Deception Wears Many Faces_a stunning psychological drama that will keep you turning the pages

by Maggie James

  Its size always reminded me of an inflated dolls’ house. Two bedrooms and a bathroom were squeezed under the roof, the middle of which bowed more each year. Underneath were tucked a living room, kitchen and pantry. A sheen of lichen slicked green over the tiles around the chimney. The paint on the windowsills was recent - its soft blue a reminder of the nearby sea and a contrast to the bare oak door. Tiny gardens bordered by low fences sat behind and in front, with rose bushes straggling over the wooden posts. Off to one side stood a small woodshed.

  To my sister and me, the cottage had always represented safety, fun, good times - the perfect place in which she could recuperate. The location was hard to find, its remoteness offering total privacy. Dad had bought the place after my birth once he’d persuaded Mum his investment banker salary could afford it, pointing out it would be fantastic for family holidays. And he’d been right. After his death, Mum had kept it and I didn’t need to ask why. She loved the cottage as much as Ellie and I did.

  By the time we’d unpacked and settled in, it was after two o’clock. Ellie continued her silence over a late lunch, a simple affair of salad, cheese and fruit. I’d packed enough food to see us through today, but we’d need to visit Torquay tomorrow to pick up more. Once we’d finished eating, I donned my bossy-older-sister mantle. ‘Come on. We’re going for a walk.’

  Ellie complied without a word. After we left the cottage, we headed towards the cliff top, our destination the beach below. We proceeded in silence along the narrow path that led there, our arms entwined. Brambles scratched my face, tangled in my jeans, the wind lashing my hair again. The smell of the sea grew stronger once we approached the stone stile at the end of the track. On the other side of it, grass extended to the cliff edge, a sign warning walkers not to venture too close. In front of us, steps led to a tiny inlet - its rocky shoreline and pebble beach little incentive for holidaymakers to descend their stony steepness. Few tourists ever came that way. The route was unmarked, difficult to find and too short to interest potential ramblers. Most preferred the longer marked trail that meandered east from Torquay. The beach became our private haven back when we were children, and I hoped its tranquillity might encourage her to open up to me.

  Once at the bottom, we sat on our favourite rock, a flat-topped monstrosity big enough to allow us to stretch our legs out in front of us. The sound of the tide washing against the pebbles was soft in my ears, a rhythmic one-two interspersed by the noise of the gulls overhead. Sheltered as we were by the cliff, the wind was a gentle breeze, no more, against my skin. In that moment nobody but us existed.

  I wrapped my arm around Ellie, bringing her head to rest against mine. She seemed so frail, a dandelion clock that might blow away in the next puff of wind.

  ‘Talk to me,’ I whispered into her hair. ‘What was so terrible you couldn’t pick up the phone and tell me?’

  A sob shook her body. ‘You’ll think me such a fool.’

  ‘I won’t judge you, Els.’ I steeled myself - we couldn’t discuss her suicide attempt without mentioning the car crash. ‘Was it because of Alyson’s death?’

  She shook her head. I pulled her tighter, feeling her shoulders heave as she cried.

  ‘What, then?’

  She didn’t reply at first. Just as I was weighing up how far to push her, her voice sounded out, so faint I struggled to hear it. ‘I met a man. The one I told you about.’

  So that was the reason. Caroline had been right, it seemed. The guy had decided to split up with her. Unable to deal with the rejection, she’d tried to kill herself. My poor Ellie.

  ‘Tell me what happened.’ I kept my tone soft, gentle. My sister was a frightened filly who might bolt if pressed too hard. ‘You didn’t say much when we spoke on the phone. Not that I didn’t try to squeeze information out of you.’ I laughed, but the sound rang hollow. ‘Where did you meet him?’

  She pulled away, fumbling in her sleeve for a tissue. Her eyes were red with crying, her nose pink and wet. ‘Online.’

  ‘On a dating website?’

  She nodded. Surprise hit me. I wouldn’t have pegged Ellie as having enough confidence to tackle internet dating. But then, I reflected, establishing contact that way might be easier for someone so nervous. Their relationship had clearly progressed beyond the keyboard and into the real world, however.

