A Few Little Lies

by Sue Welfare

  He imagined her face and couldn’t help but smile. All day long he had had tiny vivid recollections of the night before. Not all of them had been about making love. He could imagine her leaning towards him across the table, eyes alight with the glow from the candles. And the way she had stretched out on the sofa, easing the cat up off her lap when he had carried the coffee in. Being with her felt so comfortable, so easy. He listened to the recorded voice asking him to say something after the tone. He wanted to leave his love, his need, but instead he said he would ring back later.

  There were three phone calls from Jon on the machine when Dora finally got back from Sheila’s. They sounded increasingly frustrated with each recording. Dora skimmed through the flat, turning on lamps as she listened to the tape play back; three from Jon, two empty silences punctuated with a soft wet sound that she knew were almost certainly Sheila sucking her teeth, one from Calvin saying he would be round to see her. She paused as she heard Jon’s voice again and felt a bitter-sweet pain.

  Tea with Sheila and her family had felt like being in the witness box, being cross-examined by the prosecution when they had whiff of a guilty verdict.

  Oscar eyed her suspiciously – all this to-ing and fro-ing and homing of itinerant toms was really too much for a cat. He had vented his spleen, in her absence, by nipping the new leaves off the plant by the hearth. Soft stars of foliage lay in a fading wilted heap.

  When the intercom bell rang again Dora was tempted to ignore it. She eased herself up to look out of the window. Jon Melrose’s car was parked under the street light. She pressed the call button in her office with a strange reluctance and sadness.

  ‘Hello.’ His disembodied voice made her shiver. She wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted to say and let her finger hover unsteadily over the button that would undo the lock downstairs.

  ‘Hello, Dora?’ he said again, with an edge of concern.

  ‘Hello,’ she said softly.

  ‘Hi, how are you? I saw the report this afternoon, are you okay? Can I come up?’

  Dora bit her lip. Rationally she should let him in and ask him about his wife. Simple, adult, honest, bloodless rationality. She wanted to feel his arms close around her and make everything all right.

  She took another slow breath and said, ‘No, not tonight.’ She hadn’t known what the answer was going to be until her mouth formed the words, and now they were out and said she had no intention of changing them.

  There was a few seconds’ silence over the intercom before Jon asked softly, ‘What’s the matter?’

  She didn’t know how to answer him. ‘I’m not sure,’ she whispered, ‘I think I need some time,’ and let her finger lift off the button.

  She stood up and switched off the office light before going back to the sitting room. She saw Jon cross the road, back towards his car, pausing to look up at the office window. She didn’t watch him drive away, and for the first time in days, she longed for a cigarette.

  15

  Dora slithered out of bed in the early hours of the morning, feeling as if she had a hangover. She struggled manfully to the bathroom and turned on the shower.

  Oscar, reading the weather report as stormy with sudden squalls, scurried off to the kitchen after putting in a polite request to be fed, sometime, sometime soon, if it wasn’t too much trouble. Now would be good, even though he realised it was painfully early. After a few minutes he decided he was being too understanding, mewled miserably and slinked his way back around Dora’s legs to be rewarded by a few words of old Anglo-Saxon.

  Dora scrubbed an oval in the steamy mirror and contemplated her reflection. She ought to have let Jon in. She would have slept better, or maybe not slept at all, but at least she wouldn’t have been alone with her thoughts, turning over and over, knotting the bedclothes into an escape rope. She should have let him explain, there probably wasn’t even anything to explain. Why had she believed Sheila, of all people?

  God, being awake was almost as bad as trying to sleep. She groaned miserably and dragged a comb through her unruly shower-damp hair.

  She felt an overwhelming sense of grief and loss for something that might have been, still might be, maybe never really was. She sighed, annoyed with herself for being so pathetic. Surely, after all this time, she ought to have the knack of saying what she meant? Or was talking to men something else that had been forgotten along with the finer steps of the mating dance?

  It was only four thirty but she couldn’t face another hour in bed. When she hadn’t been thinking about Jon she had been thinking about Lillian Bliss – which was almost as bad.

