The Girl on the Cliff

by Lucinda Riley

  “The police keep asking me the same questions and I can’t answer them.”

  “They’ve arrested him, Lily. They’ve arrested Joe,” Kathleen whispered. “They’re blaming him for what’s happened to you. You will tell them, won’t you? Tell them that Joe loved you, would never hurt you . . . you know he wouldn’t. Please, Lily, tell them that.”

  Lily’s eyes remained closed. “I don’t think he would, no, but I can’t tell them what I don’t remember.”

  “What about Gerald? Did he try and . . . ?” Kathleen couldn’t voice the words. “Did you have to fight him off . . .”

  Lily’s eyes shot open. “Kathleen! He’s my half brother. I can hardly accuse him of doing this, can I? Besides”—her eyes began to close again—“as I said, I can’t remember. Now, please, I’m very tired and I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

  Kathleen fought back her tears “Lily. If you don’t speak up for Joe, they might send him to prison! Please, I’m begging you, I—”

  “That’s enough of that,” said a voice from behind her.

  Aunt Anna was standing by the door, arms folded. “I think it’s t-time for you to leave, Kathleen. As Lily has asked you to.”

  “Please, Aunt Anna,” said Kathleen in desperation, “they think our Joe did this to Lily and you know how he’s always adored her, wanted to protect her.”

  “Enough!” Her aunt’s voice was harsh. “You’re becoming hysterical and that’s not g-good for Lily. I suggest you allow the police to complete their investigation. No one has any idea what Joe might d-do when drunk, and I hardly think you’re in a position to comment either, young lady. You apparently p-passed out from drink and saw and heard nothing.”

  “No, but I did see Gerald and he had blood—”

  “I said enough! I wish you to leave my daughter’s room now, or I will have you removed. And let me tell you, Sebastian and I are in full agreement that the man who has assaulted our d-daughter deserves everything he gets! And we shall see to it that he does!”

  Kathleen ran from the room, tears blurring her vision. She left the hospital and sat down on a bench in the pretty gardens outside. It was useless, useless . . . and Joe, because he was Joe, was not equipped to protect or defend himself from what was happening to him. If Lily wouldn’t speak up for him, or Aunt Anna, she knew all hope was gone.

  • • •

  Three months later, Kathleen sat with her parents and watched Joe sentenced to life imprisonment for the rape and assault of Lily Lisle. Joe’s solicitor had managed to plead for Joe, due to his limited mental capacity, to be placed in a secure institution up in the Midlands.

  Kathleen knew she would never forget the look of confusion and fear on Joe’s drawn face, pointing to his family sitting at the back of the courtroom as he was taken roughly by the elbows, a guard on either side of him.

  “Joe!” Sophia screamed across the room. “Don’t take him, please! He’s my son, he doesn’t understand! Please . . . he’s my baby, he needs me . . . Joe! Joe!”

  As Joe was led out of the dock and disappeared from view down the steps, Sophia slumped in her chair and cried pitifully. “He’ll die in there, locked up with the mad ones, and none of his precious animals around him. Oh God . . . oh God . . .”

  Kathleen sat next to her mother, with her father, equally heartbroken, trying to calm her, and stared straight ahead.

  She knew then that she would never forgive the Lisles for what they had done to her family for the rest of her life.

  Dunworley Farmhouse

  The Present

  “Oh, Mam,” Grania said softly as she watched Kathleen’s shoulders heaving as she wept. She moved to put her arms around them. “Oh, Mam.”

  “Sorry, pet, it’s the telling of it that’s so painful.”

  “Mam, I just don’t know what to say. Here, have a tissue.” Grania pulled one from the box by her bed and patted her mother’s eyes gently.

  “I know you’ll be thinking this was a long time ago,” said Kathleen, trying to pull herself together, “but, Grania, I see Joe’s innocent, trusting eyes every day of my life. He didn’t understand, you see, what was happening to him. They put him in that place, that terrible place full of mad people who would scream and shout at the top of their voices, bang on locked doors to be let out.” Kathleen shuddered. “Ah, Grania, you have no idea.”

