Beautiful Liar: a gripping suspense thriller

by Louise Mullins

  'Call me,' says Joel, turning around, and walking away, leaving me to follow his back with my eyes, before he turns at the end of the office and heads toward the lift.

  'He thinks he's a bit of a stud, doesn't he?' says Karen, who appears at my side, waiting for me to take the printed papers from the photocopier. She turns on her shiny new heels, and returns to her desk.

  I watch, as she pulls out a packet of biscuits before switching on her monitor to begin her shift. I wonder for how long she's been on the shelf, and make a vow not to let other's opinions override my own.

  Okay, so he's a little vain, but he's attractive, and he knows it. What's wrong with that?

  I make my way over to my desk, sorting through the paperwork I'm going to hand out to the delegates of my training session in two days’ time. I can't stop my mind from reverting back to the image of Joel's smile and his lingering stare, as I almost dropped my coffee cup when he passed me the business card with his number on it.

  I place the card down in front of me, and stroke the embossed lettering, wondering what traits he hides beneath his well-composed exterior. Are there any odd quirks or dark thoughts, sitting beneath those thoughtful eyes?

  I suppose there is only one way to find out.

  I wait until I've left the office, before I send him a text message, as I sit waiting for the bus. He doesn't reply until I've made it through the door of the flat, shrugging off my coat, and tugging at my shoes, which have been digging into my ankles. I check my phone as I head toward the kitchen, by-passing the pile of dirty laundry waiting to be put in the washing machine. I read his text as I open the cupboard to see what I can make out of tinned peas, half a loaf of bread, and a small jar of marmalade.

  Let's go to dinner Saturday night. J.

  JOEL

  Erica's smile radiates across her cheekbones. She has kind eyes and an infectious laugh. I notice instantly she is high-spirited, and strung a little too tightly. Her movements are rushed, and she lacks the kind of calm I am used to in a woman. But, it doesn't put me off. If anything, I find it endearing.

  We sit opposite one another in a restaurant I knew she'd love, just as much as I. The air outside is warm, but the air-conditioning makes the inside of the eloquent building more bearable. I choose a table at the far end of the restaurant, where a small window overlooks the harbour. We watch the moored boats bobbing up and down the surface of the dock through the glass. When I draw my eyes away from them, I catch Erica looking at me. Her face is filled with wonder.

  I smile, a little unsure whether she could, for a split second, have grasped at any one of my thoughts—most of them sexual—but assure myself telepathy is impossible.

  I notice her subtle tremor, as she reaches out to take the half-filled glass of crisp white wine from the table between us, taking a longer sip than the one before. Her nervousness makes her appear a little weak.

  I try to bring her back down to Earth, grounding her in the present, by asking her a little more about herself.

  'How long has it been since you were on a date?'

  She places the glass back down onto the table, drawing in a little breath. 'It's been a while.'

  'No hard feelings with your ex?'

  'He was too . . . bolshie. He had a bit of an attitude problem.'

  'Well, I can assure you, I am quite the opposite. I rarely lose my temper. If anything, it's probably one of my faults.'

  'I wouldn't call that a fault,' she says, assuredly, placing her hand down onto my arm.

  I look down to the glossy oak wood table, and when I look up, a waitress is standing behind her.

  'Are you ready to place your order?'

  'Yes, I think so.'

  I look to Erica for confirmation, and she nods her head. She orders the same as me—spinach and ricotta cannelloni. Whilst we wait for the food to arrive, she slowly begins to settle, and I notice her unsteady hands have loosened a little. The wine seems to have been a good idea.

  'So, what about you?' she says, eventually.

  'There isn't much to tell. You know I'm a lawyer. I deal with commercial law, mainly. Departmental fraud, that sort of thing. I've been single for two years. I own my house. I have little time to meet anyone, so it was a lovely surprise to have found somebody as attractive and good-natured as you.'

  'I guess you've had a bad relationship in the past,' she says, without considering her words.

