The Token Wife. Sara Craven

and departed.

      Louise looked at the tray, with its snowy lace cloth and the pretty flowered crockery. Another act of kindness, she thought, amid the personal desolation that was beginning to tear at her. But, again, from the wrong person. She did not want Alex Fabian’s kindness. She could not bear the thought of it.

      She went on staring until the outlines of cup, saucer, jug and teapot lost their separate shapes, and became oddly blurred. Until the first scalding, agonised tears began to sear their way down her face, falling faster and faster.

      She began to sob, making small, desperate, uncontrollable noises, pressing her hands over her eyes so that the salty drops squeezed through her fingers. She could feel grief burn in her throat, and taste it on her icy lips.

      At some moment, still weeping, she stripped off the skirt and top and threw them across the room, shuddering as if they were rank—rancid. Knowing she never wanted to see them again as long as she lived.

      She went to the wardrobe, dragged out a pair of black jeans and a round-necked sweater in fine grey wool, and pulled them onto her body.

      She found her soft leather travel bag, and began hurriedly to fill it with underwear, more trousers and casual tops, flat shoes.

      Escape, she thought, the word echoing like a mantra in her brain. Escape…

      But where could she go?

      There was Somerset, she thought. She could stay with her aunt and uncle, and find kindness with them. Use their farm as a sanctuary while she tried to decide what she could do with the rest of her life.

      On her way downstairs, she paused outside the main bedroom and tapped on the door.

      Her father opened it. ‘What is it?’ He looked at her bag. ‘Is it Ellie? Has she come back?’

      ‘No,’ she said, wincing. ‘That’s—not going to happen, Dad. But I’m going away for a while.’

      ‘But she must come back,’ he said. He looked past her. ‘You don’t realise how serious all this is. It was part of the deal with Fabian, and he’s walked out on us. We need that injection of capital, or the business could go under. We could lose everything.’

      Lou stared at the man in front of her, and wondered when he had first become a stranger.

      She said, ‘I think you already have lost everything. At least everything that matters.’ She paused. ‘I’ll be in touch—some time.’

      She went out of the cottage the back way, feeling fresh tears springing up as she realised how much of her life she was leaving behind. Yet knowing at the same time that she had no other choice.

      She’d expected—hoped—maybe even prayed that Alex Fabian would be long gone. But there was to be no respite for her on this merciless day.

      Because, as she came out into the yard, he was there, loading his own bag into the boot of his car.

      She checked instantly, wondering if she could duck back into the house before he saw her. But it was too late.

      He was already straightening, turning to look at her, the green eyes curiously intent.

      ‘So there you are,’ he said softly. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’