Finding Grace(72)

He wasn’t going to believe that someone had gone to the trouble to meet up with her just for a coffee, was he?

So she’d said nothing at all. Hadn’t mentioned it. It would become just another thing to pop in the terrible memory box and push as far away as she could manage into the archives of her mind.

Blake wasn’t late leaving; he had an early breakfast meeting with the council about something or other. He had his sights set on working as a local councillor one day and he’d explained to her that this was how he’d win the trust of local communities, who’d hopefully end up voting him in.

She set the bath running and began to clear the table, carrying the dirty plates through into the kitchen.

The handle of the back door rattled and she unlocked it, rolling her eyes.

‘What have you forgotten this time – oh!’

She tried to close the door, but Stefan was too quick for her. He pushed it forcefully open, sending her skittling back on her heels into the kitchen.

He calmly closed the door behind him and locked it.

‘I’ve just seen lover boy leave, so I thought you might appreciate a little company.’ A couple of strides and he was right in front of her. ‘Bet you could use some attention from a real man instead of your wet Green Party fella. Told him about our little tête-à-tête, have you?’

She swallowed hard and spoke firmly.

‘Stefan. Remember everything you said the other day at the café. How you’ve regretted the things—’

He threw his head back and laughed. ‘That was all bollocks, you daft cow! I couldn’t believe you swallowed it so easily.’ His reached out and touched her breast. ‘Now, where did we leave it, last time we slept together?’

‘No!’ She pushed him hard and turned to run from the room, but his fingers tangled in her hair and jerked her head back.

She screamed as she felt hair ripping out of her scalp.

‘You’d do well to remember how Rhonda died, Lucinda. I did it then and got away with it, and I could easily do it again.’ He pressed his body up close against her from the back. ‘One more time for the road, doll, what do you say?’

‘Please… no… just leave, now. Don’t do anything you’ll regret…’

‘That’s not going to happen. I want you. I’ve thought about you for a long time, imagined the two of us having some of that wild fun we used to enjoy. Remember those days?’

She squeezed her eyes closed against the moving pictures in her mind.

‘I want you one last time before you marry him. Just between us, because if you tell… well, you know what will happen.’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I’ve still got them, you know. The photographs. My evidence against you.’

Lucie groaned, the food she’d eaten earlier churning in her stomach.

He propelled her forward, out of the kitchen and into the dim lounge. She’d already pulled the curtains when she and Blake had sat down with coffee earlier.

Please come back to the house for something, Blake, she willed silently. Please.

Wordlessly, Stefan pushed her down on the carpeted floor and peeled off his T-shirt. His face looked wolfish, feral as he advanced on her.

And Blake didn’t come back.





Fifty-One





When Stefan had left, Lucie lay curled up in the foetal position for a long time.

At that moment, she knew with all her heart there would be no escape from him. Even if she married Blake, there would be no new life waiting for her. Her life was simply an extension of the one she thought she’d left behind in Newcastle.

Stefan had the power to reclaim her at any time because he held the ultimate card: he could frame her for murder and she couldn’t do a thing about it. He could make sure she spent the rest of her life in prison.

Every day she’d live in fresh fear Stefan would return.

There was only one outcome that would give her peace. In that moment, she didn’t want to live any more. She didn’t want to see the look on Blake’s handsome face when he realised what she was, that she’d been lying to him all this time.

She wasn’t the woman he thought he was marrying. She was a fraud, someone who would stand by and let a monster like Stefan O’Hara get away scot-free with murdering an innocent girl who’d had her whole life ahead of her.

She’d been incredibly selfish by not going to the police all those years ago. Yes, she’d been worried about her father’s health, but really, if she was honest, it was worrying about herself that was the strongest motivation. She hadn’t had the courage to do the right thing and hope that truth would prevail.

The die was cast the minute she walked away and did nothing. She’d handed power over her life, her freedom, to Stefan O’Hara on a plate.

And he was still using it.

Her stomach hurt, her legs and arms hurt; she felt bruised and battered inside.

She rolled over and managed to get up on to her hands and knees. Using the edge of the couch, she hoisted herself up to standing. Her head felt woozy, her knees almost too weak to bear her weight.

It took a few minutes to slowly limp into the kitchen. Her throat felt so raw, she would have a coughing fit if she didn’t get some water, and that would crucify her sore stomach.

She reached the kitchen door and gasped. Water was gushing through the ceiling; the kitchen floor was swimming.