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.’

Romy could almost hear Michael scoffing at the word ‘setback’, but she didn’t interrupt.

‘I’ve put him on paroxetine. I’m afraid he’s showing clear signs of depression. The panic attack was a symptom.’ He handed Romy a prescription slip. ‘It takes a while for it to kick in, so don’t expect any improvement immediately, usually around a couple of weeks. Could be as much as six.’

But this was the third blow of the day. Before breakfast, she’d found Daniel in the kitchen, his eyes red from weeping. His mother, so his father had told him earlier, had suffered an escalation of the renal cancer she’d been fighting, and been told she had only months to live.

‘I will stay until Friday,’ he said, his usual pragmatic self, despite the devastating news. ‘You will have time to get someone else for Mr Michael,’ he said.

Romy hugged him, reeling at the news. ‘For goodness’ sake, Daniel, don’t worry about us. I’m so sorry about your mum. You said she’d been ill, but I thought she was better.’

He gave a sad smile. ‘I thought so too.’

‘We’ll all miss you so much. You’ve done miracles with Michael – I know it hasn’t always been easy.’

Daniel shrugged. ‘I will miss you too.’

‘But it won’t be long before he’s able to manage on his own, with a bit of luck.’

He had smiled encouragingly, but the message she’d read in his light blue eyes told her it would need more than luck.

Then there had been her phone call to Finch. She desperately wanted to apologize for what she’d implied about Grace, in the heat of the moment, which, whatever doubts she still had about Michael, had been so insensitive.

‘Hi, Romy.’ Finch’s voice was subdued, but the hostility from Sunday was no longer apparent. Now she had him on the other end of the phone, though, how to say what she wanted to say?

Before she’d had a chance to speak, it was Finch who was apologizing. ‘I’m sorry for being so aggressive the other day, storming out like that,’ he said, almost formally. But despite the apology, she couldn’t hear any note of affection in his voice and the knowledge twisted her heart.

‘No, please, it’s me who should apologize. That’s why I rang, to say how sorry I am for what I said.’

‘Thank you.’ Finch spoke the words softly. Then he went on, ‘Have you talked to Michael?’

‘Not yet. He had a bad panic attack yesterday …’ Romy ground to a halt, but Finch said nothing, and she hurried on, ‘The doctor said he shouldn’t get wound up. So I plan to talk to him later today. I need him to listen properly to what I have to say.’

Finch did not reply.

‘Finch?’

She heard him sigh. ‘I can’t do this, Romy. It’s no good. You’re so invested in Michael. You obviously care deeply about his welfare, which is fair enough, but I just can’t listen to it any more.’

Romy held her breath, her heart thumping unevenly in her chest. ‘He’s a sick man, Finch. Daniel has to go back to Switzerland and I can’t just abandon him.’ She was close to tears.

‘I’m sorry about Daniel. But this thing with Grace has been such a shock. I can’t see how we can go back to how things were before, even if you do eventually get around to confronting him.’

Romy was offended. ‘Are you implying I’m dragging my feet? That’s not fair. I haven’t done anything wrong here.’ But even as she said the words, she felt a stab of conscience. Although she could in no way be held responsible for Michael’s actions, she must accept some responsibility for remaining silent and passive about the letter all this time. But she was desperate to get her point across to Finch. ‘I knew nothing whatever about any of this until her letter arrived, I promise you.’ She cleared her throat, her voice croaking as she tried to finish what she was saying. ‘But even if Michael did what he’s accused of, Finch, there’s nothing I can do now to make it better for her – short of going to the police, which Grace doesn’t want to happen. You seem to think I can.’

‘If, if,’ Finch said quietly. ‘You’re still wondering if he did it.’

‘Listen to me, will you?’ she said, almost shouting with frustration. ‘I accept something went on that night. But until Michael actually tells me, nobody can say for sure what it was.’

‘Except Grace.’

‘Yes, there’s her version. But there were two people in that room. What happened to innocent until proven guilty?’

‘Doesn’t seem to count as far as Grace is concerned. You’re obviously intent on only believing Michael’s version – if you ever find out what that is, of course.’ His voice was edgy with an uncharacteristic sarcasm.

‘I’m sorry about Grace,’ she repeated stiffly.

There was silence at the other end of the line. If Finch, at the beginning of the phone call, had had the slightest desire to mend the gulf that had sprung up between them, her seeming equivocation had just burnt that bridge to the ground. She was furious with him, but in that moment she felt her heart would break. Since the day she’d found the letter, she had felt its scattered contents spilling over her, invading her mind, her heart, even her physical body – always there, like a pernicious virus. She had never in a million years anticipated such a cruel denouement.

‘Goodbye, Finch,’ she muttered, and didn’t wait for his reply.

Now, she gave Dr Beech a tight smile. Six weeks … the words closed round her, like a fist.

‘Thanks, Guy.’ Romy moved towards the front door, folding the prescription absentmindedly in her hand.

‘He shouldn’t be left alone. These panic attacks are very debilitating.’ Dr Beech rocked back and forth in his polished brogues. ‘But Michael’s tough. The arm’s not good, but getting his negative feelings under control will help … Another three or four months and he’ll be a new man.’ He patted her arm encouragingly as he added, ‘Lucky he’s got you.’