Page 118 of Wife After Wife
She left the room, slamming the door behind her.
Harry sat for a long time, thinking, the room growing dark around him. He came to a decision. This time, he wouldn’t try to win Ana back. He’d never felt about a woman the way he had about her, probably never would again. It had been a kind of madness, an infatuation. For the longest time he’d been unable to think about anything other than winning her. And when he had, it was glorious. But—he acknowledged the truth—over the past year or two, their relationship had become a battleground, and it was wearing him out.
Janette was a soothing balm, and he wondered again what it would be like to come home to her softness, her kindness, her love for him, every night.
If Ana wanted a divorce, this time he’d give her one.
•••
“Harry!” bellowed Andre, his arms held wide. “How good is to see my English brother looking much improvement!”
It was New Year’s Eve, and Harry was staying with Megan and Charles. He’d moved in the week after Ana discovered him with Janette.
“I’ll get the drinks,” said Megan, throwing a disapproving glance at the Russian’s back. Like Ana, she wasn’t a fan.
“Like old times,da?” said Andre.
“Indeed,” said Harry.
“But you look much pale, my friend. You are not yet recovered?”
“I can walk with a stick. Don’t worry, it won’t be long before I’m whipping your arse at the Hurlingham again.”
“Don’t be fooled,” said Charles, patting Harry on the shoulder. “He’s being incredibly brave, but it hurts, eh, my old pal?”
“I won’t lie, it’s a tad sore,” said Harry. “Doctors are being bloody stingy with the painkillers.”
“What you need?” said Andre. “I get something not on your NHS menu, you know?”
“Good lord, Andre, what are you suggesting? A snort of Colombia’s finest?”
“Nyet. Just something to help. I sort. No charge for dear friend.”
Harry wondered whether it was all bluster, although he had no doubt Andre could source the dodgiest of goods with one click of his short pudgy fingers.
“I learn, you and Ana—you have parted your ways? Is true?”
“Sadly yes. She caught me in flagrante. Again.”
“Where is this Flagrante?”
“He means bonking someone else,” said Charles. “Ana’s already filed for divorce. It won’t be pretty.”
“Cranwell’s battening down the hatches,” said Harry.
“Hm,” said Charles. “Megan tells me Ana’s gone with that lawyer who specializes in generous settlements for rich men’s wives. I hope your man’s up to the job.”
•••
A month later, Harry returned to work. The staff threw a welcome back party on his first afternoon. Janette baked one of her famous cakes, and there was champagne.
Harry knew he probably shouldn’t have either. His girth had expanded alarmingly since the accident, the result of no exercise, too much comfort food, and bloating from all the drugs. True to his word, Andre had supplied him with a mountain of painkillers, which had been an enormous help.
Members of staff hadn’t been able to hide their shock as he’d hobbled along the corridor, leaning on his stick, though they’d quickly fixed their welcoming smiles back in place. Not to worry. He was determined to get back to his old self, and the best physio in town was helping him get there. He would come off the drugs once his leg was properly healed.
On Harry’s second morning back at work, his lawyer came to see him. Harry braced himself. He didn’t enjoy the new Tom’s company one bit, but needs must. He missed his old Tom—Wolston—the steady hand who’d steered Harry’s younger self through the corporate maze. A stab of guilt jabbed him as he remembered pandering to Ana’s demands that he should replace Wolston with someone more... twisted. Wolston had been a reliable old Labrador, whereas Cranwell was a pit bull.
“Thank you, Janette,” Harry said as she showed the lawyer in. “Coffee, Tom?”
