Marriage and Other Games (38 page)
And he was rather shocked she’d been having an affair with Sebastian all the time. She’d certainly hidden that well. But the paintings told the story. It was written in her eyes. Fitch felt a bit of a fool. What had he been to her? Just a useful cover? Had she left him on Christmas night to go slithering up to Withybrook Hall, once Sebastian had dropped Penny off? Poor Penny - was she a cipher as well? Had they both been used to put everyone off the scent? It wasn’t a pleasant thought.
He was cross with himself for caring about Charlotte a little bit more than he should. He couldn’t deny it. He felt immensely drawn to her. There had been that moment when there could have been something between them. He’d replayed it in his mind over and over again since Christmas, wondering how wrong of him it had been to kiss her. And whether, if he had persisted, it could have gone further. And what would have happened then?
Now he was glad it hadn’t gone any further. If it had, he’d be in rather deeper than he was now, and today’s revelation would have been even more of a shock.
He handed Nikita his money. Jade and Amber were further down the shop, filling little paper bags with sweets.
‘Jade! Amber!’ he called, and they came running up with their booty. His heart melted. They were the only girls that mattered to him, he reminded himself. They would always remain loyal to him, and he would love them unconditionally for ever. Perhaps that was it, he thought. Perhaps he should restrict his affections to his children from now on. It would certainly make life a lot simpler.
Hayley lay dreamily in bed, luxuriating in that heavenly moment after waking before you actually opened your eyes, and wondered how it could be that she had got so lucky.
The day before, she and Kirk had been to the Grove. Billed as London’s country estate, it was a five-star hotel of incredible luxury. Kirk had spent the day on the golf course, while Hayley lounged in the state-of-the-art spa. She had a blissful massage and a facial, then snoozed the rest of the afternoon away in the relaxation room - dark and womblike, it was furnished with comfortable beds separated by dark purple organza curtains, lit with flickering tea lights and scented candles. This was the life. This was exactly what she wanted. To be pampered, and luxuriate.
Why hadn’t Fitch been able to see that? It wasn’t as if he didn’t earn good money. They could easily have spent the weekends somewhere like the Grove. Her mother would have had the girls. But instead, her stubborn husband wanted to go and hunt minnows up at Landacre bridge, or just walk down to the Speckled Trout for a ploughman’s lunch, or wander round the bloody farmers’ market in Comberton, snapping up venison or peculiar-coloured cauliflowers and drooling over the cheeses. He told her she was irresponsible when she complained: as a farmer’s daughter, she should appreciate the lease of life the resurgence of the market had given them. He could be so self-righteous at times. He just didn’t understand her needs. She’d grown up in Withybrook, for heaven’s sake. She was bored to death with it all.
Whereas Kirk . . . he understood her needs. He’d given her more stimulation in the past few months than she’d ever had. He loved taking her shopping, buying her whatever she wanted. Pulling out the most amazing dresses in the most fabulous boutiques, urging her to try them on, telling her she looked gorgeous. And then buying them for her! Then sliding them off her at the end of the night. Doing things to her body she had never even dreamed about.
She slid out from between the satin sheets. She was going to go and shower off last night’s excesses. She reeked of sex, and although it turned her on, she wanted to make herself sweet-smelling for him, so they could do it all again.
She bent down to scoop her clothes up from the floor, sweeping under the bed to retrieve every last thing. As she pulled her stockings towards her, an item of clothing she didn’t recognise came with them.
It was a pair of knickers. If you could call them that. A wispy little rolled-up knot of pink ribbon and lace that had clearly been worn and hastily removed. They were tiny. Barely a size eight. She imagined some dinky little honey blonde wriggling out of them and throwing them out of his bed with abandon. She swallowed. She’d been totally naïve to think that he spent the weeks alone, saving himself for her. A man of Kirk’s appetites didn’t do abstinence.
She straddled him, sitting just above his cock. He opened his eyes and smiled.
‘Hey, baby. You got something for me?’ He caressed her flank, running his hand up to her waist, then higher, reaching out for her breast. But she pulled away.
‘I certainly have,’ she replied. ‘Shut your eyes and hold out your hand.’
She saw the flicker of lust in his expression before he obeyed. Gently she placed the offending article in his palm.
‘Now open,’ she breathed.
He frowned as he looked at her offering. She put her head to one side and smiled at him, then gave a little shrug.
‘I found them under the bed.’
He shook his head in bewilderment.
‘What am I supposed to do with these?’
‘I just wondered whose they were?’
‘Yours. Aren’t they?’
He was good. He didn’t miss a beat. She took them out of his palm and held them aloft disdainfully to show him their full size.
‘I don’t think so. Do you?’
‘They must belong to the cleaner.’
She glared down at him.
‘You must think I’m an idiot.’
Seconds later she was seeing stars, as she felt his rock-hard knuckles connect with her lip, and her teeth break the tender skin on the inside of her mouth. Metallic blood flooded onto her tongue moments before she felt the pain; a sharp, agonising explosion. She screamed at him to stop but no sound came out.
