Dale turns to follow a hoot of laughter as a gaggle of women walk past. A pang of sadness grips her chest as she remembers her last visit to San Gimignano: the giddy shopping trip followed by a delicious lunch. She pictures Susanne’s beautiful, smiling face, but the image turns to one of sourness and disappointment. Things have been tangibly strained between them since she’d called Susanne out about Harry. If only she could learn to filter her thoughts, but tact and diplomacy have never been her strong points.
Perhaps she should buy Susanne a present. An olive branch in the form of some sweet token of friendship to surprise her and make her smile. Pleased with her plan, Dale pays the waitress and heads off into one of the main shopping streets where she’s confident that something will catch her eye. And then she sees it: an ornately painted A-board bearing the words Handmade Artisan Jewellery.
Hope stirs as she enters the tiny shop rammed with treasures made from silver, crystal and mineral stones in vibrant colours. At one end, a man with a smooth face no older than her own, yet framed by a thatch of white hair, deftly wields a set of tiny tools, mid-creation. She watches him for a moment and is rewarded with a beaming smile.
‘May I help you with something special, Madam?’ A young woman with copper hair to her waist and a pierced eyebrow smiles encouragement.
‘Yes, please. I need a gift for my best friend. Those bangles are pretty, can I see them? How much are they?’
Ten minutes later, clutching a small gift bag containing a carved walnut bracelet embellished with a single crystal, Dale steps out into the light, poorer and happier.
But sometime later, after pondering on where and how she should present Susanne with her gift, she realises she has taken a wrong turn. She pauses and looks around. This is not a part of town she recognises. Shops have made way for offices and the seemingly endless crocodile of tourists has been replaced by Italians going about their daily life. The incessant buzz of laughter, conversation and the drone of scooters is drowned out by a too-loud radio playing Latino music punctuated with shouty Italian commentary, coming from a mechanics’ yard where men in overalls work on a battered Alfa Romeo.
A prickle of unease stirs the hairs on the back of Dale’s neck as she finds herself in the kind of charmless street unlikely to appear in any holiday brochure. A pungent and familiar smell drifts from a gloomy café attached to a hostel, causing her to peer into its shadowy interior. And there he is: Harry, slouched beside a fragile-looking blonde who looks barely out of her teens. Deep in conversation, with two half-drunk beers on the table in front of them, they appear to be sharing a cigarette – or are they smoking weed?
Spellbound, Dale watches as Harry flips the cover of his phone, makes a face and gulps the last of his drink. Then he embraces the young woman, turning to kiss her cheek.
She can see him patting down his pockets, getting ready to leave the bar – probably to meet Dale as arranged. There is nothing for it but to hide out of sight and then follow him at a safe distance until she is back on familiar turf.
Questions crowd Dale’s brain. Why did Harry lie about who he was meeting? Why is he hanging around this drab part of town, so far from the beaten track? Above all, who the hell is he kissing?
Feeling like an amateur sleuth in a low-budget movie, Dale’s stride is brisk to keep Harry in her sights as he practically jogs through the narrow lanes, back to their agreed meeting point. Concealed by a stone arch, Dale watches him for a moment, gleeful at his obvious irritation when a busload of garrulous American pensioners crowds him.
Her greeting is cool, unsmiling, before she relents. ‘Sorry I’m a bit late. I wanted a present for Susanne and lost track of time.’
‘No worries. I’ve only been here five minutes myself. But Jesus! Some people have personal space issues, don’t they?’ Harry almost shouts with an indignant toss of his head, edging away from the tourists and looking as though he might shove one of them at any moment.
The suffocating heat inside the jeep hits them as they open the doors. Turning on the air con, they close the doors again and stand beside the car waiting until it cools down, saying little at first.
‘How were they?’ Dale asks eventually.
‘What?’
‘Your friends, Jack and Sander?’
