‘Oh gosh,’ Evie says, emerging from the kitchen, her mouth settling in a silent ‘O’.
‘Hello! I’m Harry. Sorry I wasn’t here to welcome you all,’ he says a practised smoothness to his tone.
Dale thrusts out her hand, first to introduce herself.
Susanne’s smile is warm. ‘Hi Harry. I’m Susanne and this is Evie. Your godmother’s my neighbour – so lovely of Ronnie to let us stay. Hope we won’t be disturbing your peace while you’re studying.’
Harry raises an eyebrow.
‘Italian? Ronnie said you were learning?’
‘Oh, of course,’ he nods, ‘no, not at all. I’m more interested in the practical side. Nothing beats hanging out with Italians. Such a beautiful language; molto romantico, don’t you think?’
Harry’s accent is warm toffee sauce poured over ice cream. Everything about his demeanour drips wealth, privilege and confidence, as he stands tall, shirtless and unabashed before three women he has never met before. Susanne wonders what relation he is to punctilious Veronica.
Evie, who hasn’t said a word since Harry introduced himself, is growing pinker by the second. ‘I’ll just finish unpacking,’ she mumbles, diving back into the sanctuary of the shady kitchen.
Seconds tick by before Susanne breaks the silence. ‘Harry, thank you for leaving us a snack last night. It was very thoughtful of you. We’ve just bought food in the village. Why don’t I knock up some lunch for all of us? We can drag the table into the shade and eat out here.’
Harry smiles on cue. ‘If you’re sure, that would be lovely,’ he says. ‘Can I help with anything?’
‘Cheers, but we’ve got this,’ Dale says before she follows Evie inside.
Susanne and Harry are left alone, gazing at each other until she looks away.
Ronnie had said her godson was clever, but she’d neglected to mention his model looks. There’s a pricking sensation under her arms and beads of sweat begin to pool between her breasts.
‘It’s so hot,’ she says, to break the silence. ‘Is it like this every day?’
‘Yes, most days. But then it is the end of July, so…’ Harry shrugs. There’s a pause, before he releases them both. ‘Well, thank you for the offer of lunch. If you’re sure there’s nothing I can do…’
8
Evie
The lizard’s smile is benign. Little longer than Evie’s thumb, its pewter-and-emerald scales gleam in the morning sun. Evie sits hugging her knees, paralysed by a blend of fascination and revulsion until with a flick of its tail the creature vanishes back into the lavender.
All her life Evie has been afraid of reptiles. Now she considers the possibility that they are all around her. She pulls her cardigan around her shoulders, despite the intense heat.
No doubt Dale would laugh at her, ridicule her timidity; perhaps she’d have picked the lizard up, just to demonstrate Evie’s silliness.
Bold, beautiful, no-nonsense Dale. Evie imagines her at the tough south London school where she works, holding the rapt attention of her class. Twenty-odd hormonally charged fourteen-year-olds under her spell, the boys damp with adolescent desire, the girls in awe of her strength and urban style.
Evie has never met a lesbian before – well, not that she knows of – and is a little intimidated. Then again, the sensations of wrong-footedness and embarrassment are as familiar to Evie as hunger and thirst.
She has been watching the playful, easy, almost sisterly interaction between Susanne and Dale with a stab of envy. Susanne is always so thoughtful and quick to include her, but Evie cannot compete with a shared history that’s been decades in the making.
She pinches white pudgy knees, wishing her legs would tan like Susanne and Dale’s. She’d barely got to grips with being around the two of them – always feeling like a stout little pigeon in a lagoon of flamingos. But then Harry had burst into their trio and changed the dynamic again, just as Evie was beginning to lower her guard.
It isn’t her fault that she is so different to them: that her dad had died of lung disease when she was little, or that her mum had been a dinner lady at the local primary school and a part-time cleaner, yet somehow people always seemed ready to judge her for it.
Well, Evie reasons, at least no one can accuse her of not having nice manners; her mum had made sure of that. Not like some of Harry’s type. Boys like him have always made her miserable and she’s seen enough of them to last her a lifetime.
