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Back The Lie Save as PDF
Chapters (69)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. Acknowledgements
  66. Reading Group Questions
  67. Read More
  68. I
  69. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

‘Sometimes,’ she acknowledged. ‘But, on the whole, the networking dinners I gave for Michael bored me to tears,’ she told him. ‘I much preferred tonight.’ As she spoke, she imagined turning up to Cathy and Keith’s supper with Michael. He would have stolen the show, been so charming and magnetic that the other guests would have gone home feeling privileged to have met him. But she would have got barely a word in as she listened to all of his stories for the thousandth time. She sighed unconsciously.

‘Everything OK?’ Finch asked, laying a hand on her arm. It was late and he spoke quietly as they stood outside the silent row of houses – all in darkness at this time of night.

Romy noted his curious glance. He had the sort of eyes that invited confession, and she wanted to say more, didn’t want to leave Finch on this note. But thoughts of Michael among her new-found friends left her scarcely able to speak.

She looked up at him, her expression clouded. ‘I’m sorry … Sometimes …’

Finch seemed to understand, because he just pulled her into his arms and held her close for a moment. ‘Tell me about it one day,’ he said into her hair.

Watching him walk slowly away, Romy let out a slow breath. She dreaded the prospect that one day she might, indeed, have to tell him – or keep her disturbing secret for ever.

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8

December 2015

In the weeks since Romy had read the letter, she had been in a quandary. She had promised Michael she would not talk about it to anyone, but the words ran round and round her brain whenever there was a quiet moment, such as at three o’clock in the morning when she couldn’t sleep.

Finally, despite her promise, one miserable December day she found herself confiding in her best friend, Bettina.

Sitting at a window table in the fifth-floor café of the local department store, with a view over the rooftops of Chelsea, Bettina had listened carefully to Romy’s précis of the letter. ‘God,’ she said, ‘how awful.’ She let out a long breath. ‘That’s just horrible.’

‘I don’t know what to do,’ Romy said.

Her friend frowned. ‘You don’t think it’s true, do you?’

‘No,’ she said hurriedly, feeling almost ashamed it was her husband they were talking about. ‘Of course not. Michael wouldn’t attack anyone, not in a million years. He’s not even a ladies’ man. You know that. He only has eyes for his beloved work.’

Bettina gazed at her. ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t …’ She stopped, and Romy, sensing a ‘but’, waited for her to go on. ‘It’s just such a strange thing for someone to do, write an accusing letter like that. Especially since she says she’s not going to the police. I mean, what does she gain from it?’

‘Satisfaction in telling me, I suppose.’