Chapter 37

37

When he looks at the black painting, at Love , a second time, Becker sees Judith Slaying Holofernes . The reds are those of Holofernes's cloak, of his arterial blood. The gold is Judith's dress. One woman working, the other watching on, the brute dying. Only this brute didn't die. Did he?

‘I won't give it up,' Grace says. Her face, usually so soft, has in this dusky light taken on an obdurate cast. ‘I won't give any of them up. These are all that remains to me of our life together.'

Becker turns away from her, hands on hips, and sighs in frustration. He looks at the painting, at the figures on the floor, locked in mortal combat and swathed in darkness, and he feels exhausted, exhausted and sad. The past couple of weeks have been draining: Helena in hospital, that horrible scene with Emmeline, the long drive, Helena's mis-sent message, the walk on the beach against the wind, the screaming gull and this – Grace's lies, her obfuscation, her desperation – all of it has worn his nerves gossamer thin.

‘It wasn't perfect,' Grace says quietly, looking at the picture, ‘but it was a life. What Vanessa and I shared was as rich and textured as any love affair, and you can try all you like to reduce it to nothing—'

‘I have been trying to help you!' Becker shouts. Grace starts, but only slightly. She holds her ground. ‘If you had told me about these gifts when I first came here, we might have been able to avoid a serious conflict, I might have been able to talk Sebastian out of getting the lawyers involved, but now ?' He shakes his head. ‘You've made your bed, Grace. He will come after you for these, and for all of Vanessa's papers, even the private ones, and there will be nothing I can do to stop him.'

Grace juts out her chin. ‘Fine,' she says. ‘But you can tell him from me, I'll do what I can to make it unpleasant for him, for his mother, too. I could make life difficult for that family if I put my mind to it.'

Becker shakes his head again; he starts to walk away from her, into the hallway, towards the living room. ‘Is there anything else I need to know about,' he asks wearily, ‘before I go back to Fairburn? Any other gifts ?'

‘Are you accusing me of lying?' Grace snarls and Becker laughs. He starts to move away again but has barely taken a step when he feels her hand on his forearm, gripping it painfully. ‘Don't you dare!' she exclaims, tightening her grip further still, quivering with rage. ‘Don't you dare mock me!'

‘ Grace .' Sometimes talking to her is like dealing with a child. ‘I'm not mocking you. But you admitted lying to me just a moment ago, so you can't be angry when I don't take you at your word.'

Reluctantly, she releases her grasp. ‘I was her totem,' she says, her voice faltering, filling with tears. ‘Without me, everything went wrong. That man, Stuart Cummins, he would have killed her. Julian would have wrecked her life, he would have dragged her into his mire of debts and debauchery. He did his best! And when he went missing, who was here for her? Frances? Douglas? Not a chance! It was me . I saved her, protected her, cared for her, risked everything for her – my licence, my freedom ! You can try to write me out of her story, but you won't succeed. I will always be a part of it. There are things I know about Vanessa that you will never understand. You have no claim over her! She was mine.'