She let her father in and closed the door again hurriedly before the photographers got a shot.
There were only two of them this morning. Interest was waning at last.
Sam Winter looked closely at her face. Six weeks after her return from America, the bruising was now just the faintest of shadows but every time they met she saw him examine her.
‘I can’t stay long,’ he said. ‘I’m on my way to a meeting. The break-up of Malone Group. I just wanted to show you this.’
He held out a cheque. It was for ten thousand pounds and made out to Peter Quinn of the Harbour Pottery.
‘It’s to pay off what your friend Cochrane owes. Maybe it’ll make up a bit for any lost revenue as a result of his erratic opening hours. I’ve spoken to Quinn about it and he’s happy enough. He says he wants to let the matter rest but I thought he could do with the money. None of this was his fault, was it?’
‘No,’ Meg said, ‘That’s good of you, Dad.’
‘Maybe that’s the last we’ll hear of Cochrane, too,’ he said but it was more of a question than a statement and she did not know the answer.
Since the events in Portland and the killings at Harvard, she and Dan had been carried along on a tidal wave of worldwide publicity that had allowed her to avoid dealing with her inner feelings.
It was time she did.
He had done things that she found hard to accept. Following her, taking those photographs, weaseling his way into her life. Yet in the end he had come after her in order to save it.
‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘I don’t know.’
‘By the way. I’ve written him a letter.’
‘A letter to Dan?’
‘Yes. That business of his mother’s farm. I want him to know that that was nothing to do with me. I want him to be clear about that. It was Christopher Malone who had connections at the bank, not me. When he told me the land was available at a knock-down price I was happy to buy I had no idea of the story that lay behind it. Cochrane victimised us both for nothing.’
They sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment. Then he said, ‘Your mother—’
‘I’m going to see her this afternoon.’
‘Good. She’s lost weight. It’s the stress, I know, but she won’t see a doctor and she won’t take any advice, not even from her beloved Pastor Drew. She might listen to you.’
‘I don’t see why. She never has before.’
‘Please, Meg, don’t start.’
‘Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll do my best.’
She showed him out a few minutes later. The photographers would have preferred a picture of her but they snapped him anyway. She saw him scowl and mutter something at them as he got into the Range Rover and drove off.
She turned back to the room.
There were cards everywhere, some of them saying get well soon. Flowers, too. Elizabeth had been one of the first to send a card although she had also come back from London to see her in person, armed with a huge bouquet. She looked at the other greetings. Among them was one from Liam Maginnis at the Musgrave Park, one from the nursing staff and one from Teresa Caffrey at Knockvale House.
She had never been back there. That was shameful. She would have to visit them soon, to see the place where they had cared for her for so long, to thank them for everything they had done.
There was even a card from Florence Gilmour. She had called with Sergeant Nixon because they still had an unfinished murder case to sort out. Meg had made a formal statement about what she remembered from that night.
She picked up another card. There was a drawing of a spray of flowers on the front and the message: Hope everything goes well for you now.
She looked inside. It was signed – Noel. She put it down again.
Every day when she woke up she found it hard to believe everything that had happened, how it all led back to her.
Senator Aiden Ross had withdrawn his candidacy as President of the United States. He could not have done otherwise. The race for the White House was now wide open again and President Vernon was looking more confident every day. And that – all of that – was because of her.
She checked herself and thought of what Dan had said in the hospital. He was right.
It’s not because of you – it’s because of them. They killed Paul Everett – you didn’t. And if Dan hadn’t come in here and found that letter, they’d have killed you too.
The phone started but she let it ring unanswered.
She had the machine on permanently because the newspapers had got her number somehow. They were calling her from all over the world. She had thought of escaping, disappearing somewhere for a few weeks, but in the end she had felt it was best to tough it out here, in her own familiar surroundings.
‘Hi, Meg,’ a voice said, ‘it’s Roy Flynn calling you from Portland. I just thought I’d bring you up to date but maybe you’re not home right now.’
She grabbed the phone. ‘Roy?’
‘Oh, hi. Is that the real you or another bit of the message?’
‘It’s the real me.’ She smiled down the phone at him. ‘Good to hear from you. What’s the latest?’
‘The latest,’ he said with a sigh, ‘is that it looks like they’re going to charge Alice Harte with attempted murder.’
‘And about time too.’
‘Although I have to tell you that if she pleads guilty to a lesser charge, the DA might be happy to go along with that.’
‘A lesser charge? Like what?’
‘Like assault, maybe.’
‘But she tried to kill me.’
‘I know,’ he said and she heard the apology in his voice, ‘but they’re practical people. They won’t want the hassle and the expense of a long trial, bringing you and Dan Cochrane back here again. I figure that if she cops a plea, her lawyer’ll make a deal.’
‘And what will that add up to?’
‘With good behaviour she’ll do a couple of years, maybe as little as eighteen months.’
‘Eighteen months? But what about Paul Everett? What about her being extradited to face murder charges here?’
‘Well, I don’t know how the law works over there in Ireland but I reckon the most they can charge her with is being an accessory and withholding information. She says she wasn’t there when the murder took place and even though the Malone tape says she did it, there’s no way that can be used as evidence. Apart from her, you’re the only person left alive who was there that night and you didn’t see what happened.’
She was stunned. ‘But you believe she did it?’
‘Me? You bet I do. But what I believe doesn’t make any difference. I think Chris Malone was telling the truth on that tape. I think Alice Harte did the actual killing. We all know she was capable of it.’
Meg suddenly remembered the blanket across her face. She could taste it and smell it with total clarity, as if it was happening now. She felt the fear again.
What was the word Dan had used?
Engram.
‘So what’s likely to happen now?’ she said.
‘Well, after her stretch here, there’ll be a trial in Belfast and another sentence maybe. If she pleads guilty, then with the fact that she’ll already have done time here in the States, she’ll get maybe five years, tops.’
‘So, you’re telling me that in five, six years from now, she could be out?’
‘That’s the way it looks, yes. I’m sorry, Meg.’
‘I know you want to see justice done but I’m afraid this is the best you’re going to get.’
‘It doesn’t seem right,’ she said. ‘After all this.’
She met him in the car park at Castle Ward, where they had met before. The choice was hers, somewhere safe from prying eyes and camera lenses.
He was waiting for her and as soon as she saw him she knew it could never be the same.
It was a sunny morning, cold. They sat on a bench and talked, looking out at the lough where dozens of migrant brent geese bobbed like a fleet at anchor, their soft cries echoing across the still water.
‘I love you, Meg,’ he told her and she saw that he did. He had never said that to her before but it was too late now.
He asked her to forgive him.
‘Forgive you,’ she said. ‘Yes, I forgive you, if that’s what you want. But I can never forget. It would always be between us, Dan. There would always be suspicion, mistrust. Eventually it would eat away at anything we had.’ She looked at him. ‘It‘s time to move on.’
She walked back towards her car alone. Just then the geese rose, responding to some secret alarm signal that only they recognised. She turned at the sound and saw them wheel and bank in the air with absolute precision, then head further inland along the shore.
He was standing at the edge of the water watching them.
For a brief time, before she had known the truth, it had been good.
All that was gone now. But at least she could remember. At least she could do that.