Page 10 of The Lie
‘I’m not sure she appreciates a city interloper on her patch, however much she claims to want you to join in.’
‘It was such a fun evening, despite Jenny giving me the third degree,’ she said, as they stood on the corner where their paths diverged, Finch going north, she south across the village. And it had been. Although she barely knew any of those present, she’d found herself oddly relaxed in their company. She felt she’d been heard, that they were interested in what she had to say. She was not just making conversation, as she had so often in the high-octane social gatherings of her past.
‘So you don’t think Jenny has a point?’ he teased. ‘You must have hung out with some pretty interesting people through Michael’s work.’
‘Sometimes,’ she acknowledged. ‘But, on the whole, the networking dinners I gave for Michael bored me to tears,’ she told him. ‘I much preferred tonight.’ As she spoke, she imagined turning up to Cathy and Keith’s supper with Michael. He would have stolen the show, been so charming and magnetic that the other guests would have gone home feeling privileged to have met him. But she would have got barely a word in as she listened to all of his stories for the thousandth time. She sighed unconsciously.
‘Everything OK?’ Finch asked, laying a hand on her arm. It was late and he spoke quietly as they stood outside the silent row of houses – all in darkness at this time of night.
Romy noted his curious glance. He had the sort of eyes that invited confession, and she wanted to say more, didn’t want to leave Finch on this note. But thoughts of Michael among her new-found friends left her scarcely able to speak.
She looked up at him, her expression clouded. ‘I’m sorry … Sometimes …’
Finch seemed to understand, because he just pulled her into his arms and held her close for a moment. ‘Tell me about it one day,’ he said into her hair.
Watching him walk slowly away, Romy let out a slow breath. She dreaded the prospect that one day she might, indeed, have to tell him – or keep her disturbing secret for ever.
8
December 2015
In the weeks since Romy had read the letter, she had been in a quandary. She had promised Michael she would not talk about it to anyone, but the words ran round and round her brain whenever there was a quiet moment, such as at three o’clock in the morning when she couldn’t sleep.
Finally, despite her promise, one miserable December day she found herself confiding in her best friend, Bettina.
Sitting at a window table in the fifth-floor café of the local department store, with a view over the rooftops of Chelsea, Bettina had listened carefully to Romy’s précis of the letter. ‘God,’ she said, ‘how awful.’ She let out a long breath. ‘That’s just horrible.’
‘I don’t know what to do,’ Romy said.
Her friend frowned. ‘You don’t think it’s true, do you?’
‘No,’ she said hurriedly, feeling almost ashamed it was her husband they were talking about. ‘Of course not. Michael wouldn’t attack anyone, not in a million years. He’s not even a ladies’ man. You know that. He only has eyes for his beloved work.’
Bettina gazed at her. ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t …’ She stopped, and Romy, sensing a ‘but’, waited for her to go on. ‘It’s just such a strange thing for someone to do,write an accusing letter like that. Especially since she says she’s not going to the police. I mean, what does she gain from it?’
‘Satisfaction in telling me, I suppose.’
Her friend looked puzzled. ‘But that’s implying Michael did it.’ Her Australian intonation – modified after decades in England – was heightened when she was making a serious point.
‘I’m not.’ Romy was shocked to hear the waver in her voice. She wanted so badly to allay her own niggling fears. In telling Bettina, she had thought her friend would laugh at the letter, dismiss it as simply the ramblings of a sad, deluded person. And she needed to share the burden with someone. ‘But he won’t talk about it at all, Bet. He gets hurt and upset when I mention it, as if he’s surprised I should want to. Like the letter only exists inmyhead. He seems to think that just by bringing it up I believe he’s guilty. Which I don’t understand.’
‘Wendy organizes the work-experience kids. Knowing how meticulous she is, there’ll be a spreadsheet somewhere with all the names stretching back to the year dot,’ Michael had stated, with deceptive equanimity, one morning over breakfast, not long after the letter’s arrival, when Romy had brought up the subject yet again. ‘If you’re so desperate to know, why not ask her?’
Romy was amazed. He’d been furious when she’d made the same suggestion before. Was he testing her? But while she hesitated, wondering whether she might actually do so, Michael had erupted.
‘For heaven’s sake, Romy, you seriously think it’s a good idea to draw attention to someone possibly hell-benton destroying me …us, our family?’ He’d shaken his head, as if she, Romy, were the madwoman here.
Then he’d scraped his chair back and dropped his napkin on his empty toast plate, his mouth clamped shut in a resentful line. ‘Drop it, Romy. Just drop it. She’s had her say. Hopefully she’ll leave it at that.’ He stood above her, fixing her with a hurt stare. ‘Because you realize if you doanything, sayanythingtoanyone, you’ll be opening up a whole nightmare scenario. Which, despite the fact I’ve done absolutely nothing wrong, could finish me.’ His voice broke and he cleared his throat, his gaze softening somewhat. ‘You do realize that?’
Romy, taken aback by the emotion in his voice, had nonetheless persisted. ‘Don’t treat me as if I’m stupid, Michael. I just can’t understand why you’re not even a bit curious as to who she is and why she’s doing this.’
‘Change the record,’ her husband had muttered wearily, turning to leave the room.
Bettina was nodding. ‘Tricky to say what I’d do in the same circumstances. I don’t have so much to lose, obviously. It’s a bit different for a pillar of the justice system, like Michael.’ She eyed her friend. ‘So are you saying him not talking about it is making you suspicious, Romes?’
Not suspicious, exactly, she thought.More baffled. But she couldn’t bring herself to voice – even to her closest friend – the vaguest notion that maybe something did happen … like a kiss or something. And this woman, for whatever reason, had inflated the situation. Or she and Michael had had a consensual affair at some stage. When it didn’t work out, this was her sinister revenge.
Bettina was watching her again, waiting for her to respond. Romy shrugged. ‘He spends all day every day with people accused of things they might not have done. Perhaps he’s right to be cautious.’
