Lie For You

by Pippa Summers

  The doctor’s overall assessment was similar to Jean-Luc’s; that I had been suffering from survivor’s guilt, and had taken on my sister’s life, preferring to relinquish my own existence rather than face the fact that she was dead.

  As the consultation was ending, Dr Orford told us the police might choose to seek a second opinion, but that my dental records should prove my identity without further doubt. The only question would be, had my identity switch been deliberate – i.e. an act of pretence – and therefore illegal?

  Much to my relief, Dr Orford did not seem to believe that, and said her report would reflect that I’d entered that state unwittingly and without intention to deceive.

  Armed with that information, and my dental records compared to my sister’s, I turned up at a Birmingham police station near my old home, with my lawyer, and told the officer on the front desk that I needed to make a statement.

  His eyes widened, recognizing me at once. Then he rang through, and a moment later two further police officers arrived, and ushered us through to an interview room.

  ‘You know the Essex police have been trying to get in touch with you?’ one of the officers asked, his face stern.

  ‘My client is aware and has made herself available for questioning at the earliest possible opportunity,’ Sarah King, my lawyer, said calmly. She placed all our documentary evidence on the desk. ‘Notes on a psychiatric evaluation that took place earlier today. Dental records for Ms Lisette Charles and her deceased sister Sasha, for identification purposes. Plus birth certificate, and other documentation.’

  ‘Sorry,’ the officer said, frowning as he took the seat opposite us. ‘Did you say, her deceased sister Sasha?’ He exchanged a strange glance with his colleague, both of them equally surprised. ‘Don’t you mean, Lisette?’

  ‘I don’t,’ Sarah said, and pushed the dossier of documents towards him. ‘Sasha Charles died in a car accident five years ago. Her sister Lisette survived, but took on her twin sister’s identity without realizing it, in what’s called an identity transference between twin siblings.’ She paused, meeting their shocked stares without flinching. ‘A rare, but not unknown psychological response to terrible stress.’

  ‘And you have proof of this … ’ The officer screwed up his face. ‘Sorry, what did you call it again?’

  ‘Identity transference.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s what I thought you said.’ He nodded sceptically. ‘You have some kind of solid evidence of this … condition? Because we weren’t born yesterday.’

  ‘My client is more than willing to give a statement to that effect, and also to submit to questioning, and further psychological evaluations by police doctors, if deemed necessary. Meanwhile, take a look for yourself.’ My lawyer nodded to the bulging dossier in front of the officers. ‘It’s all in there.’

  By the early evening, all the documents had been assessed, double-checked and verified. A police doctor arrived, and talked to me for over an hour, then came to the same conclusion that Dr Orford had reached at the private clinic earlier. The police had disappeared, leaving me alone with my lawyer in the interview room for another hour, while I drank cups of lukewarm coffee and replied to a few terse texts from Jean-Luc.

  Where are you? What’s happening?

  Still at the station. They’re making phone calls. To the family of Sharon Woods, I think. I’ll let you know once it’s done.

  I can send my own British lawyers over if yours needs support.

  Of course, he would have his own team of lawyers in the UK, I thought, raising my brows at that message.

  Thanks, but we’re fine here. Sarah’s doing a great job.

  And you? How are you holding up?

  I’ve had better days.

  Stay strong, Lisette. Missing you. JL xxx

  I stared down at that last text message, and my eyes misted over with sudden emotion. Missing you. And those three little kisses afterwards.

  Did he mean any of that? Or was it just politeness on his part?

  I simply didn’t know where I stood with Jean-Luc.

  We had spent another sleepless night together, making love so desperately, kissing each other with ferocious longing, it had felt like the last time. As though I were afraid I would go to prison and never see him again. Or perhaps because Jean-Luc had tired of my company already and was itching to get back to Paris.

  I did have some pretty major issues as a girlfriend, after all. First, this identity transference business, then a hit-and-run accusation, followed by possible legal action against me for taking on my sister’s identity. Even a long-term relationship would have shown signs of strain over the past few days. And ours was so fragile and brand-new, still with the shine on it. Nobody could expect it to withstand this kind of intolerable pressure.

  Then the door opened, and the police officer who’d been dealing with us came back in. Graham, his name was, a detective sergeant. He handed the original documents back to Sarah with a tenuous half-smile.

  ‘We’ve made copies of everything in there. And spoken to the Woods family. They’re satisfied by our findings. But they want to press ahead with charges.’

  ‘What?’ I stared at him. ‘But how is that possible? I had nothing to do with that poor girl’s death. I wasn’t even there.’

