The Girl on the Cliff

by Lucinda Riley

  “Oh—” Charley’s eyes glazed over. “So that makes it all right, does it? The fact you jumped me is made ‘OK’ because we’d done it before. Is that what you’re saying to me, Matt?”

  “No, I—shit, Charley!” Matt ran a hand through his hair distractedly then looked at her. “Are you serious?! You say I ‘jumped’ you that night?”

  “Yes, Matt, you did. Or are you accusing me of lying?”

  “Of course not. Goddammit! I can’t believe I could behave like that. I’m sorry, Charley. Real sorry,” he emphasized.

  “Yeah, well”—Charley shrugged—“not as sorry as I am. Don’t worry, I got with the program pretty soon after. Whether you remembered or you didn’t, the fact that I heard nothing from you in the two weeks afterward told me all I needed to know. It’s the gentleman’s job to call the lady, in case you’ve forgotten,” she added. “You used me, Matt. And I don’t think I deserved that.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Matt agreed, squirming under her cold gaze. “I feel like a total jerk, and if I were you, I doubt I’d want to have anything to do with me again.”

  “The thought has crossed my mind,” agreed Charley as their pizzas arrived. “I mean, if nothing else, I thought we were friends. And you sure shouldn’t treat your worst enemy the way you’ve treated me.”

  “No.” Matt was struggling to deal with a scenario he could hardly believe he had created. The behavior Charley described was completely out of character for him, therefore he had few tools at his disposal to defend himself. “Charley, I don’t know what to say. Jesus! I hardly know who I am at the moment. Having prided myself on being Mr. Nice Guy, maybe one way or another I have to come to terms with the fact I’m not.”

  “No.” Charley put a tiny piece of pizza in her mouth and chewed it, obviously reluctant to let him off the hook. “Just maybe, you’re not. And there’s me listening to you pour out your heart day after day, night after night, about Grania. Trying to be there when you needed me. And how do you treat me in return?”

  “Hey, Charley, I understand why,” Matt breathed, dazed from her verbal assault, “but you sure know how to make a guy feel bad.”

  “I’m sorry, Matt,” she agreed. “But that night, before you jumped me, you were very persuasive.”

  “Was I?”

  “Yeah. For example, you told me you loved me.”

  Matt felt he was drowning in a sea of accusations. And yet, they must be true. Why would Charley lie? She simply wasn’t that kind of girl. They’d grown up together—he knew her better than any other female with the exception of Grania. Matt had run out of words to say. He sat silently, regarding her across the table.

  “Look, Matt . . .” Charley let out a heavy sigh. “I really get that you’re not in a good space at the moment. You were drunk that night and I accept you said and did things you didn’t mean. And I was available and believed what you said, when I shouldn’t have done. So I guess it’s my fault too.”

  “Hell, Charley, it sure isn’t your fault. It’s mine, and I don’t want you to take one iota of blame. If I could press the rewind button, I would. And you’re right, I’m not in a good space right now. But that’s not your problem and I’ll never forgive myself for hurting you. I’m surprised you haven’t moved out, decided never to speak to me again.”

  “I would have done if I could, but the apartment’s taking far longer to get fixed than I thought. Don’t worry, Matt,” she added sadly, “When it’s habitable, I’ll be out of there.”

  “Is this the end of our friendship?” he asked slowly.

  “I don’t know, Matt,” she sighed. “Now we’ve talked, I need some time to think things through.”

  “Sure.”

  “I need to ask you, Matty, to be real honest with me. When you said . . . what you said that night before we made love, you didn’t mean it, did you?”

  “You mean that I loved you?” questioned Matt.

  “Yeah.”

  “I do love you, Charley,” he struggled, “You know I do. I wasn’t lying. As I’ve said before, we’ve known each other forever, you’re the sis I’ve never had. But . . .” Matt sighed, simply not knowing how to phrase the words he needed to use next.

  “It’s not that kind of love,” Charley prompted.

