’Til Death Us Do Part

A whirlwind romance, a spring wedding and a millionaire new husband – what could go wrong?

Dinner, he told her, must be on the table at 6.30pm every night. On Wednesdays and Fridays, at a bare minimum, it was the casino or pub with his friends, and Saturday evenings were for MatchoftheDay. Was that acceptable? He framed the question in such a way that yes was the only answer.

In truth, Eleanor Archer did not think any of that was acceptable, but it was too late now. If only he’d mentioned it a few hours earlier. Or last month. Or their first date. She reached down the back of her designer dress to loosen the hooks, but there were too many and she gave up. Replaying his words, she decided he must have been joking.

“How long are you going to be in there?” She pressed an ear to the bathroom door. He grunted something she didn’t catch.

She wrinkled her nose, gathered up her skirt and sat on the edge of the super king-size bed with its drapes and over-stuffed pillows.

She’d never stayed in a place as grand as this. A bottle of vintage champagne was chilling in the ice bucket. They were booked in for two nights and tomorrow’s meal involved an eleven-course taster menu. He’d assumed she was comfortable with this lifestyle, but she was more familiar with the homely charms of Billy’s Fish Bar.

Still, she could get used to it.

The toilet flushed. She held her breath, suddenly nervous. A rush of water from the rainforest shower. She exhaled. He’d be a while now.

If you’d asked her why she’d married him, she wouldn’t have said love. Fondness, maybe. A desire to conform to societal expectations. Or perhaps she would have answered truthfully: he was the only man who’d asked her out in the last five years. Her mother had tutted. Sixmonthsisnotenoughtimetogetto knowsomeoneproperly,EleanorLacey Archer. But she’d been swept along.

It didn’t matter that he was fifteen years older than her. For once, she was being courted like the women in the romance novels she loved so much.

He was a widower. A wealthy one at that. But she didn’t know much about his first or second wives. Only that they’d both died in tragic circumstances which no-one talked about. She’d looked them up online, but had found nothing. When she’d tried to raise it, his discomfort had been so palpable she’d stopped talking and made him a cup of tea instead.

The extension in the hotel bedroom rang. She jumped – and then smiled. There was only one person who’d be ringing the honeymoon suite of this bride on her wedding night. She picked up the glass of champagne he’d pressed upon her before disappearing into the bathroom, and made herself comfortable on the bed.

“How’s it going?” Grace’s voice was laced with drunken mischief.

“Go away,” Eleanor whispered.

Her best friend laughed. “Oh god, please tell me I haven’t interrupted something.”

Eleanor couldn’t help but smile. “Well, it would hardly be a surprise, would it? I mean, it’s kind of expected...”

Grace lowered her tone. “Have you told him about the money yet?”

“No! And now is hardly the moment.” Every now and then, Eleanor regretted confiding in Grace. Her friend was compassionate, as Eleanor had known she would be, but she was a little too interested in knowing details Eleanor would prefer not to share. “I’ll explain it all tomorrow. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

Still, Grace had been brilliant at helping her to overcome her nerves at showing off her body and giggled with her over a bottle of wine at the assorted styles of wedding night lingerie.

“I’d better let you go, but good luck. Remember, enthusiasm is half of the battle. And you’re an incredible woman – don’t let him forget that.”

Grace’s pep talk had worked its magic. Knowing how alcohol went to her head, she tipped most of her champagne into a plant pot, wanting to be present for her husband – but not wanting to offend him. With a bit of manoeuvring, she managed to undo a few of the hook-and-eyes and wiggle out of her dress. She laid back on the bed, not yet realising that what she hoped would be the best night of her life was about to become the worst.

The room was in darkness when she woke up. A thin trickle of saliva had dried on her cheek. Inside her head, a hammer knocked against her skull. Her tongue had thickened and stuck to the roof of her mouth. She blinked a handful of times, recollection pulling at her like a demanding child, but one who played hide-and-seek. Through the open window, she caught the sweet fragrance of a spring night – loaded with lilies and jasmine – but the texture of the air told her it was not yet dawn.

Eleanor was aware of a shadow moving around, but she recognised the scent of his cologne and resisted an impulse to call out. Instead, she held herself still and pretended to sleep, but her mind was sharpening, hard at work. As the first buttery rays of sunrise crept into the room, the door clicked shut and she drifted off again.

When she awoke for a second time, the bedroom was flooded with May sunshine. She pulled herself upright. There was no sign of her husband.

Fragments came back to her, snatches of memory. He’d come out of the bathroom, dressed in jeans and a shirt, a humourless smile on his lips.