‘It’s Joe, actually – Joe and Sander.’ Harry’s tone is petulant. ‘They’re fine, thinking of moving on soon. We had a beer together, which was nice. But just the one as I’m driving, obviously. Shall we give it a try now?’ Harry gets into the jeep and starts the engine.
One beer? With Joe and Sander? What a crock. I’ve just seen you smoking a joint with a young woman, you lying bastard, Dale wants to scream.
Wondering how stoned he is, somehow she manages to keep it together, grateful that at least he is driving at a sedate speed. She stares out at the endless rows of cypress trees, the effort of not confronting him rendering her morose.
Harry slices through the silence. ‘So, what did you get her?’
‘Oh, a bracelet. It’s hand-carved from walnut – I hope she likes it.’
‘Sounds expensive. Is it her birthday soon?’
‘No, I just wanted to treat her. We had an argument and I wanted to apologise.’ Another pause looms as Dale stares out of the window.
‘Well, it can’t have been serious. What did you row about?’
‘Actually, Harry, it was about you.’ Dale’s brow is furrowed. Why the hell is she telling him this? Are they really about to have the Susanne conversation? Well, bring it on.
He feigns surprise. ‘About me?’
‘Yes. Harry, I hate all this cloak and dagger crap. I know you’re sleeping with her and I won’t pretend I approve. It’s not personal, but Susanne’s my best friend and I care about her. The thing is, she might look all shiny and in control but she’s fragile, and I don’t want her to get hurt.’
She can sense the cogs whirring when Harry answers carefully. ‘Dale, I totally get why you’re worried. You think I’m just using Susanne for sex, don’t you? I admit that I’m very attracted to her – who wouldn’t be? She’s gorgeous. But it’s more than that. I really like her. We’ve got a connection.’
Dale’s tone is cynical. ‘Funny, that’s the kind of word Susanne would use. Look, I just don’t want any drama, Harry. She’s my oldest friend – and more than that, she’s a really good person.’
‘So, you’re implying that I’m not? Dale, you’re preaching to the congregation,’ Harry says, his eyes fixed on the undulating road ahead. ‘I understand your concern, but what’s the worst that can happen?’
‘I don’t know… you could break her heart, humiliate her in some way.’ It’s a lame response, designed to mask Dale’s real and much darker fears. Fears that had started the day as little more than instincts but are now gaining traction. Because at the very least, Harry is a liar, caught red-handed hanging out with some skank in a sleazy bar, smoking dope. Now the thought of him putting his filthy hands all over Susanne turns Dale’s stomach.
Unfazed, Harry answers. ‘Why would I do either of those things? She’s more likely to break mine. I can’t bear the thought that you’ll all go home in a fortnight and I’ll never see her again. Dale, I’m falling for her. I’ll be the one who’s humiliated when Susanne gets on the plane without a backward glance.’
Dale shrugs, suddenly weary. ‘I guess we’ll just have to agree to differ on this one, Harry. Let’s talk about something else. Are you looking forward to starting your new job in London?’
‘Resigned rather than excited. I’ve loved travelling, but now I’ve got to knuckle down. All good things come to an end,’ Harry says, sounding genuinely regretful.
Dale nods. ‘I can’t say I’m looking forward to going back to school, either. What financial institution did you say you’ll be working for?’
‘I didn’t. It’s a small family firm – you won’t have heard of them. They’re disgustingly wealthy… contacts of my dad’s actually.’
‘Yeah, we
ll, the old adage is true, it’s who you know. You’re so lucky to have had a private education. It’s given you so many advantages. You could have gone to a school like the one where I teach in south London. It’s a different world.’
‘Oh, I’m sure it is,’ Harry says, his face set.
22
Dale
It’s late afternoon by the time Dale and Harry arrive at Villa Giardino. There’s a stillness to the place and no sign of Susanne or Evie.
‘They must be around somewhere, the car’s here,’ Harry says, heading out to the terrace before finding it unoccupied and going straight to the fridge. ‘Drink, Dale?’
Dale shrugs. ‘Sure, why not. Shall we open some wine?’
