Lie For You

by Pippa Summers

  ‘And me? What am I?’

  I stared at her, genuinely perplexed and lost, needing an answer to that question.

  ‘You are Lisette, my sweet,’ Missie said, and leant across to pat my cheek. ‘You always have been, and you always will be. You’re the girl who prefers chocolate milk to champagne, and never forgets to send a card home to her granny from every stop on tour.’

  My breath caught in my throat.

  ‘Nan,’ I said, my voice strangled as a horrible realization struck me. ‘She doesn’t know. She thinks Lisette died. Her favourite. But I’m Lisette.’ Tears sprang to my eyes. ‘I can tell her when I go back to Birmingham, of course. But she may never remember or understand. Her dementia is too far gone.’ I caught back a sob of despair. ‘She could be mourning me forever.’

  ‘Well, one of her granddaughters died,’ Missie reminded me softly. ‘Does it matter which one she mourns?’

  That idea shocked me at first. It felt so radical. As though Sasha and I had been interchangeable. But then I saw how it made sense, in the context of my nan’s bereavement.

  ‘No,’ I said slowly. ‘I suppose not.’

  Missie smiled, then glanced at the time. ‘Time to go, yes? We call the porter up. So many bags!’ She swigged back her coffee with a dismissive expression. ‘This French coffee. How do you drink it? It’s so murky, like washing-up water. Give me good Russian tea any day.’

  Then she kissed me on the cheek, picked up the phone, and called down to Reception for a porter’s trolley.

  I picked up my handbag, and hurriedly checked my reflection in the gilt-edged mirror over the mantel, then retouched my lipstick with a moisturizing Dior red. I looked tired, but my make-up disguised the worst of the damage, and there was a lively glint in my eyes. Not to mention a bloom in my cheeks that had nothing to do with the artful application of a blusher brush. It was the glowing look of a woman who had spent most of the night in bed with the man of her dreams. Literally the man of my dreams, in this case. The man who had helped my sister in her final hours, while I sat helpless, trapped in the wreckage …

  I smiled at myself, and slipped the Dior lipstick back into my bag.

  ‘Done,’ Missie said cheerfully.

  The petite Russian put her arm about my waist, gazing at our joint reflections in the mirror, heads bent together, hers rather lower down than mine – almost shoulder-level, in fact.

  ‘There’s still this terrible hit-and-run,’ I said, feeling the stirring of doubt inside myself again. While Jean-Luc was here, I had felt like nothing could ever touch me again. But as soon as he left, I had begun to wonder if I was doing the right thing. After all, if I couldn’t sort out my dental records, it would be hard to prove I wasn’t Sasha and hadn’t been driving the sports car that hit Sharon Woods that night. ‘I have to give myself up to the British police, and hope my explanation is enough.’

  ‘You said there was a way to prove it.’

  ‘Theoretically.’

  ‘So you’ll prove it. So don’t worry.’

  ‘I’ll have to tell them Damian was involved in a cover-up.’

  ‘If it’s the truth … ’

  My face crumpled at the enormity of what I had to do.

  ‘Oh, Missie … ’

  ‘No, no, no.’ She hugged me with sudden ferocity, and I knew that I was forgiven. ‘No crying. Your mascara will run.’

  ‘Okay,’ I sobbed. ‘Sorry.’

  She dabbed at my eyes with a tissue produced swiftly from her bag. ‘This Jean-Luc, he comes to England with us? And his daughter, Zelda?’

  ‘Zena.’

  ‘Her too.’ Missie grinned at me. ‘He is a handsome man, her father. That scar. So dangerous. So sexy.’

  ‘Missie!’

  She checked my face, then gave a satisfied nod. ‘Huh, you will be fine.’ And it was obvious from her wink that she wasn’t only talking about my make-up.

  I took her hand. ‘I need to ask you something important.’

  Her eyes narrowed on our joined hands. ‘You want to marry me?’ she asked suspiciously.

  I laughed. ‘I want you to be my manager.’

  ‘Me?’

  Her shock was palpable.

  ‘Why not? I think you’d make a great manager. Far better than Damian. Though you’ll probably have to employ someone new to be my dresser. You couldn’t do both jobs.’

