The Deadly Truth

by Valerie Keogh

  Caitlin was a woman of her word and almost on the dot of sixty minutes later, Melanie smiled to hear the doorbell ring and hurried to open the door.

  ‘I want to hear everything.’ Caitlin followed her back into the kitchen, threw her coat on a chair and slumped onto another, stretching out her long legs with a sigh. ‘And no leaving bits out. I’m a detective, I’ll spot the gaps.’

  Melanie poured coffee, then sat opposite and told her friend about the dinner on Friday night and how it had been so pleasant, so easy. ‘He’s so interesting and interested in what I have to say too. It was one of the best nights I’ve had in a while.’ She sipped her coffee, her fingers linked around the mug. ‘Afterwards, he drove me home.’

  Caitlin gave a dirty laugh. ‘Oh ho, we’re getting to the good bit.’

  Melanie shot her a look. How old was she? Five? Suddenly, she regretted inviting her, she could have made up an excuse, said she was tired – which would have been true.

  ‘Was he good?’

  There was no point in lying, in saying Hugo had dropped her at the door and gone away. Caitlin wasn’t kidding when she said she’d spot the gaps. Melanie often wondered how she managed to keep anything from her. ‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘It was simply magical.’ She hesitated before giving a dismissive shrug. ‘He left early yesterday morning, said he’d ring me later, but…’ Her voice trailed off and she dropped her gaze to the table.

  ‘You haven’t heard from him?’

  Melanie shook her head. ‘I had a meeting, when it was over and I hadn’t heard from him, I sent him a message saying how much I enjoyed the night.’ She reached for her phone, looked at it and pushed it across the table. ‘See.’

  Caitlin looked at the phone and a frown creased her brow. ‘A bit odd that he hasn’t replied, but maybe he’s busy. Maybe he meant to say he’d ring you later in the week.’

  ‘He said later, in anyone’s book that means the same day,’ Melanie said, refusing to take the crutch she’d been offered. She wasn’t going to spend the rest of the week wondering if Hugo was going to phone.

  ‘Yes, you’re right, it does. You said he had a website, can I see it.’

  ‘Not sure why you’d want to,’ Melanie said grumpily but she got to her feet and went for her laptop. She set it on the table between them and switched it on. ‘It doesn’t say much about him,’ she warned as her fingers flew over the keys. ‘It shows the kind of work he’s involved in. Plus, there’s a photo of him.’

  Caitlin reached for the coffee pot and refilled both their mugs. ‘What’s keeping you?’ she asked, picking up her coffee.

  ‘I can’t find it,’ Melanie said, pressing a few more keys. ‘Very odd, it should have popped up when I put in his name.’ Concentrating, she tapped out his name again, then looked up to meet Caitlin’s concerned gaze. ‘He’s not here.’ She didn’t resist when her friend pulled the computer away.

  ‘Hugo Field, you said.’

  Melanie murmured yes. There was a heavy, numb weight where her heart was supposed to be. She watched Caitlin’s fingers move over the keyboard, strangely surprised to see she was an advocate of the two-finger tapping method, she’d have assumed more expertise. Melanie’s mind was darting anywhere, everywhere rather than facing the truth, but she had to when Caitlin looked over, her face a mask of concern, her eyes soft with pity.

  ‘I’ve been ghosted, haven’t I?’ Melanie had read about it, pitying the poor fools who had been the victim of a sleazy person who suddenly and without warning stopped communicating, vanishing from social media, never to be heard from again. It was something that happened to other people. Not to her.

  ‘It certainly looks like ghosting,’ Caitlin said, shutting the laptop. ‘A website that vanishes, your message not read. Have you tried ringing his number?’

  Melanie hadn’t. She picked up her phone and rang it, putting it down seconds later. ‘Surprise, surprise, the number is no longer in service.’ She saw Caitlin’s sympathetic expression and battled to make her own appear unconcerned.

  She obviously wasn’t a successful actor. Caitlin reached across and grabbed her arm. ‘Oh Mel, I’m so sorry. What a bastard.’

  ‘It’s a new experience for me. I should have guessed it was all too good to be true.’ Melanie pushed away from the table and got to her feet. ‘More coffee?’

