Romy instantly removed his hand, her body rigid. She was about to snap, ‘Don’t touch me,’ but he looked so pathetic lying beneath her that the words died on her lips. She just scrambled off, wrapping her silk dressing gown more tightly round her nakedness. She shivered. He had been her husband, yet all she could see was Grace.

Michael turned his head away and she heard, ‘Sorry … sorry.’

Pretending nothing had happened, Romy busied herself plumping his pillows, hoisting him onto them and hauling the duvet back onto the bed. Michael lay, eyes closed, so shrunken and pale. She could see his mouth working anxiously.

‘I didn’t mean that,’ he said.

Romy nodded, but didn’t reply.

‘I’m all over the place. I’m sorry,’ Michael went on.

‘It’s OK,’ she muttered, not meeting his eye.

There was silence from the bed.

‘You looked disgusted.’

Romy’s breath caught in her throat. ‘I was surprised, that’s all,’ she said eventually, looking directly at him. His dark eyes were unfathomable.

‘I was discombobulated when I fell.’ Michael’s face twisted. ‘And then you were lying on top of me and … it was like the past few years didn’t exist. I thought for a stupid moment we were still together.’

Romy didn’t know whether to believe him or not. It could just be him making up a clever excuse. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said.

Michael leant forward. ‘It does matter, Romy. I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of your kindness. I got confused. Will you forget it ever happened? Please?’

The desperation in his voice hit home and she sighed. ‘I said, it doesn’t matter, Michael. Really, there’s nothing to forget.’ She gave his duvet a final tug and turned away. ‘Are you OK now?’

‘Yes, yes. I’m fine,’ he said quietly.

She sensed he was waiting for her to give him some sort of sign, some indication that she had forgiven him. But she couldn’t bring herself to offer anything but a brief wave of her hand as she turned away.

Romy pulled the duvet close round her body, holding her cold hands in a ball under her chin, her knees drawn up. Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow Michael will tell me the truth. She was aware she could leave Michael in the safe hands of Daniel and Leo, just go home. But she would not leave quite yet, even though she could. Not before she had got the truth out of Michael about that night once and for all.

33

But the following morning, the freedom she’d begun almost to smell was yanked out of her hand, as if she’d been brutally mugged.

Dr Beech stood beside her in the hall. ‘A man like Michael,’ he said, ‘used to being in total control, at the top of his professional tree, he’s going to take this sort of setback hard.’