  The early light made the flat seem grey and terribly empty. Finally, she fed Oscar and went into her office. Maybe she ought to tell Calvin she wouldn’t do another book. She switched on the computer and waited for the machine to announce it was ready.

  Sucking a pencil, Dora lay back in the swivel chair, eyes and mind idling through the contents of the computer screen in front of her. After years of practice she could easily step inside the fictional landscape, contoured in letters, mapped out in sentences. To begin with, she wandered through it as a distraction. Ran it through the spell checker, encouraging the errors to float to the surface to be scooped off.

  After ten minutes she was completely absorbed by the story, wandering around, looking at the bare framework of the new book like a homesteader eyeing up newly nailed timbers. She’d already cleared the ground and laid out the foundations in nice straight lines.

  Outside the office window, the day brightened, but Dora didn’t notice. Writing was almost better than sleep, and infinitely better than the thoughts that had driven sleep away.

  She tapped words into the keyboard without being aware that she was doing it, adding layer upon layer of little bricks, guided by whatever jinn was inside her head that drove the story on. She couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

  Oscar, recognising the return of a familiar obsession, curled contentedly at her feet. He understood this, knew the signs and was glad finally to have his normal life back.

  Real time passed unnoticed as Dora worked. She paused only to make tea, but even then her consciousness was firmly fixed on the world inside the new book. It was comforting to have some sense of control back. Fictional passion, totally untainted by uncertainty and pain, was so very much easier to work with than the real thing. Dora’s latest heroine, who didn’t have a sister, and certainly wouldn’t lose a night’s sleep consumed by doubts over an errant lover, strode enthusiastically from bed to bed without so much as a backward glance.

  When finally Dora looked up at the clock it was after nine. For a few minutes she sat still, totally stunned, as if she had woken up on a train at an unexpected destination. She closed the machine down reluctantly, like a miser closing the lid on his hoard, and lifted up her glasses to rub the bridge of her nose. She needed to talk to Calvin.

  Calvin was very surprised to see Dora in his office first thing in the morning. He waved her towards a chair.

  ‘I was going to come round to see you today, didn’t you get my message on your answering machine?’ he said.

  Dora nodded.

  ‘I didn’t think you did mornings. Do you want me to ring down for some tea?’

  Dora stretched. ‘I didn’t sleep very well and yes, I could murder a cup. I came to talk to you about Lillian.’

  Calvin groaned. ‘Please, can’t you bear with me on this for just a little bit longer?’ He pulled a sheet of paper from the in-tray and handed it to Dora. ‘Here, take a look at that. I wanted to talk to you about bringing the delivery date for this new book forward by a month or so. The publishers were on the phone again yesterday. They want to cash in on Lillian’s success. The punters are baying for the latest one – they’ve already had to do another print run. Look at the list. Lillian’s scheduled to do half a dozen more signings, a bit more promotion work and then there’s this presentation thing up at the college and the Spring Ball afterwards. Another month’s work at the most.’r />
  Dora lifted an eyebrow. The odour of rat was all pervading.

  ‘Really? You told me your machine was full of messages about Lillian the other day. The publishers are frothing at the mouth for the new book and then, in the next breath, you say you’ll give Lillian another month at the most?’

  She saw a glint of avarice in Calvin’s eyes and sighed. He was still hoping she would change her mind.

  ‘She’s really looking forward to this ball thing,’ Calvin said in a cajoling voice. ‘She’s been out to get herself a new ball gown and everything. She’s going to be so disappointed if we have to turn it down.’

  ‘I can do without the emotional blackmail, Calvin.’ Dora paused, feeling tired. Maybe she should have had a nap and tackled Calvin after lunch. ‘Lillian can go to the ball – far be it from me to shoot Cinderella down in flames – and these other things on your neatly typed little list, and then that is it. I don’t care what happens, or what comes up. No more, nothing, zilch. Don’t take any more bookings, is that perfectly clear?’

  ‘We had a phone call yesterday about her opening a supermarket – you’re getting a slice of her appearance money. What if …’

  Dora bullseyed him with a furious glare. ‘No, this list and then it’s curtains.’ She paused as Gena, Calvin’s receptionist, came in carrying a tea tray.