  ‘I believed he was The One,’ she whispered. ‘His name was Steven. He talked about us living together, marriage if everything worked out. How was I to know?’ Fresh sobs choked her, her anguish slicing my heart. Anger filled me at the dickhead who had made false promises to her. Had this Steven guy been in front of me, I’d have punched him, right on his lying mouth. The bastard’s game plan wasn’t hard to fathom; he’d been acting out the age-old story, one for which I’d fallen myself, long ago. Ellie, unused to the wiles of predatory males, must have tumbled into the same trap.

  ‘He already had a wife, didn’t he?’ I murmured into her hair. ‘Oh, Els. I’m so sorry you’ve had to suffer this crap.’

  To my surprise, she shook her head. ‘He wasn’t married. Or if he was, I never knew. No girlfriend on the side, either.’

  ‘Did he cheat on you? A one-night stand, perhaps?’

  Another shake. ‘No.’

  ‘What, then?’ But she was lost to me, drowning in her grief. Useless for me to press her further while she remained so raw, so wounded.

  We stayed that way for hours, until the breeze turned chilly against my skin. The sun was starting to set, painting the horizon a delicate orange. My body had stiffened after sitting in one position for so long and I winced as I eased myself away from Ellie.

  ‘Why don’t we go to The Royal Oak for a drink?’ I said. ‘Remember how Dad used to love their beer garden?’

  Her expression clouded, and my heart hurt for her. Nice one, Lyddie, I chided myself. I’d been tactless in mentioning our father, given her distress. Her grief over his death had been part of the reason for her second suicide attempt. No wonder she was crying again.

  I was wrong though.

  ‘He’d have been so ashamed of me.’ I could hardly make out her words through her sobs. ‘Furious, too.’

  I was stunned. Always a besotted father, fiercely protective of Ellie after the car crash, Dad would not have been angry with her under any circumstances that I could imagine. ‘Why, Els?’

  ‘The money he left me. It’s all gone.’

  I couldn’t think what she meant. Not all of it, surely? After the solicitor distributed Dad’s estate, Ellie had bought a flat in St George, on my advice. Once the purchase went through, she’d been left with just over fifty thousand pounds, not a bad situation for a twenty-one-year-old to find herself in. She’d stuck the money in a savings account and still had most of it left. Or so I’d believed.

  ‘Gone?’ I queried. ‘I don’t understand.’

  Her only response was a shiver. Shocked, I sat immobile, unable to speak for a while.

  ‘Where? How?’ I managed at last.

  She raised her face, shame in her expression. ‘Steven took it,’ she said. ‘Steven Simmons, the guy I’ve been dating.’

  3

  Whatever I’d expected Ellie to say, it wasn’t that. I stared at her in disbelief, unsure what she was telling me. ‘You mean he stole it?’

  ‘Yes. No. It’s hard to explain.’ I sensed she was close to breaking point. To have any hope of extracting the whole story, I needed to handle her with sensitivity. I schooled my face into a neutral expression and said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

  ‘I gave him the money.’ I was lost again. Why would she do that?

  The wind blowing in off the sea grew stronger, causing me to shiver. I stood up, flexing my stiff legs. ‘Let’s go home.’ I reached out a hand to help her. ‘It’s getting late, and we can talk better there.’

  She didn’t reply, just nodded. Together we walked back to the cottage.

  ‘Come,’ I said once we were inside, gesturing towards the sofa. She followed m
e without a word, and we sat next to each other on the worn hessian. Ellie seemed unable to look at me, the waves of shame pouring from her almost tangible. I gave him the money. A smidgen of suspicion crept into my mind. Might this Steven Simmons be a professional con artist?

  ‘Tell me more about this guy,’ I said.

  She wiped away fresh tears. ‘I was so lonely. Every night I watched television on my own. Outside of work, I never saw anyone except Mum. You only came back every few months.’ I winced with guilt, even though I doubted she’d intended that comment as a rebuke. And her lack of friends had long been a concern of mine.

  ‘I used to walk down the street and I’d see couples holding hands and I’d wonder whether I’d ever enjoy such happiness,’ Ellie continued. ‘I got bitter; I needed that for myself.’ She swallowed a convulsive sob.

  ‘You wanted a relationship.’

