Imogen reached to take Adrian’s hand, but he pulled away and got in the driver’s seat. She climbed in and folded her arms, knowing if she said what she was really thinking it would only make things worse. She knew he felt responsible for this woman. As though it was somehow his fault. That by getting away from his situation at home he was somehow just as culpable as his father was, as Reece Corrigan was. Adrian was pulling away from Imogen and she didn’t know how to stop it.

Chapter Thirty-Two

I lie down for him and let him do what he needs to do. That’s how it’s always worked. It’s never been any other way. When it’s over he stands up and I am relieved when he tells me he is leaving, he is working on winning a contract and needs to schmooze some client or other. I zone out as he speaks; I don’t care where he is going. All I can think about is getting clean and sleeping until morning. First, I need a strong drink to burn away the taste of his saliva in my mouth.

I knew they would come and speak to me alone. I suppose they have to, it’s their job. I see them park the car outside just as R has left; I never know how long he will be gone for and so them being here makes me very nervous. I wish they had waited a little longer. I would like to have a shower and maybe a few more drinks before I have to pretend some more.

Maybe they know enough already, maybe they have figured out all the different ways in which R has hurt me. If I were them, I would assume the worst of R. It all depends on what you think is the worst a human being can be. They have no idea.

I doubt any one person knows the full extent of R’s malevolence; he is evil. I wasn’t brought up religious or anything and I know that word comes with religious connotations, but if there is a devil, then R is the human representation. I know he will be the end of me one day.

I open the door and the police officers both come in and follow me to the lounge, where I have left my drink on the coffee table. They sit down. I notice DS Imogen Grey glance at the sofa and realise they were probably watching from the roadside and could see inside the lounge. I doubt they can see me blush through my heavy make-up – what does it matter, anyway? Humiliation is not something that particularly bothers me anymore; if I do experience it, it’s fleeting.