The Wives, page 24
‘You rid the world of a monster.’
‘Yes, and I really did think Natasha would cope, you know. I never thought she’d do what she did. It’s all my fault; if Daniel hadn’t died, she’d still be with us.’
It was hard to argue the point. ‘You just need to let it go. There’s no reason to keep beating yourself up about it.’
‘I don’t think I can.’ Barbara took another mouthful of her drink. ‘I’m thinking about going to the police, telling them what I did.’
The police! It would result in just the kind of interest Michele wanted to avoid. ‘Natasha wouldn’t want you to do that. Remember, it’s what she said.’ Only Michele had seen the lie in her eyes, setting her on that final path. Or what she hoped would be final. She’d worried that Tracy Ann might be the weak link, but there hadn’t been a peep from her. It looked as if Barbara was going to be the one to worry about.
‘Listen,’ Michele said, pressing Barbara’s arm. ‘I was thinking we should go on another cruise, just us three women this time. We could throw some flowers into the sea, have some kind of farewell ceremony for Natasha. What d’you think?’
Barbara nodded. ‘I think it would be a lovely idea.’
‘I’m sure Tracy Ann will be game too.’ Michele squeezed the arm she held again. ‘I’ll find one that goes soon, okay? Meanwhile, don’t worry. If, when we get back, you’re still thinking about going to the police, I’ll go with you.’
‘You will?’ Barbara smiled and laid her hand over Michele’s. ‘That would mean a lot to me, thank you. Okay, I’ll wait till then, but I think it will be the right thing to do.’
‘It’s important to do the right thing.’ And Michele would. She’d tossed the vial of cyanide overboard before they’d left the ship, but the crushed sleeping tablets had worked a treat on Natasha. The same trick would work as well on Barbara. Murder would be easier the second time around.
Michele was already practising the words in her head.
Poor Barbara, she never really recovered from the death of her friend.
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PROLOGUE
In prison, in the slow tick tock of minutes passing, in the dragging days and dreary weeks, there is time for thinking. And I had plenty of time – years when I’d be able to review every action, every word, and wonder if I should have done things differently.
Time to wonder too, if it is better, as the saying goes, to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
A stupid saying, quoted by fools who haven’t a clue.
They have no idea. Because when you really love someone, you never give them up – ever – the loss would be unbearable.
Would it be better never to have loved at all?
No, because in these dark days, it is the memory of that love that keeps me from falling to pieces.
I was guilty of loving too much, others for not loving at all.
Each extreme, in their own way, led to disaster.
And to murder.
Chapter One
It was late Friday afternoon. Sarah was speaking to Nick about their weekend plans, her mobile pressed to her ear as she tapped on the keyboard with the fingers of her other hand. They’d been invited to a housewarming party that night by an old college friend of hers, Charlie, who had been gregarious, irreverent, and fun in college. He’d dipped in and out of her life in the years since, drifting from job to job, relationship to relationship, seeming never to grow older – or up. Sometimes, as she struggled with her studies and then the long hours as a junior doctor, Sarah had looked at him through a green-tinged lens.
That afternoon, exhausted after a particularly stressful week as a GP in a busy practice, she was thinking of him with irritation rather than envy. With his usual lack of discernment, Charlie would have invited all and sundry to his new rental apartment. The party would be a noisy, jammed occasion, full of people neither she nor Nick would know, and others she knew and didn’t like. After a busy week, she’d have preferred to stay at home, order takeaway, and watch a good movie. She knew Nick would feel the same way.
He, after all, hadn’t wanted to go in the first place. ‘Charlie will flirt with you, as usual. Or if not him, one of his creepy friends will,’ he’d said. ‘Can’t we give it a miss?’
She’d dug her heels in because, since they’d married, Nick never wanted to go out with friends. At first, she’d enjoyed the romantic dinners out à deux; Nick was attentive and charming company. It was only when the weeks drifted into months, when the attentiveness was starting to smother and she had messages from friends asking if she’d fallen off the edge of the planet, that she suggested they meet up en masse in their favourite pub the way they used to.
‘I prefer to have you to myself,’ Nick had said when she’d brought up the idea. He’d arrived home with a huge bouquet of flowers for her, so it would have been churlish to have insisted then. The following week, she managed to persuade him that it would be nice to meet up with some of her friends, get to know them.
‘I’d do anything for you,’ he said, kissing her on the cheek. ‘But I still prefer to have you to myself. Anyway,’ he added, ‘I know Jade, don’t I?’