  Missie thought about it, her head on one side, eyes bright. Then she smiled. ‘Yes, I will do this. I like to be your manager. I shall tell you what to do, and you must say yes.’

  ‘Maybe not every time.’

  ‘No, you must say yes if I am manager,’ Missie said stubbornly. ‘Every time.’

  I sighed, and gave it up. ‘Okay, fine. Every time.’

  Missie grinned.

  I got an emergency appointment at the dentist, plus my own and Sasha’s early dental records released by our former clinic in Birmingham, within twenty-four hours of my arrival back in England. Luckily, I’d been to school with the receptionist, who was sympathetic to my problem and expedited the release of those file, especially when I offered to sign my latest album for her.

  While in Birmingham, I went to see Nan, and took two very special visitors with me. Jean-Luc and Zena had flown over in the private plane with Missie and me, a very different flight to the one on our journey to Paris. Not simply because the small plane was full this time, with Mimi and Dupont also on board, along with Zena’s essential medical equipment, but because Jean-Luc and I couldn’t take our eyes off each other. He sat opposite me, Zena beside him, the bouncy young girl chattering in French and playing with her new snow globe, while we looked at each other, then away, then shyly back again. And whenever our hands touched, I found my heart beating faster as I recalled how we had made love all night, exhausting ourselves, unwilling to sleep and miss a moment of each other’s company.

  We spent a quiet night at our hotel that first night back in England, having a private dinner in the suite Missie had booked for me, Jean-Luc and Zena to share. Mimi had a room next door, as did Missie, with Dupont a few doors down, and all three of them went off together to have dinner downstairs. My new entourage, I thought muzzily as we finished the wine Jean-Luc had ordered with dinner.

  Zena went to sleep early, flushed and exhausted after the flight and the long excitement of her first day in Birmingham.

  Which left Jean-Luc and me alone together.

  If anything, our love-making was more passionate second time around. For starters, we took our time, sharing a bath together in the gigantic, gleaming bathroom with its sunken jacuzzi and gold taps, and then giggled as we tiptoed into the main bedroom, trying not to disturb Zena in the other room.

  Jean-Luc kissed me ruthlessly, then carried me to the bed, his damp body hard against mine. That was when it started all over again. Once more, with feeling.

  This time though, we slept deeply between bouts of glorious love-making, our bodies hit by fatigue at last, our limbs entwined, heavy and sated.

  The business with Dawson was foremost in mind when I woke the next morning, finding Jean-Luc already in the shower. But after breakfast, I decided to visit Nan at her care home before going to the police. Although my lawyer had insisted it wouldn’t happen, I couldn’t run the risk of being arrested and not being able to see her afterwards.

  I didn’t ring ahead, since Damian McDowell’s story about ‘Sasha’ being involved in a hit-and-run had already been shared widely on social media, and people had started whispering and staring at me everywhere I went.

  I cursed Damian inwardly.

  But I couldn’t allow his spite to interfere with my relationship with Nan. She needed to see me again, and to be honest, I needed to see her too.

  Nan was home, for me. My safe place, my sanctuary. Even now.

  The nurse gave me a dubious look too, but Jean-Luc bestowed a charming smile on her, pushing Zena in her wheelchair up the sloping corridor, and the woman accompanied us to the room as usual without argume
nt.

  ‘How is my grandmother?’ I asked on the way.

  ‘She’s in fine form, actually,’ the nurse said, and winked at Zena. ‘Your nan was fair chatty this morning. Best not tire her out though. She comes and goes, you know?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  We reached the room, and the nurse slipped discreetly away.

  I met Jean-Luc’s gaze.

  ‘Go on.’ He nodded encouragingly, knowing how hard this was for me. ‘You’ll be fine. I know you will.’ He raised my hand to his lips, a romantic move which had Zena biting her lip in amusement. ‘I believe in you.’

  ‘But what if she asks about Sasha?’

  ‘Then you’ll find a way to deal with that.’ His eyes soothed me. ‘Trust your heart.’ Then he glanced down at my feet, clad in sparkling red heels that didn’t quite match the casual ripped jeans and midnight-blue hoody I’d chosen for this outing. ‘And your Jimmy Choo’s.’