  All the way down to Northquay, Dora had been thinking about the things Lillian had told her and Josephine Hammond. As Gena closed the door on her way out, Dora took a deep breath.

  ‘Calvin, I want to ask you, how much do you know about Lillian?’

  Calvin stared at her. ‘What’s to know? She’s a model, good-looking – bit loose with her favours but, then again, she wouldn’t be the first girl who made her way up the ladder by using the old casting couch route.’ He preened a little. ‘But I’ve had a word with her, explained a few home truths. I don’t think it’ll happen again. I’ve arranged for one of the girls from the office downstairs to go with her from now on if I can’t make it. Like a chaperone. Why do you want to know?’

  Dora took the cup of tea he offered her. ‘I want to know how you met her.’

  Calvin reddened. ‘What is this, truth or consequences?’

  ‘I really need to know.’

  Calvin snorted. ‘At a party. She was there with a lot of other girls. She told me she was a model and I said maybe I could find her a bit of work. You know how these things go. We kept in touch.’ His expression left Dora in no doubt what Calvin meant by ‘in touch’.

  He tugged self-consciously at his waistcoat and continued. ‘When the Catiana Moran promotion job came up I thought she’d be absolutely perfect for it. You can’t say that she hasn’t been successful.’

  Dora nodded. ‘And, of course, she’s very, very grateful to you for getting her a break?’

  Calvin looked away and stirred his tea. ‘Is all this any of your business?’

  Dora nodded. ‘Yes, I think it is. Whose party was it?’

  Calvin looked uncomfortable. ‘I’ve already said that I’m only going to keep her on the books for another month. Where exactly is all this leading?’

  ‘Maybe nowhere at all. Whose party was it?’

  ‘Ben Frierman’s. His Christmas bash.’

  Dora’s blank expression made Calvin sigh.

  ‘Oh, come on, Dora. You must know him. Ben Frierman? The big seed merchant? Lives out at the Tollbridge? He always holds a big stag do at Christmas, sort of social let-your-hair-down do for the local nobs. Dancers, good food, loads of booze. Everyone always goes. It’s a tradition.’ There was a hint of appeal in his voice which Dora pointedly ignored.

  ‘Who is “everyone”?’

  ‘Me, Lawrence Rawlings, Bob Preston. Jack Rees was there as well this year. Anyone who’s anyone, really – Guy Phelps, the new Conservative chap was there and Tom Fielding, the Lib Dem guy. Chairman of the Rotary club, Lions club, rugby club committee, most of the members of the chamber of trade. Gerry Hanley the JP. It’s a bit of boys’-own thing – you know, strippers, belly dancers.’ He stopped as if he hoped he’d told her enough.

  ‘And you met Lillian at this party?’

  Calvin nodded. ‘Yes, but there were lots of girls like Lillian there. The place was crawling with them. Ben is famous for finding a good class of –’ He stopped, blushing furiously.

  Dora leant forward. ‘What? Tart? Hooker?’

  Calvin coughed, blustering to hide his discomfort. ‘No, no, that wasn’t what I was going to say at all. Lillian was there with her flatmate. She told me she’d been invited specially. I thought they were really nice girls, I thought –’

  Dora held up a hand to silence him. ‘And when you got to know Lillian better, she asked you to help her buy somewhere to live in Fairbeach?’

  Calvin stared at her in astonishment and then pulled a cigar from his top pocket. ‘Who told you that?’ he demanded defensively.

  Dora rolled her eyes heavenwards. ‘Lillian, of course, she couldn’t keep a secret if her next meal depended on it. You helped her buy the flat at Anchor Quay?’

  Calvin lit his cigar. ‘All perfectly above board. She asked me if I would do some business for her. She said she hadn’t really got a head for figures. I took a small finder’s fee but nothing that could be misconstrued.’

  Dora suppressed a snort. ‘Didn’t you wonder where she got the money from?’

  Calvin sucked his cigar thoughtfully. ‘It did cross my mind, but girls like Lillian have a habit of attracting …’ He struggled to find the right word. ‘Er, patrons. I thought maybe she had a sugar daddy hidden away somewhere who’d slipped her few grand.’

