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He walks past me and into the apartment.
“Do you want a drink or anything?” I ask. “What would you like?”
He shrugs. “Whatever you’re having.”
I inhale deeply and pour two glasses of scotch. I hand him one.
He takes a sip. “So, you fucked my wife,” he says calmly.
I nod. “Yes.”
His cold eyes hold mine. “That’s it? That’s all you can say?”
“Nothing I can say would ever make up for that.”
He inhales sharply and walks to the windows to stare out over the city, deep in thought.
I have no idea what to say, so I remain silent.
“How many times?” he asks with his back to me.
“Three occasions.”
He turns back to look at me, and I know the real question he wants answered.
“Many times on those three occasions,” I admit shamefully.
He turns back to stare out of the window.
“Can I ask you something?” I say. “Why didn’t you leave her?”
“It would have been easier to.”
“Why did you stay?”
“I have a son.” He drains his glass. “I don’t want to take him away from his mother, but then I don’t want to leave him with her, either.” He walks over and refills his glass. “The only way I can assure his future is to stay with her until Harrison is older.”
I frown as I watch him. He seems strangely detached from all this. “Do you love her?”
“I did.”
“Not anymore?”
“Love and I don’t mix, Mr Jones.” He looks up at me. “I learnt that lesson the hard way.”
“Does she know this? Does she know you don’t love her?”
“Yes.”
“Then why does she stay?” I frown. “I’m confused.”
He narrows his eyes as if it pains him to say it out loud. “I think we both know why she stays.”
The money.
I drop my head as disappointment on his behalf fills me.
“I’m sorry. I know you don’t believe me when I tell you this, but I thought she was divorced, and I knew her as Stephanie. I had no idea when I met Charlotte that she was your wife… or that you were Charlotte’s brother.” He smiles as he stares out of the window.
