The Trophy Wife (41 page)

He hadn't been able to give his children an honest answer. There was no corner of his life that wasn't in turmoil. All he could tell them was that he and their mother would have a great deal to talk about and important decisions to make. But he did promise that the lying would stop.

Alex and Amanda had planned to stay for a few days until
Emily was back on her feet. But she had sent them back to their own lives, assuring them that she was completely capable of taking care of herself. Then she and Walter had shared a quiet dinner ordered in from an Italian restaurant and transferred from the tinfoil pans directly onto their everyday china. Walter had offered to brighten the event with a bottle of Brunello from his modest wine rack. Emily had put the meal in perspective by settling for ice water. Then Emily went back to repairing the damage the house had suffered while in the care of her husband and children, while Walter followed her about. They commented cordially about the things that had been misplaced and disorganized. But they never talked.

Walter was staring blankly at late-night television news when Emily touched him on the shoulder and announced that she was going to bed. She mentioned that she had made up another room, which was a polite way of telling him that he wasn't invited to join her.

He followed her to the foot of the stairs. “Emily?”

She broke her stride and turned back to him.

“We should talk … about … things … us. …”

She nodded. “You're right, Walter. I'll let you know when I want to talk.”

Then she continued on up to their bedroom and closed the door behind her. He heard the lock click.

Walter went to his car and used his cell phone to call Angela. It wasn't a legal precaution, because he knew his wireless calls could be traced and reported just as easily as the ones he made from a house phone. But, now, it didn't seem fair to be calling Angela from Emily's kitchen. He dialed, listened to the ringing, and then to Angela's recorded voice directing him to leave a message and promising to “get right back.” It was the same promise that he had been hearing all day.

W
ALTER DREADED HIS ARRIVAL
at the bank and the agonizing minutes that would fall like a hammer on an anvil as he waited for the board's decision. The usually chatty Omar sat stone-faced behind the wheel, not even glancing into the mirror. Did Omar already know that he was driving a hearse? Once again, the security guard made a point of being busy with critical paperwork while Walter signed in. In the elevator, everyone was too busy watching the floor lights flash to look him in the face. His outer office could have been a prison camp. When he passed Joanne's desk, he asked her to bring in his coffee.

“Sit down,” he told her when she set the cup on his desk. She did, still managing to avoid any real eye contact. “Would you look at me, please?” he said. It was a request rather than a directive. “What do you see?”

She blinked several times. “I don't know what you mean.”

“Is there a big letter L as in loser carved into my face? I only ask because I seem to have become so horrible that no one can bear to look at me.”

“I'm sorry, Mr. Childs. I'm so terribly sorry.” He knew she meant it, and not just because no one was speaking to him. She meant she knew that he was about to be axed for reasons that seemed totally incredible and she was genuinely sympathetic to his plight.

“Thank you,” Walter acknowledged.

Joanne got up and was nearly to the door when he called her. “You've probably heard a lot of nasty rumors. You're going to hear more. There's no need to defend me because some of them are undoubtedly correct. But there's one you might try to put a stop to.”

Her expression answered that she would gladly be helpful.

“I did not arrange to have my wife kidnapped. I did nothing
to harm her and did everything I could, including robbing this bank, to save her. I may be a cad. I'm not a monster.”

The chairman's message, delivered by one of the outside directors, was more merciful than it need have been. An exnavy admiral, who had been added to the board as the kind of patriotic signal that couldn't hurt in the bidding for government bonds, came to his office, asked after his wife, and then told him the verdict.

“As you'll appreciate, Walter, these events make it difficult for us here at the bank to continue placing our unquestioned confidence in you. And no victory can be won without confidence.”

Walter's eyes dropped down humbly.

“Understand, there is absolutely no animosity. We are all terribly sympathetic.”

“Thank you,” Walter managed to mumble.

