The Perfect Liar: A completely gripping thriller with a breathtaking twist

by Beverley Harvey

  ‘Amanda. Amanda Blake.’

  ‘I’m Dale,’ she says, shaking the woman’s tanned, beringed hand.

  ‘Well, that’s a shame. Enjoy the shoes, Dale. Hey look, the register’s free – it’s your turn now.’ And with that, Amanda Blake is gone.

  Everywhere Dale looks, something dazzles, glitters or gleams with opulence. Duomo di Siena is the most magnificent cathedral she has ever seen. Tucked behind a crocodile of animated French children, she struggles to take in the beauty of it all.

  After half an hour, weary and overwhelmed by a vague sense of vertigo, Dale slides into a pew and bows her head to rest for a moment.

  ‘Gets you that way, doesn’t it?’ The voice is warm, familiar. Dale raises her eyes and looks straight into those of Amanda Blake who now sits beside her.

  ‘Hello, again. Yes. It’s so beautiful, my head is throbbing.’

  Concern on her face, Amanda begins rifling her handbag. ‘Oh, that’s not good. I have some Advil in my purse, if you—’

  ‘I don’t literally have a headache. I’m fine, but thanks anyway,’ Dale replies, unsure whether or not she’s comfortable with the woman sitting so close that she can smell her perfume; something delicate, floral – tea-rose, perhaps. ‘I was just going,’ she says, getting to her feet.

  ‘Yes, me too. There’s only so much Catholic iconography one can take on board,’ Amanda says, as they file towards the exit. ‘Care for that drink now?’ she adds as they step out into the searing light and the thronging crowd.

  Dale nods, realising that a) her throat is parched and b) she’s intrigued by this friendly, stylish American. ‘Good idea. I’ll follow you. Are you alone?’

  ‘Right now, yes. I’m travelling with my brother, Trey; he’s back at the hotel. How about you?’ Amanda says as they weave through narrow streets heaving with visitors.

  ‘I’m near San Gimignano with a couple of friends.’ Dale checks her watch; it is set to local time. ‘Oh! It’s gone five o’clock – I had no idea it was so late. I need to head off soon, or the girls will be worried,’ she says, lining up her exit.

  13

  Susanne

  Taken aback, Susanne gazes into the vacuum left by Dale moments earlier and wonders if she and Evie have let her down in some way. It wasn’t their fault that it had been raining for two days straight. Neither is it their fault that Dale has the attention span of a flea at a funfair.

  She’s always been easily bored, even at school – especially at school. Charismatic from a tender age, and as a result, popular; it was one of Dale’s few unattractive personality traits. Dale’s ability to pick people up and then drop them so fast and from such a great height that they’d get motion sickness was legendary. Yet somehow their friendship had survived three decades’ worth of drama as they’d clocked up life stages and milestones together.

  Flashbacks of shared triumphs, failures and heartbreaks scud through Susanne’s memory: Double-dating twins in sixth form and losing their virginity within a week of each other; both losing grandparents the year they turned twenty-one; a misspent holiday in Ibiza where they’d taken ecstasy for the first, last and only time, then danced all night and dozed all the next day.

  Dale in jade-coloured silk as Susanne’s only bridesmaid – gauche but giddy with happiness the day she’d married Colin Campbell at their local parish church; scroll forward to Dale, eyes moist with tears, as a tiny, warm terry-cloth bundle was placed in her arms the day Cody was born.

  And then the bomb – which hadn’t really been a bomb at all, but which Susanne felt under pressure to diffuse with as much skill as she could muster.

  Dale, crouched on Susanne’s cream carpet, hugs her knees, eyes downcast, guarding a secret. An empty bottle of merlot, two finger-printed glasses and a bowl of crisp crumbs sit between them on a low glass table. Susanne hears a shriek of laughter from six-year-old Cody, watching cartoons in the next room.

  ‘What? Dale, just tell me. Nothing can be that bad,’ Susanne says, becoming impatient.

  When Dale finally speaks, her voice is thick with emotion and something else… fear?

  ‘Yeah… it is. It’s bad. Well, not exactly bad. But it’s big and I don’t know how you’ll react.’

  ‘Dale, you’re my best friend. Please – just say it!’

  ‘I’m gay.’

  Finally.