  I let it slide, curious to know more. 'What makes you say that?'

  'What makes you say that?'

  'Hasn't everybody?'

  I take a few moments, choosing my words carefully. I don't want to frighten her. 'You're right. She had an addiction to pain-killers. She had a car accident, and struggled to come off them. She became quite needy and aggressive. I had to end it.'

  'You're right. She had an addiction to pain-killers. She had a car accident, and struggled to come off them. She became quite needy and aggressive. I had to end it.'

  Erica places her hand on my arm, and, in sympathy, rubs her fingers into the cotton shirt I'm wearing, but I dislike the idea she might think I'm anything less of a man for putting up with the spiteful behaviour of a woman, so I feel the need to explain it hasn't affected me in any way. I've given myself a clean slate, and that it hasn't put me off being in a relationship with someone else.

  Believing we share a common bond, I ask her how her last relationship ended.

  'He was too immature. He used to drink a lot at weekends. We had an argument that went on all night. By morning, I was so exhausted, I left for work, and called him to say that it was over.'

  'And, how did he take that?'

  'As well as, if not better, than I thought he would. He just deleted me from his Facebook friends list, and I haven't seen nor heard from him since.'

  She must notice the scowl I've tried to hide, because she asks me if I'm registered with the social networking site.

  'No. It's not something I can be a part of in my line of work. I have to be . . . discreet.'

  'I understand.'

  I don't really think she does, but I nod my head.

  The waitress appears beside me, carrying two plates of food. Mine has mushrooms on the side, with a sprinkling of salad. I dislike mushrooms.

  'Could you remove those?' I point to them on the plate. 'I've an allergy.'

  'Oh, I'm so sorry,' she says, taking the plate away.

  I watch the waitress turn her back on me, and a flash of anger flits briefly across my eyes. I have to force my focus back to Erica.

  'So,' she says. 'You've had a difficult relationship, you're a lawyer, and you're allergic to mushrooms. Is there anything else I should know about you?'

  'Only that I'm loyal. I will do anything for the woman I love.'

  She smiles, and her cheeks grow warm.

  'What is it that you do?'

  'I work in human resources.'

  'That's . . . an interesting job.'

  'I suppose it is. But, what about you? How did you get into law?'

  'It's a rather long, boring story, but I guess I'm good at getting what I want.'

  Her eyes trace my face, as if searching for something, but I don't fool myself into believing she can see anything. Nobody can. It's one of my most positive attributes. Nobody ever knows quite how to take me. It's why I'm very good at what I do.

  Hoping to shift the focus from me to her, I say, 'And what is Erica like as a person?'

  She laughs.

  Her happiness is infectious, and I see my honesty seems to have proved a lucrative choice. She likes me. And I think I'm beginning to grow fond of her.

  'I enjoy reading, going out. And I have a dog, called Pippa.'

  'What are your faults?'

  She seems taken aback by my choice of question, but it's only natural to want to discover who I'm sitting in front of.

  Erica pushes her fork through a layer of pasta, but doesn't bring the food up to her mouth, as she takes a moment to think. When she does speak, the waitress h
as arrived with my plate of food, and I tuck into it straight away.

  'I'm a bit ADD.'

  'In what way?' I ask, as I fork another mouthful of the sloppy pasta into my mouth.

  'I often struggle to keep still, to stick at one thing. I like to be busy.'

  'That must be a good thing, surely?'

  'You think?' She tips her head to the side, quizzically.

  'Well, for a start, I expect you get a lot done in a day.'

  'Yes, I suppose I do.'

  She retreats into silent contemplation, so to break the spell, I pour her another glass of wine, making sure it's only half-full. I don't want to have to walk her to the taxi in an hour, with her limp body falling all over me, and her speech slurred. It's ugly.

  I've almost finished my meal, and I take the time to inspect her further. Her eyes sparkle in the low lighting of the harbour beyond the window, where string lights flicker in the breeze along the railings. I sit back, and watch her fold a napkin in half, dabbing at her lips, after placing her fork down onto the plate, and wait for her to cease examining the contents of her handbag for her purse.