At the solicitors’ where she’d worked, half the law interns (including some who didn’t need to earn a living) had talked down to her, making her feel small and common. It had always amazed Evie that a fine education, backed by wealth and privilege, seemed no guarantee of decency. Quite the reverse: she’d seen the firm’s partners on corporate away-days; the men, stumble-drunk and wet-lipped, preying on secretaries and junior solicitors, then closing ranks against anyone who dared to speak up.
Evie offers a silent plea: please don’t let Harry get in the way of her new friendships.Tears well in her blue eyes. Sometimes a wave of grief can catch her off guard. At least this morning she is alone, hiding behind period pain – which, thanks to two ibuprofen, isn’t so bad now.
Susanne had made a valiant effort to persuade her to go with them to San Gimignano, where they planned to shop in the market, wander around the antiques fair they’d seen advertised online, then have lunch at a family restaurant that Harry recommended. Overwhelmed by the day’s agenda, Evie had cried off and confided in the girls that her tummy ached.
So after a breakfast of toast, honey and figs picked fresh from the garden (which Evie had spat into a tissue when no one was looking – the sweet grittiness had made her shudder), they’d gone out in two cars; Susanne driving the SUV, while Harry had roared off ahead in his black jeep, as he’d ‘people to see’ in the afternoon.
Evie wonders how Harry can possibly have friends in San Gimignano; like the women, he’s only come on holiday. On the other hand, he is self-possessed, good-looking and speaks a smattering of Italian. It’s easy to see how people could be charmed by him and sucked into his orbit. Like her friends seem to be.
Especially Susanne. Evie has seen the way Harry and Susanne look at each other. It’s unseemly, what with him being only twenty-four and Susanne forty-two. She’d overheard Dale teasing Susanne about it, too, and in quite a coarse way. Susanne had denied it – said that Harry reminded her of Cody and that he was a ‘sweet kid’ doing his best to be helpful and polite. Evie could tell at once that Dale hadn’t bought into that excuse any more than she had.
By one o’clock, the garden is veiled in a shimmering heat-haze. Evie has seen the lizard again and has named it Linford to stop herself feeling afraid (although she concedes that there may be hundreds of ‘Linfords’ in Veronica’s lush garden).
She shifts on her sunbed; her black swimsuit is cutting in now and sweat has pooled beneath her, dampening the towel she’s lying on. To her dismay, she realises that her shoulders, arms and chest have reddened.
The water tempts her with its sparkle. Nobody can see her now. No one is home to judge or laugh at her flawed body or meagre attempts to swim. With her sarong clutched about her, Evie walks to the pool and bends to run her hand below its surface.
Then using the steps, she lowers herself in, her breath catching as the water reaches first her waist, then her chest. For a nanosecond, panic rises; what if she slips and drowns, and the others return to find her bobbing like a bloated porpoise, her skin puce and blistered by the sun?
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Evie, get a grip!’ she hisses, bending her knees so that she is in up to her neck. She turns her face to the sky, takes a deep breath and allows a wave of pleasure to wash over her for the first time since arriving two days ago.
9
Dale
She’d blocked Helena from her smartphone, and it had seemed like an inspired idea at the time. But now Dale finds herself wondering if somewhere in the ether hundreds of messages have built up, each one
more vitriolic than the last.
‘But, Dale, why do you even care?’ Susanne says, keeping her eyes on the road ahead, adding, ‘God, I wish Harry would slow down a bit. I can’t keep up and this car is no slouch.’
‘Good question. I suppose it’s a karma thing, you know. I don’t want her to feel hurt. I think I might be done with women. It’s not the first time this has happened to me.’
Up ahead, Harry’s brake lights come on as they hurtle downhill and into a hairpin bend before the jeep slows to a crawl and waits for them.
Susanne flashes her headlights in thanks. ‘Dale, sweetheart, please try and forget about it. Look around you. The scenery is incredible – breath-taking. I don’t know how you can even think about what’s going on in London.’
Dale arches an eyebrow. ‘So, you haven’t thought once about Cody, then?’
‘Of course, he’s on my mind the whole time, but that’s different – he’s my son. Anyway, what do you mean, you might give up women – for what, men?’
Dale lets out a bark of laughter. ‘Christ, no! I meant I might swerve off relationships, period. Speaking of which, do you believe Evie?’