  Susanne nods her encouragement. ‘Okay. Are you sure? I mean, I doubt Leo Boyle would say that, or Tony Marsh, or—’

  ‘Trust me. I’m a lesbian. I fancy women. All those guys? Disasters! And you know what? The worst thing is that deep down, I’ve known for absolutely years and I just kept trying to make things fit, with blokes who I had absolutely no chance of ever falling in love with.’

  ‘Jesus, Dale. You poor love.’ Susanne quickly corrects herself, ‘Sorry, that came out all wrong. I didn’t mean “poor you, you’re gay”. I meant, poor you for feeling you had to hide it.’

  ‘Susie, I know what you meant. Anyway, I’m done with hiding anything – from anyone. I’ve told Mum and Dad, which was horrible. They looked so… bewildered, and then when the penny dropped, the light completely went out of their eyes as they mentally kissed off having grandkids.’

  ‘Oh, god. Bless them. They’ll come around – give them time.’

  ‘And other clichés,’ Dale says, a note of bitterness in her voice, adding, ‘What if they don’t?’

  ‘Darling, they will – you’ve always been so close. They won’t stop loving their clever, beautiful daughter now, just because she prefers girls to boys, will they? That doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘I hope you’re right.’ Dale rakes a hand through her hair, nibbles her thumbnail.

  Susanne nods, covers Dale’s hand with hers. ‘I know I am. And love, all I wish for you is that you meet someone amazing who makes you happy. It’s what you deserve.’

  And once it had all been said, it made total sense. There was no need to bang on or keep raking over it all. Dale preferred women. End of. It was just another facet of their friendship.

  ‘Penny for them?’ came Evie’s voice.

  Susanne starts. ‘What, darling?’

  ‘You were miles away, Susie.’

  ‘Oh, I was just thinking about Dale. Look, I’m sorry she was a bit sharp. It’s just her way, she doesn’t mean to be rude,’ Susanne says, compelled to make excuses for her friend.

  ‘I hadn’t noticed,’ Evie says, her smile tight. ‘Anyway, I hope she has a lovely day out – wherever she ends up. Hey, look, it’s brightening up. Perhaps we can have lunch in the garden today.’

  ‘Mind if I join you?’ Harry appears freshly showered, his hair in damp tufts, book in one hand and empty coffee mug in the other.

  Susanne is momentarily thrown off-kilter. ‘Harry. I didn’t know you were here. Where’s your car?’

  ‘Oh, I left it in the village last night. I had a few drinks at Gino’s and walked home. You never know when the polizia might show up unannounced.’

  ‘Gosh, you must have practically swum home – it was like a monsoon last night. You should have called, one of us could have picked you up,’ Susanne says.

  Harry smiles. ‘Thanks, but it’s only water; anyway, it was pretty late. I didn’t want to disturb anyone.’

  An awkward silence descends. It’s almost noon; Susanne has spent an entire morning pottering around the villa with Evie, making breakfast, showering, dressing, tidying up and folding laundry – small, domestic tasks carried out on autopilot, and at no stage had she been aware of Harry’s presence.

  Susanne’s thoughts turn to Cody. There is no mistaking when her son is around. His heavy footfall echoes from room to room as he thumps up and down the stairs; the indie guitar bands he listens to jangle from his bedroom; and he still shouts at the television – something he’s done since he was three years old; a life-affirming, reassuring soundtrack that makes Susanne smile and banishes feelings of loneliness. By contrast, Harry, only nine years older, trails around the hou
se silent as a shadow.

  Something has subtly changed. Harry’s friendly, open demeanour has been replaced by a cool stealth. She can feel him looking at her, as he holds the used coffee cup but makes no attempt to go past and into the kitchen. Under the heat of his gaze, her heart beats faster.

  ‘Well, the rain’s done nothing to cool the temperature, that’s for sure,’ Susanne says, fanning a hand in front of her face and wishing she could escape Harry’s scrutiny.

  ‘Here’s an idea,’ Evie says, ‘why don’t we all walk down to the village and get Harry’s car together? We can buy a few bits for lunch – and something for dinner tonight.’

  ‘Sure. Good plan, Evie,’ Harry says, his eyes still fixed on Susanne.

  ‘In fact, how about I make lasagne tonight?’ Evie presses on, unaware of the strained atmosphere.

