Carrington waited outside his office door the way a doctor waits for you to get undressed before entering the examination room.
"Bad stuff," he said as he walked back in. "Women! You have my sympathy, dear fellow." Whether he believed in my innocence or not, I was grateful that he was polite. Civilized. It was just occurring to me that I'd taken too many pills last night, that maybe in a few hours none of this will have happened. But I knew I hadn't taken that much. This was real.
I said, "It's all lies, I swear. Isn't this cyberbullying? Blackmail? What are the libel laws in this country? None of this is true."
I gave him my version. I made one trivial departure from the truth. I pretended I hadn't known that my wife was planning to commit insurance fraud. It made the story less embarrassing. Less complicated. I said I'd seen no connection between the policy I'd signed up for and her subsequent disappearance until the detectives pointed it out. Whatever happened was her idea. She'd always been the thrill-seeking type, always needing to play the bad girl. I said this was not a quality that was going to wear well as Emily aged.
Carrington yanked at his cuffs, sign language for too much information. We're British.
And yet I think he believed me.
Carrington said, "I'll ask one of our men in Legal. Apparently the internet isn't like print. There are lots more gray areas. Meanwhile, what do you need? What can I do?"
It was one of those "road less traveled" moments when one has to choose this route or that one. You only hope you feel guided, that you are guided. And I did. I was. Maybe the pills were a good thing. They kept me from overthinking.
First thought, best thought, as they say. Though not the absolutely best thought, maybe. I should have mentioned Prager.
I said, "I need distance and time."
Emily had taken time off. It was my turn. Get away. Go somewhere else. Think. Wait for the dust to settle. All the signs and portents were pointing in that direction.
Carrington said, "This has been reposted on Facebook. There have been hundreds of likes. It's gone viral, as they say. Mildly viral. Treatable, perhaps." His chuckle was dry and mirthless. "The so-called truth is beside the point."
"Dear God," I said.
"Dear God indeed," said Carrington.
"What does all this mean? For me?"
"It means that even as we speak, somebody is figuring out if they can prosecute you. And if they decide to do that, things could happen rather quickly."
"Bloody hell," I said.
"Bloody hell indeed." Carrington had a habit of waiting till someone else cursed and then repeating it.
He said, "You're lucky that I like you. And that I believe you, except for the part about not knowing about the insurance scheme, which doesn't bother me, myself, though it would have generated some unfortunate publicity for the company if you'd been caught. Meanwhile I have an idea. We need someone to handle the sale of a plot of land on the Irish coast where a client is planning to build a retreat. Not a big client, not a big retreat, maybe a bit of a tax dodge, but everything perfectly legal. Perhaps you could arrange it. A temporary relocation. The golf in that part of the world is supposed to be outstanding.
"And as you said: Distance and time. As soon as matters are sorted out, we can work on the question of your return."
There were several things that Carrington didn't need to say. I was a British citizen. No one was going to extradite me for suspicion of spousal abuse or assisting a suicide or even attempted fraud. The insurance company would be thrilled not to have to pay. Prager could move on to another assignment.
Carrington was a good man, a nice man. I recognized his offer. The rope thrown to the drowning. The rescue from the burning building.
Carrington said, "The position would start immediately." He couldn't look at me, which was just as well.
"Excellent," I said. "Thank you. Really and truly. Thank you."
"Once is sufficient," Carrington said.
I knew that it was temporary. I needed distance and time. I'd go away and come back and get Nicky. His mother and I could still work things out in a more or less civilized way.
Civilized?What did that word even mean when I was talking about Emily, my wife, the woman I'd loved and thought I knew. What I knew now was that, most likely, she wasn't done with me. Did she still have some evil plan in store to punish me for what she'd imagined I'd done. I couldn't help thinking that she wouldn't rest until she'd made me suffer more than I already had.
There was nothing to do but wait. To hold my breath and wait.
