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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

Not suspicious, exactly, she thought. More baffled. But she couldn’t bring herself to voice – even to her closest friend – the vaguest notion that maybe something did happen … like a kiss or something. And this woman, for whatever reason, had inflated the situation. Or she and Michael had had a consensual affair at some stage. When it didn’t work out, this was her sinister revenge.

Bettina was watching her again, waiting for her to respond. Romy shrugged. ‘He spends all day every day with people accused of things they might not have done. Perhaps he’s right to be cautious.’

‘As long as you believe he’s innocent, Romy, and this woman shuts up …’ she paused ‘… saying nothing, doing nothing is probably the best plan.’

But do I believe him? Romy asked herself, as she walked slowly home. Bettina’s momentary doubt had made her realize she wasn’t as completely certain of Michael’s innocence as she kept telling herself she was.

Penguin Walking Logo

9

Romy had agreed to meet Finch at the station at five. She had dressed up a little – so far Finch had only seen her in jeans or joggers. Although those were her comfort zone, she didn’t feel the black trousers and soft blue linen jacket with the mandarin collar would frighten the horses. Clothes had always been a thorn in Romy’s side: her not very extensive wardrobe ranged with stuff that never seemed quite right on the night. She blamed her mother, who, as far as she could make out, had worn the same jeans and bobbly pink sweater for Romy’s entire childhood.

He was already there when she arrived, pacing up and down the almost empty platform. He looked scrubbed and handsome in his white shirt and dark jacket – and slightly nervous, she thought.

‘Hey,’ she said, smiling up at him. ‘This is fun. I haven’t been to a play in ages.’

He grinned back, making no effort to hide his pleasure at seeing her. ‘It’s had pretty good reviews.’

Romy wasn’t really concerned about the merits of the play, but she’d been looking forward to the evening with Finch in a quiet hum of excitement. It was cosy, sitting side by side as the train slid through the beautiful coastal wetlands in the fading light. Just Finch’s proximity, the warm bulk of him, was enough for Romy. They didn’t say much – she had never been one for entertaining the entire carriage with her life story – but it was a comfortable silence she didn’t feel the need to fill.