  “No, I’m sure I don’t,” said Grania quietly. “So, did you try appealing?”

  “Would you be surprised to know the solicitor we saw advised us we’d be wasting our money to try?” Kathleen chuckled sadly. “Besides, Joe went into that place and deteriorated. He’d always struggled with his speech, but when he got there, he gave up completely. I’d doubt he uttered a word for the next ten years of his life. He’d sit by a window, staring out, and even when we went to visit him, he didn’t seem to understand who we were. I think they must have put him on drugs, like they did all of them. Something to keep them quiet, make the nurses’ lives easier.”

  “Is he still there now, Mam?”

  “No.” Kathleen shook her head. “He died of a heart attack when you were twelve. That’s what they told us anyway. Joe always had a heart murmur, but I’d reckon it wasn’t the technical workings that went wrong, but the fact it snapped in two.” Kathleen sighed. “What did that poor boy have to live for? He’d been accused of hurting the person he’d loved more than his own life. And ended up losing his freedom because of it. Joe didn’t start out with many brains, so I’m sure that working out what had happened to him was impossible. So he coped by disappearing inside himself. At least, that’s what the psychiatrist told us.”

  “Oh, Mam”—Grania shook her head—“it’s a terrible story. Did Lily ever talk to you about it again? Did she remember what happened?”

  “That day at the hospital was the last time I ever spoke to Lily Lisle,” said Kathleen. “Aunt Anna swept her off to London as soon as she was home and we didn’t see hide nor hair of her again. Until she arrived back at Dunworley House with her husband in tow, many years later.”

  “And what about Gerald?” Grania asked. “From what you’ve just said, I gather he must have been the real perpetrator of the crime?”

  “That’s what I’ll believe until my dying day,” reiterated Kathleen adamantly. “It had to be one of them, and it could not have been my gentle Joe. But at least there’s some comfort there. I heard from someone who used to work up at Dunworley for Mr. Sebastian Lisle”—she spat the name out—“that Gerald got himself killed while he was overseas. Not, I might add, because he was serving his country in combat, but at a drunken brawl outside a bar in Cyprus. He died before Joe did, at the age of twenty-four. Which is how Lily came to inherit Dunworley House.”

  “Do you think what happened to her that night affected Lily? I mean . . .” Grania trod carefully, knowing it was painful for her mother, “Alexander has told me that Lily suffered serious mental instability.”

  “I wouldn’t be able to say, because Lily was always an odd child and a strange teenager,” mused Kathleen, “and she never let on whether she remembered what had happened that night. But you’d be thinking, wouldn’t you, if she’d remembered any of it, that it would affect her?”

  “Yes, of course it must have done,” Grania agreed. “It also explains why you’ve been so worried about my association with the Lisles. I really understand now.” Grania grasped her mother’s hand. “And I’m sorry if my connection with them has upset you and brought back the past.”

  “Well, as your daddy has said to me over and over, the past has nothing to do with you. But it destroyed my family, to be sure. Mam and Dad were never the same again. And, of course, it wasn’t just Lily, but Mam’s sister, Anna, who refused to speak up for her nephew. Even though my mammy begged her to tell the guards how harmless Joe was, Anna refused. If she had spoken, Grania, they might have listened. After all, she was the squire’s wife and would have been heard.”

  “But, Mam,” Grania sighed, “how
could she be expected to do that? Gerald was Anna’s stepson. She was married to his father. God, what a terrible mess.”

  “Yes,” Kathleen agreed, “and, of course, you’re right. Aunt Anna always knew which side her bread was buttered. Sebastian provided her with a comfortable life, and as much freedom as she wanted. After the incident, Aunt Anna rarely came back to Ireland, spending most of her time in London at the house she had grown up in. The two sisters never spoke again.”

  Grania was silent for a bit, taking time to make sense of what her mother had told her. “I understand you must hate Lily for what she did to Joe, but actually, Mam, was it really her fault? She had to suffer that terrible attack, whoever was the perpetrator of it. Perhaps she really couldn’t remember, but even if she could, would she ever have been likely to blame her half brother?” pondered Grania. “And who knows? Gerald threatened you; he may well have done the same to Lily to make sure she kept her mouth shut. I’m not trying to make excuses for her,” she added hastily, “but I don’t see how she could have won.”

