Author's note: This chapter may be disturbing. For that reason I have decided to publish the final chapter, Chapter 5, as well. Please read the entire story. I know reading numbers have dropped away, and I thought they might, but if you have come this far, read on.

A claustrophobic uneasiness began to tighten around me. I needed to get away, so I strolled down to the edge of the lake. The fresh blue water invited me to sit and watch while I debated what to tell Dr Clarkson about my wife. More to the point, what could I say? Helen had been an enigma, even to me. She had been vivacious, funny, charming, empathetic, loving and also cold and surly. In Barbara's vernacular, she would have been labelled a proper bitch. Not that Barbara had ever said that. She wouldn't. I don't remember her ever criticising Helen, but there were looks. I knew what she was thinking, but never once did she say anything.

It is a truism, but one grounded in the misery of many - hindsight is a wonderful thing. After Eastbourne, Barbara and I agreed that I would tell Helen about us. Neither of us was comfortable with the idea that we were adulterous. We respected Helen and wanted to be honest so that I could commence formal separation processes.

My conversation did not go well. The ugliest side of my wife revealed itself and in turn, mine. We argued brutally. Every last issue we had harboured over the years poured out in a stream of vitriol and hatred. Helen blamed me for neglecting her needs, and my response that she had the emotional softness of a hungry dinosaur was not seen as remotely funny. My closeness with Barbara, where Helen felt like the third wheel, was thrown at me with an accusation that we had conspired to isolate her. I denounced her penchant for making major decisions for us without consulting me and her self-righteous belief that she always knew best. I threw in Helen's continued fascination with Rhys and her hypocrisy regarding Barbara for added insult.

But never argue with a psychologist, they know how to wound you to your core. Helen stood with her hands on her hips, smiled as if she was Satan's spawn, then declared she had only returned for my genetics, planning a child that would secure her future and finance the ailing Clyde family estate. To cap it off she swore that my money and title had been the main reasons for marrying me. Of all the things I thought Helen was, a gold digger had never been one of them.

Even though deep down I knew it was true, I could not believe she had never loved me. We had been best friends for years. I had at least had the decency to think I was in love with her. As I sat in my study and drained a bottle of my best Aberfeldy, each sip fuelled my anger. Then Helen marched in with a list of demands, including how she proposed we split my money. I didn't even care about the money, but her callousness tipped me over the point of reason. She had made me promise never to leave because it would destroy her, but now there were no tears, only a grubby hand trying to take more than half my family estate. I never had, until that moment, thought of striking a woman but I raised my hand and swung violently at her face.

In the last second, I pulled away. We both stopped dead, staring at each other. Helen fled upstairs, and I seized another bottle from my credenza then sunk into my chair.

By morning everyone knew. Mother yelled at me loud enough to be heard from Howenstowe without the telephone. Judith rang to see if I was alright and then my solicitor rang to inform me that the Clyde family lawyer had already rung him demanding a substantial stipend until we could reach a settlement.

I packed a bag and drove to Hampstead, grateful not to have been arrested for drink driving. I was undoubtedly over the limit but I needed to be away from Helen or I might not stop myself if we argued. I had genuinely feared I might kill her. A rage existed inside me. The passion of a thousand real and perceived injustices. I couldn't trust myself not to lose my self-control.

Barbara, as always, calmed my soul. She listened to me without judgement then wrapped her arms around me and let me mourn my marriage. The memory made me shiver. I needed those arms and her strength now, but I had driven the only woman who ever truly loved me into hiding.

I picked up a handful of pebbles from the path and began to pitch them into the lake, disrupting the surface of the dark water. Ripples spread out like the consequences of my marriage. I had assumed the lake was ornamental, but as I studied the contours of the land, I could see that Capability Brown had built the gardens around a natural feature. The lake was probably quite deep.

As children, Simon and I had often skipped stones across ponds on his family estate. It annoyed me that he sided with Helen and disappeared from my life after my relationship with Barbara was in the open. He didn't approve and made that very clear on the morning he invited me to breakfast at our club.

