A Few Little Lies

by Sue Welfare

  Milo glared at him, but it was too late.

  ‘Hi, Lillian, Calvin here. Lillian?’ said the voice at the far end of the line.

  Spar coughed.

  ‘Who is this?’ asked the man.

  ‘Er, it’s er … I’m the rat catcher,’ Spar stammered.

  ‘Rat catcher?’ Calvin repeated incredulously. ‘What rat catcher?’

  Caught up in the lie. Spar was obligated to run with it. ‘From the council. The whole place is alive with rats.’ He was getting the feel for this. ‘Big as corgis, some of them. We’ve gotta spray the whole building, top to bottom, and stick poison down. Christ, it’s a bloody horrible job. I said to my girlfriend the other day …”

  ‘Yes, yes, all right,’ snapped Calvin. ‘Is Miss Bliss there with you?’

  ‘No,’ said Spar, glancing over his shoulder just to check. ‘When we fumigate everyone has to leave, I –’

  ‘Right,’ said Calvin. ‘Well, could I leave her a message? Ask her to call Calvin Roberts when she gets back, will you?’

  ‘Certainly,’ said Spar helpfully. ‘I’ll tell her the minute she gets in.’

  When he hung up Milo was staring at him.

  ‘Why didn’t you just tell him he’d got the wrong number and unplug the bloody phone?’

  Spar shrugged.

  ‘Just get the bug in and let’s get out of here.’

  ‘But what about the message for Lillian?’ said Spar.

  Milo shook his head. ‘Forget the bloody message, let’s just get going.’

  Jon arrived at Dora’s flat just as Lillian was about to leave. As they passed in the hallway, exchanging pleasantries, he eyed the strawberry blonde suspiciously. Though Dora did think, watching them, that his eyes lingered a little too long on the vast expanse of long slim leg the girl was showing.

  ‘Tea? A cheese sandwich?’ she suggested, as Jon sat down in the kitchen and boosted Oscar up onto the chair beside him.

  ‘Please. I didn’t know Lillian was going to be here.’ He stroked a fìnger along Oscar’s back. ‘I thought she was all safely settled at her new flat.’ He stopped and pulled a face. ‘I don’t want to sound like an authoritarian husband but I’d be careful how much you have to do with Miss Bliss from now on.’

  Dora snorted. ‘Well, blow me down, what a surprise. Don’t worry, you’re not telling me anything I haven’t already learnt first hand.’ She leant over and kissed him. Reaching across the table she slipped the pink envelope off the kitchen shelf. ‘She just popped round to bring me two tickets to the college ball on Saturday night. Want to come with me? I bet you look incredibly sexy in a dinner jacket.’

  Jon grinned. ‘How can I resist an invitation like that? The only thing is I’m not sure about the Lillian Bliss connection.’

  Dora snorted. ‘I’m not asking you to dance with her.’ She paused. ‘Just come with me. Besides, I’d really like to go. I’ve never been given an award before.’

  ‘It is a joke,’ Jon pointed out.

  Dora bristled. ‘I do know that. But I want to be there when she gets it. As she said, she wouldn’t be there if it wasn’t for me.’ She leant against the kitchen unit and sighed. ‘The thing is, I’ve got Calvin to sack her. She’s got another month and then it’s all over.’

  ‘You sound as if you regret asking him to fire her. I thought you’d be relieved.’

  Dora turned away and pulled a loaf of bread out of the bread bin. ‘I am relieved, it’s just that she can be so sweet. Dangerous but sweet. Oh, I don’t know. Lillian Bliss aside, would you like to come to the ball with me?’

  Jon nodded. ‘I’d be delighted. The only problem is I’m working till late, eight-ish. Nita said I couldn’t have the kids this weekend because of Joe’s arm, so I’ve already swopped shifts with another guy.’

  Dora pulled a face. ‘Damn. What about if I go on my own and you meet me there when you’ve finished work?’

  ‘Okay. I can get washed and changed at the station and be at the college by, say, nine? Would that be all right?’

  ‘Fine. That’s settled then. Would you like to eat this sandwich in here, in the sitting room or –’ she grinned ‘– in bed?’

  Jon got to his feet, eyes alight with amusement.

  ‘Good God, woman, you’re totally insatiable.’

