MERIDIAN, IDAHO

Friday, May 8, 1931

Henry Victor, attorney-at-law, was a tall man in his late thirties. His dark hair was sprinkled with gray, as was his mustache, giving him a dignified air. Andrew was no expert, but he suspected the man’s suit was of the very best quality. His well-shined shoes weren’t in need of repair. He must be doing well, despite the depression. That alone must have made him attractive to Helen.

“Mr. Henning.” Henry Victor didn’t offer his hand. Andrew wouldn’t have taken it if he had.

“Mr. Victor.”

“Have a seat.”

“Thank you.”

If the ability to hide one’s thoughts and feelings made an attorney successful, that explained Henry Victor’s nice suit. His expression told Andrew nothing. He looked neither upset nor concerned to have his mistress’s husband sitting opposite him.

“My wife thinks she’s in love with you,” Andrew said after a lengthy silence.

Henry’s eyebrows raised a fraction, but otherwise the statement brought no reaction.

“Are you in love with her?”

“Would it make a difference if I were?”

“No. I suppose not. Your feelings do not change my desire to save my marriage.”

Henry leaned back, his chair creaking softly. He steepled his fingers before his mouth. “Has she asked you for a divorce?”

Andrew perceived a slight change in the man’s voice. Tension? Disapproval? “No,” he answered. “She hasn’t. Not yet.” He feared she would but didn’t say so.

Henry nodded.

“I’m here to ask you to stop seeing her. Divorce isn’t an option in my mind, but as long as she thinks she may end up with you . . .” He let the words trail into silence.

This, at last, got a noticeable reaction. “End up with me?” Henry barked a humorless laugh. A moment later, he sobered. “Mr. Henning, I can assure you, I have no intention of marrying Helen, even if you granted her a divorce.”

The urge to punch the man returned with such force that Andrew wasn’t sure he could control the cold fury that curled his hands into fists.

Henry stood. “I will end my association with her. I give you my word.”

What worth was the word of a man who would sleep with a married woman? Andrew swallowed the question as he rose from his chair. All he could do was nod before turning and leaving the office.

The receptionist glanced up from her desk, and Andrew thought he saw pity in her eyes. He hoped he was wrong. The fewer people who knew of Helen’s indiscretions, the better.

But that left him wondering—how few were those who knew?