Page 68 of The Lie
Romy nodded, desperate for a large glug of alcohol – any would do – to calm her nerves. She was cold, although it was warm and muggy outside and the restaurant had no air-conditioning. They chatted about the summer – James had been to his house in Tuscany, then a wedding in Majorca – until the wine and bottled water arrived. Then Romy took a deep breath. But before she could speak, James held his hand up.
‘I know why you invited me, Romy.’ His fair, round face looked pained. ‘And I understand why you’re upset with me. But I honestly don’t have a choice. Michael seems so … well, let’s be honest,’ he faltered, ‘not himself. And we’re inundated, as usual, working ourselves black and blue to deal with the caseload.’
Romy let his words hang in the air. She felt for him. ‘I’m not here about that, James.’
His expression cleared. ‘Oh, right. OK.’
She took a large mouthful of the chilled white, deliciously fortifying as it slid down her throat. ‘I wanted to talk about Grace Fleetwood.’
James’s eyes narrowed. But he said nothing.
‘I’d like the truth. I’d like to know exactly what Michael told you that night when he came round to your house.’ When the man still didn’t answer, she added, ‘Please, James. I saw you hesitate, when we last spoke about it, the day of Michael’s tea. I heard what you said. I know you’re hiding something.’
There was silence while James waved away the waiter who’d come to take their order and took what appeared to be a strategic sip from his glass. ‘What’s this all about, Romy?’ He sounded nonchalant, but she knew he was not.
‘Something isn’t ringing true. And I think, as Michael’s closest friend, you know what it is.’
James shook his head as if he were really puzzled. ‘Why, though? Why do you want to know? It’s decades ago.’ He paused. ‘Is the girl wanting to make trouble?’
His tone was chilly now and Romy could see how his bland, chummy exterior hid a very different persona. Michael had always told her, ‘Don’t be fooled by Bregman. He’s a clever bastard. You wouldn’t want to cross him in court.’
‘She’s a woman, James. And she’s not going to “ make trouble ”, as you put it. This is me who wants to know.’
James sighed. ‘Romy, listen.’ He reached across and grabbed her hand in his large, soft one. ‘Don’t do this. Don’t torture yourself. Michael’s a sick man. What good will it do to drag up the past now?’ His look was entreating.
‘Just tell me, James.’ She heard the flat, uncompromising note in her voice, knew the look she shot him matched it, and saw James come to a decision.
Shaking his head slightly, he frowned. ‘All right … What do you want to know?’
Romy didn’t answer, just stared at him, waiting. For what seemed like an age, he looked away, eyelids blinking, mouth twisting. But eventually he gave a heavy sigh, leaning in towards her, his words barely audible above the muted hubbub of the restaurant and the churning hiss of the espresso machine behind the bar. ‘If you really want to know the truth,’ he began, ‘Michael was not, as I told you before, in a “ bit of a state ” that night. He was in a dreadful state. So distraught he had to drink a large glassof whisky before he could say a word. He gave me a garbled account of what had happened … Then he told me he was scared witless she’d go to the police.’
Romy swallowed, feeling a shiver go up her spine. ‘The police?’
James hesitated, his eyes hooded. Then he nodded reluctantly. ‘He said he thought he’d gone too far. When I asked what he meant, he said – and I quote, because I’ll never forget his words – “ I think I might have hurt her.”’ His cheeks puffed as he blew out a slow breath.
Romy held her napkin to her mouth, suddenly fearing that the wine she’d just swallowed might come right back up as her stomach clenched and pitched.
James, seeing her horror, went on earnestly, ‘I honestly don’t think he was in his right mind, Romy. You know Michael – he’s Mr Cool most of the time, nothing fazes him. But that night he looked like he’d seen a ghost.’
Yes, thought Romy, bleakly,the ghost of his real self.
James was searching her face for a reaction. But all Romy could think about was Michael’s dark eyes, full of bewilderment and hurt innocence, his anger that she should doubt him –I absolutely wasnotviolent, Romy. I wasn’t. She had tried so hard to believe in him.He played me. She shuddered at the thought.He absolutely played me. His wife of over thirty years and he’d looked her in the eyes and lied through his bloody teeth.
‘I kept hoping I was wrong,’ she said quietly, then added, ‘Didn’t you worry … that he was capable of doing such a thing?’
James sighed. ‘Michael’s not a violent man, I’m sure you’ll agree. I was convinced it was just a very unfortunateone-off … maybe brought on by the ludicrous work pressure he was under.’ He paused, and Romy saw he was sweating, his forehead pink and glistening.
He refused to meet her eye as, reluctantly, he forced out the next words. ‘Michael said something along the lines of his being sure she wanted him, and when she resisted his advances, he just saw red. But he insisted he hadn’t gone as far as rape and I believed him. I only knew the girl by sight from when I was still in the village. I’d been in Amsterdam all her work-experience week and Nell and I kept our thing quite separate so I had no idea what she was like. And I was thinking of chambers, what a potential scandal might do …’ He finally looked up, his expression sheepish. ‘Obviously I had something to hide, too.’
Rage whispered up through Romy’s body. ‘So you just left it, did nothing, hoped it would go away?’ she hissed.
James shrugged. ‘Pretty much. I didn’t know what elsetodo.’
But as fast as the anger arrived, it ebbed away again as she heard the echo of Finch’s furious accusation. She had not known what to do either, when she’d read the letter. So she’d also done nothing and hoped it would go away. As, perhaps, had Nell, when faced with James’s no doubt sanitized tale of her daughter’s assault.
His eyes were hangdog now. ‘I’m ashamed of myself, Romy. Men have secrets together – I’m sure women do, too – but it honestly wasn’t a secret I relished, being party to a sexual assault on a teenager … on Nell’s daughter.’
Romy, against her will, found herself believing him.
