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Back The Widow
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

She could have taken a Tube from Charing Cross to King’s Cross, and maybe she was being foolish, but it seemed important to follow her original plan. It was only a ten-minute walk to Leicester Square. She’d plenty of time, and once there she’d be back on schedule. A light rain began to fall as she walked. It suited her. The light mac she had packed neatly in her bag would cover her stained skirt and was long enough to help hide her laddered tights. She unfolded it and slipped it on as she walked.

* * *

Two hours later, she looked even more dishevelled as she pushed open her front door and almost fell inside. She felt numb and stood staring, her eyes unfocused, until the beep beep of the house alarm warned her to move. With the alarm off, she rested a shoulder against the wall before knocking her head against it, the clunk loud in the silence. Again and again, she banged her head, wanting the pain, desperate to drive away the dullness of shock. It was all she could do. Once again, she couldn’t change the past or what she’d done. Now, as it had been then, it was a case of damage limitation. Pulling away from the wall, she dragged herself up the stairs.

The master bedroom was to the front of the house, overlooking the street, triple glazing keeping road noise down to a low background rumble. A small box room, also to the front, had been converted into an en suite and a walk-in wardrobe. When she’d moved in, a scant two weeks after that first night together, Peter had insisted she have this for herself, moving his clothes into one of the two spare bedrooms.

Three months married. She would be expected to be wearing something stunning for dinner. Her wardrobe had changed dramatically since she’d met Peter and she’d plenty of choice. The final decision came down to a choice between a little black dress she’d only worn once before, and a red one she knew Peter loved. Under the circumstances, black seemed to be the better option.

Laying it on the bed, she took off her clothes, left her hair tied up and went for a shower. She stayed with the hot spray beating down on her shoulders for a long time, but when she switched it off and stepped out into the steam-filled room, she was still as tense. Wrapped in a towel, she reached up and pulled the grips from her dark hair and ruffled the copper-highlighted strands. Loosened, it fell about her shoulders.

Peter liked it loose. He’d run his hands through it. The copper highlights had been his idea. He’d been right. They looked good. Allison pulled on fresh underwear and slipped the black dress over her head. It was the perfect choice. A pair of strappy black stilettos and she was ready.