Page 104 of The Devil's Pawn

Neither Alexander nor Nicholas will be best pleased if they know she helped me sneak off the Oakleigh estate.Although, since Alexander served me with divorce papers, he doesn’t have a say in where I go or what I do any longer.

I could murder him for being so stupid. If I manage to figure out, with Lilian’s help, what prompted him to serve those papers to me, I’m going to slap him about the head with them. Except, I tore them into tiny pieces.

Whatever. I’ll find something else to hit him with. A hockey stick, maybe.

I feel the car slow and then stop. Vicky shouts something, but I can’t make it out, then we’re moving again. It’s not long afterward when she stops again and the trunk opens.

“Out you get.” Vicky lends me a hand. “Ooh, I feel like such a rebel. I’ve helped the princess escape from the Devil.”

I dust myself off. “I hope you don’t get into trouble over this.”

“Pah.” She slices her hand through the air. “That family might think they’re all that, but they don’t scare me.”

Vicky turns up the music, and we sing along to the radio. She doesn’t ask me anything about where we’re going or why. I tell her to take me to Hampstead Heath, where Lilian’s office is located. The traffic is light, and we make it into London within an hour. It takes a further thirty minutes to drive north of the river, but eventually, Vicky stops the car outside a pretty flower shop on the main thoroughfare through the town.

“This good?”

“Perfect.” I take my cell out of my purse and hand it to her. “Can you take this for me and drive out of the area?”

She catches on fast. “Afraid Alexander can track you?”

“Oh, I know he can track me. He’s made no secret of the tracker he put on my phone.”

For the first time since she picked me up, shelooks unsure. “For good reason. I think you should take it. Just in case.”

“In case of what? It’s broad daylight, and I’m not going far.”

“Then, let me take you wherever it is you’re going and wait outside.”

I shake my head. “If Alexander does track me, I don’t want him to know my precise location. I have my reasons. Please, Vicky.”

It takes a few seconds until she relents. “Fine, but I’ll be right here in an hour. If you arrive early, go into that coffee shop over there. Don’t hang around on the street.”

“I promise.” I think it’s overkill, proven when I get out and close the door, and not a single soul pays any attention to me.

I wave, then set off toward Lilian’s office.

A bronze plaque reads: Lilian Hay (MA Hons MBACP Sn Accred). That’s a lot of letters to have after someone’s name, and I haven’t a clue what they mean, but she sounds important. I lift the gold knocker and rap once. I don’t have to wait long for the lock to turn. The door opens, and a woman in her mid-fifties stands on the other side, her dark hair cut into a short bob. She has the kind of no nonsense yet compassionate face. I can see immediately why she’s a therapist.

“Hello, Imogen.”

“Lilian. Thank you for seeing me.”

She stands back, waiting for me to enter, then closes the door behind me. “I really shouldn’t be, and like I said to you on the phone, if you’re expecting me to share anything that Alexander and I talk about in our sessions, I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted trip.”

“I understand completely. I’d never ask you to break any confidences, but, Lilian, I’m so confused. All I need is to externally process what’s happened, and maybe that will help me figure out what went wrong.”

I brief her on what happened, from how loving he was on Wednesday to his sudden production of divorce papers and his retreat from me. Lilian lets me talk, occasionally nodding, but I get the feeling I’m not telling her anything she doesn’t already know. By the time I get to the part where I ripped up the divorce papers and left them for Alexander to find, I’m exhausted, and even more pissed off with him.

“I don’t understand what could have changed in such a short space of time.” I rub my forehead. “Without sharing anything you’re not supposed to, if you were me, what would you do?”

She leans forward, her palms flat on her desk. “If I were you, I’d keep pushing him to talk. I can’t advise you any more than that. But what I will say is that man loves you. Don't give up on him. He'll tell you eventually.”

“Will he?”

“I’m sure of it. He’s…” She grimaces as if she wants to say something, but isn’t sure whether she’d be stepping over the line. “Just talk to him. Don’t let him control the narrative or push you away. He loves to try to do that. It’s an avoidance technique, one he has mastered.”

“Okay, thank you.”

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