  “You’re right, so,” said Kathleen. “That’s what your daddy has said to me for years. And, to be fair, when Sebastian Lisle died just after Gerald, and Lily inherited the Dunworley Estate from her father, my daddy wrote to her in London asking if he could finally purchase our farm. She agreed and was very fair about the price.”

  “Being cynical, perhaps it was to minimize any kind of contact between your family and hers?”

  “Yes. It probably was,” Kathleen agreed. “That, and maybe guilt too.”

  “Obviously, Alexander knows none of this,” said Grania.

  “I’d hardly think his wife would be telling him.”

  “No, but perhaps it would help him if Alexander did know. He’s always said he’s been uncomfortable living in Dunworley. And I think”—Grania scratched her head—“that even though you are not responsible for your partner’s problems, you still feel guilty that you didn’t do enough to help. And I know, from what Alexander has told me, that he did everything he possibly could to support Lily.”

  “I’m sure he did. And if it makes any difference to you, Grania, I’ve stopped blaming Lily for what happened. But the pain in my heart over my Joe will never go away.”

  “No . . . and Lily sounds as though she paid the price too. Poor thing. Would you mind if I did tell Alexander when the moment is right?”

  “No. I was feeling suddenly it was important to tell you before you left to see him tomorrow. The sad thing is,” Kathleen sighed, “I’m the only survivor left out of that night on the beach. It’s almost as if the world turned wrong for all of us that evening.”

  “Mam! I’m here and Shane and Dad,” Grania teased, “so something continued to go a little bit right.”

  “Yes, pet.” Kathleen reached out a hand and stroked her daughter’s cheek. “Of course it did. And your daddy, Grania, well now, if it hadn’t been for him being there for me after it all happened, I’d have gone mad altogether. He was wonderful, so he was. And he still is, for all his irritating habits,” she chuckled. “And now, I’d better let you get some sleep before you leave tomorrow. Promise me you’ll take care of yourself?”

  “Of course I will, Mam, I’m a big girl now.”

  “Never too big for a hiding from your mammy.” Kathleen smiled wearily.

  “I know.” Grania watched as Kathleen heaved herself off the bed and walked toward the door. “Good night, Mam. I love you.”

  “And I love you too, Grania.”

  Kathleen left her daughter’s room and walked next door to her own. John was fast asleep, the light still on. Dropping a tender kiss on her husband’s forehead, she wandered over to her dressing table. And picked up the small, exquisitely carved wooden angel Joe had fashioned with such love for Lily. She’d spotted it, lying in the sand, just outside the cave where Lily had been found, a few weeks after Joe had been sentenced. Holding it to her breast, Kathleen looked up.

  “Sleep tight now, Joe,” she murmured.

  Aurora

  Oh, Reader! Poor Kathleen! Under the circumstances, I’m surprised she ever let me darken her doorstep, given the black cloud of family history I brought with me.

  And poor Joe . . . one of life’s vulnerable humans, unable to protect or defend himself; a “victim” through fate’s lottery, and no fault of his own. I can only hope that his gentle spirit came back as a much-loved family pet, a cat for example; and that Ghastly Gerald was the mouse the Joe-cat stalked, played with and finally killed, just for fun.

  The worst thing is, as I learn more about my past I worry for the genes I have inherited. Ghastly Gerald was my uncle! Not to mention my granny Anna, whose inherent selfishness meant Lily grew up without what I believe to be perhaps the most important element of a human being’s life: the love of a mother. And, subsequently, so did I, until Grania came along and saved me.

  At least this part of the story has helped me understand Lily. I’ve been musing that, just as Joe was a victim through a lack of the normal portion of gifts we are given at birth, it was Lily’s “gift”—her beauty—that made her so vulnerable. Perhaps too much of any quality is as bad as too little. And she was so fragile—just as fragile as Joe, yet in a different way. Perhaps that’s what he recognized in her, even if others could only see her from the outside. To most people, like the young Kathleen, beauty and wealth are associated with power and strength. Yet Joe saw her vulnerability and simply wanted to protect her.

