So the atmosphere of the room hadn’t escaped her spiteful eye. But naturally, she assumed Molly had brought a lover up here.
“By the way, Molly, Toby’s coming over for lunch,” she added meaningfully as she started out the door. “I thought you might want to dress.” The door shut behind her majestic figure and Molly was left alone with her hurt and humiliation.
She leaned back against the pillows, pulling the sheet up to her neck as she contemplated her future. Last night had changed her world.
Yet last night had meant nothing to him. He’d simply taken pity on the love-starved teenager who’d always worshiped him.
Except that last night he’d known perfectly well that she was no longer a teenager, and he presumed that she was far from love-starved.
Except when it came to Patrick, she always would be. Love-starved, adolescent, and bereft.
She climbed slowly out of bed. While she filled the tub she stripped the bed, hiding the stained sheets in her mammoth, empty closet. She didn’t feel like sharing last night with anyone, even Mrs. Morse or whoever did the laundry. Obviously, as far as Patrick was concerned, it hadn’t happened, and that would be her attitude as well. Things would go on as before, they would get their divorce, and then he could marry whomever he chose. After all, hadn’t she heard that men feel differently about these things? What seemed like an act of love for a woman could be merely scratching an itch for a man. His itch was thoroughly scratched after last night. And she thought that now she finally, truly hated him.
She lay in the tub and soaked for fully three quarters of an hour, trying to wash away some of the stain from last night. She should have known it would be useless. Perhaps it was better that he left. Or perhaps she was imagining all sorts of problems where none existed. But couldn’t he at least have said goodbye to her?
When she arrived in the kitchen Toby was waiting. He was silhouetted against the window, and for one, brief, joyous moment she’d thought he was Patrick. And then he turned, his light, intense eyes watching her with an odd stillness, and it was all she could do to hide her disappointment.
She greeted him with lukewarm pleasure. “How are you this morning, Toby?” At that moment she was heartily sick of the whole male half of the species.
“Afternoon,” he corrected, smiling. “I’m fine.You’re looking absolutely beautiful, Molly.”
She heard a snort from the corner, and Mrs. Morse hovered into view. “Patrick said he’d be back sometime tomorrow,” she said loudly, determined to bring the specter of Molly’s husband into the conversation before Toby could get any ideas. “He had some business to attend to, some things to check up on. He said you were to stay close to home, Molly.” The look she cast Toby was one of pure dislike, and Molly glanced at her in surprise. Toby was one of the most innocuous human beings she’d met since she’d returned to Winter’s Edge.
“Did he?” she said coolly, angry at the arrogant manner of her absent husband’s orders. “We’ll see.” She wandered over and poured herself some coffee, noting with sort of an anguished longing the unaccustomed stiffness in her hips.
“And Dr. Turner’s office called.” Mrs. Morse was determined. “The results of your tests are in. She said it wasn’t what you thought.”
“So soon?” She picked up a still warm muffin and bit into it.
“She said she wanted you to come in and see her right away.” Molly couldn’t miss the note of worry in her voice. “I told her Patrick took the Mercedes and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. The van’s out of commission.”
“I can take you,” Toby offered eagerly, and Mrs. Morse glared at him, slamming a pan down on the wooden counter.
“She said you should call her as soon as you wake up.”
“All right,” Molly agreed, strolling out of the room into Patrick’s office, trying to still the sudden spurt of fear that filled her. She had cancer, she thought dismally, or some fatally crippling disease. And for some odd reason, this was the first morning she hadn’t been sick in days. Perhaps sex agrees with me, she thought bitterly, dialing the doctor’s number. Perhaps it was a case of terminal lust.
“Mrs. Winters?” She recognized the gruff voice at the other end of the line. “I need you to come in and talk with me today. We’ve got the results of your blood tests and it’s serious. Very serious indeed.”
“Really?” Molly replied in a wooden voice. “I’m afraid I can’t make it in. My husband’s taken the only working car. You’ll have to tell me over the phone. Have I got cancer?”
“Certainly not. Perhaps Mrs. Morse could drive you in.”
“I told you I couldn’t make it,” she said, anxiety making her angry. “What’s going on? If I’m dying of some strange disease you might as well tell me. At this point I really don’t give a damn.”
Dr. Turner took a deep breath at the other end. “Mrs. Winters, has anyone else in the house been troubled with nausea recently?”
“Not that I know of. Why, is it communicable?”
“I’m afraid, Mrs. Winters, that you are suffering from arsenic poisoning.”
“What?” Molly let out a shriek, then lowered her voice to a conspirator’s whisper. “Arsenic?”
“That’s right. There can be no doubt of it. Clear traces were found in your bloodstream. Not enough to kill you, just enough to make you quite ill. And of course, over a long period of time it could prove quite dangerous.”
“I’m sure it could,” she replied numbly, sinking down in the well-worn leather chair in shock.
“I’ve notified the police, as I’m required to do in cases of this sort. In the meantime, I suggest you only eat what everyone else is eating, and preferably fix your own meals?”
