warn her that someone in her inner circle was in Oliver’s pay, planning to doctor her food so that it looked as if she’d taken an accidental overdose.
And I believed every word. I know that Oliver was capable of doing it.
I may not be able to be with my children as they grow up and have children of their own. But at least I’ll be alive to see them from a distance.
Wordlessly, she picked up the teacup and sipped the sweetened mint tea, staring out over the waves below.
Living with Oliver gave me two near-breakdowns, sent me onto antidepressants and to therapists I couldn’t confide in properly, because I was absolutely forbidden from telling the truth about the future King of Britain.
But when I divorced him, I realized I was in more danger than ever.
She turned to look at Rahim, seeing the concern in his dark eyes as he gazed at her. He had always believed her, had loved her for years. Had intuited that the reason she was so nervous, so twitchy, wasn’t that she was a neurotic prescription-pill addict, the rumour that Oliver’s camp had so gleefully spread about her. Rahim was the only one who had ever loved her for herself. All the other men who had courted her had been attracted not just by her looks and her status, but by the reputation for instability that had grown around her.
Men love crazy women,
she thought ironically.
Just like women love bad boys. I was guilty of that too. I thought Oliver was a bad boy, a wild prince, who was settling down finally, because he’d fallen in love for the first time. I bought into that whole idiotic, romance-novel, Mills and Boon story that Oliver was selling me. I thought I was The One. I had no idea at all that I could never have been what Oliver wanted, or needed . . .
The slowly dawning realization that Oliver had married her for all the wrong reasons – while still expecting her to play the perfect wife and mother, not just in public but to his family – had sent Belinda into a terrible downward spiral. She
had
become reliant on antidepressants, but never as much as Oliver’s spinners had elatedly whispered to the press. She
had
been close to breakdown, but she had never tipped over the edge, as they had said. And she had resisted the temptation to sleep with Rahim until she had been officially divorced. Bad enough that Oliver had not even been faithful to her for twenty-four hours; she had learned from the same aide who had warned her about the murder attempt that Oliver had cheated on her the night of their wedding. She wasn’t going to sink to his level, even if she had every justification.
And Rahim had waited patiently for her. He was the man she had thought Oliver was when, as a naïve eighteen-year-old, she had walked down the aisle of Westminster Abbey to become Oliver’s bride.
Well, first she had turned her back on the prospect of one day becoming Queen, and now she had rejected, too, the social status of being a princess. She had given up so much, but she was alive and safe, where Oliver’s plotting couldn’t reach.
‘I would never have said a word about him,’ she said, setting the cup back on the table, still gazing at Rahim. ‘Not a
word
. For the sake of our children, if nothing else. But Oliver was too paranoid to believe me. If I go back, he’ll have me killed.’
She swallowed hard.
‘Then I won’t try to persuade you to go back any more.’ Rahim reached out and took her hand. His skin was soft; he moisturized with almond oil night and morning.
Belinda felt her throat close up. Now that she had lost the last sliver of opportunity to turn back, to be persuaded by Rahim to do so, it was the moment at which she truly absorbed how her life had changed for ever. She would never hold her children again, never see Hugo and Sophie grow into adults. Never see them smile up at her, run to her, wrap their arms around her legs and hold on for dear life, call her Mummy. There had been complications at Sophie’s birth; Belinda would never
And I believed every word. I know that Oliver was capable of doing it.
I may not be able to be with my children as they grow up and have children of their own. But at least I’ll be alive to see them from a distance.
Wordlessly, she picked up the teacup and sipped the sweetened mint tea, staring out over the waves below.
Living with Oliver gave me two near-breakdowns, sent me onto antidepressants and to therapists I couldn’t confide in properly, because I was absolutely forbidden from telling the truth about the future King of Britain.
But when I divorced him, I realized I was in more danger than ever.
She turned to look at Rahim, seeing the concern in his dark eyes as he gazed at her. He had always believed her, had loved her for years. Had intuited that the reason she was so nervous, so twitchy, wasn’t that she was a neurotic prescription-pill addict, the rumour that Oliver’s camp had so gleefully spread about her. Rahim was the only one who had ever loved her for herself. All the other men who had courted her had been attracted not just by her looks and her status, but by the reputation for instability that had grown around her.
Men love crazy women,
she thought ironically.
Just like women love bad boys. I was guilty of that too. I thought Oliver was a bad boy, a wild prince, who was settling down finally, because he’d fallen in love for the first time. I bought into that whole idiotic, romance-novel, Mills and Boon story that Oliver was selling me. I thought I was The One. I had no idea at all that I could never have been what Oliver wanted, or needed . . .
The slowly dawning realization that Oliver had married her for all the wrong reasons – while still expecting her to play the perfect wife and mother, not just in public but to his family – had sent Belinda into a terrible downward spiral. She
had
become reliant on antidepressants, but never as much as Oliver’s spinners had elatedly whispered to the press. She
had
been close to breakdown, but she had never tipped over the edge, as they had said. And she had resisted the temptation to sleep with Rahim until she had been officially divorced. Bad enough that Oliver had not even been faithful to her for twenty-four hours; she had learned from the same aide who had warned her about the murder attempt that Oliver had cheated on her the night of their wedding. She wasn’t going to sink to his level, even if she had every justification.
And Rahim had waited patiently for her. He was the man she had thought Oliver was when, as a naïve eighteen-year-old, she had walked down the aisle of Westminster Abbey to become Oliver’s bride.
Well, first she had turned her back on the prospect of one day becoming Queen, and now she had rejected, too, the social status of being a princess. She had given up so much, but she was alive and safe, where Oliver’s plotting couldn’t reach.
‘I would never have said a word about him,’ she said, setting the cup back on the table, still gazing at Rahim. ‘Not a
word
. For the sake of our children, if nothing else. But Oliver was too paranoid to believe me. If I go back, he’ll have me killed.’
She swallowed hard.
‘Then I won’t try to persuade you to go back any more.’ Rahim reached out and took her hand. His skin was soft; he moisturized with almond oil night and morning.
Belinda felt her throat close up. Now that she had lost the last sliver of opportunity to turn back, to be persuaded by Rahim to do so, it was the moment at which she truly absorbed how her life had changed for ever. She would never hold her children again, never see Hugo and Sophie grow into adults. Never see them smile up at her, run to her, wrap their arms around her legs and hold on for dear life, call her Mummy. There had been complications at Sophie’s birth; Belinda would never
Similar Books
