“Oh! Printed? Old-school. Which one?”
For god’s sake.
“Jess Williams.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Oh god.”
And that’s the end of that, at least, her attention firmly on her screen again. I fire up my own laptop, forcing myself to wait a couple of minutes before slipping the letter into my bag in a way that I hope is surreptitious. The rest of the afternoon is ruined, my thoughts preoccupied with Will. From my desk, I can see into James’s office, see him hunched over his computer. I want him to look up, try to catch my eye like he used to when we’d just started connecting. I want him to notice something’s wrong, pull me into a conference room, pull me into a hug, tell me everything’s going to be okay. But he’s more distant from me than he’s ever been.
As for Will, proving he had copies by sending them to my home was one thing, but calling up the office? Sending copies here? That’s unconscionable. Even for him. It’s clear he’s trying to scare me, but all he’s succeeded in doing is firing me up. This simply can’t continue.
The rational part of my brain advises caution, wants me to think things through. But I’m tired of thinking and waiting. Tired of hoping James will somehow fix things.
I quietly slip away from my desk, phone in hand. Outside, I dial James’s number once. No answer. I try again. More of the same. On the third attempt, he picks up.
“Is everything okay? I’m about to go into a meeting, so if it can—”
“I’m outside. Can you spare five minutes to just come talk to me?”
“Nat…”
“Please.”
“This meeting’s important. If anyone else in the office asked, I’d give them the same answer. I promised no special treatment.”
“James, I’m your wife.”
“Nat, please. Can you just tell me what it is?”
I’m frustrated, but James’s unwavering sense of fairness is not going to let him budge on this.
“He’s sent copies of the letters to the office.”
A beat. “What?”
“Will. And he called. I came back from lunch and…Jesus, James, he bloody called the office phone and Molly picked up. He told her my time’s running out, whatever that means. Has something happened? Why is he doing this?”
“Shit.”
That’s a “shit” pregnant with meaning.
“What is it, James?”
He’s silent.
“James!”
“God, I didn’t think he would— Bloody hell.”
“James.” A “James” pregnant with warning.
“I sent him the money, but I was a little short. Just a few hundred pounds.”
“James…”
His voice is pained. “I know.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me?”
