Martyn leaned forward.
“I said,” he growled, “that I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I want to see her,” Skye persisted. “There must be photos.”
“My mother burned the lot, you know that.”
“Do I? All I know is what you told me, and I’m afraid that doesn’t hold much value, not anymore. In fact,” Skye said, putting down her empty mug and taking out her phone, “I might just call your parents now and ask them.”
“Don’t you dare,” he said, grabbing for her.
Skye was too fast and far nimbler than him. She swept her phone easily out of reach, fingers already swiping through the list of contacts. Martyn swore under his breath.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll agree to the fucking divorce, OK? Now put the phone down.”
Skye lowered her arm, catching sight of her mother’s intent expression. Martyn adjusted his shirt cuff, the movements brisk, almost challenging. His eyes were trained down, looking anywhere but at her. And she knew then. She just knew.
“Beatrice,” she murmured. “She isn’t real, is she?”
A muscle flickered in his jaw.
“I’m right, aren’t I? She doesn’t exist. She never did. You made her up.”
Even her mother paled.
“You made her up to get closer to me, to make me feel as if we had something in common.”
Martyn said nothing, though his scowl deepened.
“I knew it.” Skye rubbed her hands across her face. “I knew something wasn’t quite right.”
“I won’t fight you on the divorce,” he reiterated, spitting the words out through clenched teeth. “And you can keep this place.” He glanced around her lounge with a faint sniff, his lip curling. “I won’t try to take half of it from you, even though I’d be well within my rights.”
“Debatable,” Cassandra interrupted.
“And you’ll agree to leave me alone?” Skye said. “We can do this thing amicably?”
“That depends.” Martyn took a sip of his tea and pulled a face.
It must have gone cold, just as his heart had, somewhere along the line.
“On what?” she asked.
“The Rolex,” he said, matching her glare with his own. “Either you give it back, or I’ll fight you all the way to court. I’ll force you to give up this house. You won’t be able to stay here, with your newcommunityand your half-wit Greek boyfriend. You’ll have to move back in with your mother here, and we both know that’s the last thing you want, given how much you hate her.”
Skye began to fiddle with the frayed hem of her dress. She cast a quick look in Cassandra’s direction. Her mother’s hands had frozen mid-motion, one resting on the rim of her cup, the other curled tight in her lap. A moment later, she got swiftly to her feet and began to gather up the tray.
“Mum,” Skye began, the word clanging like a bell in the silence. But her mother had gone, cream slacks rustling as she hurried into the kitchen.
Skye turned slowly to Martyn.
“If you push this, you won’t win,” she told him, steady on the surface, though she could feel the tremor beneath.
“Won’t I?” he drawled. “You don’t have any proof of my supposed abuse,” he said. “It’ll be my word against yours, and my pockets are deeper. Or you can simply give me the watch back now, and I’ll be on my way. You’ll never have to see me again.”
“I told you,” she said with emphasis. “I don’t have it. I sold it.”
Martyn recoiled.