  I smiled, but knew he didn’t understand the fear in my heart.

  Or did he?

  Jean-Luc reached out and touched my cheek lightly. ‘Hey,’ he whispered, ‘you’re the most together woman I’ve ever met, Lisette. You’ve got this.’

  I exhaled slowly, and then nodded.

  I’ve got this, I told myself.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  ‘Nan?’ I peered round the door and found my grandmother in her favourite chair near the floor-length window, staring out at the cityscape in the distance. ‘It’s … ’

  I stopped myself before saying ‘Sasha’ out of habit. I didn’t know how she would react to hearing my real name, and had been debating all the way across to England whether or not to tell her the truth. But Jean-Luc had convinced me it was always better to tell the truth. And besides, as he’d pointed out, her dementia was so advanced, it was unlikely she would understand anyway.

  ‘It’s Lisette,’ I finished softly, and saw Nan’s head turn at that familiar name, her whole face lighting up with pleasure.

  ‘Lisette!’ Wonderfully, she sounded quite lucid today, just as the nurse had said. ‘My dear, dear Lisette.’ I crossed the room to hug her, but carefully, feeling her thin body so frail against my own. ‘They told me you would never come to see me again,’ she said, her tone plaintive. ‘They said … But, well, you’re here now.’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ I said happily, and glanced over my shoulder at the other two waiting in the doorway. ‘And I’d like you to meet someone special, Nan. Two special someones, in fact.’ I beckoned them into the bedroom, though there wasn’t much room for us all. ‘This is Jean-Luc, a good friend of mine, and his daughter, Zena.’

  ‘Oh!’ Nan tried to stand up but couldn’t, of course. But Jean-Luc rolled Zena into the room, bringing the young girl close to her armchair, until they were face-to-face. Nan stared at the wheelchair, then at Zena, and said falteringly, ‘You’re in the same s-sorry state as me, poor lamb.’

  Zena stuck out her hand, and said in English, having rehearsed with her father beforehand what she would say, ‘I am very pleased to meet you, Mrs Charles.’

  ‘Call me Nan.’ But the old lady shook her head, clearly bemused and overwhelmed. She was not used to so many visitors at once, and certainly not all these new faces. ‘Who’s this again? A friend, eh?’ She looked Jean-Luc up and down, smiling cannily, then shook his hand. Jean-Luc repeated his name in case she’d missed it first time round. ‘What’s that? French?’ She looked back at Zena, wrinkling her brow. ‘Parlez-vous anglais?’

  Everyone laughed.

  I gave her a present I’d brought back from Paris, a blue wool-silk shawl with gold-fringed edges. She fingered the shawl with pleasure, exclaiming over it wordlessly, then allowed me to drape it about her narrow shoulders.

  After that, Nan seemed to zone out for a bit. She gazed vaguely at the closed door to her room, and finally asked the question I had been dreading.

  ‘And Sasha … Where … Where’s Sasha?’

  I sat in the chair next to her and took her hand in mine, stroking her skin. ‘Listen, Nan, there’s something I need to tell you about Sasha.’

  I was nearly crying.

  I stopped, grimacing, still not sure how to put the truth into words.

  To my relief though, Nan had already forgotten her question, laughing and pointing in delight out of the window as a large black rook dropped onto her windowsill. The window was sealed for her safety, of course. But Nan could still hear and see the bird strutting up and down, and cawing loudly.

  ‘My friend,’ she said, and repeated it a few times. ‘Rookie.’

  I bit my lip and looked across at Jean-Luc, who shook his head.

  I could not disagree with that conclusion.

  There was no point trying to have such a difficult and painful conversation with her, not in her current condition. Especially given that there was no guarantee she would understand and remember later, anyway.

  Better to leave it and let Nan believe her beloved granddaughters were both still alive. What harm could it do now?

  After our visit, I walked out of the care home with tears in my eyes, careful not to weep until we were safely back in the limo hired for the duration of our stay in Birmingham. Dupont got out of the front, and helped Zena into the back, then loaded her folding chair into the spacious boot. In the back seat, I leant my head against the cool leather upholstery and cried for a few tempestuous moments. Jean-Luc held my hand until the storm was over, and I didn’t protest, taking comfort from his strength and undemanding silence.

