The Grayson Trilogy

by Georgia Rose

  As she’d moved closer, coming into the light, I’d been able to see her face more clearly and Trent’s words echoed in my mind again: ‘She’s mad.’ Realising his meaning more clearly now, there was a wildness in her eyes as they glittered, and while they never looked away from me, they were at the same time unfocused, distracted, and this scared me. I didn’t know how unbalanced she was.

  “I can only say I’m sorry,” I croaked hoarsely, my apology sounding feeble. How do you apologise for doing something like that to someone? She clearly wasn’t impressed with my apology either and it tipped her over, her face curling into something approaching a snarl as she leapt forward. I had no idea why she moved towards me when she did but it was all the opportunity I needed and I was ready for her, launching into a roundhouse kick, aiming for her head with the front of my foot and connecting, hard. At that precise moment there was a deafening explosion as the gun went off and I felt a viciously hard thump in my shoulder, the power of which threw me violently backwards until I was stopped abruptly by the door frame, and I crumpled into a heap on the floor.

  The gun had flown out of her hands as my kick connected, skidding across the floor into the shower room. I took a deep breath as pain burned through my shoulder, bringing tears to my eyes. My kick had thrown Zoe against the wall, which she’d hit hard, but not hard enough; she was not unconscious as I’d hoped and was already attempting to get up.

  My hearing had been affected by the gun blast, everything dulled and muted, but I could still hear her snarling in anger at me, realisation hitting that I needed to get to the gun first – to get to it before she could use it on Trent or the others. I tried to rise, crying out with the shock of the pain this movement caused, blood soaking through my clothes, my left arm useless, the pain already starting to overwhelm me as I struggled to get up. Dizziness and nausea swamped me, along with the feeling of everything moving in slow motion as I scrabbled along the floor, trying to get to the gun.

  I knew Zoe was up: I could hear her harsh breathing as she saw where I was moving to, saw what I was planning to do, and she started to shriek chillingly as she came for me. Sobbing in pain, in desperation, trying to get across the floor, all I could hear was Zoe closing in on me. Then it hit me, a sudden vision of the slashed pillows spewing feathers, and I realised she must have a knife. Oh dear God, I wasn’t going to survive this, I thought, at the same time recognising that that didn’t matter anymore, as long as I stopped her first. Feeling I was going to pass out from the pain and in a last-ditch effort before I did I lunged forward, closing my hand around the butt of the gun, twisting onto my back as pain seared through my shoulder once again. Finding the gun to be surprisingly heavy I brought it quickly up in front of me as when I turned to face her Zoe was already lunging towards me, the knife held between her hands. Trying to move, I couldn’t get out of the way fast enough and the knife sliced down through my sleeve, slashing into my right arm.

  I fired. She was close, too close, the gun bucking in my hand, the manic expression on her face freezing as she fell, landing across me.

  I collapsed back, gasping, trying to take a deep breath, feeling faint from the pain and the loss of blood which I could smell and feel running out of me. As the world became hazy I wondered vaguely if that meant I was dying. I felt peaceful so it didn’t matter. Before recent events this would have been a win-win situation for me. If I lived I’d get to be with Trent, if I died Eva would be waiting for me. As things were now I welcomed the sweet oblivion, the mist descending over my senses, disappearing into unconsciousness, at the last moment dimly hearing the sound of a door being kicked open, footsteps leaping up the stairs.

  Chapter 23

  Slowly becoming aware of my surroundings, groggily waking up, my eyes opened to see Cavendish sitting on a chair next to me. I tried to look round the room, another hospital room, trying to find Trent, but he wasn’t there. Of course he wasn’t there, I thought, as the memories came flooding back. Of course he wasn’t there, I repeated to myself, I’d killed his wife – he obviously wouldn’t be there for me now. This thought brought tears to my eyes as Cavendish reached out to take my hand, trying to comfort me.

  “Trent has had to go and sort a few things out, Grayson. He asked me to be here in case you woke up. Grace is here too.”

  “What time is it?” I asked, wondering how long I’d been out.

  “It’s late afternoon.”

  “Susie? I need to pick her up.” My voice sounded croaky.

  “Grace picked her up this morning. She’s fine and is staying with us for the moment,” he tried to reassure me.

  At that moment the door opened and I glanced up expectantly but it was Grace who entered, coming across the room quickly when she saw I was awake, trying to comfort me, but I was beyond help. I couldn’t stop the tears coming now in my anguish as I felt the familiar pain of the old wounds in my heart tearing open afresh. By my latest act I’d managed to ensure that if there’d ever been even a glimmer of hope for my future with Trent that had now been quashed and there was now no chance of a recovery for our relationship. The realisation of this brought further waves of unending pain that I didn’t think I could endure again.

  Cavendish called for help from the door as Grace tried to calm me down, and as she did she pleaded, “Please don’t give up on him, Emma.” Before long the nurse was there injecting something into whatever contraption they’d inserted into my arm and I was drifting into a haze where the pain muted and nothing seemed to matter anymore.