  Dora curled into his arms. ‘How very perceptive of you to notice. I’m not sure that I am really. I think my body is making up for lost time. You’re not complaining, are you?’ She reached out and touched him. ‘I just love to feel you next to me. It seems so long since –’ She bit her lip and then grinned. ‘For the last few years I’ve spent an awful lot of time working on the theory but not much on the practical. You don’t mind me lusting after your body, do you?’

  Jon’s reply was a kiss.

  It was nearly seven when they woke up. Dora lay for a little while feeling comfortable, warm and totally at ease. Life was remarkably good, considering. A month more and Lillian would be history and she already had Jon Melrose. Beside her, he stirred into wakefulness.

  ‘My cheese sandwich is all dry and curly,’ he observed, rolling over onto his side and staring at the bedside table.

  Dora laughed. ‘Do you want me to make you another one?’

  Jon shook his head. ‘No, do you fancy going out to eat?’

  ‘Sounds like a good idea. I’ll go and run the shower. Would you like one, too?’

  He wriggled closer and pressed his lips against her hip, tickling kisses over her warm skin.

  ‘Have you ever had a shower with anyone?’

  Dora grinned down at him. ‘Yes, but it was so long ago now, I’ve forgotten how it goes.’

  She felt rather than saw Jon nod. ‘Don’t worry, it’ll all come back to you. Trust me.’

  By eleven thirty the following morning, Alicia Markham had already arranged for the contract cleaners to come in and shampoo all the carpets, though she very much doubted that the stains would ever come out of the cream shag pile in the dining room. She was trying hard to blot out the memory of the previous day’s fiasco.

  What made it worse was that Colin Scarisbrooke had been correct in his assessment. All the local TV stations had carried a segment about her impromptu house party for the needy on their news broadcasts, even if one had accused Guy Phelps of blatant media manipulation. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to ask Guy to stay behind to talk to her. She wasn’t altogether convinced she wanted to talk to him ever again.

  She stared at her reflection in the dressing-table mirror. All dressed up for her lunch date with Lawrence Rawlings. She just had to clip on her earrings and add a little perfume.

  It was all going wrong. Guy was supposed to do what she said, not what that arsehole Scarisbrooke told him. What would Guy be like when he got to Westminster, always assuming that he won the by-election? It disturbed her that she had misread him, or perhaps it was just that she had underestimated the degree to which he could be manipulated.

  … Which was exactly Lawrence Rawlings’ comment when they sat head to head over an expensive lunch at the Lodge. He topped up her wine glass.

  ‘You can’t possibly control him, Alicia. He is a loose cannon. Guy Phelps has no moral centre. He’ll go whichever way the wind is blowing. Hunt with the hounds, run with the hare, protest along with the hunt saboteurs. You really have to get rid of him.’

  Alicia stared at Lawrence. ‘You know it isn’t that easy.’

  Lawrence snorted. ‘I thought you were Fairbeach’s lady fix-it? Isn’t that what all this super-sleuthing is in aid of, so you have something in the biscuit jar to keep Mr Phelps in line?’

  ‘No, unfortunately not,’ she said. How could Lawrence possibly think that she was employing her man to find something to tighten her hold on Guy? She stopped herself from saying so out loud, and began to think. Perhaps he had a point, maybe she could find something to nail Guy down. She left the wheels inside her head to grind it over and carried on speaking.

  ‘My original idea was,
finally, to have an MP at Westminster who would co-operate with me. Someone who would listen. Jack Rees was such a trial.’

  Lawrence eased his knife through the butter-soft fillet steak. ‘And impossible to get rid of?’

  Alicia snorted dryly. ‘I’m back to square one, aren’t I? The reason I asked you here today was to suggest we formed an alliance, a coalition.’

  Lawrence, still chewing, nodded. ‘To achieve what?’

  This was harder going than she had hoped. He was making her crawl every inch of the way. ‘For the mutual exchange of information, though I have my suspicions that our respective private investigators may have already come to the same conclusion.’

  Lawrence looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Presuming I were to agree, how would I know if I came across whatever it is you want?’

  Alicia glanced down at her plate. ‘Rest assured, Lawrence, if you already had what I’m looking for, or happen to come across it, you would know, instinctively.’

