' Lucie managed to laugh. 'I was miles away.'
    'So I noticed. What were you thinking about?'
    She hastily invented an excuse.
    'The—er—the dinner