  The next time I woke Trent was there, sitting in an armchair in the corner. His head rested on his clenched fist as he stared at me, his eyes dark and brooding. He looked dreadful: tired, pale and drawn, a shadow across his face where he hadn’t shaved, his beautiful mouth a harsh line. Even from across the room I could feel the anger simmering within.

  I didn’t know how long I’d been there but the pale light coming in at the window suggested early morning – another night had passed. I was uncomfortable but guessed the painkillers were taking care of most of the pain. Looking down I could see my right upper arm was bandaged. The top part of my left arm was strapped to my side and the lower part was held in place across my chest by a sling. There was heavy strapping to my shoulder, across onto my chest.

  Trent walked over and looking up at him, a little fearfully, I wondered how furious he was going to be with me. I wasn’t sure I could take too much from him at the moment. Bringing his hand up to touch my face, his fingers were in my hair as he caressed my cheek softly with his thumb; the gentleness of his touch was almost unbearable but beyond that I could feel his fury boiling, the tension radiating off him, and tears pricked the back of my eyes again. Taking his hand away I felt the loss acutely as he continued to gaze down at me.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, having to clear my throat as my voice was so croaky.

  “Don’t…just don’t…” his response brief and I could see him clenching his jaw as he spoke, his eyes closing. “We need to talk but now is not the time or place. I’ll get you something to eat and try to sort out getting you home.” He turned, leaving the room.

  A little later he brought me tea and toast, propping me up in the bed, though I was too nauseous and miserable to eat so I feebly sipped at the tea. While I did, a little awkwardly as both of my arms were constricted to some degree, he went and stood, looking out of the window. Trent had suggested I would be going home but I didn’t see how I’d be able to do that. I needed to know what was going to happen to me and although saying this was going to make the awkwardness between us even worse, I still needed to know.

  My anxiety was expressed as I spoke. “I can’t go home – the cottage is…well…it’s not going to be possible.”

  Without looking at me he said bleakly, “That’s already been taken care of by Cavendish. The police have done what they needed to and as long as you feel you can go back there it’s ready for you.” That gave me some relief, though his mention of the police raised another
issue.

  “What about the police?”

  “I’ve made arrangements for them to interview you tomorrow. You were still sedated when they arrived here.” His manner perfunctory, I felt as if I was trying to swallow something jagged at this news, worry gnawing at me.

  He left the room while a doctor and a couple of nurses came in. The doctor explained I’d had an operation where they’d removed a bullet from my shoulder, repairing the damage it had caused, which fortunately had not been too extensive. Similarly they’d repaired the damage caused by the knife and stitched me up. My dressings were changed and I was given strict instructions on my recovery which initially meant daily trips to my local surgery for wound checks and dressing changes. As long as I adhered to their instructions they were happy for me to be discharged.

  When they’d gone Trent reappeared with the paperwork for me to sign, helping me to get dressed. Greene had sorted out and sent in my tracksuit again, only this time she’d included a jacket top rather than the sweatshirt. I could only put this on over my right arm, carefully, with Trent’s help, and he then pulled it round me, enclosing my left arm in it before doing up the zip. It wasn’t like the last time. During all this he was cold, detached and unable to look me in the eye. I knew from his behaviour that what we’d had was over. I couldn’t actually understand why he was here with me at all when it was obviously painful for him. Surely one of the others could have come and done this, but I didn’t dare ask. It was too awful watching him this unhappy.

  We were eventually ready to go and there was silence on the journey home. We’d barely spoken since I’d woken up and now the atmosphere between us was filled with misery and tension. Once we’d driven onto the estate I said quietly, “You can just drop me off at the cottage, Trent. I understand that you won’t want anything more to do with me so please don’t feel you need to come in to help or anything. I’ll be able to sort myself out.” As I said this I could feel sadness flooding through me again, the tears welling up. He responded coldly.

  “You can’t be left on your own as you’ve had a general anaesthetic. Also, it was you who finished with me, not the other way around, if you remember. We need to talk and you will listen to me this time. If you would then rather someone else was here with you, I will arrange it.” He said all this without once looking at me, staring through the windscreen as silence was resumed along with my nausea.

  There was no activity in the yard when we drove in as it was by then late morning and all the horses were out in the paddock. Trent helped me out of the truck but when I got to the back door I stopped, suddenly feeling nervous about entering, looking at Trent anxiously.

  “It’ll be fine, I’m here with you,” he reassured me, before opening the door and ushering me in. I went straight through to the sitting room and sat perched on the edge of one of the settees. Trent followed and started trying to get me comfortable, asking if I wanted a drink, some lunch, until I snapped at him.

  “I don’t want to be made comfortable, Trent, and I don’t want anything to eat or drink. I just need to get this over with so you can go.” I hesitated, looking at him as he sat on the other end of the settee facing me, before continuing in a more measured tone: “Let me speak first. I know this sounds feeble and inadequate but I don’t know what else to say other than I’m so sorry for killing her.” I saw him flinch uncomfortably as I said this. “It was self-defence, I promise you. I thought I was going to die.” My voice sounded hoarse as it shook with emotion. This was at least partly the truth – there had been a natural instinct in me to defend myself but I didn’t think he would understand or appreciate that in me that instinct was not very strong and I’d been more concerned about ensuring his survival and that of the others. I’d always have Eva waiting for me. Trent started to put his hand out towards me but then stopped, withdrawing it again as I took a breath to steady myself.