‘Don’t get arsey with me, you bitch.’ His voice was hoarse with rage. ‘I’ve spent a small fortune on you this weekend. That leaves you with no rights at all.’ He grabbed both of her arms, his fingers digging into her flesh. She tried to move but his grip was like a vice. ‘I’ve bought you, lock, stock and barrel. And I don’t answer to you. Got that?’
She nodded, terrified. She could feel her lips swelling, and she didn’t think she could speak.
‘I’m sorry,’ she blabbered. ‘I just—’
‘Well, don’t . . . just. Not ever.’
He pushed her over onto her back, pinning her down onto the bed. She shut her eyes as he entered her. He seemed excited by the violence. As he rode her he swore explicitly, his anger spilling over into his epithets. Hayley’s instinct was to fight, but she knew she stood no chance. His arms were as thick as her thighs, the muscles bulging from his workouts. He was relentless. He seemed to be lasting for ever. She prayed for him to come quickly, and tried to tense her muscles to encourage his ejaculation, but he was in another place, responding to some other stimuli.
Eventually he reached his peak with a final foul oath, and fell onto her.
‘Was that good for you?’ he asked with a malevolent smile, and she nodded, knowing that if she wanted to get out of here alive that was the only answer. He’d never let her go out looking like this. He wouldn’t want her out in public, bearing evidence that he had walloped her. If she wanted to escape, she’d have to be very careful.
She waited until he was in the shower. He always spent at least fifteen minutes in there, and he wouldn’t be able to hear her departure over the noise. She didn’t bother to pack, just pulled on her clothes from the night before, grabbed her handbag and ran down the stairs. For a terrible few moments she couldn’t find her car keys. Perhaps Kirk had hidden them? She’d have to run, out of the house, down the road as fast as she could, try and find a way to the station . . . She thought her heart was going to explode it was pounding so hard. Then suddenly she saw her key-ring poking out from underneath a tea towel. She grabbed it, hearing the shower upstairs stop. She only had moments to get away. He’d be stepping out of the shower, reaching for a towel, walking back into the bedroom.
She ran out of the front door. If he walked over to the window, he would be able to see her. With trembling hands she unlocked the door, leaped into the driving seat, and plunged the key into the ignition. Thank God the car started straight away. She turned it round quickly and headed off down the drive, then pulled up in front of the remote-control gates. There was always a hesitation before the sensor recognised there was a car there and started to activate. It was the longest few moments of her life. What if Kirk had spotted her, and had got to the panel that controlled the gate, locking her in? Would she have the nerve to use her car as a battering ram? It would be her only means of escape. She was just about to put her foot down on the accelerator when the black wrought-iron gates began to twitch and then swing open, painfully slowly. She shot out of the drive before they were fully open, spraying gravel in her wake. She imagined Kirk must have heard the screech of her tyres. She probably had three minutes on him. He’d have to get dressed, grab his keys, get to his car . . .
She got to the end of Kirk’s road. Which would be the best way to go? The quickest and most obvious route was west, towards the M25, then the M4 and M5. But if he was going to follow her, he would assume that would be the route she would take. He’d catch up with her in minutes. So she turned left, not entirely sure where she would end up, but fairly sure it was safer than being predictable. Her heart was still hammering, and she had no idea how she was able to think so clearly and logically. She eyed her petrol gauge. Nearly on empty. She’d have to stop. Oh God, what had she got herself into?
Six hours later, Hayley drove into Withybrook. She felt faint with exhaustion. Except for the petrol, she hadn’t dared stop once. Her mouth was dry with fear and lack of fluid. Her face throbbed. Her stomach was churning. As she drove up the familiar high street, she felt as if the houses on either side were reaching out to embrace her and welcome her home. She immediately felt reassured and more confident. This was her territory. Kirk couldn’t get to her here.
She pulled up outside the Old Bakery and sat in her seat for a moment. Instinct had told her not to go to her brothers. They were so reactive. They would be straight into their souped-up Astras and back up the motorway to kick Kirk’s head in. And the last thing Hayley wanted was a protracted battle. She just wanted to feel safe.
She pulled down the sun visor to look in the vanity mirror and gasped in horror at her appearance. Her lip was bloody and swollen; her right eye was completely closed. She looked almost unrecognisable. She pulled a tissue out of her handbag and tried to dab at some of the dried blood, but it wouldn’t budge. She thought about trying to cover up the damage with some foundation, but worried about infection. So she just pulled out her sunglasses and put them on, even though the day sported no sunshine.
She climbed out of the car wearily. Her body ached from the tension of driving as fast as she could, while keeping one eye on the rear-view mirror in case Kirk tried to run her off the road. She knocked tentatively on the door, racking her brains for a believable excuse for her appearance, but none of them would convince even a child, so she prayed neither Jade nor Amber answered.
Luckily Fitch opened the door. He looked at her in dismay.
‘Jesus, Hayley. What happened?’
‘Don’t let the girls see me.’
She put up her hands to cover her face. Fitch stepped to one side to let her past and pointed up the stairs.
‘Go straight up to my bedroom. I’ll make sure they don’t come up.’ It was a command that brooked no argument. He strode back into the house as Hayley obediently fled up the staircase and into the room she had once shared with Fitch. She threw herself onto the bed, curling herself up into a ball and burying her face in the pillows. She longed to pull the duvet over her and hide for ever.
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