Page 42 of The Lie
She said, ‘“ More involved ”, as in …?’
Another deep breath. ‘Well … I like her a lot.’
‘Wow. OK. That sounds serious, then.’ Grace sat back in her chair. ‘Wow,’ she said again, almost in a whisper this time.
‘I knew this would come as a shock to you, Gracie. And I was in two minds whether to tell you or not. But I don’t want to be sneaking around behind your back.’
There was silence for a moment. Then his stepdaughter said emphatically, ‘No … Listen, I’m really fine with it.’ She gave him a wide grin. ‘To be honest, I’ve been waiting for you to meet someone for ages. Just before she died, Mum told me she hoped you would …’
‘She said that?’ Finch was incredibly pleased to hear this. ‘Well …’ He felt almost embarrassed under his stepdaughter’s approving stare.
Neither spoke for a moment.
‘We can’t go on living in her shadow for ever,’ Grace said softly.
‘No, but nor will I ever replace your mum, Gracie. You know that. What I have with Romy is a totally different thing.’
‘Romy? Is that her name? So tell me more about her.’ His stepdaughter’s voice had regained its usual bounce. She might be putting on a brave face, but at least they were over the first hurdle. Finch’s breathing came more easily as he settled in to tell her.
‘OK. Well, she’s separated from her husband. Not divorced yet, but she will be. Or might have been, if he hadn’t had a stroke a few weeks ago. She’s gone back to London to help out until he’s better, but normally she lives in one of those cottages on the harbour. It used to be their weekend place.’
Grace was frowning. ‘Hmm … She’s looking after him? And they’re not divorced? Are you sure she’s not spinning you a line, Finch?’
‘I hope not. I don’t think so. I’ve made it sound as if she’s more attached to Michael – that’s her husband – than she is.’
Grace seemed doubtful. He supposed it might all sound pretty unconventional. He couldn’t expect her to be on board immediately.
‘Romy’s passionate about the environment, into conservation,’ he hurried on, ‘but not in a smug way. She volunteers for hazel coppicing and stuff, just because she loves doing it.’ He realized he wasn’t painting a very enticing picture of Romy. His stepdaughter had always made fun of the sandal-wearing vegans with grey ponytails whose territory she – and many others – considered environmental issues to be.
He tried again. ‘She’s not a hippie,’ he insisted. ‘She’s led a sophisticated life in London – her ex is a successful QC. Michael Claire, he’s often in the papers, defending some celebrity sex offender.’ He knew he was being snide in defining Michael like that, but he didn’t particularly care. It was Romy he wanted Grace to like, not Michael.
Grace’s face, normally so animated, went very still.
28
As Finch cleared away the supper things, blew out the candles and filled the dishwasher, he was worried. Something wasn’t right.Her face, he thought,when I mentioned Michael’s surname … That was when her mood changed. Before that, she’d seemed quite happy to talk about Romy. But straight afterwards she’d said she was really tired, and rushed off, barely saying goodnight to him.Does she know Michael?
He lay awake for a long time. The moon was bright outside the window and he couldn’t be bothered to get up and shut the curtains. He must have finally dropped off, though, because when he felt a hand on his shoulder, he had to drag himself up from a very great depth.
‘Gracie?’ He blinked, reaching for the bedside light, the figure of his stepdaughter in her pink childhood dressing gown – which still hung on the back of her bedroom door for when she visited – loomed above him, silhouetted by the moonlight. He heard a sob and instantly sat upright, swinging his legs out of the bed.
She plonked herself down beside him and he saw she was clutching a tissue in her hand, her face blotched, eyes red-rimmed from crying.
‘Sweetheart …’ He put his arm around her shoulders and brought her close. She was cold and shaking. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’ He thought it must be somethingto do with Nell. Grace had always found it hard coming home since her mother had died. She’d said so, many a time. ‘Are you missing your mum?’ he asked.
But Grace shook her head vehemently. ‘No, well, yes, I always miss her. But this …’ She stopped.
‘Tell me,’ he said gently.
She began to cry again and he waited, just holding her until the tears had subsided. ‘I’ve never told anyone,’ she began, ‘not in all these years. I didn’t think I ever would.’ She pulled away and blew her nose, clasping her hands tight together between her knees. ‘But when you mentioned Michael Claire …’
‘You know him?’ Finch asked, his guts churning with an unnamed fear.
She nodded. ‘I did work experience in his chambers when I was sixteen. For a week. James Bregman – the barrister Michael shares chambers with – was a friend of Mum’s.’ Grace was talking quickly now, and she barely paused before more words came tumbling out, her voice suddenly forceful and determined. ‘You won’t want to hear this, Finch, but Michael Claire assaulted me one night, when everyone else had gone home. He gave me wine and he assaulted me.’
Finch gasped, trying to take in what Grace was saying.
His stepdaughter’s eyes were defiant. ‘He sat next to me on this chaise-longue thing in his office and stuck his tongue down my throat and tore my dress, pinned me down, bruised my breasts and my thighs … It was brutal.’
