Breaths of Suspicion by Roy Lewis Read Free Book Online Page B

with a sudden violence.
    The stone of the balustrade was cold under my hand. ‘Madam …’ I began
    She turned to face me. ‘My husband will not be at his club this evening, will he, Mr James? The meeting he attends will be of a dissolute nature, a disgraceful, immoral activity which he chooses to undertake rather than join respectable company.’
    I had no idea how I should respond, so remained silent.
    ‘For my part,’ she said in a strained tone, ‘Our marriage began in hope. I was aware of his weaknesses, indeed I was specifically warned about them. But I thought I could draw him away from such companions as Grenwood: I thought I could prevail upon him to give up lascivious pursuits. But as soon as our first child was born I saw less and less of him; a second child did nothing to draw us closer together.’ She was silent for a little while. ‘My father died two months ago.’
    ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Hilliard. I did not know.…’
    ‘He was never a man for Society. But he was a wise and careful man. He had successful investments in banking. And he loved me dearly. The settlements he made … Crosier was much disappointed . I know now he married me merely for my … prospects. The settlement disappointed him, but I imagine he still had hopes of future inheritances. But my father’s will dashed such hopes. My father’s death has left me a wealthy woman. And through trustees I can control my own destiny. My husband is unable to interfere, or get his hands on the funds available to me.’
    I shuffled, uneasy at the bitterness in her tone. But as she stared at me I felt there was an underlying tension that I found disturbing. And I could not understand why she was speaking of suchpersonal matters in this manner. Then her next words completely sank me.
    ‘I have decided that I shall leave my husband. He shall have an allowance. But I intend to be a free woman.’
    My mouth was dry. ‘I am sorry to hear of this, Mrs Hilliard. Surely, arrangements can be made for a reconciliation—’
    She shook her head. ‘It is far too late for that. I am decided. Oh, I’m aware that once I have separated from my husband invitations to evenings such as this will no longer be extended to me. Society will close its doors. It matters not. I intend to take my children and live in Paris. And I shall regard myself as a liberated woman.’
    Her eyes held mine. ‘A liberated, if occasionally
lonely
woman.’
    Now I’ve already made it clear to you that I was not a man inexperienced in dealings with the tender sex. I had not lacked for relationships with bored wives, thrill-seeking widows or good-time -hunting dollymops. And I was also aware that words between a man and a woman are not necessary in certain situations: it is as though thoughts can be communicated in the ether, intentions laid bare, offers made and accepted without being openly expressed. This was one of those moments. Marianne Hilliard had told me about the collapse of her marriage and her dislike of her drunken, dissolute husband; she had exposed her intention, the manner in which she now intended to conduct her life in future; and buried within this unexpectedly intimate confession was something else, a possibility, an invitation, unexpressed, but there nevertheless.
    It was the reason why, some hours later, I was seated in the bedroom assigned to me, with my body on fire, my eyes on the clock, waiting until the house was quiet, the last servants gone to bed, the silence settling on the creaking walls of the old house. She had said nothing direct to me, she had issued no verbal invitation, we had come to no expressed agreement, but I knew in the depths of my soul that she would be expecting me, she would be waiting there silently, in the warm darkness of her room until I came to her.
    I tell you, boy, a man experienced in the ways of women knows these things.
    So I waited quietly until at two in the dark morning. I picked up my candle and eased open the door of my