“Do you get out much when you’re here?” I prod, feeling like I’m torturing a helpless animal. But I need answers.
“No.”
“Oh. Well, I was thinking about borrowing a car—I’m sure Bastien has many—and taking a drive this afternoon. Would you like to come?”
For a moment, her eyes focus on me. There’s a flicker of anger, her mouth tightening. Then she looks away. “Don’t joke. We can’t do that.”
We?
“Why not?”
“You know damn well why not.”
I really don’t, but I’m as curious as hell. “Can’t you drive?”
“Of course I can drive.”
A fleeting promise of freedom, quickly dismissed, and the most engagement I’ve had.
Time to up the stakes.
“Your husband is an older man, isn’t he? Forty?”
“Yeah.”
“Obviously seen a lot of the world.”
“Yeah.” Her tone’s fallen again. That’s fine; I want her disarmed.
“He must’ve been…” I wait until her gaze finds me, expectant. “…married before?”
Amelia swallows, then takes a gulp of wine. “We don’t talk about it.”
I can’t imagine why not.
“Oh, I’m sure. But divorce can be for the best, you know.” I put on a brave smile for her. “After all, now he has you.”
“Yeah.”
And that’s it. No denials. No reaction. No dread at the thought of being owned by such a man. No awareness or sign that Juliette was murdered in the matrimonial bed Amelia now sleeps in.
I wonder if she knows.
“Is she still around?” I ask. “His previous wife, I mean. People sometimes stay friends, right?”
“No, she’s not around.”
You’re not wrong.
I think hard.
“Lucy mentioned you got out for lunch once or twice.”
Amelia sniffs.
“Maybe we could do lunch.” If we do, I couldspend the time pushing cocktails sticks into my eyes for entertainment.
“Sure.”