  ‘Calm down, it’s okay.’ Graham nodded, holding up his hand. ‘They weren’t talking about you.’

  ‘But Sasha’s dead.’

  ‘Your manager isn’t though, is he?’ The detective sounded almost smug. ‘Damian McDowell. He’s now an accessory-after-the-fact. Perverting the course of justice is probably the least we can throw at him.’ He stepped back. ‘Meanwhile, you’re free to go, Miss Charles. Only please don’t leave England again until this matter has been resolved, would you?’

  ‘I have tour dates,’ I said in a faint voice, the blood pounding in my ears.

  ‘Cancel or postpone them.’

  ‘My client should not be materially affected by – ’

  But the police officer interrupted Sarah’s swift protest. ‘Sorry, but that’s the way it has to be. Someone will be in touch soon enough. Besides, I doubt we’re talking months here. Maybe a few weeks, until everything is sorted out. Then you can resume any foreign travel.’

  Sarah looked at me for guidance, and I nodded.

  ‘Very well, my client accepts the restriction,’ she said reluctantly, ‘so long as we all agree that it’s temporary and doesn’t prejudice her other rights.’

  I sat rooted to my plastic chair, watching as my lawyer put her jacket back on and slipped the dossier of evidence into her leather briefcase.

  My legs felt numb, my head blank. What had just happened?

  ‘Okay, come on, Lisette.’ Sarah’s smile was understanding as she bent towards me, lowering her voice to say, ‘Let’s get you back to the hotel. It’s over.’

  ‘Over?’ I repeated.

  ‘You heard the officer,’ she said, and helped me to my feet. ‘You’re free to go.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Damian’s arrest was all over the news by that evening. He had been caught trying to board a flight to Australia, apparently, perhaps having been tipped off that his plan for revenge had taken a rather different direction to the one intended. I could only imagine his reaction when he discovered the truth about me, and wondered if he would ever believe I was not Sasha. Somehow, I doubted it. Damian was a manipulative, self-absorbed person, and it was more likely he would assume I had made it up to escape a prison sentence.

  I watched the news story about his arrest for a few minutes, curled up on the sofa with Zena, and then snapped off the hotel television, sickened by sudden flashes of myself in the wreckage of a steel-grey Aston Martin, the station replaying five-year-old news coverage of the accident in Paris with lurid headlines.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Zena asked innocently in French, peering at me.

  She must have seen the tears in my eyes.

  ‘Nothing,’ I said with a quick, reassuring
smile, and dashed away the tears. ‘Rien.’ Then I frowned, suddenly wondering how much she had been told about my situation. ‘Do you understand what’s going on, Zena? That I’m Lisette. Not Sasha.’

  ‘You made a mistake,’ she said simply, nodding.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Now you’re Lisette again.’

  I smiled tremulously, loving how clear-cut it was for her.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Lisette, Sasha … What does it matter? You still sing great.’

  I didn’t know what to say to that.

  To my relief, Jean-Luc walked in at that moment, and Zena switched her attention to him, her thin face lighting up with intense joy.

  He had been out of the suite for several hours, having meetings and dealing with some business issues while he was in England. I looked at him hungrily. He looked more gorgeous than ever in a dark pinstripe suit with a double-breasted jacket, unbuttoned to reveal a dark blue waistcoat beneath.

  Totally scrummy, I thought, trying not to ogle him in front of his young daughter.

  His brief smiling glance up and down my bare legs told me he had noted my interest, and was equally interested in my mid-thigh, pink Vivienne Westwood dress. It was not the sort of thing I would have worn as Sasha. Too pretty and relaxed, too cute. Sasha was all about the sexy look, always looking to stun any man in sight. But I was Lisette, and though I loved dressing up on stage or for the cameras, when I was in private, I liked to be more casual, closer to my true self.

  ‘Papa!’ Zena cried, and held up her arms.

  He came straight across and hugged her, his own face relaxed and smiling, the strange tension of the past few days having drained out of him.

  ‘Ma petite,’ he murmured, kissing her forehead, and then sat between us on the large three-seater sofa. His hand sought mine and squeezed it. ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘Good,’ I said, and looked at him shyly.

  ‘Missie told me everyone wants you. Television chat shows, news channels, all the national papers, and a few international media outlets too … Even CNN, for God’s sake!’ He laughed at my horrified expression. ‘You can’t keep putting these people off forever. Think about your fans. They want to hear your side of the story.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘The good news is, your sales have shot up. Everyone’s streaming your music.’ He kissed my hand, his eyes intent on my face. ‘My mega-star.’

