A strange look came into Lucy’s eyes, then she glanced around again, as if looking for someone. Only anonymous shoppers drifted up and down the arcade under the stained-glass roof, packages in hands. Lucy touched Maggie’s arm with her fingertips and Maggie felt a little shiver run through her, almost like a reflex action to pull away. A moment ago, she had thought it would do her good to admit to someone, to share what happened with another woman, but now she wasn’t so sure. She felt too naked, too raw.
“I’m sorry if it embarrasses you,” Maggie said, with a hard edge to her voice. “But you did ask.”
“Oh, no,” said Lucy, grasping Maggie’s wrist. Her grip was surprisingly strong, her hands cool. “Please don’t think that. I asked for it. I always do. It’s my fault. But it doesn’t embarrass me. It’s just… I don’t know what to say. I mean… you? You seem so bright, so in control.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I thought: How could something like that happen to someone like me? Doesn’t it only happen to other women, poor, less fortunate, uneducated, stupid women?”
“How long?” Lucy asked. “I mean…?”
“How long did I let it go on before I left?”
“Yes.”
“Two years. And don’t ask me how I could let it go on for so long, either. I don’t know. I’m still working on that one with the shrink.”
“I see.” Lucy paused, taking it all in. “What made you leave him in the end?”
Maggie paused a moment, then went on. “One day he just went too far,” she said. “He broke my jaw and two ribs, did some damage to my insides. It put me in hospital. While I was there I filed assault charges. And do you know what? As soon as I’d done it I wanted to drop them, but the police wouldn’t let me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know what it’s like over here, but in Canada it’s out of your hands if you bring assault charges. You can’t just change your mind and drop them. Anyway, there was a restraining order against him. Nothing happened for a couple of weeks; then he came around to the house with flowers, wanting to talk.”
“What did you do?”
“I kept the chain on. I wouldn’t let him in. He was in one of his contrite moods, pleading and wheedling, promising on his mother’s grave. He’d done it before.”
“And broken his promise?”
“Every time. Anyway, then he became threatening and abusive. He started hammering at the door and calling me names. I called the police. They arrested him. He came back again, stalking me. Then a friend suggested I move away for a while, the further the better. I knew about the house on The Hill. Ruth and Charles Everett own the place. Do you know them?”
Lucy shook her head. “I’ve seen them around. Not for a while, though.”
“No, you wouldn’t have. Charles was offered a year’s appointment at Columbia University in New York, starting in January. Ruth went with him.”
“How did you know them?”
“Ruth and I are in the same line of work. It’s a fairly small world.”
“But why Leeds?”
Maggie smiled. “Why not? First, there was the house, just waiting for me, and my parents came from Yorkshire. I was born here. Rawdon. But we left when I was a little girl. Anyway, it seemed the ideal solution.”
“So you’re living across the road in that big house all alone?”
“All alone.”
“I thought I hadn’t seen anyone else coming and going.”
“To be honest, Lucy, you’re pretty much the first person I’ve spoken to since I got here – apart from my shrink and my agent, that is. It’s not that people aren’t friendly. I’ve just been… well… stand-offish, I suppose. A bit distant.” Lucy’s hand still rested on Maggie’s forearm, though she wasn’t gripping at all now.
“That makes sense. After what you’ve been through. Did he follow you over here?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t think he knows where I am. I’ve had a few late-night hang-up calls, but I honestly don’t know if they’re from him. I don’t think they are. All my friends back there swore they wouldn’t tell him where I was, and he doesn’t know Ruth and Charles. He had little interest in my career. I doubt that he knows I’m in England, though I wouldn’t put it past him to find out.” Maggie needed to change the subject. She could hear the ringing in her ears, feel the arcade spinning and her jaw aching, the colored-glass roof above her shifting like a kaleidoscope, her neck muscles stiffening, the way they always did when she thought about Bill for too long. Psychosomatic, the shrink said. As if that did her any good. She asked Lucy about herself.
“I don’t really have any friends, either,” Lucy said. She stirred her spoon around the dregs of her cappuccino froth. “I suppose I was always rather shy, even at school. I never know what to say to people.” Then she laughed. “I don’t have much of a life, either. Just work at the bank. Home. Taking care of Terry. We haven’t been married a year yet. He doesn’t like me to go out by myself. Even today, my day off. If he knew… That reminds me.” She looked at her watch and seemed to become agitated. “Thank you very much for the coffee, Maggie. I really have to go. I have to get the bus back before school comes out. Terry’s a teacher, you see.”
Now it was Maggie’s turn to grasp Lucy’s arm and stop her from leaving so abruptly. “What is it, Lucy?” she asked.
Lucy just looked away.
“Lucy?”
“It’s nothing. It’s just what you were saying earlier.” She lowered her voice and looked around the arcade before going on. “I know what you mean, but I can’t talk about it now.”
“Terry hits you?”
“No. Not like… I mean… he’s very strict. It’s for my own good.” She looked Maggie in the eye. “You don’t know me. I’m a wayward child. Terry has to discipline me.”
Wayward, Maggie thought. Discipline. What strange and alarming words to use. “He has to keep you in check? Control you?”
“Yes.” She stood up again. “Look, I must go. It’s been wonderful talking to you. I hope we can be friends.”
“I do, too,” said Maggie. “We really have to talk again. There’s help, you know.”
Lucy flashed her a wan smile and hurried off toward Vicar Lane.
After Lucy had gone, Maggie sat stunned, her hand shaking as she drained her cup. The milky foam was dry and cold against her lips.
Lucy a fellow victim? Maggie couldn’t believe it. This strong, healthy, beautiful woman a victim, just like slight, weak, elfin Maggie? Surely it couldn’t be possible. But hadn’t she sensed something about Lucy? Some kinship, something they had in common. That must be it. That was what she hadn’t wanted to talk to the police about that morning. She knew that she might have to, depending on how serious things were, but she wanted to put off the moment for as long as she could.
Thinking of Lucy, Maggie remembered the one thing she had learned about domestic abuse so far: it doesn’t matter who you are. It can still happen to you. Alicia and all her other close friends back home had expressed their wonder at how such a bright, intelligent, successful, caring, educated woman like Maggie could fall victim to a wife beater like Bill. She had seen the expressions on their faces, noticed their conversations hush and shift when she walked in the room. There must be something wrong with her, they were all saying. And that was what she had thought, too, still thought, to some extent. Because to all intents and purposes Bill, too, was bright, intelligent, caring, educated and successful. Until he got his Monster Face on, that is, but only Maggie saw him like that. And it was odd, she thought, that nobody had thought to ask why an intelligent, wealthy, successful lawyer like Bill should feel the need to hit a woman almost a foot shorter and at least eighty pounds lighter than he was.