Page 159 of Wife After Wife
It was as if someone had unblocked a main artery—she felt a warm glow spreading through her body.Harry wants to talk.
She allowed the idea of a reconciliation to sidle in. Since the split she’d been attempting to shut down her feelings for Harry, as the loss of his love was too painful. Now they surged back.
She replied:Can be there in an hour.
He responded immediately:See you at 2.
She gave the taxi her home address—she wanted to change into something more appealing—then rang Patti to postpone.
She let herself in and went straight to her bedroom. As she peeled off her jeans and jumper, she registered a rhythmic noise coming from the far side of her bedroom wall.
She grew still, listening. The sounds were unmistakable. It was nauseating, but why would she be surprised?
Caitlyn marched out of her bedroom and threw open the spare-room door. Frankie and Storm were naked on the bed. Storm’s eyes were open, and she was watching his face. Her own was bored. As she noticed Caitlyn, she smiled. “Frankie, you might wanna stop.”
Frankie met Caitlyn’s eyes, but he didn’t stop. “Hey, beautiful, you’re back. Wanna join in? Plenty here for two.”
Caitlyn backed out of the room, then rushed to the bathroom and threw up, again and again, until she was dry retching.
Five minutes later she was dressed and out of the house, looking for a taxi, sipping from a water bottle to try to rid herself of the foul taste.
She must focus on Harry. Maybe she’d soon be out of that “cesspit,” as he’d called it, and back in the beautiful Richmond house, with her lovely family. If only Harry would give her a second chance.
•••
As Caitlyn approached the reception desk at Rose Corp. HQ, she could feel the eyes on her. She was recognized everywhere she went now, but here the vibe was different. She was the cheating wife of their beloved king.
“I’m here to see Harry Rose,” she said to the receptionist, who was all tailored jacket and nice nails.
“Who shall I say is here?”
The woman definitely knew who she was.
“His wife.”
The receptionist’s eyes held hers for longer than was necessary, before she picked up the phone. “Tina, Mrs. Rose is here to see Harry.” There was a pause. “Yes, Caitlyn Howe.” She replaced the receiver. “Harry’s secretary will be down shortly.”
She was kept waiting for fifteen minutes, during which time those passing by did a double take, then pretended they hadn’t.
“Caitlyn.”
“Hello, Tina. How are you?”
“This way, please.” Harry’s secretary set off toward the lifts, her heels tap-tapping on the polished marble. The sound seemed loaded with disapproval.
As they waited, more people joined them—it was the end of lunchtime, and staff were returning to their offices. She felt their eyes on her, and kept hers on the descending numbers above the lift.
Finally it arrived and she moved inside, turned around.
Entering the lift was a small, stern-faced young woman. Out of the corner of her eye, Caitlyn saw the double take.
“You!” The voice was gruff, cross.
Caitlyn turned slightly and registered the disgusted expression on the woman’s face.
“You’ve got a cheek, showing your face here. What sort of a woman are you? You—”
“Shut the fuck up, Maria,” said another woman, dressed all in black, her red lipstick contrasting with her pale skin and dark hair.
