Chapter 34
Richard Darlington Raped a Seventeen-Year-Old
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Grace
I sat on my bed, following the latest updates about Richard Darlington on my laptop.
It was hardly breaking news that Ethan’s and Henry’s dad was a disgusting bastard, but hopefully the video of him with that girl would be a wake-up call for his remaining supporters.
The news kept replaying the pixelated CCTV footage, and each time, I felt even more queasy.
Kate:
Oh my God, Henry kicked his dad out of the hotel!
Me:
Can he do that?
Kate:
Not really, but he threatened to speak out against him in public if he doesn’t leave.
Rose:
Good! It’s about time!
Me:
That’s going to blow up in all our faces.
Rose:
That would happen anyway. I mean, until now, Richard’s lawyers have been lying through their teeth to make him look like some great guy, but the video has ruined all that.
Kate:
I agree. The hotel’s total chaos right now. The phones won’t stop ringing, a load of guests have left early, and there are journalists everywhere. I was supposed to go over after work, but Henry asked me to head home instead.
I could see Rose typing a reply, but I closed the group chat and opened my message thread with Ethan instead, which had been pretty one-sided since the video had gone public.
Me:
I just saw the video of your dad.
Me:
How are you doing? Do you want to talk?
[Outgoing call—unanswered]
Me:
Ethan? Are you OK?
Me:
Please talk to me.
Me:
Ethan???
The fact that he wasn’t replying had my stomach in knots. Even Henry, who was in full crisis-management mode, was managing to keep Kate updated.
I tapped the green call button again, but once again, Ethan didn’t pick up. Without stopping to think, I called Wallace. After the pub incident, Ethan had given me his number for emergencies.
He answered on the first ring. “Hello, Grace.”
“Hey, Wallace. Is Ethan with you?”
“No.”
“Do you have time to pick me up and take me to the hotel?” Taking the Tube probably would have been quicker, but I couldn’t shake what Kate had said about the journalists outside the hotel. I didn’t want to risk running into any of them.
“Of course. I’ll need about half an hour.”
“OK, I’ll wait. Thanks.”
We hung up, and I tried Ethan again. He still didn’t answer, so I sent him a message saying I was coming to check on him. I pocketed my phone and headed downstairs to wait for Wallace.
My dad was in the kitchen, drinking coffee. He had the day off too and was opening the mail. He looked up when he heard me.
“Hey, why the rush?”
I was already at the door, slipping on my shoes. “I need to get to The Darlington. I’m meeting Kate, and I’m running late.” Now wasn’t the right time to tell my dad about Ethan.
“Say hi to her from me,” my dad said with a smile. “This came for you, by the way. Should I leave it in your room?” He held out an envelope, and I stopped in my tracks—the last letter I’d received had terrified me.
“No, I’ll take it now.” I took the envelope before grabbing my jacket from the crowded coatrack and leaving the flat.
Wallace wasn’t there yet, of course, so I took a closer look at the letter. My suspicion was confirmed: There was no return address and no stamp. My pulse spiked. I tore open the envelope. Like last time, it contained photos.
I nervously glanced around, but I couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary, so I turned my focus back to the photos.
Again, there were three. One showed me through my bedroom window, the second in a café queue, and the third at the pub with Rose and Kate.
The last one had clearly been taken in the middle of our argument.
My hands began to shake, and I wondered if the man who had followed me from the pub was the same person who had taken these photos.
I flipped the photo over. The message written on the back was clear:
What did I tell you, Miss Claymore?
Stop asking questions. This is my final warning!
Shit! It didn’t surprise me that whoever had sent the letter knew I hadn’t called off my investigation.
It seemed like they were watching me night and day, or had at least got someone to do it for them.
It was messed up. I felt like I was stuck in some bad thriller, and I didn’t have a clue what to do.
Giving up my investigation was out of the question, but I couldn’t keep ignoring the letters.
