“Apart from the money he inherits, which will certainly be usefulto his business.”
“Even then, he said they were weathering the storm. Either he genuinely loved his wife, or he is the best actor in Creation. Sol?”
“Yes?”
“I tried to will myself into Caterina’s shoes when Mary was explaining. I tried to imagine myself betraying you with some other man who caught my eye.”
“And could you?” he asked lightly. He wasn’t looking at her, but he cared about the answer. The very stillness of his arm beneath her fingers told her so.
“Solomon, I couldn’t even imagine the man. For me, there can’t be anyone else.”
He pressed her arm closer against him, as if he understood the depth of her revelation. Last night’s quarrel had been driven back into perspective. There had been so few of them that it had taken her by surprise. Their desperate lovemaking had shown her many things, chiefly that she could not lose him. But more than that, there could be no one else for her, ever, whether he was at her side or not.
“We never understand other people’s relationships,” Constance said. “Whores have lovers and husbands as well as clients. Some people love more than one man or woman at a time. Some people indulge in affairs that never change how they regard their wives or husbands. For all his worldly wisdom and apparent cynicism, I don’t think Kellar understood her at all. If she strayed, he assumed it was Montague’s fault, that there was a lack of… Solomon?”
He had stopped dead on the path, not even looking at her. Quite suddenly, she had lost his attention. Piqued, she followed his gaze to the bed of red roses beside her. It was a lovely display…
And the petals were exactly the same shade as the flowers in Caterina’s room.
More than that, there were gaps. Stems cut precisely, as though with sharp scissors or secateurs, several from one plant, more from theone next to it. Slowly releasing Solomon’s arm, she began to walk around. Flowers had been taken from four plants, and when she counted them, there were twelve pristinely cut stems.
“They’re not Darrow’s roses,” she said. “Whoever put them in her room, they came from here.”
