His Other Lover by Lucy Dawson Read Free Book Online

away.
    I scrolled back to the list again and then I noticed what times Liz had texted him: 1:20 in the morning and 11:45 at night.
    Hardly the time to be talking shop.
    I took a couple of deep breaths and tried to calm myself down. There would be a logical explanation, a good reason for some woman to be texting my boyfriend late at night.
    But at the same time, as I stood there holding Pete’s phone, I got a rush of pictures of him in my head. All the times I’d seen him with his mobile lately—just finishing a call, snapping it shut, throwing it casually on the bed as I came into the bedroom, checking it as I came out of the bathroom in the hotel…
    A small ripple of fear coursed through me and I started to feel dizzy and sick, the same nausea as when you realize you’ve got way too drunk and you don’t want to be any more; the room is spinning and you’d give anything not to be feeling so foul and out of control.
    Acid started to gurgle in my gut. I took some deep breaths and tried to think rationally and calmly. Don’t jump to stupid conclusions, I told myself.
    I looked again at the texts. After all, that one could just be her running late for a meeting with Pete to talk business, couldn’t it? And she was probably one of those addicted-to-her job types who worked into the night, hence why they were sent so late.
    But that didn’t explain what had been very sweet of him, and “night night?” It was so familiar, relaxed and suggested such intimacy. Something was very wrong.
    I went back into his outbox, his sent texts. There were a lot, but I soon saw what I was looking for: To Liz, sent at two in the afternoon:
    What u up to? can talk now if you like.
    I felt a wash of relief when I realized he hadn’t put any kisses. I scanned furiously up and down the rest of the list, but there was nothing else. That was the only text to her.
    I went to his call list. Nothing at all. No incoming or outgoing. The relief started to ebb away…for a man who spent so much time on the phone, why was it all clear? What did he have to hide?
    I stared so hard at the screen that her name started to swim in front of my eyes. I needed more information.
    Phone bills. That was what I needed. His phone bills. I grabbed a pen and scribbled her number down on the inside of my hand. Then I had to decide what to do with the new message…I couldn’t leave it, he’d know I’d seen it. I clicked delete and it silently vanished without trace.
    I plugged the phone back in and quietly began to creep upstairs. Having tiptoed past our bedroom, I listened carefully for any letup in his snoring and then opened the door to his office. Slowly, I pushed it shut until it clicked gently behind me. Then I switched the light on, took a deep breath and began to look around.

SIX
    T he small room was an absolute tip. His drawing board was covered in sheets, the bin overflowing with balled-up bits of paper. Books were spilling out of shelves, half-full cups of coffee were glued with sticky bottoms to piles of files and as for the desk, it was a total mess. The curtains were half open so the darkness could nose in. I made myself jump when I looked up to see my reflection staring guiltily back at me in the glass.
    Pulling the curtains shut I looked around disbelievingly. It was far from the room of someone with an uncluttered mind, that was certain. More like walking into a teenage boy’s pit of a bedroom, or the lab of a mad professor. How the hell, I thought as I stepped over a pile of magazines on the floor, was I going to find anything ?
    I sat down gingerly at the desk and started to leaf through a pile of loose papers, but they slid through my fingers and cascaded on to the floor in a slippery mess, making what sounded to me like a huge noise. I froze and held my breath…but there were no resulting footsteps across the landing, no opening doorand no accusative Pete standing there saying, “What the hell are you doing?”
    And what was I doing? I knew