I’d dismissed the first one as a relatively harmless threat intended to scare me, but this one cast things in a different light.
Whoever had sent it clearly meant business.
The limousine pulled up, and I shoved the photos and envelope into my bag.
Without giving Wallace a chance to get out and open the door for me, I yanked it open myself, slid into the backseat, and buckled up.
I took several deep breaths, pushing the panic about the letter aside so I could focus, for now, on Ethan.
On the way to the hotel, I checked my chat with Rose and Kate again. According to them, in the two hours since the video had gone online, five employees had already quit, and many more were considering doing the same.
Half an hour later, Wallace parked the limousine in The Darlington’s underground car park. I thanked him and jumped out of the car as quickly as I’d got in.
I unfortunately couldn’t get onto The Darlington’s private floor without the golden key card, and a queue had formed at reception.
Some guests stood there with packed suitcases, others without, but all of them looked agitated, even though Richard Darlington assaulting women was hardly new.
Only now it was no longer a matter of word against word. It was his word against video evidence.
I decided to look for Madelyn, who covered for me on my days off and would have got the key card from Giulia this morning. I found her on the second floor, and after a bit of back-and-forth, I finally persuaded her to hand over the card, even though she wasn’t technically allowed to.
I got into the lift again and pressed the button for the private floor. But when the melodic chime announced my arrival and the doors slid open, I froze. I was looking straight into Mr. Darlington’s icy blue eyes.
His face was a vision of misery and anguish.
There was no trace of his usual arrogance.
For a moment, I wondered if he might actually be ashamed or possessed something like a conscience.
But then I noticed his left arm hanging limply by his side.
He gripped it with his right hand, as if it were hurting him.
“Get out of my way,” he snapped.
I was more than happy to comply. I stepped out of the lift and walked along the corridor without looking back. When I reached Ethan’s flat, I scanned the key card and let myself in.
“Ethan?”
No reply.
He wasn’t in the living room, but one of the kitchen cupboards was open. The one where he kept the alcohol. The uneasy feeling in my stomach intensified, becoming heavy.
“Ethan?!”
No reply.
I took out my phone and called him. As it rang in my ear, another ring answered from the bedroom. I followed the sound into the master bathroom.
Ethan’s phone lay on the edge of the sink. A second later, I saw him. He was crouched on the floor with only a towel wrapped around his waist. His skin and hair were still dripping, as if the shower had drained him of all strength.
On the tiles next to him stood a bottle filled with a caramel-coloured liquid. I couldn’t make out the label, but it didn’t take a genius to know it was something strong.
I ended the call, and the ringing stopped.
“Hey.”
Ethan looked up. His eyes were red and swollen, with dark damp lashes. He had clearly been crying, but what worried me more was his swollen cheek.
“Hey.” His voice sounded weak.
“Why didn’t you answer my calls? I was worried.”
He didn’t respond.
I let the bag slip from my shoulder. Crouching down beside him, I picked up the bottle: bourbon.
I screwed the lid back on and placed it out of his reach.
Even though he had just showered, I could smell the alcohol on him.
My chest tightened. That sharp smell, combined with the way he’d ignored me so coldly and without explanation, reminded me of the old, selfish Ethan.
“What happened to your cheek?”
He hesitated before replying. “My dad hit me.”
The weight in my stomach grew even heavier. Suddenly, it all made sense.
“And I shoved him,” Ethan continued.
“Did you break his arm?”
He looked at me. “What makes you say that?”
“I just ran into him in the corridor, and it looked like it was hurt.”
“Fuck,” Ethan cursed, reaching for the bourbon again, but I was quicker. I pushed the bottle behind my back, where it was out of his reach unless he stood up or moved me aside. “Give it to me!”
“No,” I said firmly. I understood why he felt the need to get drunk.
Mr. Darlington had hit him, just like he used to when Ethan was a child, and it must have set off a spiral of memories.
For a long time, alcohol, parties, and drugs had been Ethan’s way of coping.