“What are you doing, Eleanor?” He had a strange way of saying her name, elongating it. She’d never noticed it before.

“Waiting for you.” She’d attempted a

If you’d asked her why she’d married him, she wouldn’t have said love. Fondness, maybe

coquettish smile but the champagne had made her feel drowsy.

He’d stood over her. “Now, why would you do that?”

She couldn’t help it, she’d laughed. “It’s our wedding night.” She’d laughed again. “Why are you dressed? It’s bedtime.”

His face had changed. “Don’t laugh at me.” For a moment, she’d thought he was joking. In the weeks she’d spent getting to know him, he’d been nothing but charming. A little quiet at times. Often busy at work, but he had a Very Important Job. Always generous, though. Gifts here and there. Showering her with an almost old-fashioned type of attention. But now, on the night of their marriage, he seemed like a stranger.

“I’m not laughing. Sorry.” She’d crossed her arms, feeling exposed. Humiliated. A wave of tiredness hit her and she struggled to keep her eyes open.

He’d leant over, breath hot in her ear. “For the record, I’ve never found you attractive. This was a means to an end, that’s all. In the eyes of the law, we’re married. ’Til death us do part, of course.” His eyes had flicked to her empty glass. “Which means when you’re gone, what’s yours is mine.”

For a third time, she’d laughed, a high, surprised sound. She tried to speak up, to soothe him. You’retired.It’sbeena busyday.Gettingmarriedisstressful. But instead of words came hiccups. Her vision blurred. A wave of blackness overcame her.

Seventeen hours later, here she was, alone on the first day of married life, knowing nothing about her husband, except a suspicion he’d wanted her dead.

It was only after Eleanor had showered and dressed that she noticed a dusty residue in the bottom of her champagne glass, and that all the wedding presents, her purse and handbag had gone.

Grace met her in the hotel lobby half-an-hour later. It was a beautiful day, a promise of heat in the painted sky.

“Come here,” she said to Eleanor, pulling her friend close. She didn’t ask questions or express outrage, but offered quiet support.

Eleanor had never told a soul she was wealthy except her husband. On their first date at a restaurant in town, he’d gone into great detail about his advantageous financial position. When he’d probed her, gently at first, and then more insistently as the weeks rolled on, she’d told him she had family money, anything to shut him up.

“My mother inherited a fortune when my grandfather died,” she said. “But I’ve never had anyone to share it with.”

He’d grasped her hands. “We’re equals, my love. This is destiny. Think of the life we’ll have.”

She’d bought into every one of his promises. Which was ironic, when she thought about it. Travel. A beautiful home. She was still young enough to start a family, if that’s what she wanted.

But it turned out he’d married her for money. He was a liar, not a lover. It was a good job two could play at that game.

“What do you want to do today?” Grace’s voice was gentle.

“I want my things back.”

“But you don’t know where he is.’ “Don’t I?” said Eleanor. She produced the iPad she’d stored in her suitcase. He hadn’t realised her mobile, zipped into a pocket in her handbag, was still on. The location tracker informed her he was parked at a well-known beauty spot down the road. The Do Not Disturb sign on the door confirmed he’d been relying on hotel staff to leave the newlyweds alone. Presumably, he’d been planning to wash up the champagne glass and alert the authorities to her untimely death in a couple of hours’ time.

His Mercedes was the only vehicle in the car park. “Shall I come with you?” Grace had pulled over. “I don’t think you should go on your own.” Eleanor shook her head. “Call the police and wait here.”

The path was fringed with spring flowers, a riot of colour and hope. She rounded the bend, out of sight of her friend. Out of sight of everyone.

In the distance, a familiar figure was staring out at the horizon, unaware of her approach. She twisted her wedding band and smiled.

Extract from TheCornishTimes

A 54-year-old newly-wed drowned yesterday after falling from a cliff.

In a heartbreaking twist of fate, Alan Gates lost his footing less than twentyfour hours after marrying Eleanor

Archer. His bride told police her husband had gone out early for some fresh air but had never returned to their honeymoon suite. She found his body while out searching for him with her bridesmaid.

Gates, who owned a £3 million house in Falmouth, married Eleanor, 39, after a whirlwind six-month romance. It is understood she is his sole next-of-kin.

With a perfect childhood, the butterwouldn’t-melt little Carter sisters have it all. That is until Sara commits an unforgiveable crime. Backed by Queen of Crime Val McDermid, rising star Fiona Cummins is a name to watch. When I Was Ten by Fiona Cummins, Pan Macmillan, HB, £14.99. Out April 15.