‘Jordana said you were named after your mother?’
‘Sort of. She was Swedish and her name was Hanna—Hanny. When she moved to England her accent made it sound like she was saying honey—so everyone called her that. I guess my parents liked the name. Which was why it was such a good idea when Frank suggested I change it. It set me free to become my own person.’ She stopped, more colour highlighting her cheeks.
Tristan didn’t agree. He knew of Frank Murphy. His office had handled a complaint against the man some years back, and he had a reputation for being an egotistical schmuck.
Tristan knew the story about how Hanny Forsberg had married him in a whirlwind romance and then returned to her one true love a week later. Only to die in said lover’s arms that very night. Tristan couldn’t imagine Frank Murphy taking her defection well, and wondered if he had taken his anger out on Lily.
‘I’m not sure that would have been his only motivation,’ he commented darkly, swilling the last of his Scotch and placing his empty glass behind him.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean Frank Murphy is a self-interested swine who would have been looking out for his own interests before yours.’
‘Frank’s not like that,’ she defended.
‘Come on, Lily. Frank Murphy is a user. Everyone knows that. And the accolades he got from taking in Hanny’s orphan were huge.’
‘Maybe.’
Tristan hadn’t missed the flash of pain in her eyes before she shifted position and moved closer to the fire, her hands outstretched towards the leaping flames. He wondered what was going through her mind and then shook his head.
‘I’ve upset you.’
‘No.’
‘Yes. I didn’t mean to imply that Frank didn’t care for you. I’m sure he did.’
‘No. He didn’t. Not really.’
‘Lily, it’s a big responsibility to look after a child that’s not your own. I’m sure—’
‘There was no one else.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Nobody else wanted me.’ She shrugged as if they were discussing nothing more important than the weather. ‘When my parents died I had nowhere to go. I would have become a ward of the state if he hadn’t stepped in.’
‘What about your grandparents?’
‘Johnny’s had died and my mother’s were old, and they’d disowned her after her first Page Three spread.’
‘But Johnny had a brother, I recall.’
‘Unfortunately he used to get more wasted than Johnny and looking after a seven-year-old was not high on his list of things to accomplish.’
‘Your mother—’
‘There was no one, okay? It’s no big deal. I think I’ll go to bed.’
‘Wait!’
‘For what?’
‘You’re upset,’ he said gently.
Lily shivered as if a draught of cold air had caught her unawares, and for a minute she seemed lost.
‘Did you know I found them?’ She held her hands out to the fire again, as if seeking comfort. ‘The police kept it quiet, to preserve my “delicate psychological state”, but I found my parents’ bodies. It was Sunday morning and they were supposed to make me blueberry pancakes and take me to the park. Johnny had promised it would be a family day. Instead I woke up and found my mother lying on the sofa with vomit pooled in her hair and my father slumped on the floor at her feet. It was like some sort of Greek tragedy. If my mother could have looked down on the scene she might have enjoyed the irony of finally having my father in such a supplicating pose.’