‘What, that she has a stomach ache? Yes, of course. Why else would she say so, and stay at home on her own?’
Dale chews her bottom lip. ‘Don’t know… just a feeling. Do you think she’s scared of me? You know, sees me as some big scary lesbian?’ Ahead, Dale spots the crumbling remains of a church and interrupts herself. ‘Oh, wow, look at that! Do you think it was a monastery once?’
‘Maybe. It looks medieval, and beautiful, in a creepy kind of way,’ Susanne says as she refocuses on the road. ‘Look, Evie’s fine. I know she’s incredibly straight and she’s not like us, but she’s such a loyal little thing and so thoughtful.’
Dale shakes her head, aghast. ‘Oh my god, Susanne. Have you any idea how patronising you sound? She’s not a puppy. Oh, just ignore me… it’s good to have different kinds of friends – and you know what they say: opposites attract.’
Susanne slows down and pulls up to Harry’s bumper as he joins a line of traffic outside the city walls. ‘Hey, this is it,’ her eyes shine with happiness, ‘and it looks stunning.’
Heady with the scent of citrus and tobacco, San Gimignano throbs with life. The cacophony of sounds from every direction and the riotous rainbow of colour in the market square makes Dale’s senses swim.
‘God, I love Italy!’ She tucks Susanne’s arm into hers. ‘You glad we came?’
Susanne nods. ‘Yes, I love it here. It feels like we’re on a film set.’
Harry flashes them a wide smile, his dark eyes hidden by designer sunglasses. ‘You two belong here. Look around you – most of the English tourists couldn’t look more obvious if they were carrying a banner.’
Dale snorts. ‘Not the best-looking country, are we?’ she says, eyeing a rotund couple in their fifties, faces reddened by sun, sweat stains visible on their clothes.
Susanne affects disapproval. ‘Don’t be mean, you two. Anyway, Harry – you can talk, you look more Italian than half the Italians.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ Harry says, changing direction to avoid a bottleneck in the crowd.
Dale pauses in front of a stall piled with citrus fruits. ‘Ooh, look – lemons as big as rugby balls, and he’s selling limoncello. I love that stuff; I could drink it for breakfast. Let’s get a couple of bottles. Harry, you can practise your Italian, help us to get a good deal.’
Harry laughs. ‘I’m not sure I’m up to haggling, but I’ll have a go.’
Susanne’s smile is indulgent. ‘Aww, he’s so sweet,’ she whispers to Dale, her head to one side.
Dale makes a face. ‘He just likes showing off,’ she says, keeping her voice low.
After some lively banter with the stallholder, Harry turns to the women. ‘He’ll cut us a deal; if we buy two bottles, the second is half price,’ he says looking pleased with himself.
Dale’s eyes widen. ‘Well done – not bad for a beginner,’ she says, producing her debit card and inserting it into the machine. ‘Hey, Harry, ask him how much three bottles would be,’ she adds as an afterthought.
Susanne rolls her eyes and tugs at Dale’s forearm. ‘What are you like? Come on, let’s pace ourselves, shall we?’
Dale allows herself to be pulled away from the market square and into narrow streets that teem with tourists.
Harry strides uphill. ‘Shall we have lunch? There’s this really cool place I’m dying to show you. You watch, it’ll be quiet except for a few locals – that’s why I like it.’
Dale nods her approval. ‘I’m in, just lead the way.’
Nestled in a small courtyard with an overpriced novelties’ shop to one side, and a fancy handmade chocolate store to the other, they find Bar Montebello.
‘How on earth do you know this place?’ Susanne asks as she ducks under a low arch and into a cool, tiled café where a dozen or so people are already eating lunch at gingham-clad tables.
Harry’s response is vague. ‘I’ve been here with friends a couple of times,’ he says, greeting the owner with a handshake. ‘Ladies, this is Enzo. It’s his family’s bar.’ Harry ushers them towards a corner table.
Susanne studies the menu and sighs. ‘I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t resist fresh pasta,’ she says.
‘And why the bloody hell not? Look at you – you’re built like a mop!’ Dale answers, impatience in her voice.
‘You’re both gorgeous for your—’ Harry stops mid-sentence.