  Lawrence suppressed a smile. ‘I see. What concerns me is that you are planning to use this magical something to get Mr Phelps into Parliament. I’m not sure I can agree to help you.’

  Alicia grimaced. ‘I’m not asking for your help or your approval, just a little co-operation.’

  Lawrence leant back. ‘What if I told you I’d already got what I wanted?’

  ‘I’d say you were bluffing. If you had, you wouldn’t be here having lunch with me. You may have something but not everything.’

  Lawrence smiled. ‘You’re a very shrewd woman, Alicia. Let me make a suggestion. If I find anything that fits the description of the item you’re looking for then I’ll let you have it. All I ask is that you think long and hard about whether you use it to further Mr Phelps’ political career. Do we have a deal?’

  Alicia stared at him. Had he conceded? Surely it couldn’t be this easy?

  ‘And what is it you’re looking for, Lawrence? What do you want me to find for you?’ she asked quickly.

  Lawrence Rawlings was looking past her, his blue eyes focused somewhere in the middle distance.

  ‘I’m not certain any more that what I’m looking for exists,’ he murmured. There was a poignancy in his tone that made Alicia reach across the table and touch his hand. The fleeting brush of her fingers snapped his concentration back onto her face.

  ‘I’ve always thought business and food make a terrible combination and this steak is quite magnificent,’ he said, with forced joviality.

  Dora had spent Friday morning combing the shops in Fairbeach for something to wear to the Spring Ball. By eleven o’clock she had been to every clothes shop at least twice. At lunch time she had driven to Keelside, dragged round every shop there and was still gownless. Defeated, she drove home and got changed into old clothes for a full-frontal attack on the chaos in her car. It was in desperate need of transformation from pumpkin to stage coach.

  When she got back downstairs, clutching a bucket and a can of spray polish, Josephine Hammond was pulling up in her car.

  ‘Afternoon, grumpy. I was just coming to see you. How’s it going? You look completely knackered. How’s the man in your life?’

  Dora flinched. ‘I don’t remember sending out for a reporter, what I really need now is a fairy godmother with wings and a wand.’

  Josephine stared at her. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘The Spring Ball tomorrow night. I’ve got two tickets, a hot date, and haven’t got a thing to wear. It’s years since swanning around in frills was on my agenda.’

  Josephine eyed her up thoughtfully, as Dora pulled the door to. ‘Actually I might be able to help. There’s a woman out at Abbotsbridge who does a very nice line in secondhand clothes – all designer labels, all very discreet. You have to ring for an appointment. I’ve used her several times. I could give you the number, if you like.’

  ‘Sounds promising. I don’t suppose you’d consider coming with me, would you? I could do with someone to ooh and ahh in all the right places. Guide me away from things that make me look like a middle-aged meringue?’

  Josephine glanced at her watch. ‘Maybe. I could give her a ring on my mobile, if you like, see if we can come over now.’

  Dora looked down ruefully at her working clothes. ‘A couple of hours or so would be better. I’d planned to set about the car. It’s full of junk, and short of a pumpkin and six white mice turning up unexpectedly, I’ve got to take it to the ball tomorrow night. Anyway, what are you doing here?’

  ‘Just passing. I rang you earlier but you weren’t in so I thought I’d drop by and see if you were okay. See the Gazette yesterday?’

  Dora grinned. ‘I’d never considered myself a one-woman news extravaganza.’

  Josephine snorted and then looked at Dora’s dilapidated Fiat. ‘Why are you taking your car anyway? I thought you said the good-looking policeman was coming. I assume he’s the hot date?’

  Dora snorted. ‘You don’t miss a trick, do you? Yes, actually he is, but I’m meeting him there.’ She pulled a black plastic bag out of her jacket pocket. ‘How long are you staying? Long enough for me to shuffle some of the muck out? I’d offer you a cup of tea but if I don’t make a start soon I’ll never get it done.’

  Josephine nodded and settled herself against the wall. ‘Actually I’m skiving. I told my editor I was off talking to an informant. Do you want me to ring this dress woman?’

  ‘If you wouldn’t mind.’ As she spoke, Dora popped the boot and started pulling things into the rubbish bag. Standing in amongst the muddle of old Wellingtons, blankets and newspapers was a crisp box whose origins she couldn’t remember.