  She nodded. ‘Yes. But I didn’t have a clue how to find one. Until I considered the internet.’ She glanced at me, firing love for my damaged sister through my heart. She was so pretty, even with her blotchy cheeks and pink nose. When those eyes weren’t red and swollen with tears, they were lovely - large and whisky-brown - and I’d have killed for skin as clear and soft as Ellie’s. She didn’t realise that men would fight for a chance to be with her.

  ‘So you tried a dating website …’ I prompted.

  ‘Yes. Soulmate Search, it was called. You needed to pay a lot for membership, and I liked that, because I wanted a guy who was serious about finding a partner. I decided I’d just look at first, maybe check out a few profiles. I didn’t tell anyone, not even Mum.’

  ‘You were embarrassed about joining?’

  ‘Yes. Because I couldn’t meet a man the usual way. Parties, mutual friends, that kind of thing.’ She smiled, but her expression remained sad. ‘I didn’t even put up a profile picture. Too frightened someone might recognise me.’

  ‘Did you get much response?’

  ‘Loads of messages in the first week, but I didn’t reply to any. They all seemed too pushy, asking to see my photo, saying they wanted to meet up straightaway, and it scared me. I almost deleted my profile.’

  ‘But you didn’t?’

  ‘No. Right when I’d decided to quit the whole thing, I got a message. It was different to the others.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘He seemed so sweet, not pushy at all. Like me, he didn’t have an online picture.’

  I bet, I thought sourly. Not if what I suspected was true. One less means of identifying the bastard. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘That he’d read my profile and decided I sounded lovely, someone he could relate to. He liked the fact our interests were so similar - books, poetry, plays. How he’d been hurt in his last relationship and had taken a while to recover. He said he was now ready to move on and find his soulmate. Steven was older than me - thirty - but I didn’t mind that. What’s five years, anyway? He suggested we swap messages for a while, and when I felt comfortable with the idea, we could meet for coffee.’

  The fact our interests were so similar. Had my sister met a man who tailored his approach based on whatever gullible female caught his attention? Perhaps I was jumping to conclusions. Wouldn’t any prospective date highlight areas of mutual interest?

  ‘We chatted online most days after that,’ Ellie continued. ‘He seemed so kind, so caring. I told him about Dad dying, and he said his own father passed away when he was nine. How he missed him, always would.’

  The suspicion I’d harboured earlier grew in strength. A neat ploy, one designed to show common ground and build sympathy. No doubt interspersed with a few well-chosen questions about Ellie’s inheritance.

  ‘Steven understood about my mental health problems too,’ Ellie said. ‘He told me his aunt had suffered from head trauma, like me, as well as depression. He was always so easy to talk to, no matter what we discussed. When he suggested meeting up, I agreed, even though I was nervous. And when I met him - oh, God.’ More tears.

  ‘I don’t know why he didn’t upload a photo,’ she said once she’d stopped crying. ‘But I’m glad he didn’t. Less competition for me. So handsome, he was.’

  That made sense. Any con artist would be more George Clooney than Willem Dafoe.

  ‘His eyes were the most amazing shade of blue,’ Ellie continued. ‘His hair was long and dark, almost black, and so soft I wanted to run my fingers through it the second we met. And his smile - I swear it could outshine Las Vegas. I was hooked from the first time I saw him.’

  ‘What about his personality?’

  ‘He seemed confident, more so than I’d expected. Not in a cocky way, though. Just sure of himself, which appealed to me. Like he was strong, someone I could lean on. We ordered coffee, and we chatted, and I felt so lucky to have found such a wonderful man. I was amazed that he seemed to like me too.’

  ‘So you started dating him?’

  ‘Yes. And he was so gentle, so considerate. He never pressured me, not once.’ Embarrassment flushed her cheeks. ‘About - well, you know.’

  ‘So the two of you didn’t ...?’

  ‘No. I wanted to, but was too scared. He said it was natural for me to be nervous, how he understood my hesitation.’

  Too right he did. Because it wasn’t sex the bastard was after, was it?

