what she already knew. If she wanted to keep her career – and the increasingly bright prospects that were now coming into view – the charade of
her relationship with Cameron must continue.
So, for now, her secret diary would remain a work in progress. Although she was beginning to understand that it was not simply a release for her humiliation and anger.
It was more; it was wish-fulfilment, if in a distorted form. Of
course
she didn’t want Cameron to die in the grotesque ways she graphically described. She wasn’t a
monster.
But she was coming to realise that deep down, in her secret heart, she
did
want him gone. She really, really did. It would solve everything. The quicker and cleaner the better. A heart
attack, say.
Actually, that wasn’t entirely out of the question.
Cameron’s father had succumbed to a fatal coronary some years before, as had an uncle and a first cousin. Heart disease was known to be embedded in the family genes; it was one of the
reasons Cameron had installed the gymnasium and pool. That hadn’t prevented him developing a potbelly, but otherwise he was generally fit and healthy. He didn’t smoke and rarely drank
spirits. The only occasion Meriel had seen him drunk was that ghastly Christmas the year before.
She felt ashamed of holding this death-wish over her husband. Keeping a diary was one thing, but picturing him having a heart attack was different – that was something she actually,
literally wanted to happen.
She imagined various scenarios. Finding him dead in bed one morning, or slumped behind the wheel of his car in the drive, or floating in the bath.
She knew it was wrong of her, but she couldn’t help it. It wasn’t that she was frightened of Cameron – he had never struck her – but he was just such an odious person to
be married to. The very antithesis of a man like . . .
Well, a man like Seb.
Meriel slowly sipped her gin and wondered exactly what was happening to her. She’d been thinking about the young reporter before she’d even set eyes on him, hadn’t she?
Entirely because of some silly office gossip. Then, when she’d realised she was finally going to see him in the flesh, she’d gone into the bathroom to get herself all prettified. Why?
What exactly did she think was going to happen?
But actually something
had
happened, hadn’t it? Seb had, in the nicest possible way, come on to her in the car park. And she’d encouraged him. Oh yes, she’d most
certainly encouraged him. Indeed she was the one who’d made their date for next week.
She’d been thinking about him on and off ever since.
Meriel stretched out her long legs in the hot sunshine. They were good legs, one of her most attractive features. They looked their best in heels, which was why she’d slipped on a pair
earlier. If she was honest she’d been slightly disappointed that Seb could only see her from the waist up when she was sitting behind her studio desk. She’d been glad when he joined her
in the lift, and then walked with her outside. She couldn’t help noticing him covertly admiring her figure, and failing to disguise it. He was sweet.
She found herself thinking about their age difference. Meriel reckoned it was around three years. Nothing, really. A fraction of the gap between her and Cameron; her husband was over a quarter
of a century older than her. He’d be sixty in a few months. The difference hadn’t bothered her at first; when she married him he was a still vigorous-looking man in his late forties.
She’d lost her father to cancer several years before and, looking back, she was in no doubt now that she had been craving a paternal substitute.
She’d met Cameron at a glittering charity ball in London’s Dorchester Hotel. Meriel was working as features writer for a women’s magazine and was covering the event for them.
She found herself seated next to Cameron and he’d been a charming dinner companion, talking very little about himself but asking her
her relationship with Cameron must continue.
So, for now, her secret diary would remain a work in progress. Although she was beginning to understand that it was not simply a release for her humiliation and anger.
It was more; it was wish-fulfilment, if in a distorted form. Of
course
she didn’t want Cameron to die in the grotesque ways she graphically described. She wasn’t a
monster.
But she was coming to realise that deep down, in her secret heart, she
did
want him gone. She really, really did. It would solve everything. The quicker and cleaner the better. A heart
attack, say.
Actually, that wasn’t entirely out of the question.
Cameron’s father had succumbed to a fatal coronary some years before, as had an uncle and a first cousin. Heart disease was known to be embedded in the family genes; it was one of the
reasons Cameron had installed the gymnasium and pool. That hadn’t prevented him developing a potbelly, but otherwise he was generally fit and healthy. He didn’t smoke and rarely drank
spirits. The only occasion Meriel had seen him drunk was that ghastly Christmas the year before.
She felt ashamed of holding this death-wish over her husband. Keeping a diary was one thing, but picturing him having a heart attack was different – that was something she actually,
literally wanted to happen.
She imagined various scenarios. Finding him dead in bed one morning, or slumped behind the wheel of his car in the drive, or floating in the bath.
She knew it was wrong of her, but she couldn’t help it. It wasn’t that she was frightened of Cameron – he had never struck her – but he was just such an odious person to
be married to. The very antithesis of a man like . . .
Well, a man like Seb.
Meriel slowly sipped her gin and wondered exactly what was happening to her. She’d been thinking about the young reporter before she’d even set eyes on him, hadn’t she?
Entirely because of some silly office gossip. Then, when she’d realised she was finally going to see him in the flesh, she’d gone into the bathroom to get herself all prettified. Why?
What exactly did she think was going to happen?
But actually something
had
happened, hadn’t it? Seb had, in the nicest possible way, come on to her in the car park. And she’d encouraged him. Oh yes, she’d most
certainly encouraged him. Indeed she was the one who’d made their date for next week.
She’d been thinking about him on and off ever since.
Meriel stretched out her long legs in the hot sunshine. They were good legs, one of her most attractive features. They looked their best in heels, which was why she’d slipped on a pair
earlier. If she was honest she’d been slightly disappointed that Seb could only see her from the waist up when she was sitting behind her studio desk. She’d been glad when he joined her
in the lift, and then walked with her outside. She couldn’t help noticing him covertly admiring her figure, and failing to disguise it. He was sweet.
She found herself thinking about their age difference. Meriel reckoned it was around three years. Nothing, really. A fraction of the gap between her and Cameron; her husband was over a quarter
of a century older than her. He’d be sixty in a few months. The difference hadn’t bothered her at first; when she married him he was a still vigorous-looking man in his late forties.
She’d lost her father to cancer several years before and, looking back, she was in no doubt now that she had been craving a paternal substitute.
She’d met Cameron at a glittering charity ball in London’s Dorchester Hotel. Meriel was working as features writer for a women’s magazine and was covering the event for them.
She found herself seated next to Cameron and he’d been a charming dinner companion, talking very little about himself but asking her
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