  'I'll get this.'

  'I can't—'

  'No, I insist. I won't have my date paying for half of the meal. It will discredit my reputation, you know.'

  'Really? What kind of a reputation do you have, Joel?'

  'I never give up, and I always win.'

  'Is that only with work, or everything?'

  'I'm sitting here with you, aren't I?'

  She smiles. 'I would like to see you again.'

  ‘I thought so. Shall we go?’

  I stand, holding out my hand for the waitress to bring our bill, and dropping several twenty-pound notes on the plate, leaving the mints on the side. I dislike being given things. I'd much rather earn my right to something, rather than be given it for nothing. Taking something for free lowers my self-worth.

  I place my hand on the small of Erica's back, and escort her out of the restaurant, holding the door open like the perfect gentleman. As we step into the chilled summer air, I offer Erica my hand, and we leave the harbour, and the light breeze emanating from the dock, behind us. I stop walking as we reach the bottom of the steps, which lead up to the open square, separating the lower half of Clifton from Broad Quay. Erica releases my hand and steps forward, brushing her light ash blonde hair away from her eyes, almost walking into the railings which stop her from falling into the water.

  I take hold of her elbow and draw her back, slipping my hand back in hers, noticing again how delicate they are in comparison to mine. I lead her toward the steps down to the dock, where the ferry rests for the night. The fountains spout water from the holes pitted in cream stone. I notice Erica's gaze falter momentarily. I press my thumb loosely into her hand, inviting her to look up to me.

  'I really enjoyed tonight.'

  'Me too,' she says.

  'I'd like to see you again.'

  'I'd like that.'

  'It's a date.'

  She emits a hesitant laugh.

  'You're not having doubts about a second date, are you?'

  'No.' She reassures me with a firm kiss to my cheek.

  I have to force myself not to react as I'd like.

  I release her hand from my grip, and pull her close, pressing my lips against hers, before she can protest. She reciprocates almost immediately, and I find myself grow hard beneath my trousers.

  'Let me pick you up tomorrow, around 1:00pm. I'd like to take you for lunch.'

  I can sense she wasn't expecting to see me again so soon, but I can barely bring myself to imagine waiting an entire week to set eyes on her again.

  'Yes, okay. Where will we be going?'

  'I'll decide in the morning.'

  I walk her to where a taxi has driven up outside of the Hippodrome.

  She opens the door and lands inside, looking straight out of the window to where I stand on the pavement, hardly able to contain my unsteady smile. She straps the seatbelt across her, and lifts up her hand to wave, keeping her eyes on mine, as the taxi pulls away from the kerb.

  As I round the corner onto Park Street, with its line of exquisite shops, I try to keep my footfall in line through each word of my internal monologue. I haven't felt so protective over another woman for a long time. Erica really is quite special.

  Only one thing niggles in the back of my head, as I make my way up the steep hill toward the multi-storey car park on Nelson Street—her obvious lack of grace. Though I can tell she tries hard to appear presentable and well-spoken, I know Erica is nothing more than common. But, it doesn't dissuade me from asking her out, because she seems to have an elegantly feminine side. Something I find missing in women these days. Call me old fashioned, but I much prefer a woman to act like one, rather than pretend to be one.

  I pass through the narrow doorway, and into the dimly lit car park. I use the key fob to unlock the driver’s door, sinking into the squeaky leather seat, adjusting myself to find comfort, before starting the engine.

  Even as I pull out of the small parking space, and make my way down the steep slope to the ground level meeting the exit, my eyes take a while to focus on the light rain, as it begins to patter down onto the windscreen. I meet the sharp turning at the corner of the road meeting St Michael's Hill, where the hospital sits cloaked in darkness above me. Following the building traffic, as I head through Jamaica Street and onto Stokes Croft, where the street is lined with drug users awaiting their evening fix, and students filling up the café-slash-bar ahead of me, the only thought on my mind is Erica.