  Caitlin shook her head but Melanie moved across to the kitchen and filled the kettle to make more, needing to be doing something.

  ‘Some guys like to play games,’ Caitlin said. ‘He is probably a low-achiever who gets his kicks from pretending to be something he’s not to attract professional women who probably wouldn’t normally have looked twice at him.’

  Melanie was about to say she didn’t care what he worked at but stopped herself. Hadn’t she been impressed when Hugo had said he was an architect and, although art wasn’t her thing, hadn’t she been a little impressed by his intelligent conversation? She wondered how much of what Caitlin said was true. ‘He was older than me, Caitlin, maybe fifty. I thought we were both past the age of playing games.’ Melanie rubbed her eyes to dislodge a gathering tear. ‘I thought too, that I had much better judgement.’ She filled her mug with coffee and picked it up. ‘Let’s sit in the lounge, it’ll be more comfortable.’ The sun was streaming into the room but it didn’t brighten her mood. She sat on the sofa, kicked off her shoes and rested the warm mug against her chest, trying to thaw the ice that had lodged there. ‘What a shit he is,’ she said. She heard the trace of bitterness that had crept into her voice and hated the man even more. ‘I’d guess his name isn’t Hugo Field either.’

  ‘Probably not,’ Caitlin said, sitting beside her.

  There was silence for several minutes. Melanie sipped her coffee and tried to remember every word of each conversation she’d had with Hugo. How many lies had he told her? Had she amused him with her gullibility? Her thoughts were interrupted by Caitlin’s puzzled, ‘Where did that come from?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That.’ Caitlin pointed to the bookshelf opposite. She stood and went over to pick up the frame that had caught her attention.

  Colour flushed Melanie’s cheeks. ‘You brought the police magazine to show me the article they’d written about you last month, remember? You left it here. I asked if you wanted it back and you told me to dump it.’ She waved a hand at the frame in Caitlin’s hand. ‘It was such a good photo of you, I thought I’d keep it. I had a spare frame and it fit…’ Her voice tailed away. ‘I didn’t think you’d mind.’

  ‘Of course, I don’t mind, silly.’ Caitlin gave a quick laugh. ‘I’m flattered. Surprised to see it, I suppose, especially with my rank blazoned across the end of it. Makes me sound so important, Detective Inspector Ballantyne.’ Replacing the frame carefully in the same spot on the shelf, she turned with an embarrassed grin. ‘Sorry, I suppose I’m still not used to having succeeded, a bit like you being made partner.’

  ‘Yes,’ Melanie said, feeling her shoulders droop. Success in her work, that should be enough.

  ‘You know,’ Caitlin said, waving her mug, ‘I think you need a glass of wine to drown this crappy day rather than coffee. Do you have any?’

  ‘There’s half a bottle in the fridge. I’ve been meaning to buy more.’

  ‘Half a bottle isn’t going to do it, my friend. I’ll pop out to the supermarket and get some wine and food. It’ll take me thirty minutes, why don’t you try to get some sleep.’ She held out her hand. ‘Give me your keys, I’ll let myself in and if you’re asleep, I’ll drink wine until you wake.’

  It sounded like a good plan and Melanie was happy to let her friend take over, handing her the house keys and sinking back onto the sofa as Caitlin pulled on her coat.

  ‘Okay, shut your eyes, and get some sleep. I’ll be back in a while.’

  ‘Yes, mother.’ Melanie smiled and closed her tired eyes. She listened as her friend’s footsteps crossed the hall to the front door and the scrape and clunk as the door shut, then to her su
rprise she did fall asleep.

  It was the ache in her neck from the awkward angle her head was in that woke her. Sitting up, she stretched and rotated her shoulders, giving a squeal of fright to see Caitlin staring at her from a chair near the French window. ‘Bloody hell,’ Melanie said, ‘how long have you been sitting there?’

  Caitlin held up her glass. ‘About two mouthfuls. You were out for the count.’ She pointed to the table beside the sofa where the wine bottle and a glass were waiting. ‘Help yourself.’

  Melanie hadn’t eaten since the day before. She couldn’t afford to go to work stinking of booze again. Pouring a small amount into the glass, she sat back. ‘Here’s to us.’