“And it goes without saying that there is no thought of prosecution over the misappropriated funds. Insurance will make up any losses and we'd rather not announce to the banking world that our security isn't watertight”

That was a relief, although Walter wasn't surprised to learn that Jack Hollcroft would find loss of face much more painful than loss of funds. Discretion was an essential for survival in the banking world, and no bank could afford to admit that there were crooks in its boardroom.

“It's just that we have a bank policy to deal with exactly this kind of situation,” the admiral went on. “It's a policy that's designed to protect us all from intimidation. And in breaking that policy, you really broke a trust.”

He nodded in contrite agreement.

“We thought it might be best if you tendered your resignation. Under the circumstances, you could certainly cite personal reasons. We'll accept with regret and insist that you take your full benefits with you. Hopefully, that sort of arrangement won't limit your opportunities should you decide to get back into banking at some future date.”

Walter was truly surprised. “That's very generous of you,” he said.

Walter began drafting the resignation as soon as the admiral left. He felt relieved that it was all over and that his sentence had been so light. They could have jailed him. Instead, they were content to simply cast him out into the darkness where there was weeping and gnashing of teeth.

 

During his last limo ride home, Walter tried his best to fight back the morose thoughts. He didn't want to believe that Angela had deserted him, despite the mounting evidence that she had vanished. Hogan's investigators had opened her desk files and found them completely cleaned out of all records and correspondence. Her e-mail, which could be read from anyplace that offered telephone service, had gone unopened. Her telephone numbers continued to play her recorded voice.

Worst of all, he didn't want to believe that she had taken his money. Hogan said that there was evidence that she had gone to Zurich, but that had to be simply the most obvious suspicion of a frustrated cop. Because if that were true, then it was also quite likely that she had been after the money all along and had been playing him for a fool. He couldn't bear to think that she had never loved him. Worse was the possibility that her moments of ecstasy while locked in his embrace had been faked. He had never deluded himself that her desire for wealth and power had not been part of his appeal to her. But he had never suspected that had been his only appeal.

He fell into a black hole whenever his thoughts focused on Emily. During her terrible ordeal, when it had seemed that he might never see her again, he had longed for her. The moment he had seen her in the hospital, he knew that he certainly cared for her. But what did she feel for him? Love? Pity? Loathing? Any of the choices might be right. All of them could be wrong. Her mind was completely shut to him. They had to talk.

Even though they were driving through beautiful country on a perfect day, not a single ray of sunshine penetrated Walter's thoughts. Would he ever be able to get back into the banking fraternity or would a raised eyebrow from Jack Hollcroft condemn him forever? Could he keep the house? Walter
was nicely funded and even the fractional vesting of his pension would give him a decent income. But his lifestyle was based on expectations that had vanished from the horizon like a sinking ship when Angela had vanished with the money. A cutback—a very severe cutback—was inevitable.

When they reached his house, Omar raced around the car and opened die door. Walter started past him with his usual nod, but then realized that a personal driver was one of the perks he had forfeited. He turned back. “You may have heard, Omar…”

“I did, Mr. Childs,” the driver answered, still standing at attention with the door in his hand. “And may I say how sorry I am.” The musical accent made the words even more of a dirge. “I will certainly miss our conversations and I only hope that we will meet again.”

Walter put a grateful hand on the man's shoulders. But he didn't speak. His only thought was that if there were a next time, there was an even chance that he would be driving Omar.

He opened the front door and nearly tripped over Emily's luggage in the front hall. There were two matching suitcases, each bulging and obviously heavy to lift, and a smaller travel bag. He looked up from the luggage in time to see his wife coming down the stairs in a knee-length skirt and a dressy blouse, not her usual daytime attire.

“Hello, Walter. You're home early.” She stepped past the bags without seeming to notice them and went into the kitchen where a glass of wine was waiting for her. Walter followed silently. “Fix yourself a drink,” Emily suggested. “I'm ready to talk now, but we're a bit short of time. My car is due in twenty minutes.”