  Behind her, Josephine was tapping numbers into her mobile phone.

  Dora opened the lid of the box and peered inside. On the top was a photograph of a child on a beach. Confused, she pulled out an envelope. Inside was a folded birth certificate; Lillian Bliss’ birth certificate. She stopped and glanced up at Josephine. Where had it come from? Random thoughts came tumbling back as memories. It was the box she had picked up the day she had gone to Lillian’s old flat. Carol Hayes had had it in her sideboard, keeping it safe for Lillian, and Jon had put it in the car for her. Dora felt ice-cold certainty tickle down her spine like chilly fingers; this was the box everyone was looking for.

  Behind her, Josephine Hammond was talking on the phone, arranging to view ball gowns. Dora glanced over her shoulder and then returned the photo and the certificate to the box. Carefully, she shimmied it over the lip of the boot and into the black rubbish bag. As calmly as she could, she slammed the boot down.

  ‘She says it’s okay,’ said Josephine, snapping the phone shut. ‘She’s just had some new things in. We can go over …’

  Dora glided past Josephine cradling the rubbish bag in her arms.

  ‘… Oy! Where are you going? I thought you were going to disembowel your car.’

  ‘Change of plan, come upstairs and help me get the hoover, will you?’ Dora spoke in a slightly louder than normal voice, just in case anyone was listening.

  Josephine stared at her ‘Have I suddenly gone deaf?’

  ‘Just come with me,’ Dora snapped, and beckoned Josephine to follow with a nod of her head.

  With a bemused expression, the reporter wheeled round and followed her. ‘What had you got in mind for the ball then, something slinky? Something –’

  As soon as they were inside Dora kicked the door shut.

  ‘I think I’ve found it,’ she hissed, lifting the box up to indicate what she meant.

  Josephine screwed up her nose. ‘Sorry? Have I missed something? I’m not with you.’

  ‘I’ve found a box of Lillian’s things. She gave it to the girl in the flat downstairs for safe keeping. I think I’ve just found Fairbeach’s answer to the holy grail.’

  Comprehension dawned on Josephine’s face.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ she whispered, following Dora up the stairs. ‘What are you going to do?’

  Dora stopped mid-stride. She really had no idea. ‘Ring Lilli
an,’ she said quickly. ‘Whatever is in here, it belongs to her.’

  ‘But we’re going to look through it first, aren’t we?’ said Josephine. ‘Before you ring?’

  Dora turned and banged the door open with her hip and stood the bag on the kitchen table. ‘I don’t think we ought to, it’s private.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake. You’re not in the Brownies now. Aren’t you in the least bit curious? Here, let me, I’m the reporter. Private is not in my vocabulary. Pass it over.’

  Josephine unrolled the bag and took out the first things from the top of the box. They were photos of Lillian as a little girl. The birth certificate confirmed what Lillian had already told them; Jack Rees was listed as her father.

  It was very difficult to stand back and watch Josephine sifting through the box. Finally, unable to resist the temptation, Dora picked up a bundle of photos, trying to make something of the images. Nothing. She picked up a thick brown envelope and opened it.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Josephine, shuffling through another pile. ‘This can’t be it. It’s just a box of old photos, there’s nothing here anyone would want to –’

  The noise Dora made stopped Josephine mid-sentence.

  ‘What is it?’

  Dora handed her the envelope. ‘I think you’d better take a look at these.’

  ‘Oh, my God,’ breathed Josephine, turning the first photo towards the light. ‘This is Tom Fielding.’

  Dora nodded. ‘And Lillian Bliss, and I think in the next picture the one underneath is Carol Hayes, Lillian’s flatmate. Carol told me she was a photo freak. She must have taken a camera with her to Ben Frierman’s Christmas party.’

  Josephine sat down heavily on a chair.

  ‘Bloody hell, these are amazing.’

  Dora snorted. ‘No wonder he wants to get them back.’ She shook her head. ‘How the hell could he have stood next to me at that barbecue, knowing who I was, and look me straight in the eye?’

  Josephine turned the pictures over thoughtfully ‘Nice buns, though. I knew he’d be gorgeous with his clothes off.’