Jade, Sarah’s closest friend. He couldn’t help but get to know her; she and Sarah had been friends forever. It was a shame Nick and Jade had taken an instant and obvious dislike to each other, though. It was a shame too that he hadn’t taken to any of her other friends, regarding her male friends with blatant suspicion that had initially amused Sarah. Less so when Nick insisted on keeping a possessive arm around her whenever any of them approached.
‘Don’t you trust me?’ she’d said.
‘Of course I do,’ he’d said, surprised. ‘I don’t trust them, though.’
Sarah wanted to laugh, to say it took two to tango and would have done had she not discovered, a few weeks after their marriage, that Nick didn’t have much of a sense of humour.
She was only half-listening as he continued to bemoan their decision to accept Charlie’s invitation. There was no point in her saying she no longer wanted to go; it would only make accepting the next invitation to join their friends more difficult. Once she got home, had a shower, and put her glad rags on, she’d be fine. She was still inputting patient details with one hand, and only switched her attention from the computer screen when she realised Nick had stopped speaking. She took her hand from the keyboard and tried to smooth away the lines that had corrugated her forehead all morning. Had she been cut off? Or had he hung up on her? ‘Nick?’
‘We need to talk.’
The silence was filled with anticipation, with dread. Four simple words, but put them together, say them in a tone of voice as filled with portent as Nick’s was, and they were enough to take Sarah’s breath away.
She could cut the connection, pretend she’d never heard. She was good at that. None so deaf as those who didn’t want to hear, those who chose to ignore the difficulties life threw at them in a series of constant repeats rather than to face making difficult decisions. She’d been doing it for months. Ignoring the growing distance between them, the slowly dawning realisation that their marriage had been a mistake, that their relationship had run its course. Maybe it already had before their wedding exactly a year before.
They hadn’t been together for long when Nick proposed, only a few months. She’d met him only weeks after breaking up with a man she’d been so crazy about that she’d hung on long after she should have given up. Clem had been unreliable, and probably unfaithful, during their three-year relationship.
It was probably why she’d fallen so quickly for Nick. He was reliable, attentive, kind, and made it obvious that he was totally smitten with her. He was a band-aid for her bruised ego, her cracked and bleeding heart. When he’d proposed, when he’d gone down on one knee in a smart, Italian restaurant, and said, ‘Sarah, I love you, will you marry me?’ she’d been stunned.
Her first instinctive reaction had been no! She’d looked at him, on one knee, a small box in his hand holding a sparkling diamond, a look of adoration on his face, and said, ‘Of course I will,’ with such exaggerated enthusiasm that Nick had never noticed the slightest of hesitations that had come before her answer.
We hope you enjoyed this exclusive extract. The Mother is available to buy now by clicking on the image below:
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The Wives is my twenty-eighth published book, and my tenth for Boldwood Books. What an amazing journey it has been, and how many wonderful people I have met along the way, some of whom have become good friends. The writing community – those who write, read, publish or shout about books – is an amazingly generous one that I’m privileged and delighted to be part of.
There are many people to whom I owe a great big thank you:
All of the wonderful Boldwood team, especially my editor, Emily Ruston, copy editor, Emily Reader, proofreader, Shirley Khan, and marketing executive, Niamh Wallace.
Thanks also to the Valerie Keogh Supporters’ group, some of whose names I have used in The Wives.
I’m grateful to everyone who reads my books, to those who blog about them, to those who review and shout about them.
I’ve enjoyed a number of cruises, the last with the Princess Cruise line on the Royal Princess around New Zealand. I’d been thinking about basing a story on a cruise ship so took the opportunity to have a word with the Ship Security Officer, Andy Carroll, who kindly volunteered his valuable time to answer some of my questions. Thanks, Andy, I hope I haven’t let you down.
The Wives are cruising on the Duchess Mary – it isn’t a real ship but an amalgamation of the few cruise ships I’ve been on, plus the one in my imagination.
As usual, I’ve had the support and encouragement of writing friends, and my family. Thanks to every one of you.
I love to hear from readers. You can contact me here:
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Author Central: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Valerie-Keogh/e/B00LK0NMB8
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Valerie Keogh is the internationally bestselling author of several psychological thrillers and crime series. She originally comes from Dublin but now lives in Wiltshire and worked as a nurse for many years.
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ALSO BY VALERIE KEOGH
The Lodger
The Widow
The Trophy Wife
The Librarian
The Nurse
The Lawyer
The House Keeper
The Mistress
The Mother
The Wives
First published in Great Britain in 2024 by Boldwood Books Ltd.
Copyright © Valerie Keogh, 2024
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The moral right of Valerie Keogh to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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Large Print ISBN 978-1-80549-442-3
Hardback ISBN 978-1-80549-440-9
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Valerie Keogh, The Wives
