Free The Night Book by Charlotte Grimshaw

coming.’ She’d gone very flushed under her make-up. ‘Simon’s doing very well,’ she added. ‘He’ll be up and about in no time, won’t you, Simon.’
    ‘Oh look, yes, in no time. In fact I was just about to …’
    Trish lowered her voice. ‘Simon could have permanent damage.We’re all hoping for the best.’
    ‘Look, we’re wishing you all the very best. Roza and I …’
    Roza came forward and shook Simon’s hand. She looked different in the harsh neon light, and for a moment he was disappointed. He remembered a face made mysterious by shadows, a slim figure emphasised by the elegant evening dress; now she was dressed in trousers and a shirt and she looked younger, rounder in the face, more competent and ordinary than she had been at the dinner. That evening he’d felt there was something wild about her, mad energy just contained, something other-worldly. Exotic.
    He thought he must have imagined it, but then she spoke, and at the sound of her voice his sense of her came back. Her eyes were large and grey and full of light, and her voice was alive with nuance. When she spoke it was such a contrast to her husband’s stumbling delivery that it seemed as if everyone should be embarrassed. But no, Karen and Trish were gazing at Hallwright as if he were the Second Coming.
    Roza said, ‘I was shocked when I found out it was you who’d been hurt.’
    I was shocked. You. He said, ‘It’s nothing.’
    She smiled. ‘A mere scratch I suppose.’
    ‘Yeah. Mere scratch.’ He fought down a grin, still holding her hand.
    A cellphone rang. Hallwright said to the woman in the suit, ‘You’re meant to turn that off in here, Dianne.’
    The woman called Dianne said, ‘Have we given some thought to a picture?’
    Hallwright looked innocent. He pursed his lips and gazed out the window and Trish said warmly, ‘Good idea.’
    Simon said, ‘I don’t think …’
    ‘We won’t let the TV in, but how about one for the Herald ?’
    Hallwright said, ‘Sure. Why not? That’s a great idea.’
    ‘I don’t want …’ Simon said.
    Dianne signalled and a young man came in. There was a quick readjustment, Hallwright angling himself to the side of the bed so that he was frowning down at Simon, Simon saying no, the click of the camera, Hallwright changing positions and the click again. And behind it all Roza, standing coolly apart. He had a flash of resentment that she’d participated in this — lulled and bewitched him and then left him to the idiots around the bed.
    Hallwright stepped back and looked at his watch, he and Dianne exchanged a glance, and he said to Simon, ‘Look, I really hope you’ll be out of here soon, and up and about.’
    ‘I’ve already been discharged actually.’
    ‘Well. That’s magnificent news. We’ll obviously get out of your way, and let you recover in peace.’
    Roza came forward and Simon looked coldly at her. What was she, the fixer for the bozo husband, the one who smoothed out the impression left by his mangled verbs and jangling adverbs? She registered his cold look but made no sign of apology or embarrassment, just raised her chin, as though meeting a challenge. He suddenly remembered feeling almost antagonised by her at the dinner, and for a second he was close to realising what was significant about her. But the PA Dianne was ushering Hallwright to the door and Trish and Karen were lining up to shake hands. Simon subsided against the pillows, cursing his own cowardly politeness.
        
    There had been three murders in South Auckland that week. The Sensible Sentencing Trust organised a march in protest at the violence, and people rallied outside Mt Eden Prison waving banners and calling for stiffer penalties. Police were quoted as saying they wanted armed patrols on the streets, and the government wasforced to defend its policies on justice. David Hallwright was affected by crime himself, when his good friend, surgeon Mr Simon Lampton, was injured in a street mugging after a