Page 33 of The Lie
Wendy shook her head gloomily. ‘That Andrew Marr fellow seems to have got back to normal,’ she said. ‘And his was a nasty one, by all accounts.’
‘I’m sure Michael will too. But the doctors have warned us not to expect too much too soon.’
Silence again. Romy found she couldn’t think of anything to say, because the only question that was burning on her tongue was the one that went, ‘Do you remember a work-experience girl, about sixteen years ago, who came for a week in the summer?’
Instead, she said, ‘I know you’re always very busy at this time of year. It must be hard being one barrister down.’
Wendy laughed ruefully. ‘It’s been a nightmare, to be honest. Michael has such a stellar reputation that everyone and his dog wants his services.’
Romy took a breath. ‘Do you still have all those work-experience teenagers helping out?’
‘“ Helping out ”?’ Wendy harrumphed. ‘More like cluttering up the place.’ She gave a long-suffering sigh. ‘I’m not being unkind. They’re usually very sweet and eager to please. But they nag me all day long. And it’s always me they come to, because they’re too scared to ask anyone else.’
Romy laughed. ‘I was talking to someone the other day, and she thought the daughter of a friend of hers had done a week with you back in June 2002.’
Wendy shrugged. ‘Could have. What was her name? I never forget a name, even if I can’t remember what they look like.’
Romy pretended it was on the tip of her tongue. ‘Umm, what was it now? Emma, or Emily? Something like that. She was James’s connection, I think.’
Wendy thought for a moment. ‘There was Emily Hayhurst, but she was much later – more like 2011. I remember her because she was such a little minx, racked up a vast sum on the mobile I lent her to book taxis for court, ringing her boyfriend in France.’
‘Teenagers, eh? Like herding cats,’ Romy said sympathetically. ‘It was the year I broke my leg falling off a bike,’ she added, hoping to jog Wendy’s memory. ‘It was really hot that summer.’
‘Oh, gosh, I remember. Such bad timing, with the boys out of school … I tried to get Michael to take time off, but he was so involved in that dreadful man’s trial … Oops, shouldn’t say that, should I? But he was a nasty piece of work.’
‘So maybe the girl …’
Daniel’s head appeared at the kitchen door. ‘He’s in the sitting room,’ he said, and Wendy looked relieved, jumping away from the worktop to follow Daniel.
‘I’ll bring the tea through,’ Romy said, feeling disappointed, but also thankful that she hadn’t been able to get a name out of Wendy.
What would I have done if she had remembered her?she asked herself, laying the dainty iced cakes on a plate.
She couldn’t imagine searching out the woman and confronting her now. It had been all she wanted to do three years ago, but Romy had gradually come to realize that nothing would be gained by it – at least for her. However convincing the writer of the letter might be, she would still be left with the excruciating dilemma of whom to believe. But what worried her most, as she filled the teapot with boiling water and stirred the leaves, was that she was even asking Wendy. Why was she still pursuing it – and still, in truth, itching to know – when she’d been doing everything in her power, until the stroke intervened, to refocus her life away from Michael and what had happened in her marriage?
23
‘He seems to really like Daniel,’ Romy said to Bettina, when she phoned the following morning. ‘The boy’s so good with him, and doesn’t seem to notice Michael being snippy. I can’t thank you enough for recommending him.’
‘I’m just happy it’s working out,’ Bettina replied. ‘And you? How are you surviving?’
‘I’m fine,’ Romy said. ‘I’m just worried that Michael seems to be depending on me more and more. Not in a physical sense, so much – that’s Daniel’s territory. But he hates being on his own, doesn’t want me to leave him for long … As if he’s frightened.’
‘He probably is frightened. I would be if I was him.’
‘Me too.’
Yesterday evening, when she’d settled him in bed, Michael had snatched her hand and given it a quick kiss. ‘Thanks for all you’re doing for me, Romy. I know I’m a grumpy old sod most of the time, but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate your being here – more than anything else in the world.’
She was taken aback and hadn’t known how to respond. To tell him it was a pleasure would be a lie he would never believe. But to tell him the truth – that she longed to get away so much sometimes that it hurt – would be plain cruel. She managed a smile and gently withdrew her hand.
It confused her that he was being so nice. Michael didn’t do ‘nice’. He abhorred sentimentality and favoured honesty over tact. He was so caught up in his own world that he didn’t concern himself much with other people’s feelings. But since the stroke, that had changed.
‘I haven’t told you enough in the past,’ he was saying.
‘Don’t be silly.’ She’d been embarrassed.
‘No … Lying here, I’ve had time to think. I took advantage of you, Romy. I didn’t appreciate just how much you meant to me, or how much you put up with, until you left.’