  ‘Here’s to surviving all the crap that life throws at us.’

  ‘To surviving,’ Melanie said, leaning forward and reaching out to touch her glass to her friend’s. She wished she could tell Caitlin about the other problem she had. But she couldn’t. Caitlin didn’t know about Anne Edwards. Melanie wanted to keep it that way, wanted to keep this life free from the taint of her past.

  They finished the bottle of wine and ate supermarket lasagne as they swopped stories of ghastly men they’d met and their strange peccadillos, giggling over the worst lovers they’d had, smiling over the best and the ones they regretted letting go. It was the perfect funeral for Hugo Field. Instead of self-pity, Melanie felt the stirrings of healthy anger. Hugo Field, what a shit.

  It was nearly nine before Caitlin looked at her watch. ‘I’d better go. You sure you’re okay?’ She pulled Melanie into a hug. ‘I can stay over if you like.’

  ‘No, honestly, I’m fine. I’m over the first shock.’ She pulled back and met her friend’s steady gaze. ‘In a few days it’ll be a bad memory and I’ll be saying Hugo who?’ Arm in arm they walked to the front door where with a final hug, Caitlin left.

  Melanie stood and watched as her friend walked down the street, then stepped back into the silence of her apartment. She pushed the door shut, reminded suddenly of Hugo’s exit the morning before when she was still dreaming of happy ever after. Hugo who. Brave words. How stupid she’d been to build a dream on a puff of smoke. Perhaps she should have asked Caitlin to stay over but she guessed that would have been putting off the inevitability of facing the loneliness of her life.

  Back in the lounge, she was unable to resist the temptation and picked up her phone to check for messages, a soft sigh escaping when there was none. At least there were no further emails from nobody. Perhaps, despite his denial, it had been Eric Thomas who’d been responsible for them and her visit had frightened him away. Maybe he’d seen she wasn’t the stupid little girl she’d been all those years before.

  Maybe.

  14

  Despite all the conflicting thoughts running through her head, Melanie slept well and headed to the office in a far calmer frame of mind. The day passed in a blur of meetings, of reports received and sent, and organisational decisions that came easily. When Caitlin rang Melanie’s office during the afternoon to ask how she was, she was able to tell her with honesty that she was feeling much better. ‘My head is going Hugo who now,’ she said with a short laugh to cover the lie in the words. It would take more than a few days for the disappointment to fade and the hurt to heal but her friend didn’t need to know that. She promised to meet her for a drink later in the week and hung up.

  By the end of the week, all she was left with was a faint trace of regret. After all, nothing had been harmed apart from her pride. It helped that it had been a good week. There had been no further emails from nobody and the merger was galloping along without the slightest hiccup.

  The week, however, wasn’t over yet.

  When her office phone rang mid-morning on Friday, she wasn’t expecting any surprises.

  ‘I need to see you,’ the voice said without any introduction. It didn’t need one, Richard Masters’ voice was sufficiently distinctive.

  ‘Certainly,’ she said. ‘When would–’

  ‘Immediately,’ he interrupted and hung up without another word.

  Melanie frowned and quickly thought over the recent reports and meetings. There’d been nothing untoward. She slipped on her jacket, smoothed a hand over her hair, and headed upstairs.

  From the urgency in his voice she’d expected to find Richard’s office filled with other junior partners and her heart sank when she realised she was the only one. She’d made an error somewhere, and by the look of Richard’s stern expression it was a serious one.

  ‘Sit down,’ he said.

  She took some comfort from his pleasant tone of voice. She’d heard him angry and was glad that wasn’t being directed her way. With the idea that action was better than passivity, she asked, ‘Is there a problem?’

  He rested his elbows on the desk, joined his long bony fingers at the tips and tapped them together rhythmically. ‘Is there a problem,’ he repeated her words, his deep voice making them sound more ominous. ‘You tell me.’

  Games… why did people want to play games? Hugo Field’s handsome face came looming into her head, causing her to lift her chin and glare across the vast expanse of desk. ‘As far as I am aware, Richard, there are no problems so if there is something on your mind, I would appreciate you spitting it out.’