No wonder he thought falling back into that pattern would help him deal with his feelings.
But he’d told me himself that he didn’t want to be that person anymore, and I saw it as my duty to protect him from himself. Even if that made him angry with me.
He let his arm drop. “Grace, please.”
“Getting drunk won’t help. You’ll just feel terrible afterwards.”
“I already feel terrible,” he said quietly, as if he hoped I wouldn’t hear. But I had.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?”
He gave me a brief summary of how he’d found out about Hazel’s assault, and how he had then comforted his mum, who was understandably devastated.
“When I left the room, my dad was just sitting there in his armchair, and he had the audacity to ask whether Mum had calmed down yet. I told him that he was a pathetic bastard and that I wished he weren’t my dad.
And then he slapped me.” Ethan touched his cheek absently.
It was red and visibly irritated, but the mark would probably be gone in a couple of days.
“He shouldn’t have done that.”
“No, but I shouldn’t have pushed him either. I’m no better than him.”
Ethan’s words left a bitter taste in my mouth. “Don’t say that.”
“But it’s true. He’s hurt people. I’ve hurt people. He hit me. And I pushed him.” He shook his head and gave a dry laugh, as if he’d told a joke only he understood. “I tried so hard to become the opposite of what he wanted to turn me into, but somehow I’ve ended up just like him anyway.”
I stiffened. “Don’t be silly.”
“It’s not silly. I was selfish the last few years, just like him.
I was arrogant—like him. I was condescending and thoughtless—like him.
And now I’m hitting people. Like him. If that doesn’t make me like him, I don’t know what does,” he said, his voice firm.
He genuinely seemed to believe every word.
I shook my head. “You were never like him. And you still aren’t.”
“I treated you like shit, just because I could.”
It was true that he’d made my job difficult last year, but he’d never hurt me, physically or emotionally.
We’d pushed each other’s buttons, that had been all.
And I wouldn’t have let our verbal sparring get to me nearly as much if I hadn’t been so annoyed by the fact that I secretly found him attractive.
“You annoyed me. I annoyed you. That’s all,” I said resolutely, fixing him with my gaze. “Your dad, on the other hand, raped women and girls. And beat you as a child. You were just defending yourself against the man who made your life hell. That doesn’t make you a bad person.”
“Still, I got violent with him.” It was clear how heavily it weighed on him, and I could understand why.
Through his fear-distorted perception, he thought he had become the person he was most afraid of—but he was wrong.
He couldn’t see the situation clearly. His vision was clouded by a veil of dread.
I scooted closer and reached for his hands.
His fingers were cold and clammy between mine, but I didn’t let go.
I squeezed him tightly, giving him my warmth.
“OK, sure, you got physical, but unlike your dad, you feel bad about it. Do you think he regrets having hit you? I doubt it. And that makes a huge difference, which you probably can’t see right now.
But I see it. And I see you,” I said, smiling at him encouragingly.
“And when I look at you, I see the polar opposite of your dad; otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.
You’re not bad. You’re traumatised, and you were afraid.
No one would have acted rationally in that situation.
That doesn’t say anything about you as a person.
So please don’t be so hard on yourself.”
Ethan was silent, but at least this time, he didn’t argue with me, which I took as a victory. It was the best outcome I could hope for in this situation. The rest would just take time and a lot of care.
“How about you get dressed? I’ll make you something to eat, then we can watch a film together. Or I can watch the rest of Sk8 with you, if you like.”
“I’ve already finished it,” he muttered.
“Great, so I can show you Haikyu!! next. It’s about volleyball.”
I got up from the floor and held out a hand to Ethan. He took it, and in that moment, I wished he could see himself through my eyes for just one second, because it would have banished all his worries and fears.
He might not be perfect—no one was. But he was by far the best thing that had happened to me in a very long time. He was understanding, gentle, and supportive. And I would do everything in my power to make him see how wonderful he was, if he could just find the courage to be himself.