‘I do OK, these days,’ he says.
‘Doing what?’
‘I run a company.’
‘You’ve run lots of companies and they all went under.’ I put the ring in my pocket as I notice a lull in the traffic. No more delay. I take hold of his wheelchair.
‘It’s called MHI,’ he says, enthusiastically.
‘Matthew Hollis Industries? So modest.’
‘Modelling Human Intelligence, actually. It’s an AI unicorn.’
I take a breath, set my feet in position. Better that he’s pontificating on the finer points of AI than noticing where I’m heading, although I dread to think what his last words are going to be.
‘Unicorns are a fantasy, like most of your endeavours,’ I say. He stares up at me and as he’s no longer looking ahead, I heave him forward.
‘It’s what venture capitalists call a billion-dollar start-up,’ he says.
With the wordsbillion-dollarreverberating in my ears, I pull back with all my weight, swivel the wheelchair away from the river and start a romantic walk along the Thames with my dear husband.
Part FiveRenew
The only difference between the saint and the sinner is that every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future
Oscar Wilde
Chapter75Desk
You work so hard on one marriage only for the other to come up trumps at the eleventh hour.
On the way home, my mind rumbles with glorious cannon blasts and fireworks exploding. Hollis is a billionaire. This failed entrepreneur, who couldn’t be trusted to put the toilet seat down, has built a company that’s worth real money, and he’s in love with me, even after I pushed him off the side of a mountain. Has there ever been anyone as clever or beautiful as I am? I almost want to clone myself so I can experience what it’s like to know me.
I turn off the ignition, sigh at the joy of serendipity and walk triumphantly into what is really now my former home. The lights are all off and the house, despite all the things I tried to do with it, now looks rather dreary and commonplace. You never realize you’re in the gutter until you look back down from the stars.
The house feels cold and uninhabited. Aimée is staying with Luca and Stephen has taken the children to visit Madeleine, no doubt to enable a bit of character assassination. I take off my coat and head to the kitchen. Purdy is sitting on the table. Her eyes hold me for a moment, then look away in disgust as I’ve neglected her all evening. I scratch her chin to ask forgiveness when I hear something upstairs and turn quickly.
‘Stephen?’
No response. I reach behind me and pull a small knife from the knife block. I’m going to need a new set at this rate. I walk slowly down the hallway, slip off my shoes and head upstairs. There is a single shaft of light coming from my study – where I keep my notes and to-do lists. I breathe deeply, steadying myself. I hear someone ruffling paper. The familiar creak of my Eames office chair.
I fear Josh Krill has broken in, seeking revenge, and hold the knife firmly at my side. I push open the door.
No, not Josh.
Stephen, my sometime husband, is sitting in my chair. My desk drawer has been jimmied open with a claw hammer. The wood has splintered. The private contents, including my journal and undeleted to-do lists, have been tipped onto the desktop.
‘What’s going on?’ I say. ‘I thought you were at your mother’s.’
‘We came back,’ he says, with no further explanation.
I fear that Georgie must have told him about the break-in and my threats. He picks up the claw hammer and stares at me with a strangely violent look in his eye that I’ve not seen before.
‘You don’t break into someone’s house, you fucking bitch!’ he snaps. He’s not awfully good at venom and it’s a little high-pitched, but I try not to smile. Men have fragile egos.
‘Is this about her teddy bear?’
‘Who are you?’ he says, and rises, pointing the hammer at me. ‘Who the fuck are you?’