  Matt paused before he spoke. “No.”

  “Because you’re still in love with Grania?”

  “Yeah. I guess I am.”

  Matt watched as Charley cut another tiny piece of pizza, placed it on her fork and chewed it thoroughly. She swallowed, then immediately stood up. “Sorry, Matt, I gotta use the restroom.”

  Matt watched as Charley walked as swiftly across the restaurant as her upbringing would allow and disappeared down some steps. He put the pizza to one side, rested his elbows on the table and grazed his cheeks roughly with the palms of his hands. This was a nightmare . . . How could he have done what Charley had reported to him? He, a psychologist, aware of the failings of human nature, had himself fallen victim to its weaknesses.

  Matt wondered just what was up with him; his entire self-image during his thirty-six years had been built around the knowledge that he was a “good guy.” He’d believed he had always treated women with respect, never abused them or taken advantage of them. Valued their strengths and qualities and stayed within the parameters of the background and education he’d been given. Above all, Matt had always tried to act with integrity, and the thought that he hadn’t done so on the night with Charley—one of his closest friends, for Christ’s sake—filled him with self-loathing.

  Matt looked toward the steps, but there was still no sign of Charley. At least he’d had the guts to be honest with her and make it clear that there wasn’t a future for them. However much it hurt her, and even if what had happened that night had made their friendship irreparable, Matt knew it had been the right thing to do.

  Because . . .

  Whether Matt liked it, or wished it, or wanted it, the painful truth was that he was still in love with Grania.

  A pale Charley emerged from the restroom and sat down opposite Matt.

  “You OK?” Matt frowned. “You look real sick.”

  Charley shook her head. “No, I’m not ‘OK.’ I’m not OK at all.”

  “Is this me? Have I done this to you?”

  “Yup, I suppose in a way you have.” Charley looked up at him, tears in her eyes, limpid against the canvas of her pale skin. “Because the problem is, Matt, that I’m pregnant.”

  29

  Grania had woken up one morning and seen the first buds of wild fuchsia that would eventually turn the hedgerows along the lane into a riot of purple. The sight of them not only heralded the fact that spring was here, with summer hot on its heels, but that she had been in Ireland for almost four months. As she dressed and went down for a hurried breakfast, before driving Aurora to school then heading up to Dunworley House, Grania felt unnerved at the ease with which she had slipped into a routine. And how her everyday life here felt as normal as her previous life in New York. As she unlocked the door to her studio, Grania wondered whether this was partly to do with the fact she was involved in a new project. The feeling was reminiscent of the times she’d spent in her studio in the loft in TriBeCa; those moments when a sculpture had consumed her every waking thought.

  As she took off her jacket and went over to her workbench, Grania mused on the fact that, recently, obtaining a creative thrill from her work had been rare. Producing sculptures of children and animals for the well-heeled of the East Coast had become her bread and butter. It had been a way of earning a living, and allowed her the head space to pursue the “project” closest to her heart; that of having a baby.

  Grania studied the two sculptures that currently sat on her workbench. And felt a tinge of excitement run through her. Both of them were as yet unfinished and imperfect, but she was enough of a professional to know they had the makings of the best work she had ever produced. And the reason, she thought to herself, was simply because she had been in
spired, not forced, to create them. The feeling she had as she sat down at the bench and concentrated on molding the clay into a delicately arched foot was that which had taken her into sculpting in the first place. Creating an image, a likeness of something beautiful—holding on to the moment she’d seen it and transferring it into a material object which captured it forever—was invigorating.

  She’d had the inspiration one afternoon as she and Aurora had walked up the cliff path with Lily the puppy. She’d watched as Aurora danced ahead of her, her effortless grace exquisite to behold. Grania had been beset then by a sudden urge to capture it. Whipping out her phone, she’d taken some fast photos of the child in various positions of physical exuberance. And, the next morning, had begun work on a series of sculptures.