‘For our ages…? Not cool, Harry. Believe me, that’s never a compliment,’ Dale says.
Embarrassed, Harry studies the menu, just in time for a young man who looks remarkably like Enzo to take their orders.
By the time their food arrives, Dale is practically salivating. ‘Buon appetito,’ she says, using the only Italian she’s learned – other than saluti, the Italian word for cheers. Grinning, she digs into the mound of paglia e fieno in front of her, savouring its rich creamy sauce speckled with peas and prosciutto and laced with parsley and parmesan.
‘So, how are you related to Veronica?’ Susanne asks, dabbing tomato sauce from her lips with a napkin.
Harry takes a sip of water. ‘My mum and Veronica are cousins,’ he says.
‘Ah, I see – so Ronnie’s your aunt, as well as your godmother?’ Susanne says.
‘I think the technical term is “first cousin once removed” or something. Anyway, she’s just Veronica to me. How long have you two been friends?’ Harry asks.
‘Forever. We grew up in the same street in south London, but we became best friends at grammar school,’ Dale says, before cramming a huge swirl of tagliatelle into her mouth, her expression one of utter bliss.
‘Cool. I can’t imagine I’ll know anyone that long,’ Harry says, mopping up the last morsel of arrabiata sauce.
‘That’s because you’re a baby, but it’ll happen, and before you know it,’ Susanne smiles.
Dale nods. ‘She’s right. Anyway, Harry, don’t feel you have to hang out with us old birds. I mean, it’s sweet of you to show us the route here, and this place of course, but if you’ve got stuff to do and people to see, go for it,’ she says.
Harry places a hand over his mobile phone; it has already buzzed twice during lunch. ‘Well, if you’re sure you’re okay getting back to the villa, I was planning to meet someone this afternoon.’
‘You go, have a lovely time, Harry. We’ll get this, won’t we, Dale?’ Susanne says, her lips curving into a smile.
‘Of course. Have fun, Harry – see you later,’ Dale says, as she turns her attention to the dessert menu.
10
Susanne
As July melds into August, the women fall into a gentle routine, adapting their natural roles and habits to accommodate each other. To their collective delight, they discover that Veronica has laid on a weekly visit from Rosa, a cleaner from the next village, tasked with replacing bedding and towels as well as
blitzing the bathrooms and vacuuming the house throughout.
But far from feeling relaxed and blissed out by the Tuscan sunshine, Susanne is restless and discombobulated. Why hasn’t Cody returned her texts or calls? It’s too much; he knows she gets anxious.
She pictures her son playing happy families with Colin and Melissa, doing regular ordinary, companionable stuff together – a life that seems beyond her grasp.
After two days of radio silence, she’s relieved when a text arrives from Colin telling her that they’ve taken a cabin in a forest resort for a few days and that Cody is loving his adventure. Three photographs ping through in quick succession: Cody in walking boots, a backpack on his shoulders, with Banjo at his heels; Cody beside a campfire he’s presumably helped build, a faraway expression in his eyes. The last photo is a close-up of Colin and Cody; all goofy grins and thumbs-up to camera. With a pang of sadness, she realises that Melissa must have played photographer.
It’s seven o’clock and outside there’s a volley of laughter followed by the throb of familiar dance music. Susanne puts down her smartphone and steels herself to return to the others. She’d excused herself to read and shower, but she’s done neither; instead she’s checked Cody’s social media feeds and re-read old text messages.
It shouldn’t matter to her that Col has met someone else. They’ve been divorced for three years and Melissa is certainly not the first. But is she the last? Is she The One? Because that hurts. A lot. She, Susanne, was supposed to be The One – the envy of all her friends and living the dream, until one day, something unseen and stealthy had crept up and eroded Susanne and Colin’s love. Maybe it would hurt less if she’d met someone herself. But apart from two brief (and in hindsight, totally unsuitable) flings, there’s been no one. And it hadn’t mattered because Cody had always been enough. Now, Susanne feels the cold shadow of his burgeoning independence fall across her, as adolescence gallops towards adulthood, to a time when he won’t need her anymore.
The Perfect Liar: A completely gripping thriller with a breathtaking twist Page 4