  ‘Slightly more than a few, Calvin.’

  Calvin turned away. ‘All right, all right, slightly more than a few, but it wouldn’t be the first time a girl like Lillian’s used a little bit of pressure to get what she wanted out of life.’

  Dora stared at him in astonishment. ‘You thought Lillian was blackmailing somebody?’

  Calvin nodded. ‘The thought did cross my mind, until I got to know her a bit better. I mean, let’s face it, she isn’t the sort.’

  He was right. Dora stared down at the list of bookings in her hand without taking in the words. Lillian hadn’t got the guile to blackmail anyone – and she hadn’t needed to. Jack Rees had given Lillian the money willingly because he believed she was his daughter, but that didn’t explain why someone wanted something from Lillian now Jack Rees was dead.

  Lillian said she had taken him some photographs of her as a child. Dora bit her lip. Jack Rees had loved Lillian for being his. Dora felt a tiny flutter of pain. She looked up at Calvin and then put the cup back onto his desk.

  ‘Thanks for the tea.’

  Calvin stared at her. ‘What the hell do you mean, “thanks for the tea”? What was all that about?’

  Dora shrugged. ‘Idle curiosity.’

  She slid the sheet of paper back alongside the cup.

  ‘One more month, including the Spring Ball, and then she is off the case, Calvin. I don’t care what she wants or how much you like her, or what you’ve promised her. She is history.’

  Calvin sniffed and bit down on his cigar. ‘It’s not going to be easy. Lillian is a sweet girl. Sensitive.’ He stopped when he realised Dora was staring at him, completely unmoved. ‘What shall I tell the supermarket people?’

  Dora deadpanned him.

  He held up his hands in surrender. ‘All right, all right, I’ll tell them to get someone else. What shall I tell the publishers about the new book?’

  Dora was very tempted to suggest the same solution, but instead she nodded. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  When Dora got back home the phone was ringing. She picked it up before the machine had a chance to swallow the words, hoping it was Jon.

  ‘Hi,’ said Josephine Hammond. ‘How’s it going?’

  Dora groaned. ‘Please, don’t ask.’

  Josephine laughed. ‘Tetchy, tetchy. Have you had an opportunity to speak to C
alvin Roberts yet?’

  ‘I’ve just come back from his office. Lillian was telling the truth. She and Jack Rees met at a Christmas party organised by someone called Ben Frierman. I’m not sure if that’s any help, though. It sounds as if the world and his wife were there with Lillian and Jack. Well, no, not his wife, it was a stag do. I just wish I knew what it was these people were looking for.’

  Josephine made a distracted noise.

  ‘Are you writing this down?’ snapped Dora angrily. ‘This is supposed to be off the record.’

  ‘Nope, the guy on the other desk just handed me a piece of paper. Do you fancy coming to a barbecue?’

  Dora laughed. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I’ve got to go and do a report on some minor royal visiting a hospital this afternoon, but I’m covering a fund raiser for Tom Fielding, the Lib Dem guy, tonight. We could talk on the way. I’d like some company, these dos are always the same.’

  Dora sighed. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Uh huh, look, I’ve really got to go now. Pick you up about seven?’

  Dora stared at the phone. ‘Okay, why not. What do I wear?’

  Josephine laughed. ‘Well, you could start by trying a happy face. Gotta go, catch you later.’

  Dora had barely put the phone down before it rang again. This time it was Sheila. ‘You’re in, then? I rang to see what you were doing.’

  Dora had doodled a large succulent barbecued sausage on the pad beside the phone. ‘I’m about to start work,’ she lied.

  ‘Oh, I see. I just wondered if you’d like to come round to tea again tonight? Peter is taking the kids round to see his mum.’ Sheila paused. ‘I thought we could talk. Doesn’t do you any good, being in that flat all on your own all the time.’

  Dora looked down at the plump blue biro sausage. ‘I won’t be on my own tonight, I’m going out.’

  Sheila sniffed. ‘Not the policeman?’

  So much disapproval in three words.