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Back The Widow Save as PDF
Chapters (92)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. PART I
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. PART II
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. 66
  71. 67
  72. 68
  73. 69
  74. 70
  75. 71
  76. 72
  77. 73
  78. 74
  79. 75
  80. 76
  81. 77
  82. 78
  83. 79
  84. 80
  85. 81
  86. 82
  87. 83
  88. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  89. MORE FROM VALERIE KEOGH
  90. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  91. The Murder List
  92. About Boldwood Books

As Portia and Stuart imbibed several glasses of wine, the conversation became a little risqué. Perhaps if Allison had drunk as much, she’d have found it entertaining instead of boring and verging on the unacceptable. She sat back with a forced smile and nodded when appropriate. When Stuart began to put his wife down with subtle cutting comments as the night progressed, and Portia, normally chatty and effusive, became restless, almost on edge, Allison was glad to escape.

‘Stay over,’ Portia insisted at the end of the night. ‘We’ve plenty of space after all and Amy’s room is always kept made up in case she should arrive home unexpectedly.’

There was a hint of longing in the words. Allison knew about Amy, Portia’s daughter who’d left home the year before to attend university abroad. She obviously missed her. Was that why she pushed the friendship with Allison – was she a substitute daughter?

‘No, thanks,’ she said. ‘Actually, I ordered a taxi earlier, it should be here…’ She checked her phone for the time. ‘Any moment now.’

‘Oh, that’s a shame.’ Portia looked so genuinely disappointed that Allison felt a moment’s regret until she looked at Stuart, whose expression had reverted back to the coldly assessing one.

‘Next time, perhaps,’ he said, getting to his feet.

‘Perhaps.’ She smiled non-committedly and followed the couple to the hallway, where she slipped her feet into her shoes and took her jacket from Portia. ‘It’s been lovely, thank you so much.’

‘A pleasure, my dear.’ Portia gave her a quick hug. ‘We’ll do it again soon. And I’ll see you in class next week.’

Allison held a hand out to Stuart and offered yet another of her collection of social lies. ‘It was lovely to meet you.’

He took her hand but instead of shaking it as convention dictated, he pulled her into his arms and a lingering embrace. His body was soft; she felt herself sinking into it. ‘I look forward to seeing you again,’ he said before releasing her.

As the taxi negotiated London streets to her home, Allison thought about the couple. Portia, she guessed, had married for money, not love, and it had got her what she obviously wanted.

Allison rested her head back and shut her eyes. And as she relaxed on the journey home, an idea flickered.

Marry for money. Could she do the same?

7

The idea burrowed itself into her head, but it would probably have died without germinating had she not met Peter less than two weeks later. Then it suddenly sprouted. If he was as wealthy as he appeared, could she make it work? Could she really marry for money? She read enough gossip columns to know it was done far more frequently than people liked to admit.