  The windscreen wipers have left unsightly smears across the glass, sluicing the dirty rain away from the windscreen. I slam my hands down onto the steering wheel in annoyance. Why is it every time I have my car valeted it rains, leaving a dusty mess across the polished exterior?

  I drive on, clearing my mind of my irritation. The image of Erica's face, when she sees where I'm taking her tomorrow, forms in my head. I almost hit a cyclist running the lights, as I'm turning the corner onto the lower end of Gloucester Road, with its closed coffee shops still lit up from inside, hoping to discourage potential burglars.

  Now I'm leaving our enjoyable evening behind, my head is filled with reminders of all the things I have to do. Case notes must be filed in the morning for the Simmons trial. Geoffrey Simmons is the company executive of a large IT firm, who has been swindling tens of thousands of pounds from the company employing him for the past twelve years. I'm sure he'd be given a lengthier sentence, if I hadn't suggested to the jury there was evidence he was in debt, and suffering from stress at the time of the offence. I've advised him to plead guilty.

  I reach the side-street, which I often take to the three-bedroom house I own in Abbots Leigh. I've lived alone since Jessica left. The edginess I've been feeling all evening begins to dissipate. I am more at ease in familiar surroundings. In my own home, I can be myself.

  Only once I reach the familiar street, do I allow thoughts of Erica to filter through my mind undisturbed. I'm not sure if it's the knowing glance Erica gave me when I mentioned Jessica's aggressive side, or if it was a hint she could read my mind. Whatever it was, it had caused friction. For the entire meal, I couldn't get Jessica's face out of my head; her eyes filled with accusations and her face a permanent pale, etched only with shadows beneath her eyes. But, now I'm away from Erica, it is only her form which shapes my thoughts.

  Erica is nothing like Jessica. She is much more confident and independent, something which aroused me, as I allowed her lips to meet mine, before walking her to the taxi. I was hungry for more of her, but desperate to show Erica I am not like other men. I'm not looking for an easy fuck. She is not my prey. I'd much rather get to know her, find out what makes her tick, and then, how she responds to my touch. I want to feel the closeness I wasn't quite able to reach with Jessica. I want Erica to accept me for who I am.

  As I ease the car along the street, and turn into the bend of the lane, where the two fir tre
es at either side cascade over the square of gravel leading to the large wrought iron gates, I try to imagine how others see this house from beyond the confines of large, brick-built walls. Will Erica find it as impressive as I did? Will she be surprised a man can live alone, capable of taking care of himself, without anyone to share his bed?

  Of course, it would be nice to come home to a cooked meal and a tidy house. I'd like to be able to share my day with somebody, after a stressful journey home. I close the car door behind me, with the gravel crunching beneath the soles of my polished shoes, heading to the front door with the key in my hand. I imagine what it would be like coming home to find Erica waiting for me, with the front door held open, and a blushing smile on her face, glad to see me.

  ERICA

  After leaving the taxi, I walk up the path and into the flat I share with Rose. The floorboards creak beneath my slight weight, as I allow my handbag to fall from my shoulder onto the uncarpeted floor of the hall.

  I enter the living room, dumping my coat down onto the back of the three-seater sofa that was here when I arrived, and shake the heeled shoes from my feet, flexing them to rid the aching which began the moment I put them on. I divert my gaze from the stack of bills, left to languish on the floor since the morning post delivery, and make my way into the kitchen, meeting the cold linoleum.

  Tonight went well, I think, considering I was constantly on edge, worried I might say the wrong thing. I was practically barring my words to try and hold the anxiety at bay long enough to give Joel the impression I was like any normal woman. But, I don't feel like one sometimes. I'm sure nobody else's heart beats as fast as mine, or their limbs shake as much when they are in the company of a man, who, let's face it, is obviously far better educated and much easier on the eye than I.