Her high heels clicked on the tiles as she crossed the family room. Walter stood paralyzed as Emily settled into a single chair on the far side of the coffee table and adjusted her skirt below her knee. Then she looked up and gave Walter her full attention. He didn't have any idea how he should begin.

“What was it you wanted to say,” she prodded.

“The luggage … are you … going away?”

“Yes. I'll send for the rest of my things once I'm settled. Hopefully, that won't take too long.”

“Where? Where are you going?”

“Right now, I'm going to stay with a friend in Savannah. Then I thought I might take a trip for a few months. I'm really not sure where I'm going to end up.”

He went to the wet bar, fixed a drink of his own, and carried it to the sofa. He sat, fidgeted with the ice cubes for a moment, and then raised his eyes to find her looking at him expectantly.

“Emily … I love you. I know I've been a fool, but I know that I love you. I'm begging your forgiveness … even though I know I don't deserve it.”

Her expression didn't change, but her voice softened a bit. “Thank you, Walter. And I do forgive you, even though I agree that you don't deserve it. Fundamentally, you're a decent man and I never want to have bad thoughts about you. I really do wish you the best.”

“Do you have to leave? If you could stay for a while. A few weeks, maybe. I'm sure we could work everything out.”

Emily shook her head slowly. “No, I don't think so. We both still have long lives ahead of us. I don't think we should spend them mourning over a dead marriage or trying to breathe some heat back into cold ashes.”

He was shocked. “A dead marriage? Dead?”

“I think that's the right word,” Emily said softly. There was no anger to her tone. If anything, her voice carried a note of sadness.

“But if you can forgive me …”

“I do forgive you, Walter. You have to believe that. But that doesn't change the fact that our marriage is over. I don't see any reason why we should go on living together like old friends sharing an apartment. I want what you want. To be married to someone.”

“But damm it, I said I was sorry, and I am.”

“I know you are and I hope you can get over it. You're not the only one who's at fault. I'm sure I did as much to wound our relationship as you did. But you're the one
who…” She raised her hand with a finger and thumb extended to simulate a pistol and then she squeezed off a shot “… shot it dead.”

His face registered his confusion. “I know I cheated on you. I was … unfaithful…”

“Is that what you think? That I'm leaving because you were … unfaithful?” She shook her head sadly. “God, but you must think I'm some kind of prig.”

Walter's voice climbed in frustration. “No! I don't think anything like that. You have every right—”

She raised a hand to silence him. “Please, just listen, Walter, because I want to make sure you understand this. I want you to know exactly why I'm leaving.”

He jumped to his feet and began pacing. “I know why you're leaving,” he told her. “You want to get back at me. To punish me. And I don't blame you. It was terrible of me …”

“Will you please sit down,” Emily ordered. “Just sit down and listen!” She waited patiently until he had lowered back into his chair. “You think I'm leaving because you're having an affair with a woman at your office.”

“That's over,” he interrupted. “I've been trying to reach her for the past few days to tell her that it's over.”

“I don't care whether it's over.”

His jaw slackened “You don't care…”

“Not any longer. I did care when I first learned about it. But I loved you, Walter. Oh, of course I was hurt, but I wasn't shocked. You're a good-looking man on the way to the top. I'd have been a fool not to realize that young, attractive, and very bright women would be attracted to you. Some of them would be just on the make. But some of them would honestly see you as the answer to their prayers. Someone that a fairy godmother had arranged for them to meet.”

He nodded his understanding. “Of course, but I shouldn't have…”

“Of course you shouldn't have let yourself be seduced. And believe me, the image of you getting it on with another woman was a bitch for me to face. I imagined that she was
startlingly beautiful and when I looked at myself in the mirror I began to think that I was an old hag. And then I saw her, Walter, and she was more beautiful than anyone could have imagined. Jesus, I couldn't even bear to look in the mirror.”