Living A Lie

Chapter One

Surrey, England 2010

LIVING A LIE

Molly rose from her favourite armchair, wondering where James could be. He was very late. Placing her book on the walnut side table she walked across the room to the huge bay window. Pushing the Belgian lace curtains aside, she looked out onto the dark winter evening. The street lamp cast deep shadows over the long driveway and a half bare tree shivered in the cold November breeze. Molly shuddered. She hated the darkness with a passion. There was still no sign of James. She pulled a cord and the pale yellow silk curtaining closed with barely a 'swish'.

Molly's love for her late husband, Paul, was so deep that when he'd died at the age of forty-four without James she would have fallen apart. Paul was her one and only love. There were other boys before him, but she had only slept with Paul and then, only after they were married. How she ached for him now!

And James... She could remember clearly how it began. A telephone call one evening from a sympathetic James, shocked to hear of Paul's untimely death; a lunch with him at the most expensive Hotel in town; an evening together at her home going through the mountains of paperwork Paul had left behind. James Radnege, his friend, stepped into the breach and held her steady when she'd needed it most, but no one knew that she didn't love him and he didn't love her. If her friends or daughter Gemma knew they would be horrified. Even though James was legally her husband, she still felt a heavy weight of guilt upon her shoulders. Her marriage was a hollow, empty sham.

Molly's views on life were very outdated, but she held tightly to them, nevertheless. That was why, probably, what they'd done had shocked her so much and she was still shocked on a daily basis. How could any woman marry a man just because she couldn't bear to live on her own and was frightened of the dark? It was too childish for words. And yet she had and they'd both gained from the arrangement. She could honestly say James was kind and considerate, but there was no love between them, either romantic or otherwise and, to that end, they each had their own bedroom. Molly longed to be loved in the way Paul had loved her. Not just physically, but deeply from the heart. Without him, she felt utterly desolate.

She turned, walked across the luxurious lounge carpet and through the hall, where a shining crystal chandelier glittered overhead and into the large kitchen at the back of the house. It was a beautiful house and everything in it was beautiful and very expensive. James was extremely rich, having made a great deal of money on the stock exchange, although now he ran his own business. Quite what he did, she wasn't sure and she didn't care enough to find out. All she knew was that James was good at his job and was always cutting 'deals' where huge amounts of money were involved, thousands and often millions.

Reaching the kitchen, Molly crossed to the oven to check on the chicken casserole cooking inside; James' favourite meal. Everything was perfect. It was Molly's one true gift. She could make a meal out of anything. She'd learnt the art early on in her first marriage, as Paul had never earned much money, but they were very happy and money counted for little.

She ran her fingers over the kitchen worktop. It was truly gorgeous Italian marble, acquired by James at great cost and it's beauty never ceased to amaze her. That anything so expensive could be in a kitchen was hard to believe. She heard a car door slam and shortly afterwards the front door opened. James called out in his deep, gravel like voice:

"Molly, are you there?"
These were always his first words when he came through the door and they irritated her immensely. Of course she was there! Where else would she be?
"I'm in the kitchen" she called.

James walked briskly into the room. His eyes were bright, his face pleasant and although his hair was steel grey, he looked younger than his forty-seven years. He was of average height and chunky build, although not overweight.