  Since then, she’d experienced a sense of peace—working in her wonderful studio all day, classical music on the sound system, the view in front of her a magnificent window to the subtlety of the changing season.

  This afternoon, having asked permission from Miss Elva, Grania was going down to the studio to watch and take photos of Aurora dancing.

  Having lost herself in her work all morning, Grania glanced at her watch and realized it was past three o’clock. She would only just make it in time to collect Aurora from school and take her down to Clonakilty for her class.

  The subject of her enthusiasm sat next to her happily as they drove into town, chattering about her new best friend at school, who was coming around for tea at the farm tomorrow to see the puppy. As she parked the car, Grania thought how the simple things many children took for granted were those that gave Aurora the most pleasure. She was living a normal life for the first time in her life.

  Grania sat in a corner of the studio, having resorted to her sketchbook as a less intrusive means of capturing Aurora as she danced. Even in the past two months, Aurora had improved beyond all recognition. The natural ability she possessed was slowly being honed into the technical positions ballet required. And, Grania thought as Aurora executed a perfect pirouette, while her life at the farmhouse might verge on the normal, Aurora’s talent was extraordinary.

  At the end of the class, Miss Elva shooed Aurora out of the studio and told her to change out of her leotard. She turned to Grania. “Well now, what do you think?”

  “She’s exquisite to watch.”

  “Yes, she is.” Miss Elva spoke in reverential tones. “She’s by far the most talented pupil I’ve had the good fortune to teach. I was worried that her late start would cause a problem, and she’s still a way to go on her technique. But I think she has every chance of being accepted into the Royal Ballet School. Did you manage to speak to her father?”

  “He knows Aurora’s taking lessons, but I haven’t mentioned the idea of a full-time ballet school. And I’m not sure whether it would be right for her. She’s settled, for the first time in her life. When would she have to audition?”

  “At the latest, in eighteen months’ time. She should be training full-time when she’s eleven.”

  “Right. Well, why don’t we see how she goes? And maybe next year we can think again.” Grania handed over the money for the lesson, thanked Miss Elva and went to collect Aurora.

  “So,” she said lightly to Aurora on the way home, “do you think that one day you’d like to go away to a ballet school and learn to dance full-time?”

  “Well, I love ballet, you know that, Grania,” Aurora confirmed. “But the problem is, who would look after Lily or help Shane milk the cows if I did?”

  “Good point,” agreed Grania.

  “And I wouldn’t want to leave behind all my new friends from school,” continued Aurora. “Perhaps when I’m older.”

  “Yes, perhaps when you’re older.”

  • • •

  Later that night, just as Grania was preparing to go upstairs to bed, her cell phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Is that Grania?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s Alexander here.”

  It was probably a bad line, but his voice sounded muffled and weak.

  “Hello, Alexander. How are you?”

  “I’m . . .” there was a pause before Alexander said, “OK. How’s Aurora?”

  “She’s very happy and settled here with us at the farm. School seems to be going really well and she’s made lots of new friends. And I was speaking to her ballet teacher today and—”

  “Grania,” Alexander halted her, “I need to see you. Urgently,” he added.

  “Right, when will you be home?”

  “That is the problem. I’m afraid that I can’t come home just now. I have to ask you to come here to me.”

  “And where would that be?” Having not heard from him for over a month, Grania had no idea where he was.

  “Switzerland. I’m in Switzerland.”

  “I see. Well, if it’s urgent, then . . .”

  “It is,” Alexander underlined. “Forgive me for asking you to make the journey, Grania, but really, I have little choice.”

  “OK. Well now, it’s Wednesday today . . . we’ve got the sheep-shearing on the farm this weekend, so how about next Tuesday?”

  “Grania, I need you to come tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow!”

  “Yes. I’ve already booked you a flight. You leave Cork airport at two forty-five, land in London at four, then take the British Airways flight to Geneva, which leaves at six. My driver will collect you from the airport and bring you here to me.”

  “Right,” Grania said uncertainly. “Do you want me to bring Aurora?”