  I squeezed her close. ‘You don’t have to tell me. Not if it’s too painful.’ At least Ellie hadn’t slept with this man. To the best of my knowledge she was still a virgin. Unusual at twenty-five, but not unknown. Before the car crash, she’d been too shy to date. Afterwards she’d been too damaged.

  She shook her head. ‘There’s not much to say on that score. We agreed to wait until we knew each other better.’

  ‘And he was okay with that?’

  ‘Yes. We seemed so in tune. He told me he loved me, how he hoped we’d always be together. And I believed him. How stupid is that?’

  ‘Did you tell him you loved him too?’

  Ellie nodded. ‘I still do, in spite of everything.’ More sobs. ‘I keep going over it in my head. Hoping there must be a rational explanation. That he’ll call me soon. Except I know he won’t.’ Her body shook with anguish.

  Anger flared inside me. No wonder my fragile sister had attempted suicide. She’d done so well in recent years: finding part-time work, running her online shop and starting to date. The world had begun to knit together for her at last. Then, without warning, her fairy-tale romance had crumbled to dust. The humiliation must have been so crushing that death seemed the only solution.

  ‘He was so charismatic,’ Ellie said. ‘He’d look at me with those blue eyes, and that smile, and I’d melt. I began to fantasise about the life we’d have together.’

  Just like I’d done with Gary McIlroy.

  Don’t go there, I warned myself. ‘So when did it all go wrong?’

  She gulped back a sob. ‘We went to Cornwall one weekend - a holiday cottage close to St Ives. The place had two bedrooms, and he insisted I take the big one at the front while he slept in the back. All the while I expected him to hassle me about sex, and dreading it, because I still wasn’t ready. Steven was the perfect gentleman though. That was when I realised I loved him.’

  ‘Did he ask for money that weekend?’

  ‘Not in so many words. He told me he was building a holiday complex nearby. His business was in property developing, or so he said. I guess that was all lies too. We went to where his company was planning to start work. The plot was fenced off, with a sign warning the public to keep out. I had no reason to suspect the site wasn’t his.’

  ‘Of course you didn’t.’

  ‘He told me he was concerned the complex might not go ahead. Mentioned he’d incurred huge expenses already, that the project was likely to exceed its budget. He seemed so worried, and I believed him.’

  ‘That’s when he hinted he needed money?’

  ‘Yes. He told me he was cutting costs by employing labourers off the books. Illegal immigrants who nee
ded to keep a low profile, he said. How everything would be fine if he could get his hands on some cash to pay them, then the building work could start. But he couldn’t use the money in his bank account as then he’d have to account for it. And he didn’t have any spare funds of his own after pumping every penny he possessed into the company.’

  ‘So you offered to lend him money.’

  She nodded. ‘He seemed taken aback. Almost offended. Told me he couldn’t take my savings, that it wouldn’t be right. The more I insisted, the more he refused.’

  Of course he did. The man sounded a professional at his game.

  ‘In the end he said yes. He asked for ten thousand pounds, swore he’d repay me as soon as possible. I told him I’d give him the cash straight after I’d been to my bank.’

  Clever, I thought. No trail leading from Ellie’s finances to his, not like with an online transfer. ‘He asked you for more money afterwards?’

  ‘Yes. Every week, saying he needed to pay his workers. He explained that most of the costs on a construction project came at the start, but how he’d soon be able to sell units off-plan and repay me with interest. He promised to take me to the Caribbean to thank me for being so supportive.’ She sobbed against my shoulder. The ache in my heart bordered on painful.

  ‘How did you discover the truth?’

  ‘He dumped me after I gave him the last chunk of cash,’ Ellie said. ‘I lost fifty thousand pounds, all my savings.’ She pulled away, fishing in her bag for a tissue.

  ‘I’m guessing you never saw him again?’

  She shook her head. ‘He didn’t call, or text, and when I tried to get in touch, he never replied. Wouldn’t answer any of my messages. I persuaded myself he’d lost his phone or forgotten to charge it. After three days I was beside myself with worry. I pictured him dead, or unconscious in hospital. I couldn’t even contact him via the dating website. He’d deleted his profile.’

  ‘What about going to where he lived?’

  ‘I didn’t know the address. How stupid is that? He told me he owned a flat in Clifton, but he always came to my place, because of me not driving.’