  Susanne’s smile is forced. ‘Thanks, Evie, that would be lovely if you’re sure. I’ll just nip to my room and get a jacket… it’s still spitting out there.’ She moves towards the lobby area, conscious she must pass Harry to get to her room. ‘Excuse me, Harry,’ she says pointedly when he fails to stand aside.

  Once on the road, the humidity makes the short walk to the village more arduous than usual and there’s little talk other than deciding what to buy from the supermarket. Susanne steals a look at Harry, dressed today in low-slung jeans and his beloved aviator sunglasses. With a pang of discomfort, she realises that with their matching height and colouring, they could be taken for mother and son.

  ‘Where did Dale say she was going?’ Harry asks, as if feeling her eyes upon him.

  Susanne shrugs. ‘She didn’t. I think she just fancied a change of scene. Dale’s not one to sit about too long.’ She smiles, adding, ‘She has a lot more energy than me. Here we are. Harry, do you want to sit in the car while Evie and I nip into the supermarket?’

  ‘Sure, take your time,’ Harry answers, striding towards the jeep.

  Once inside the store, Evie touches Susanne’s arm. ‘Are you all right, Susie? You seem a bit flat. Have I done something to annoy you?’

  ‘Of course not, Evie – why do you say that?’

  Evie tries again. ‘Are you cross with Dale for going off on her own?’

  ‘No, really. I’m fine. To be honest, I was just thinking about Harry – how he seems different. He was so sweet and smiley to begin with but now he seems… I don’t know, withdrawn, or something.’ Susanne bites her lip, conscious she’s already said too much.

  Evie nods slowly. ‘I suppose the thing is, Harry’s his own boss, isn’t he? He never asked for us to turn up – maybe in his eyes we’re like his parents!’

  No one speaks much on the way back to the villa but by the time they’ve unpacked the shopping, the sun has broken through the blanket of cloud, instantly warming the terrace.

  Days of heavy rain have showered the pool with debris and have clogged the surface with leaves, petals and seeds.

  ‘We’d better call the pool man. There’s a contact number in Ronnie’s folder,’ Susanne suggests, going inside to find the ring binder.

  ‘I’ll call him if you like.’ Harry’s voice, behind her, so close she can feel his breath on the back of her neck. Wordlessly, he slides an arm around her waist and pulls her tight against him.

  ‘My god, Susanne, you’re driving me crazy,’ he breathes into her hair.

  Shocked, a soft cry escapes Susanne before she can spin around to face him. Their eyes lock briefly before Susanne’s gaze shifts beyond Harry and through the French windows to where Evie is at work wiping dust-speckled rainwater from the table and chairs.

  ‘Harry! Please, don’t—’ Susanne begins, before he silences her with his lips and his tongue finds hers.

  She pulls away, her heart thumping in her chest. ‘Harry. Stop. We can’t. We just…’ She hesitates, opens her mouth to speak, then changes her mind and escapes to her room.

  14

  Dale

  ‘As you Americans say, “Houston, we have a problem”,’ Dale dissolves into giggles.

  Unruffled, Amanda regards her across the glass table between them. ‘Let me guess; too many cocktails?’

  ‘In one. These Cosmopolitans are stronger than I realised. I suspect I’m already over the limit to drive, my phone has run out of battery – and not a soul in the world knows exactly where I am.’ Dale scans the minimalist bar, its all-white space filled with stylish Italians and tourists. The smell of money is intoxicating.

  ‘Oh, and as if things aren’t bad enough,’ Dale adds, trying to make light of the situation, ‘I may be a tiny bit underdressed.’ Conscious of her crumpled street clothes, she straightens her spine and takes a gulp of her third Cosmo – or is it her fourth?

  ‘It’s a distinct possibility,’ Amanda drawls, ‘but at least you’ve got great shoes.’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ Dale feels under the table for the beribboned carrier bag, then flips off her grubby trainers and slides her feet into the elegant faux-python sandals. The result is an instant upgrade.

  But her glee is short-lived. What the hell is she doing here with this stranger? This American of indeterminate age, who accosted her – not once, but twice – but who has yet to make a move on her.

  Not for the first time, Dale pictures Susanne, frantic with worry. She picks up her phone and switches on, willing the handset back to life after a brief rest, but the screen remains resolutely black.

