It all boils down, he concluded, by the time he was back at the house, to whether she believes her husband, or some random woman – some random anonymous woman. And he knew which one he’d believe, if it had been between Nell and a man making similar accusations.

Finch found his heart was beginning to soften and he was regretting the accusations he’d hurled at Romy. But then, as he stood by the sink and drained the entire contents of a large glass of water, some of which dribbled down his chin onto his chest, he remembered the way in which she’d so pitilessly questioned Grace’s verbal account. People make stuff up. Finch accepted this was true – but not Grace. Isn’t Michael – clever and so well versed in the lies people tell – the one more likely to be making things up? he asked himself bitterly.

He showered, dressed and came back downstairs. He wanted to cry as he moved to stand in front of the photograph of Nell.

‘Why didn’t you know?’ he demanded, choking back his tears. ‘Why didn’t you see how distressed Gracie was when she came home from London? You’re her mum. You should have known.’ It was the first time since she’d died that Finch had reproached his wife. But Nell just smiled back and, after a minute, he turned disconsolately away. Everything seemed broken and empty to him now: Grace’s peace of mind, his possible future with Romy, even his consoling connection with his dead wife.

He wanted to talk to Romy so badly it made his whole body ache. He kept reaching for his phone, then throwing it back onto the worktop, composing speeches in his head, then quickly discarding them. Because he didn’t see how things could possibly work between them now. How could he be with a woman who – however understandably – refused to accept her husband’s obvious culpability? And how could he betray his stepdaughter, bring this same woman into their family and expect Grace to be comfortable around her?

He closed his eyes and remembered the last time he and Romy had made love. Those hazel eyes had looked at him with such tenderness, her body responding to his with such desire. Would he really never be with her like that again? Never hold her in his arms, laugh with her over chips and a cocktail? He felt close to despair.

32

‘Mr Michael has not had a good day,’ Daniel said, when Romy arrived back at the flat.

She nodded, although she was distracted. At this precise moment, she wished her husband in Hell. Because Michael had categorically lied to her. As Finch pointed out, no one in their right mind would make such a song and dance about an event so many years ago, unless there were at least some truth in it. So Michael must remember exactly who she was and what had happened between them.