Chapter 7: The Other Side of the Story
I called him back from the garden, standing on the grass with the back door open so I could hear if Emily called for me.
He answered on the second ring.
"Mr.
Hartley." His voice was careful, measured.
Not the voice of a man caught out.
The voice of a man who had been waiting for this call.
"Thank you for ringing."
"You said you know things I don't."
"I do.
Though I want to be honest with you — some of what I know doesn't reflect well on me either."
"Tell me anyway."
A pause.
"Rebecca and I were together for four years.
We ended things — or I thought we ended things — about eight months before she met you.
She told me she'd met someone.
A widower with a young daughter.
She seemed genuinely happy.
I believed her."
"And then?"
"And then she contacted me again, about fourteen months ago.
She said she needed advice.
Property advice — she knew what I did for work.
We had lunch.
It seemed straightforward."
"Carol saw you together three times."
"Yes." No hesitation.
"The second and third times were not straightforward."
I waited.
"She told me the relationship with you was not what she'd hoped.
That you were still grieving your wife.
That you were — her word — unavailable.
Emotionally.
She said she was trying to find a way out that didn't cost her everything she'd invested."
"She used that word.
Invested."
"She did.
I should have walked away at that point.
I didn't." Another pause.
"At the third meeting, she told me about the school.
About Hartwell.
She said she'd found a solution to the — she called Emily 'the complication.' She said once the complication was handled, she could move forward.
Either with me, or with you, depending on which way things fell."
The garden was very still.
A bird somewhere in the hedge.
The sound of a car on the road beyond the fence.
"She was keeping both options open," I said.
"Yes."
"And you went along with this."
"I told her I wanted no part of anything involving the child.
That's the truth.
I didn't know the details of what she'd arranged until she told me at that third meeting, and I told her then that it was wrong.
That I wouldn't be part of it." His voice tightened slightly.
"She told me I was already part of it.
That if I said anything to anyone, she would tell you that I had encouraged the plan.
That the meetings were my idea.
That I had a financial interest in getting Emily out of the picture because — she had apparently told some people that I was hoping to marry her and inherit your assets through her."
"She told people that?"
"Her solicitor, at minimum.
Possibly others.
I found out two days ago when my own solicitor received a letter suggesting I might be called as a witness to certain conversations if the matter proceeded to court." He exhaled.
"Mr.
Hartley, I am not a good man in this story.
I had lunch with another man's fiancée and I didn't tell you what I knew when I should have.
But I am not what she's trying to make me.
And I think you deserve to know the full shape of what she built."
I looked back through the open door at the kitchen.
The envelope on the table.
Patricia's empty teacup.
"Will you put this in writing?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Everything you just told me.
The meetings, what she said about Emily, the threat she made to you.
All of it."
"Yes.
My solicitor has already drafted a statement.
I wanted to speak to you first before I filed it anywhere."
"File it," I said.
"Send a copy to my solicitor.
I'll give you her details."
"There's one more thing." He said it quietly, like a man setting something heavy down.
"At the second meeting, Rebecca mentioned that this wasn't the first time she'd made this kind of arrangement.
She said she'd learned from a previous situation that the key was moving quickly — that if the paperwork was in place before anyone thought to look, it was very difficult to unwind."
The bird in the hedge had gone quiet.
"She said previous situation," I repeated.
"Yes."
"Did she say anything else about it?"
"Only that it hadn't ended the way she'd planned.
That the father had found out too late to stop it but early enough to cause her significant trouble." A pause.
"She said she'd been more careful this time."
I stood in the garden for a long moment after the call ended.
More careful this time.
Which meant there was a first time.
Which meant somewhere, there was another child.
I went back inside and picked up the envelope.
Underneath the documents, underneath the photograph, there was one thing I hadn't looked at closely enough.
The Hartwell registration form.
The section at the bottom, below the signature line.
*Referred by:*
May you like
The name written there was not Rebecca's.
It was a name I had never seen before.