  “I’m sorry for the row, the way I reacted, the things I said. I realised afterwards that I’d misunderstood,” I continued. “I thought you’d divorced Zoe, but I realised during the night that followed that you’d never actually told me that, it was just an assumption I’d stupidly made. I’m the one responsible for putting myself in that position and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, because you didn’t lie to me. If I’d checked the facts in the first place I wouldn’t have become involved with you, and all of this would never have happened. I’m so sorry…” I’d run out of anything to say and sat there anxiously waiting for him to let go of his fury on me. I could feel it simmering, but when he spoke it was in a far calmer voice than I’d been expecting.

  “I know you’re sorry, Grayson, and while I appreciate you saying that, you shouldn’t have to be sorry for what you did because I also know it was self-defence. You did well to survive at all…I understood, eventually, why you reacted as you did when the note arrived and that you’re sorry for that too but there was a lot you didn’t know because I thought it was too early in our relationship to tell you. In hindsight, if you’d known all the facts I think you’d have reacted differently and we wouldn’t now be in this situation…What I’m trying to say is…that it’s me who should be apologising, not you.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing, “I need to tell you everything so you have the full story and can make your decision on what you want for us. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I whispered in agreement, a little surprised he hadn’t already made that decision, feeling the first tiny spark of hope.

  “You’re right about one thing. I didn’t divorce Zoe but there is much more to it than that and you need to give me the chance to explain.” I nodded at him mutely but tears were already coming to my eyes and spilling over as he’d just confirmed my worst fear. One which I’d been desperately hoping I was wrong about. He looked at me in despair, running his hands through his hair.

  “I’m not explaining this very well…Please don’t cry. Look, I didn’t divorce Zoe, I desperately didn’t want to separate from her but she chose to divorce me.” I stared at him now in horror – this was even worse than I’d imagined.

  “You didn’t want to separate? You were still in love with her?” I hadn’t anticipated this, and felt hurt at the revelation.

  “It’s true I didn’t want to separate but I’ll explain that as it’s complicated, and no, I’m not still in love with her. I was, and it took me a long time to get over it but that’s all very firmly in my past. Just hold on.” He leapt up, disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a box of tissues which he put down next to me.

  “It looks like you’re going to need these…Let me start at the beginning, no interruptions,” and looking at me for agreement I nodded, wiping my eyes again. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly before starting.

  “Okay, Zoe and I got married in our early twenties and, to borrow a phrase from you, I’m an all or nothing kind of guy, and when I make commitments, such as the vows I made to her, my intention is to stick to them. Unfortunately, fairly early on in our marriage Zoe showed signs of becoming mentally unstable. To be fair there had been signs of that before we got married – manic behaviour, that sort of thing – but I just put it down to her personality. However, as time passed it became worse. It was as if I was living with two different people – one my loving Zoe and the other a jealous, vindictive woman who I didn’t recognise and who on a couple of occasions actually attacked me. I’d never know who was going to be waiting for me when I came home from work.

  “Things really escalated when I got into the fight, killing the man who attacked Grace. Zoe seemed to feel threatened, jealous even, because I’d protected Grace, and her behaviour became worse, irrational and, at times, frighteningly vicious.

  “I tried to cover for her for a while but after the second attack I ended up in hospital and it all came out. Cavendish and Grace made me take her to a doctor and she entered a mental institution for a while for assessment. She was diagnosed with schizophrenia and paranoia which was what led to these psychotic episodes. She was pu
t on medication and eventually came home but as you can imagine it was a difficult time for both of us.” I could feel the sadness in him as he recalled these events.

  “I’m deeply ashamed that the other night I told you she was mad, that was such a crass thing to call her mental illness, but I was desperate and blurted it out, hoping it would stop you. Instead it only inflamed your misunderstanding.” I nodded.

  “I didn’t realise until I met her.”

  “I know, that can’t have been easy.” As I shook my head he was quiet for a moment, collecting his thoughts before continuing.

  “As far as I was concerned, following her diagnosis, we were muddling along all right but Zoe was deeply unhappy with me staying with her. She, sadly, did not feel about our vows the way I did and started straight away saying she wanted a divorce, so that I could apparently ‘go and live my life and not be weighed down by her’ as she put it. I wouldn’t listen to her, and fought her all the way every time she brought it up. However, eventually during one of her settled periods she managed to get a court to support her application and she got her divorce. It destroyed me.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that earlier?” Full of regret, my eyes closed against the pain this omission had caused. I’d meant this to be rhetorical, more an observation, but he answered anyway.

  “I don’t know…it didn’t come up…I thought…I hoped you saw me as a man who wouldn’t have moved on without being in a position to do so. In my arrogance I felt it unnecessary to have to explain myself.” I realised this was indeed the reason I hadn’t ever asked the question; I’d believed he was a good man, a man of principle, and I was relieved, even after everything, that my judgement and trust had not been misplaced after all.