"The trouble with you, Tommy, is that you always want more. You have Helen, or had her, but you have to have Barbara too. She's your friend; I know that, but, well, she is hardly likely to make a satisfactory Countess is she?"

"Simon, it's none of your business."

"Have your fling. Get it out of your system, but don't throw away your marriage."

I remember staring at him hoping he would understand, but he meant it. "Simon, I love her."

"You don't understand the first thing about love, Tommy. You're always searching for something elusive. It's elusive because it doesn't exist. You and Helen are well-suited. She has impeccable breeding; she's well-educated, able to hold an entertaining conversation. What more do you want?"

"Someone who loves me, and I have that with Barbara."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Tommy! Helen loves you. You were friends for years. Besides in most marriages, it's the friendship that counts. Love fades, or romantic love anyway. After all, it is only a hormonal reaction that stimulates our biological urge to procreate."

"Really, Simon." I frowned at him in disgust.

"Look, Tommy, if you must, take Barbara as your mistress, but don't forsake Helen."

My hackles began to rise. "That's rich, from the man who stole the woman I loved from under me."

Simon waved his hand dismissively. "It wasn't like that, and you know it."

"Wasn't it? Deborah and I..."

"What? Are you going to tell me you were both in love? Tommy, you can't steal someone who doesn't want to leave."

A stake passed through my heart, but he was right. Deborah hadn't been in love with me. I think she was once, but I had destroyed that over time. I was determined never to let that happen with Barbara.

"That's in the past, Simon, but don't try to steal my happiness again by telling me who I can and cannot love." I threw my serviette on the table and stormed out.

Barbara convinced her doctors that with my help she was well enough to be discharged. We moved into her flat at the end of that week. It was cramped, but it was overflowing with love. What others thought meant nothing to us. We understood each other, and we were the only ones who counted.

Other than my breakfast with Simon, I spent my time with Barbara. I took leave until we could finalise our plans for the future. So much depended on Barbara's health and Helen's revenge. Those few weeks together were the happiest of my life, despite the circumstances. We should have known it would be shattered.

I had been in bed with Barbara when I took the call. She had not slept well, so we stayed snuggled together under the sheets until mid-morning. We were beginning to turn loving kisses into something more. I answered because I was expecting Helen to ring and wanted the satisfaction of hearing her anger. I had engaged the best property law barrister in England, and he confirmed that my father's prudence in placing the majority of the estate into a family trust with strict income conditions, meant that Helen could only claim a portion of my allowance which was several million pounds smaller than she had hoped.

"Don't, Tommy. Let her cool down first." Barbara touched my thigh and inched her fingers up my leg.

"Tempting as your offer sounds, I want to hear her reaction."

"No, Tommy. You're better than that."

"You, my love, overestimate me."

I took the call, and Barbara rolled away. I could tell she was annoyed, but I intended to make it up to her very soon. "Helen. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"You bastard! You knew." I could hear the sound of traffic in the background. She had just come out from her meeting.

"I had a reasonable idea, yes."

"Don't sound so smug. My solicitor is not going to let this rest. He thinks the trust can be set aside."

"It can't. I have had good counsel too. Because it was formed more than twenty years before our marriage but after a male heir was born, my father is considered to have intended to exclude me and any future spouse from sole ownership of the estate. You have no leg to stand on."

"You do realise you have ruined me, and my family. I hate you, Tommy. I hope you and your working class whore are as miserable as we were. I..." The sharp blast of a truck horn and a squeal of brakes obliterated her words. There was a sickening crunch of metal then silence. "Helen! HELEN!"

The coroner ruled it was an accidental death. He found that she had been distracted by the news and our call. The lorry driver's evidence that she had looked at him them stepped out in front of his vehicle was given little credence as her solicitor had testified that he had watched her from his window and seen her agitation. He believed, or at least said so to protect the Clyde name, that she had looked both ways as she tried to cross the road but in her distressed state had not registered that the truck was moving.