  Among other things, I’ve been reading a lot of religious philosophy recently. (If I sound more serious than usual, these books are the reason.) Science has now identified the genetic physical link we hand down, but I prefer to think that each little baby born is its “own” spirit, and that, whatever their upbringing, they will become who they are despite it. This makes me feel better personally, given my own gene pool.

  I said earlier on that the world doesn’t learn its lessons. Reader, I think I’m wrong. In the space of fifty years, people like Joe, who have for centuries been either drowned at birth or shut away because of their imperfections, are now cared for by society. Of course, there’s a flip side to that. In the Western world anyway, children are no longer put up chimneys, they are treated with kindness and consideration. But from being an often unwanted by-product of a man and a woman playing the most enjoyed human game (you know the one I mean!), they have now become the center of the family universe. I have met some very spoiled little people recently, and I struggle to imagine a world in which they can think of others and not themselves. Which may mean the human race turns another full, selfish circle again when their generation begins to run things, because we humans never stand still.

  I am only happy I lived this life when I did. In the past, I’m sure I would have been drowned as a witch. Along with Kathleen, who sees and feels the things I do and understands.

  Perhaps this is longer than usual because I am putting off writing the next bit of the story. It is not going to be easy for me . . .

  34

  A liveried chauffeur was holding up Grania’s name as she emerged through Arrivals at Geneva Airport.

  “Follow me, madam.”

  Outside, a black Mercedes was waiting. She climbed in and the driver set off silently.

  As she drove through Geneva to an unknown destination, Grania wondered if she’d been naive. Should she have trusted Alexander? She knew so little about him. He could be involved in all sorts of things that were illegal: gun-running, drugs . . .

  “Get hold of yourself, woman, and stop letting your imagination run away with you,” Grania admonished herself. Still, she fished in her handbag for her cell phone and tucked it safely in the pocket of her jacket.

  After a journey which took them out of the city and upward into the mountains behind, the car drew to a halt in front of a brightly lit modern building. The chauffeur opened the passenger door for her and she stepped out.

  “I will be waiting for you here. Mr. Devonshire is on the second floor. As
k at the desk and the nurses will tell you where to find him.”

  It was then Grania looked up above her and saw she was standing outside the entrance to the Clinique de Genolier. Instinctively, her hand went to her mouth. “Oh God, oh God . . .” she whispered to herself.

  Numbly, she took the elevator to the second floor as the chauffeur had directed, and walked to the nurses’ station to make herself known.

  “Your name?” asked the nurse.

  “Grania Ryan.”

  “Yes.” The nurse gave a smile of recognition. “Mr. Devonshire’s been expecting you. Follow me, please.”

  Heart in her mouth, Grania walked down the corridor and waited as the nurse knocked on the door. A weak voice said, “Come.”

  The nurse indicated for Grania to push the door open.

  Alexander, or at least what Grania could only describe as a vague shadow of the man she’d said good-bye to a few weeks ago, was lying in the bed. He was completely bald, his skin a sallow gray, his body hooked up to tubes, with monitors beeping monotonously around him. With effort, he lifted a thin arm in recognition of her arrival.

  “I’ll leave you alone for a while,” the nurse nodded as she closed the door behind them.

  “Grania, thank you . . . for coming.”

  Grania was rooted to the spot, her shock, she knew, visible on her face. But there was little she could do to control it.

  “I know,” croaked Alexander. “I know. You weren’t expecting”—he indicated himself—“this.”

  Grania shook her head silently, willing herself not to break down. He made a small movement with his hand to indicate she should come closer. When she drew next to him, she saw that his navy blue eyes were full of tears. Instinctively, she leaned forward and placed a kiss on his cold forehead.

  “Alexander,” she whispered, “What’s happened to you? I don’t understand.”

  He motioned her to pull up a chair and sit down next to him. Once she had done so, he moved his hand toward hers and she took it in her own.