“Peter, you’re whoring around—with men! What do
you expect me to think, let alone feel?”
Oh my God, whom has she
spoken with? Who else knows about the photographs? Why was I stupid enough to
keep them?
“I know you’re in shock. I’ll, I’ll do all in my
power to fix this somehow. Just, please, don’t do anything rash, Victoire.
Please!” She’ll want a divorce.
“But I’m afraid I have
to, Peter. I’ve trusted you, gave you space, never questioned anything.” Her
voice sounded frail.
She’ll seek legal advice, and they’ll talk her into exposing me unless
I agree to a huge settlement.
His palms glistened with
perspiration. He longed for air to think more clearly. “Have you spoken to anybody else?”
“Do you mean have I
told anybody about this or are you worried I might have seen a lawyer?” she
asked accusingly. “No, Peter, how can you even think that?” She shook her head.
“What do you take me for, a cold-blooded bitch?” Her hands tightened into
fists. “I’m hurt, angry and scared beyond words but have been compassionate
enough to keep my mouth shut!”
Peter breathed an inner
sigh of relief. “Victoire, if I told you it was a one off, crazy, regretful
night, would you believe me?”
She gasped. “Now you
chose to insult me? Peter, please stop this, I can’t take any more of this. At
least have the decency of telling me the truth!”
He couldn’t argue the
point. She was an intelligent woman whom he respected and whose company he
enjoyed thoroughly. He took another sip of wine, but the bouquet turned sour in
his mouth.
He sat down and put his
head between his hands. “Victoire, my lovely Victoire.” He sighed deeply. “I
should have never married you. It wasn’t fair to you.” He looked at her with
honest eyes. “At the beginning I tried to be a good husband. I swear to you, I
tried.” He shook his weary head very slowly. “I have to accept all
responsibility for my actions. I know I’ve let you down but I hope you’ll be
forgiving, Victoire. It won’t mean much right now, but I do love you.” He did
in his own way. “I’ll give you anything you want. All I ask is that we keep
this secret, my secret, between
ourselves.”
She had no doubt he
would take good care of her. She could have struck a very lucrative deal. But
she was heady with power, consumed by greed and wasn’t about to settle for
anything less than the entire pie.
She walked over and
knelt in front of him poised to unleash the final blow.
“You know I would have
never exposed your secrets, Peter.” A tear trickled down her cheek and landed
on his knee. “But I’m afraid there’s so much more at stake here. You see,” she
reached for his hands, “I’m afraid it’s no longer up to me now.” Her colourless lips quivered.
He looked at her
quizzically. “What are you saying?” She rose, walked back to a glass table and pulled out another
envelope from her handbag.
“If this gets out, it’s
going to kill your mother, Peter!” She handed it to him and burst into tears.
Spooked, his shaky
fingers opened it up. She watched his expression of quiet horror as he leafed
through Willy’s stash. “Where did you get you get this? What is going on here?”
She never heard a grown man’s voice tremble before.
“Somebody is
blackmailing us, Peter! They have the negatives and say they’re going to hang you
publicly unless we pay them whatever they ask for, for as long as they ask.”
She looked like a terrified doe.
“Was there a note?” he croaked. His heart had
accelerated to a dangerous speed.
Victoire put both hands
over her rising chest. “No! I got a call this morning after you’d left for the
office. I was told to see what they’d left me on the front steps.” She pointed
to the envelope. “He said something about it being your comeuppance and how he
was going to make us pay for the rest of our days!” The fright in her eyes
echoed in her voice. She blew her nose, and took an extra beat for a more
dramatic effect.. “I tried to trace the blackmailer’s call, but I couldn’t.”
“Dear God,” Peter cried. He had lived
long enough to know that in the game of blackmail victims never won. A surreal
state took possession him. Time ceased to exist, and things seemed to move in
slow motion. Wine laced with bile rose in his throat. He gagged and swallowed
hard.
Victoire gasped. “Oh, Peter, what do we do? Tell
me you didn’t kill anybody, please, tell me you didn’t!” She covered her face
and leaned against his chest like a child. “Please make it all go away, I beg
you!”
“No, I didn’t kill
anybody, as God is my witness.” His throat constricted uncomfortably. Victoire
clung to him. Stupefied, he stroked her loose hair.
The threat was no
longer the exposure of his homosexuality but of being accused of murder. His
brain flapped about like a fish out of water looking for solutions. No matter
how this situation played out in court, he knew no lawyer in the country could
save him from the humiliation.
Bitter reality stared
him in the face. Peter’s head sunk into his shoulders, like an old turtle: he
would be permanently disgraced, on national television no less. His mother
would collapse under the pressure of the news before the callous scrutiny of
the press even knocked on her door.
The damp night’s breeze
brushed his stony face, and he looked up slowly. Victoire stood by the open
window, her platinum hair blowing in the wind looking like a forlorn child,
dejected and resigned. He hadn’t even felt her walk off. The logs in the
fireplace cracked and spat angrily at the invading wind. A handful of glossies
jumped up at floated about the room in a macabre dance.
Victoire held onto the
door and turned to look at the thundering surf. “It’s over, Peter. You won’t survive
this scandal no matter how much we fight it. God knows who else out there knows!
She looked away and cried out, “I’m scared, Peter, I’m so scared!” She fell to
the floor in a heap and wept.
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