It sounded credible, but I knew it had been deliberate. I had seen enough liars in my career to know the lorry driver was telling the truth. And I had heard a fatalistic tone in her final curse. She wanted to break me, publically and spiritually.

My family were polite to Barbara, but not welcoming. She ignored it, but she couldn't ignore my moods. At my insistence, we had moved into my townhouse in Belgravia. That too was a mistake, but I hadn't wanted to be forced out of what and who I was by Helen. Logically, I knew it was not my fault. Helen had, accidentally or not, died while she was arguing with me. I had wanted to gloat. I should have listened to Barbara, but I hadn't, and every waking minute I was wracked with guilt. About Helen. About Barbara. Things were beginning to spiral out of control.

My greatest sin was thinking I was alone. I had Barbara, but I didn't see until it was too late that she shared my guilt and pain. Our love was publicly sullied. The press ran several stories complete with quotes from my close friends, many of whom I would struggle to recognise in a line-up because I had not seen them in so long. They portrayed Barbara as a chancer, not my soulmate. Even the Met spurned us. Hillier had ensured Barbara's compensation and police pension were fast-tracked. He processed my resignation in record time. We had no jobs and no direction.

Waves of depression started to roll over me, tossing me around like a discarded bottle on a stoney shoreline. Some waves were gentle. A thought or two. A twinge of guilt. Others submerged me. Fear drove my face into the sand. Remorse left me fighting my way to the surface only to be buffeted again. The seventh wave, the worst in the set, would pick me up. I'd ride high towards shore, confident I would make it unscathed, believing I could conquer the insidious dread that fed off my inadequacies, only for it to curl and plunge me headlong in to the rocks, smashing my ego beyond recognition. And then the first wave returned and the cycle began again.

I lost sight of anything beyond me. All my energy was needed to keep my head above water, to breathe. Whiskey helped, a false friend who numbed my mind and tricked my soul. I failed to see the quiet fury that was developing in Barbara. We bickered more frequently, edged with genuine anger. I drank more. We rarely made love. When we did, we had peace. Lying in her arms, holding her close, our troubles faded. Looking back the answers were there. We had each other and together we were strong. Instead, I leant on my false idol. I drank more and more and more to forget while Barbara withdrew and stewed. I told myself that staying in my study would protect her, save her from my pain. I never wanted to be so angry with her that I lost control as I had with Helen. we just needed time I thought, but we slowly lost each other and didn't know how to fix it.

One night, I had been locked in my study for hours battling my demons when Barbara burst through the door. "Tommy, we need to talk."

"Not now, Barbara, I'm too tired."

"It's important, Tommy. You have to stop this. You have to talk to me instead of trying to hide inside that bottle of yours."

"I can't. I killed Helen as sure as if I had run her over myself. How can I forget that? How can we ever go back?"

"We can go forward."

"Can we? Can we really ever forget? Every time we look at each other, we're thinking about her." I regretted saying that as soon as the words left my drunken mouth.

Barbara's face fell. Then for the first time since Eastbourne, I saw her barricades come up. "I went through months of agony because I believed I had done the right thing and because you had been there, waiting. But it was a waste wasn't it?"

"No!"

"Then what is it, Tommy? I still love you. I'm waiting for you to come back to me."

"I know, and I don't deserve you. I've made your life a misery. I drink too much, trying to bury it all, but I can't stop the rage inside me. I can't love you as I should, but I do love you, you have to believe that, Barbara."

"Don't be so bloody selfish. What happened to the Tommy who stayed with me and never let me give up? This is about us, not just you. We moved back here for God alone knows what reason, but this house is full of memories of her. She haunts us. Is that what you want? To live with a cruel ghost who wants to destroy you? I don't. I was shot trying to save her. Now I wish I hadn't. I wish she had died then. I would rather have had to pick up the pieces of you grieving than this."