  Zena stared, a little pale, but did not say anything either. I guessed she must have seen her fair share of adults crying over the years. Silently, her nurse passed her some colouring pencils and a pad, and the girl bent her head after a few minutes, beginning to draw again as though nothing had happened.

  Jean-Luc ordered the driver back to the central Birmingham hotel where Missie was waiting there. She’d declined a trip to see my grandmother in favour of a day of pampering in the hotel beauty salon, claiming she needed to experience their beauty treatments for herself before she could allow me to set foot over the threshold.

  ‘Better?’ he asked me softly, once my tears had nearly dried.

  ‘Yes, much.’ I nodded, looking out of the window, embarrassed by my churning emotions. ‘Thank you.’

  That wasn’t quite the truth though. I had no more tears, but crying had not brought me back to myself or solved anything. Was Nan still my safe place? My sanctuary, as I had always seen her? I was no longer sure. Today’s visit to the care home had not comforted me as much as I’d hoped it would. Far from being more centred, I actually felt off-balance and uncertain.

  ‘I miss her so much, Jean-Luc.’ I made a face at that odd statement, wishing I could find the right words to express what I was feeling. Everything inside was so confused. ‘The grandmother that I remember, I mean. The woman who brought us up, me and Sasha.’

  ‘Dementia is a cruel disease.’

  ‘It’s awful beyond words.’ I glanced across at Zena, a little guiltily. ‘I’m sorry, darling,’ I told her. ‘I wasn’t crying because I’m upset. Or rather, I am upset, but only because … because of things I can’t change.’

  ‘I understand,’ Zena said, and gave me the sweetest smile before continuing to colour in her picture, which I could see was of two gorgeous butterflies, circling a bright flower.

  I laced my fingers together with Jean-Luc’s, and let my gaze meet his.

  Two nights.

  One night in Paris, one night in Birmingham.

  That was all we’d spent together.

  Yet I already felt so much love for this man.

  Wild, glorious love …

  Was it real love though? Or just sexual infatuation? He was so very sexy, after all, and I’d been through hell this past week, hit by a seismic emotional shock that had cracked my world apart. It wasn’t entirely surprising if I was feeling vulnerable and in need of someone by my side. Perhaps it really was too early to tell the difference
.

  Except my heart knew better.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ he asked quietly, his dark eyes probing mine.

  I took a deep breath.

  ‘I’ve been thinking it’s time,’ I said, my voice pitched equally low, not wanting the others to listen in. ‘Damian is out there somewhere, making mischief for me. I’ve been to the dentist to collect those records. I’ve seen Nan. There’s nothing left to do. So, tomorrow morning, I’m going to the police with my lawyer. Before they come to me.’

  He looked at me tensely, but nodded.

  ‘That’s a wise move.’

  And on that quiet comment, Jean-Luc turned and stared out of the smoky windows of the limousine, as though suddenly fascinated by Birmingham’s skyline.

  Slowly, our fingers unlaced and fell apart. Then he crossed one leg elegantly over the other, and folded his arms, settling back in his seat.

  My heart thudded sickly.

  Maybe it was my imagination, heightened by the passion between us. But he already seemed to be drawing away from me, both physically and emotionally.

  The two nights we’d spent together had been amazing, exploring each other’s bodies and minds, restless and hungry for each other. It had been an incredible ride, and so intense, I had ended up with tears in my eyes every time we made love. But maybe Jean-Luc didn’t entirely believe my story, I thought unhappily. Perhaps he was getting ready to dump me, in case the police arrested me for that hit-and-run of Sasha’s.

  I closed my eyes and tried not to let the despair inside me take over. There had been life before Jean-Luc, and there would be life after him too. But it felt as though the universe had handed me a rose, and then given me a sharp kick in the teeth.

  I was a strong woman, I told myself.

  I was Lisette.

  But my heart was still breaking.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  My lawyer arranged for me to be seen by a psychiatrist the next morning, before we visited the police. After a two-hour consultation, Dr Orford made some recommendations, including a temporary course of medication to allay my anxiety issues as I transitioned from ‘Sasha’ back to Lisette, and told us she would present the police with her official findings as soon as she possibly could.