  “No. Definitely not . . .” Alexander’s voice trailed off. “Oh, and remember to bring your birth certificate. Swiss passport control can be notoriously difficult, and it’s best to be prepared.”

  “Right.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow evening. And Grania?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  Grania pressed the button to end the call and sat at the kitchen table, dazed. She wondered what Alexander would have said if she’d refused to go. As far as she could see, it had been a done deal before he’d even picked up the receiver to call her.

  “What is it that you’re thinking, Grania?”

  Her mother’s voice broke into her thoughts. She was standing by the door, staring at her daughter.

  “I . . . I just had a very strange call from Alexander,” Grania said slowly. “He wants me to fly to Switzerland to see him tomorrow. He’s already booked the flight for me to go.”

  “Really?” Kathleen folded her arms and raised an eyebrow. “And are you?”

  “I don’t feel as though I have any choice.”

  “Well now, you could always say no.”

  “Yes, I could, Mam, but there was just something in his voice that”—Grania shrugged—“something’s not right. I know it isn’t.”

  “I’d say that if Himself has got a problem, it would be up to him to come back here and tell you about it. Not have you chasing across the world to see him.”

  “I agree, but there’s not a lot I can do about it, is there? He’s also asked me to take my birth certificate, says the authorities can be difficult. Could you dig it out for me, Mam?”

  “I could, yes, but something doesn’t smell right to me.”

  “To me neither,” Grania said. “But the best thing to do is to go and see what he wants.”

  “Grania.” Kathleen walked toward her. “Please understand that I don’t want to interfere, but is there . . . has there been anything between you and Alexander?”

  “I just don’t know.” Grania’s need to open up to someone overrode her normal reticence to divulge information to her mother. “I really don’t know.”

  “Has he . . .” Kathleen cleared her throat. “When you were up there . . . ?”

  “We’ve kissed, Mam,” she confessed, “and yes, if truth be told, I do feel something for him. But then . . .” Grania shook her head in confusion. “He said—well, he said he couldn’t take
the relationship any further.”

  “Did he tell you why?”

  “No. Perhaps he’s still in love with Lily, perhaps there’s someone else . . . who knows? One thing’s for sure, I certainly don’t,” Grania sighed.

  “Well, for what it’s worth, I watched Himself that night when Aurora had taken it in her head to run away. I watched him watching you. Whether the fondness that was there in his eyes as he looked at you was because of the love you’ve shown his daughter, or whether it’s more than that, I wouldn’t be knowing. Either way, Grania, you mean something to him. The question is, does he mean anything to you?”

  “Yes, Mam, he does. But how, or why, or where it’s going, I can’t say. Besides, I . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m not over Matt,” she admitted.

  “I know you’re not, pet. And maybe you never will be. But you’ve made it mighty clear to me that’s all in the past,” said Kathleen. “Just don’t rush into a future now, will you?”

  “No.” Grania stood up. “I’d better be off to bed if I’m to travel to Switzerland tomorrow.” She walked over to her mother and gave her a hug. “Thanks, Mam. As you always say, it’ll probably all come out in the wash.”

  “Let’s hope so. Good night.”

  Kathleen watched her daughter as she left the kitchen then put the kettle on the range to boil. The sixth sense her children and husband teased her about, yet trusted when it suited them to do so, was on red alert.

  “That family,” she muttered as she pulled her cardigan tighter around her and paced up and down the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil. She sat down with a mug of hot cocoa, trying to rationalize why something inside her was telling her that Grania needed to know the rest of the story now . . . now, before she left the safety of this house for Switzerland tomorrow.

  “I’m after being a silly old woman, why should Grania need to know any more of the past?” she muttered to herself. Having drunk her cocoa, she sighed heavily. “I surrender,” she said to the heavens, then stood up from the table. She climbed the stairs wearily and knocked on Grania’s bedroom door. “ ’Tis me, Mam,” she whispered. “Can I come in?”