“You know when you bought that exam paper for him?” Audrey asked. “Why did you do that? It’s so out of character for you.”
“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you one day, but now’s not the time.” We’d both been duped by Mark. But at least I wasn’t married to him. Audrey had the future to worry about. No point in thinking about the past.
“It’s as if I’ve suddenly discovered my husband’s an anti-Batman or something. He has this secret identity that I should have spotted. I’ve been a fool.”
“You need to sign these papers and tell the truth.” It was easy to blame everyone but the person responsible. “No one is entirely good or entirely bad, but Mark’s done a bad thing. He needs to be held responsible.”
Audrey shook her head. “You would never do anything like this.”
I hung my head. There was no arguing with that. “No,” I said. “And neither would you. He’s not less of a loving husband or good friend because of what he’s done, but we have to come to terms with the fact that he’s also stolen a great deal of money. Funds people had earmarked for retirement or university or emergencies. He’s hurt a lot of people, Audrey, even if those people weren’t us.”
“I suppose it’s some consolation that you don’t think I’m a fool. Or if you do, you’re too polite to say.”
I sighed, thinking that we’d both been fools as far as Mark was concerned.
“The entire world is going to think I’m an idiot. And that’s best-case scenario. Some people will think I knew all along. They’ll say I should be in prison right alongside him.”
I wanted to tell her she was overreacting but I wasn’t going to lie to her.
“I’ll be hated.” Her voice started to crack. “Hounded by the tabloids if I buy a dishcloth. I’ll have to move. Emigrate maybe.”
“People have short memories. And you’ll be able to speak your truth if you sign this paper.” Maybe Gretel could recommend a PR professional to help Audrey navigate the next few months of her life. There was no doubt that with the amount of money Mark had stolen, his crimes—and the life he’d built while committing them—were going to interest the newspapers. Audrey was right about the likely outcome for herself, even if she shouldn’t be the one hounded. “You might want to think about divorcing him,” I said.
She pressed her fingers into her temples, a gesture that seemed to emphasize the dark circles under her eyes. “I know I should see someone about it. Everything’s such a mess. And he’s been asking me if everything’s okay. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep it up.”
“You must,” I said. “Your agreement said you’re not allowed to discuss anything with him.”
“I know. Perhaps divorcing him is a better option. I could say I’ve been having an affair. At least there’d be a reason for me to be so bloody jumpy around him all the time.”
“You know you’re always welcome to stay here,” I said. “If things get bad.”
She smiled reluctantly. “Thanks. But that’s just going to drag you into all this when the tabloids start their campaign against me. It’s the last thing you need.”
That was true. The board wouldn’t like my association with Mark at all. And they certainly wouldn’t like it if his wife was staying with me.
“I can go to my sister’s. But who knows how long I’ll be there? The tabloids will probably follow me.”
I started running through scenarios in my head. The tabloids were going to be a problem. Mark was turning out to be the British Bernie Madoff, and the story was going to fill column inches. “I think we need to get you some professional help. I could tell you it’s a good idea for you to move out of the home that’s been bought with fraudulent money, but does that make it look like you’re running? Let’s engage a PR professional. And—” What was the first thing Gretel had told me? I needed to present my side of the story, because all people knew about me was that I was moody and didn’t like the press. Audrey had a different problem, but the solution might be the same: tell her story in her own words. And I knew just the woman to help her do it.
Twenty-Two
Madison
I’d spent most of the afternoon at my desk, putting together pieces of Nathan’s profile. I’d thought I’d still be in Norfolk now but if Nathan had to work, I’d decided I would too.
“I need snacks,” I said to my mother as I entered the kitchen where she was, glasses balanced on her nose. She was sitting at the kitchen table reading the papers as she’d done every Sunday afternoon since I could remember.
“Help yourself, darling,” she replied without looking up.