  Amanda’s stare is impassive. ‘Are you okay?’

  Dale nods. ‘I’m fine – just figuring out what to do. A taxi home is out of the question – way too expensive from here.’ She shrugs. ‘Anyway, Amanda, tell me what else I should see before I leave Tuscany,’ she asks, sliding her phone back into her bag, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  The cocktail-fuelled walk is an ungainly stumble – a shambolic dance of plaited feet and bumping hips.

  ‘Ta da!’ Amanda pauses outside a grand five-star international hotel; a trio of porters scurry forward before the women are even inside.

  The receptionist’s smile is serene. ‘Buonasera, signora Blake, your key?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Maria. Hey, am I too late for room service?’

  ‘Not at all, it will be my pleasure. Please, just phone with your order.’

  Dale’s eyes widen. ‘Wow, very swanky. How does she know your name? There must be a thousand guests here,’ she says as they step into the lift.

  ‘Because Trey and I have already been here for a week and I tip well,’ Amanda answers, pressing a button marked ‘Penthouse’.

  From the moment the doors close, Dale feels trapped and edgy. She looks across at Amanda whose eyes are threaded with red now; her tan – a healthy golden glow in the afternoon sun – has waned to a sickly pallor in the harsh overhead light.

  ‘This is us.’ Amanda’s feet falter as they pass along a thickly carpeted landing.

  Panic swirls in Dale’s gut. She has made a terrible mistake. She no more wants to sleep with Amanda than with her brother, Trey. What was she thinking? An impromptu and wholly inappropriate drinking session with a total stranger – and one who, justifiably, now has expectations – was a spectacular faux pas, even by her standards.

  The what-ifs begin to pile up: what if the hire car gets impounded for being illegally parked overnight? What if it gets stolen? What if Susanne is so worried that she calls the police and Dale winds up on an Interpol database. And most scary of all, what if Amanda is some crazy millionaire who plans on keeping Dale captive as a sex slave?

  Keep it together, Dale.

  ‘Amanda. Look, I’m so sorry… I’ve really enjoyed this evening – too much, in fact. I don’t normally drink so much,’ the lie tumbles out before Dale can think of a better one, ‘and I’m feeling nauseous.’

  ‘That’ll be hunger, I feel a little queasy myself. How about we order a couple of juicy burgers and some coffee – that should help,’ Amanda says.

  ‘That’s sweet of you, but I…’ Dale clams up, suddenly
exhausted.

  ‘Oh. I see what’s going on here,’ Amanda says, a bitter edge to her voice. ‘You’ve just realised that you’re not that into me, and that if we walk through that door,’ she gestures ahead, ‘you’ll have to put out. Well, forget it.’

  ‘No, I didn’t mean—’ Dale grimaces.

  ‘You did, and it’s fine. Good night, Dale – I’m sure the receptionist can help you with something,’ Amanda swipes her key card, and bangs the door shut.

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ Dale says aloud as she marches back towards the lift, stumbling in her new heels.

  Within five minutes, she has located the ladies’ and has scraped together an emergency repair kit of spearmint gum, concealer, lipstick and hairbrush from her capacious handbag.

  The wild-eyed woman looking back at her is beyond dishevelled. ‘Hmm. Bag lady chic,’ Dale mouths to the mirror. ‘Well, just act like you own the place.’ Then, head held high, she strides over to the reception desk.

  ‘Good evening – again,’ she says with what she hopes is a radiant smile.

  ‘May I help, Madam?’ Maria’s expression is one of barely concealed amusement.

  ‘Thanks, do you have a pay phone here?’

  ‘Of course, take this corridor, Madam – walk past the restaurant and then turn left.’ Dale is saved from making any further conversation as Maria’s phone begins to trill.

  Once inside one of the five old-fashioned telephone booths, Dale collapses onto the padded high stool and weighs up her options. Without access to her mobile, she cannot get into her contacts book; ergo she cannot call Susanne – the one person who can help her. The only telephone number Dale knows by heart is her parents’ landline, etched on her memory since childhood.

  Dale offers a silent prayer: Please, please be at home, and please don’t be in bed yet. She is rewarded when her mother’s smart ‘telephone’ voice pipes over the line.