Page 58 of The Lie
‘Her name was Fleetwood,’ Michael said. ‘Grace Fleetwood.’
41
At the sound of Grace’s name on Michael’s lips, Romy felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. The bedroom air was stagnant and suffocating, as she waited for him to go on. He was very still, propped against the headboard as if he were carved in stone, no muscle moving except the rapid blinking of his eyelids. But he didn’t say a word for what seemed like an eternity, and neither did she – shaken, after all this time, that her husband had finally admitted knowing the girl.
When Michael began to speak, his voice was calm, his words measured. Romy was sure he had carefully rehearsed them – as meticulously, even, as he might his summing up to a jury. He did not meet her eye, just stared straight ahead towards the blank television screen on the far wall.
‘I’m going to tell you exactly what happened. Please let me finish before you say anything. I know this is a she said/he said situation, and I want you to hear it asIremember it.’
Romy nodded, although he still did not turn his head to look at her. She clutched her hands in her lap, a shiver passing through her body.
Michael took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. ‘Grace was a very beautiful girl,’ he began, ‘not just beautiful, but also lively and charismatic, someone wholaughed a lot. All those fraught clients and impossible caseloads … the atmosphere was heavy with tension most days.’ He sighed. ‘And Grace breezed in, like a breath of fresh air, cheering us all up.’
Romy waited for him to continue. His manner of speaking made it sound like the beginning of a fairytale. Not real life; nothislife.
‘She was keen as mustard to help, and she’d got this idea I was special in some way, I don’t know why. James and her mother were having a thing at the time, so maybe James was boasting about our chambers and her mother passed it on …’ He took a long breath. ‘Anyway, as a result, when she was with me, she seemed overawed, almost tongue-tied. She used to gaze at me with these huge grey eyes as if I were a pop idol or something.’ Michael glanced briefly at Romy, raising his eyebrows in a grim smile. ‘It was very flattering.’
Romy did not respond. She heard the throwaway detail about James and Nell, but it barely registered, she was so intent on listening to what Michael had to say.
‘I was in the middle of the Brigham case. I was stressed out of my mind, working every hour God sent. The man was such a devious bastard.’ He stopped, as if he’d lost his thread. Then he shook his head, almost impatiently. ‘Grace volunteered to help me sort out this mountain of papers for the following day. I was swamped. It was baking hot that week and the windows don’t open properly in my rooms because of security, so the place was really stifling. I knew I’d be at it all night …’ He took another deep breath.
Romy was listening in a haze of disappointment, realizing that some small part of her had still clung to thefaint possibility that none of this had ever happened, that it was just some crazy fabrication on Grace’s part. But he was speaking with too much gravitas.
‘At some point I told her she should go home, it was late. But she refused. So I offered her a glass of wine and poured one for myself. She sat on the sofa and patted the seat next to her.’ He paused, perhaps remembering. ‘“ Stop that for a second,” she said, “ and come and sit over here.”’ He raised his head and looked across at Romy. She saw what she thought was almost defiance in his eyes. ‘And, yes, I kissed her. I honestly thought she wanted me to … I’m so sorry, Romy.’
Romy heard a faint sigh and watched her husband press his good hand across his eyes. ‘I thought … I don’t know what I thought, I wasn’t thinking at all. I was just …’ He lifted his hand, palm up, as if, all these years later, he was still bewildered by what had happened that night. ‘I know it was terribly wrong. She was a child. And, obviously, there was you …’ He stopped again.
Romy frowned.That’s it? He’s telling me it was just one kiss?she asked herself, disgusted nevertheless as she pictured him pawing the teenager. ‘She said you attacked her, Michael. Not just in the letter. She told the whole story to Finch.’ She gulped, falling over the words in her head as she tried to make her point. ‘When I got the letter, you denied even knowing her. You made me feel cruel and disloyal simply for asking you about it.’ She heard the coldness in her voice, felt the quivering in her body. ‘Why should I believe you now?’
Her husband’s look was resolute. ‘I absolutely wasnotviolent, Romy. I wasn’t. She responded to my kiss – I knowI’m not mistaken about that. And then the phone was ringing and she was pushing me off. She ran out before I had a chance to say anything.’
Michael spoke firmly, certainly with the appearance of honesty. But she knew her husband well and something wasn’t ringing true. Could Grace really have embellished a single kiss into a drama of vicious assault?
‘She was very clear, Michael. You tore her dress. Her breasts and her thighs were bruised, she said.’
He shook his head wearily. ‘She said. But that’s utterly impossible. You know me, Romy, better than anyone. I am not a violent man.’ When she didn’t respond, he went on, ‘I’ve been a selfish sod in all sorts of ways over the years, I’ll admit, and I’ve got plenty of things wrong – not least that kiss and the lies I told subsequently. But can you honestly imagine me doing something so vile?’ He shook his head in apparent bewilderment. ‘I don’t know why she’s saying what she’s saying. I can only suppose it was a moment she’s remembered wrongly, something she feels she should be ashamed of for some reason.’
An edgy, breathless silence ensued.
‘I really thought she was coming on to me, Romy. Not that that makes it OK, but …’ His voice had risen plaintively. ‘A pretty girl, late on a hot summer night when we were both slightly crazy with heat and exhaustion, accepts a glass of wine, then smiles at you with her huge grey eyes and pats the seat next to her. It certainly didn’t feel as if I was forcing myself on her.’
Romy was thrown. She didn’t know whether to believe a word of what Michael was saying. Yes, he’d had a stroke,but this was one very clever man. A man who was capable – brilliantly so, by all accounts – of manipulating the truth until the opposing barrister didn’t know which way was up. Was this all just a crafty choreographing of events, worked out and nuanced over decades? Or was it true, and Grace – as Michael suggested – was suffering from misplaced shame?
‘But why would she be suddenly motivated all these years later to write such an accusatory letter, if all you did was kiss her? And why be so traumatized?’
‘I don’t know, Romy,’ Michael screeched. ‘It doesn’t make sense to me, either. I’ve thought about it non-stop since the day you showed me the bloody thing, but I can’t square her account of what happened with my own recollection. I just can’t. It’s devastating, what she said.’
‘Even now, she’s still incredibly upset, according to Finch. Even after all this time.’
He let out an exasperated sigh. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, but so am I. How do you think it feels to be accused like that? To see the doubt in your eyes, the contempt? It breaks my heart. And it destroyed our marriage.’
There was silence for a moment, before Romy answered. ‘I didn’t doubt you when I first read the letter, Michael. It was your reaction – refusing to engage with me about it, on any level – that helped destroy our marriage.’ She took a breath. ‘I never thought you capable of violence against anyone, let alone a young girl.’
‘I would hope not. After a lifetime together, I think I deserve the benefit of the doubt,’ Michael said, sounding hurt and slightly pompous.
Romy was too angry to reply.
Her husband slumped back against the pillows and closed his eyes as if he were defeated. She held on tightly to her fury as she straightened the clothes she’d scrunched up when she’d sat on the chair and turned towards the door. The whole sordid mess was like a cesspit opened to the air, the miasma choking everyone who stood too close.
