THE INNOCENT WIFE

CHAPTER ONE

"Try to stay calm, Roseanne. Your wife will be here soon."

Blood was clumped against Roseanne's pale blonde hair, and a persistent ringing sound in her left ear was making hearing difficult.

Roseanne opened her mouth to speak but the tube they'd inserted made it impossible. Her pale brown eyes were round like saucers as she stared up at the young man with the kind smile. His white doctor's coat was splattered in red. Her blood? She eyed it apologetically then winced, when the sudden movement sent a blinding pain shooting through her.

"You gave your neighbour quite a fright," he continued, looking past her now, as he pushed the bed she lay on through a set of double doors. They banged loudly against the end of the metallic frame as she whooshed through, and Roseanne jumped.

It brought back a memory. Something cold and heavy being pounded against her face. It made no sense. She closed her eyes, trying to catch the threads of memory. But it was all jumbled up. Like a mirror that had been splintered in the middle, only shards of her day remained. She remembered getting dressed earlier that day. Lingering over what to wear, and what the weather would do. London was, of course, notoriously difficult to predict. She remembered that she'd been at lunch. Alone. And she remembered the waiter; a woman with dark hair and black eyes. She'd reminded Roseanne, at first, of her. Lisa Manoban. Only at first, because no one was exactly like her powerful ex-wife. But what had Roseanne done between getting dressed, and going to lunch? And, crucially, afterwards? What had happened that she'd been bashed over the head, and rendered unconscious?

"You're going to be fine." The doctor promised, clicking the bed into place against the wall. "I'm going to run a few tests and then come back with some news."

Roseanne couldn't speak, so she nodded. It hurt.

"Try not to do that." He smiled, and his face crinkled to form two perfect dimples in his cheeks. "You'll be able to talk again soon. Until then, I want you lying here admiring the spectacular wallpaper."

Her gaze flicked to the pale yellow surface, and then back to the doctor. With her eyes, she showed both agreement and amusement. Almost as soon as he disappeared through the doors, a nurse entered.

"'Ello, darlin'," she said, reaching for Roseanne's chart and reading the doctor's hastily penned notes. "I see those medics have gone and tubed you." She rolled her expressive brown eyes towards her greying hair and then reached for a pair of gloves. "I can get that out for you now." She came to stand over Roseanne, and made a tsking sound as she examined the head wound.

Roseanne had never known her parents. Instead, she'd spent time in a series of foster homes, until she'd finally been old enough to free herself from the system. But this woman reminded her of what a mother should be. Her face was pleasingly lined, around the eyes and the mouth. It spoke of a life spent smiling. "Quite a ding you've got here," she said with a shake of her head, as she put her fingers on the edge of the tube. "Doctor Mark will fix you right up, though. He's the best in the business."

Roseanne would have smiled if she had any freedom of movement in her lips. Despite the fact she couldn't speak, the nurse continued to chat, as she went through the instructions for removing the tube. It was painful and uncomfortable, but Roseanne was glad when it was out. She coughed, and instinctively looked around for water. The nurse poured a small measure into a plastic cup and handed it to Roseanne.

She wrinkled her nose as she drank it. Her throat was so badly scratched by the tube that she didn't even mind that the water tasted like the Thames.

"How do you feel?" The nurse asked sympathetically.

Roseanne tried to clear her throat, but that burned even worse. "I'll live," she croaked, her usually refined accent coming across as just a whisper.

"That's the spirit. My name's Deb, and you can call on me anytime. The police want to have a word with you regarding the incident."