Page 163 of Wife After Wife
Dirty old river... people so busy... The old Kinks song was one of her favorites.
London. It had sucked her in, made her a queen, then chewed her up and spat her out. Florence had been wrong—she wasn’t a survivor.
She waited until the crowds thinned, before climbing over, letting go.
CHAPTER 49
Harry
The top floor was abuzz with preparations for that night’s reception. Caterers were setting up tables, the PR people were arranging information packs and name badges.
Plans for the new Rose building had finally been signed off. Harry was peeved that the Shard just up the riverbank had a head start, but they weren’t far behind.
The building would be shaped like an unfurling rose, with the outer petals open to the sky. Inside, offices would radiate out from a central atrium where light would flood down to a rose garden. Rose Corp. would occupy roughly a quarter of the office space, and there would be public areas—a café with sweeping views of the Thames, and an art gallery. A scale model would be the centerpiece of tonight’s function.
Harry slammed his office door against the noise. He should have been looking forward to tonight—he was creating a legacy for himself and an icon for his beloved city. But yet again, a woman was messing with his head.
He tried to focus on the spreadsheet in front of him, but Caitlyn’s face pushed its way into his mind again. He couldn’t forget the look in her eyes, how the hope in them had turned to anguish as he’d blanked her.
She’d walked into the boardroom looking like a little girl lost. Thesparkle of recent months had faded, revealing the vulnerable girl beneath. And when he’d realized she thought there might be a reconciliation, he’d bled inside. The children were missing her terribly. As was he.
But the blackmail attempt by her “ex” had confirmed the truth—that he’d been taken for a ride. Caitlyn’s betrayals had made him feel like a middle-aged fool.
He’d needed to mine that fury to remain strong yesterday. There could be no way back for them.
Harry was hurting badly, inside and out. He couldn’t sleep from the stress of it all, and his leg was playing up. He’d upped the pills again. Pills to sleep, pills to stop the hurting, pills to perform in bed, pills simply to function. How was he ever supposed to give them up?
His phone buzzed. He ignored it. He’d told Tina he didn’t want to be disturbed—what part of that was so hard to understand?
It buzzed again.
He slammed his hand on his desk and looked up, ready to mime slitting his throat. But through the doors he saw two police officers.
For god’s sake. Could Cranwell not deal with the whole blackmail issue without dragging him into it? He paid the man enough.
There was a tap on the door. He ignored it, but it opened and Tina’s face peered around. “Sorry to disturb you, Harry. The police would like a word.”
“Can’t someone else talk to them?” he snapped.
“Sorry, they say it needs to be you.”
She showed them in and left the room.
He didn’t offer them a seat. “I take it this is about Caitlyn and her... associate?”
“I’m afraid it does concern your wife, Mr. Rose,” said the male officer. “But there’s no one else involved, as far as we know.” He looked at the female officer.
“Mr. Rose,” she began, “I’m very sorry to tell you that a body was found in the Thames this morning. We believe it’s your wife.”
Pain shot through his leg. “In the Thames? What do you mean, a body?”
As the officer’s words sunk in, the room seemed to tilt.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Rose. She’d been dead several hours by the time she was found.”
The policewoman’s voice seemed to be coming from far away.
“Early indications are that she jumped from a bridge. We’ll be able to give you more information when our investigation is properly underway. We’ll need you to formally identify her. As her next of kin—”