  ‘Don’t!’

  ‘What, don’t claim you for my own, or don’t flatter you?’

  ‘Both, I think.’ But I gave him a secretive, sideways look, my heart thumping with pleasure. ‘So am I?’

  ‘Are you what?’

  ‘Yours,’ I whispered tentatively.

  For a moment, time seemed to stand still as I waited for his answer.

  He was mine.

  I’d never been more sure of anything in my entire life.

  But was I his?

  ‘Lisette, mon ange, you are mine, and will be mine forever, if you wish to be,’ he whispered back, and leant across to set his lips to mine.

  The kiss was dizzying, my whole body tingling with awareness. I knew in that instant that I could trust this man and take him at his word. I had lost my twin sister, yes. But I had gained this dazzling man. The universe had seen my loss and despair, that terrible gaping hole at the centre of my being, and had responded.

  None of the rest of it mattered.

  Only this.

  His lips played against mine while his fingertips brushed my cheek and down to my throat, sliding inexorably lower, but I shook my head, nodding to the girl sitting right behind him.

  He smiled and relented, his eyes devouring me instead.

  I said quietly, keeping my voice low, ‘I had Missie send me a screenshot of the street where it happened. It’s still a death trap. No safe place to cross, no speed bumps, no traffic calming measures … I want to set up a road safety fund for the area where Sharon Woods died. Whatever it takes to avoid another unnecessary death like hers.’

  ‘That’s an excellent idea.’

  ‘Will you help me?’

  ‘You only need to ask. I will always help you.’

  My cheeks ached with smiling. ‘Oh, Jean-Luc.’ I was crying again, despite my smiles, and couldn’t stop myself. Luckily, Zena was busy playing a noisy game on her iPad and didn’t seem to have noticed our intense conversation. ‘I’ve arranged with Missie to drive up to London tomorrow. I’m going to lay flowers on Sharon’s grave, if the family will give me permission. I need to do something.’ I paused. ‘I know my sister would have done that too, if she had lived.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Sasha was planning to confess to the hit-and-run, I’m sure of it. She was on the brink of telling me. That’s partly why she crashed the car that night, I feel that instinctively. She was so torn up with unhappiness and self-loathing, she couldn’t focus on anything else.’ I shook my head. ‘Poor Sasha. I should have realized something was wrong.’ I drew a shaky breath, then corrected myself. ‘I did realise, looking back now with hindsight. I could feel her angst and despair. But I just assumed it was one of her love affairs gone wrong, not guilt over a teenager’s death. Nothing like this.’

  ‘Come with me,’ he said abruptly, standing up and pulling me by the hand.

  I stared at him.

  ‘What about Zena?’

  ‘We’ll be just outside the room, Zena,’ he told his daughter, who nodded, barely looking up at us, her gaze riveted to her iPad.

  He led me out of the suite’s sitting room into the narrow hallway, closed the door behind us, and then, in the glimmering darkness, pushed me up against the wall for a long, slow, sensual kiss.

  Afterwards, breaking apart in breathless excitement, we stared into each other’s eyes, the silence between us almost suffocating.

  ‘Jean-Luc – ’ I began.

  ‘You can’t blame yourself for what happened,’ he said deeply, interrupting me. ‘Any more than I can with Eva. We weren’t driving that night. They were.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘We survived. But that doesn’t make us guilty.’

  I traced a fingertip along the pale scar on his temple, thinking about my strange, disturbing dreams, being trapped in that tiny space with cold water rising about me, and the man with blood in his eyes. Terrible nightmares, I had thought them, though they were probably my unhappy subconscious trying to open my eyes, to drag me back to the truth of who I really was.

  Lisette. Not Sasha.

  I had known even then, locked deep in Sasha’s identity, that this man could save me. The man with the dark eyes. If only I could find him again …

  ‘I know,’ I whispered.

  He caught my roving hand and brought it to his lips. His eyes locked with mine, dark and purposeful. ‘I wouldn’t have abandoned you if the police had refused to believe you weren’t Sasha and tried to arrest you. I would have fought for you.’

  Tears came again then. Tears of joy and relief.

  ‘Like a tiger?’

  ‘Like a thousand tigers.’ He kissed my damp eyelids, one after the other. ‘Je t’adore, Lisette.’

  ‘Je t’adore, Jean-Luc.’

  Then he took me in his arms again, and showed me just how much he adored me, until my body ached with desire and I saw stars.

  Thank you for reading this Pippa Summers romantic suspense story!

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