  Richard seemed briefly taken aback by her sharp tone and the finger tapping ceased abruptly. ‘Fair enough,’ he said but there was still no hint of anger in his voice. ‘I don’t have to tell you, Melanie, how delicate the negotiations regarding this Fanton’s-CityEast merger are.’ He clasped his fingers together and dropped his hands to the desk.

  The thump was loud, disconcerting – intimidating. Melanie kept her chin in the air and said nothing.

  ‘It seems we may have a leak somewhere.’ The words hung between them in a silence that lasted several seconds.

  Melanie didn’t react, trying to absorb what this meant… what it meant for her.

  ‘You understand what I’m saying,’ he said, a level of irritation creeping into his voice.

  Of course, she understood. Secrecy in these negotiations was of vital importance; everyone knew that, confidentiality was one of the linchpins of Masters Corporate Law. ‘Yes, I understand,’ she said finally. ‘Have there been rumours?’

  Richard sat back and crossed his arms. ‘Worse, I’m afraid. There has been some unusual activity in the stock market. Someone has been buying up CityEast shares.’

  Melanie shut her eyes briefly. When the merger went through, those shares would be worth double, maybe triple their current value. Insider trading… it was illegal but a huge temptation for someone with knowledge of the future.

  ‘It was none of our staff,’ Melanie said. ‘Maybe someone in either Fanton’s or CityEast?’

  ‘I’ve had Deanne Sandler on to me this morning. She’s not a happy lady.’

  Melanie admired the CEO of CityEast. Deanne was smart, tough and had a reputation as someone who didn’t suffer fools gladly. ‘She’s looking into her staff?’

  ‘Yes, as is John Backhoe in Fanton’s. Every email account is being checked, there’s nowhere for the bastard to hide.’

  Melanie heard the anger in Richard’s voice now; it had probably been there all along simmering under the surface. Anger directed at whoever would dare try to damage Masters’ reputation. Richard was right, of course, there was no place to hide. Whoever was responsible would be caught and hung up to dry.

  Back in her office, she sat and stared at her laptop. Shocked as she was by the news, there was something else bothering her… something niggling. Her eyes swept around the room. What was it? Finally, her eyes rested on the briefcase she’d dropped onto a chair when she’d arrived that morning. She’d not opened it yet, and it sat there with its buckles tightly fastened. It had been the first thing she’d bought herself when she joined the firm; it had been expensive, the leather soft but strong, the two old-fashioned buckles finicky to open and close. She used it every day and it had got better, softer with the years. The only downsid
e was that if you lifted it by the handle when the buckles weren’t closed, things tended to fall out of it. As they had on Saturday morning.

  But she hadn’t opened it when she got home on Friday.

  15

  Melanie sat for almost an hour going over and over the sequence of events. She was certain she hadn’t opened her briefcase when she got home on Friday, too excited about her date to want to do any work. Her date. There was the corrosive taste of bitterness on her tongue.

  Hugo Field. She’d been used.

  Her laptop had been inside her briefcase but it was password protected. That hadn’t been her downfall. It was the reports she’d brought home to read: they were annotated with the meetings that had taken place or were planned with the CEOs of the two investment banks. It would be relatively easy for anyone to put two and two together. And she’d told him, hadn’t she? Melanie swallowed the lump in her throat and pressed her lips together to stop them trembling. In the restaurant, over that romantic dinner when she had laughed and flirted and thought all her dreams had come true, she’d told him she’d brought reports home to read.

  She dropped her forehead onto the palm of her hand and groaned. When he’d invited her to Slovakia, she’d told him the damn time frame for the deal when she told the bastard she’d be free in two weeks. When it got out – and it would – she’d be destroyed. All her years of work, all the long hours and sacrifice, all to end like this.

  Even if she could convince the senior partners that she’d not done it for financial gain, her judgement would be called into question. Richard Masters would fire her and nobody else would take her on. She might even be debarred.

  She looked around the tiny office she’d been so incredibly proud of, and felt the walls close in on her. Everyone would be disappointed and disgusted with her. There would be criticism of the senior partners for offering her the junior partnership, and Masters itself would be diminished as a result.