"Barbara, no."

She walked to the window and looked out. "Don't tell me you never thought that too. You said as much."

"I know, but I wish she were still alive. I should have given her the money and let her leave us in peace."

"Oh, Tommy. I thought we finally had something unbreakable. If you truly love me, then nothing else should matter, but I'm beginning to wonder if you ever did! Was I just another one of your mistakes?" She shook her head. Barbara's disappointment in me was palpable as she slowly looked me up and down. She strode angrily to the door, gave me one last look, one last chance to save us, then walked out.

"Barbara, wait."

I heard her slam the front door. She had gone, and I had never felt so alone and scared. I tried to stand but fell against my desk. Many of her charges were true, but I did love her, more than I could ever find the words to tell her. I just couldn't stop the thoughts that had colonised my mind and poisoned me. Without Barbara, there was nothing.

I leant against the desk for an age, my fingers idly playing with the plastic bag that held three bottles of Hennessy. I had ruined the only relationship that had ever mattered. I removed the bottles, sat in my chair and hurried scribbled, 'I do love you, eternally. I'm sorry.'

I took a deep breath, the irony making me smile as I pulled the bag over my head and knotted it around my neck. As I took what I assumed were my last breaths, I thought of how Barbara and I had been in Eastbourne. Our love. Gentle. Sweet. Fulfilling.

My face was sweating, and the bag clung to it, slowly suffocating me. My quickening gasps echoed. Panic edged into my brain. I began to claw at the bag, but I deserved to die. I had ruined too many lives. Peter. Mother. Simon. Helen. And now my precious Barbara. As lights flashed in my eyes, I lowered my hands and drifted into blackness, I knew Hell was watching, waiting, but it couldn't be worse than the hell in my mind.

Barbara's nails scratched my cheek as she ripped open the bag and pulled it away from my nose and mouth. I coughed, a lot.

"What the fuck are you doing, Tommy?"

I passed out again. It was the last time I saw her.

The lake called to me. Barbara was not around to save me this time. I wish I knew how she had known, why she had come back. Love perhaps? I hoped so.

I tucked my pyjamas legs into my socks. Grabbing handfuls of pebbles, I stuffed them down as far as they would go. I stood and shook them further, adding more before tucking in my shirt, pulling the drawstring tight and knotting it firmly. I bent down and gathered handfuls of the rough gravel and shoved it into my shirt, making sure I spread it around evenly. I wanted to fit in as much as I could. I buttoned the shirt up at the neck and pulled my dressing gown around me, binding everything together.

The rocks jabbed and scratched me as I wobbled towards the lake. The weight dragged, and I had to force my legs forward as if I was walking into a gale. I winced at the coldness of the water but kept wading. Ankles, calves, knees. I pushed on. Thighs, groin, waist. I was not deep enough. I used my arms to pull through the water. I began to feel my ballast dragging me under. My slippers sunk into the ooze on the lakebed. I tried to swim deeper. Just a bit further so that I could not change my mind.

I stopped moving, and the water sucked me down. I wanted to exhale, but I held my breath. I needed just a few seconds more to think about Barbara, about Eastbourne, about what could have been. A quote from Tennessee Williams came to mind, 'Hell is yourself, and the only redemption is when a person puts himself aside to feel deeply for another person.' I had pushed her away and let redemption slip through my fingers.

The water crushed my chest. White flashes danced in my vision then my focus narrowed like the closing lens of a camera. Just one speck of light remained. I extended my arms and tried to float. I exhaled slowly. My body started to fight for breath but refused to breathe in. I tried to still it, but instinct is greater than the mind. Panic rose in my gut. I was going to die. It was too late to go back. Water flooded into my mouth. I felt my throat cease. I could neither breathe in nor out. I was sinking. I was finally going to find peace.

I could hear a voice calling me. Barbara's? No... impossible. But it was there. Hail Mary, full of grace, our Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women... and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus... Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death...