Susanne wanders into the kitchen, her face sleepy and unfocussed, her hair mussed. ‘Sounds like a great idea. I fell asleep,’ she yawns, ‘my head was throbbing but it’s fine now. Did you have a good time in San Gimi?’
Harry nods. ‘We did, thanks – and actually, it gave Dale and I chance to talk.’
Dale shoots Harry a warning look.
‘Oh, really? What about?’ Susanne takes the unopened wine bottle from Harry and starts casting around for a corkscrew.
‘Oh, nothing we need to go into now,’ Dale says, her voice strained.
‘I’m fed up with pretending,’ Harry flounces. ‘Let’s just get everything out in the open, shall we?’
‘Oh, I’m all for that,’ Dale snaps.
But Harry pays no attention. ‘The thing is, Susanne, I’ve told Dale that I’m crazy about you, and that I couldn’t care less about the age gap or about what other people think. I’m sick of creeping around and wasting time.’
Susanne raises her eyebrows. ‘Crazy about me, eh?’ she says, her lips curving into a smile as Harry moves closer and places a protective arm around her shoulders, staking his claim on her.
Is he for real? Un-fucking-believable!
Nauseated, Dale’s response sounds forced, even to her own ears. ‘Well. What can I say except cheers to the happy couple! You’re both adults, who am I to judge?’
Evie appears then, fragrant and damp-haired. Her eyes widen when she sees Susanne and Harry openly snuggled up to each other.
‘You look pretty, Evie. Nice bath?’ Susanne says, her expression sheepish. ‘Oh, the faces on you two! Lighten up. Look, you both know – and we know you know, so let’s all just get over ourselves, shall we?’
There is a shift in atmosphere as Susanne goes into hostess mode, steering everyone out onto the terrace before refilling glasses and putting on music. Dale watches as she goes off to collect dozens of thick cream candles, and pretty tealights in jars from the stash they’d found in Ronnie’s antique sideboard the week they’d arrived; soon the terrace twinkles magically, thanks to Susanne’s handiwork.
When a familiar classic dance track comes on, Susanne closes her eyes and begins waving her arms above her head.
‘Aww, Dale, remember this? It reminds me of us in Ibiza,’ she says, her hips swaying to the beat.
Dale snorts. ‘Yeah. We were practically kids… god, I feel old.’
Suddenly, Dale remembers the bracelet. It doesn’t seem important now that Harry and Susanne have outed themselves. Every fibre in her body is crying out to warn her best friend about the girl in the bar. Even Harry would struggle to tap-dance his way out of that conversation.
‘I have something for you,’ Dale says, before going off to get the carved bangle and returning moments later.
Susanne’s eyebrows shoot up as she opens the bag. ‘Oh, wow. For me? But why? Dale, it’s absolutely beautiful, but you shouldn’t have,’ she says, posing and showing it off to Evie, who gushes her approval and insists on trying it on.
Harry shoots Dale a look laced with smugness and leans in. ‘You heard Susanne. As she said, it’s time everyone got over themselves,’ he whispers, while Susanne is distracted by her gift. ‘Why can’t you just be happy for us?’
Their eyes lock for a moment before Evie pipes up.
‘Shall I make us a snack? There’s all sorts in the fridge,’ she says, absently rubbing her stomach.
‘That sounds lovely, Evie – good idea,’ Susanne beams, whilst making no attempt to assist her.
Fuming silently, Dale follows Evie into the kitchen, relieved to let her face slip. She grabs a wooden chopping board and a sharp knife. ‘Here, let me help. Evie, what do you think, for Christ’s sake?’
‘Honestly? I’m a bit worried. I’m sure Harry’s a nice lad, but that’s the thing isn’t it? He’s just a boy. Oh,’ she cries, ‘I’ve just remembered something: Ronnie called this afternoon. She wants Harry to ring home. Apparently, nobody has heard from him in weeks.’
‘Selfish prick,’ Dale hisses.
By sunset, after an hour spent grazing on Evie’s improvised supper and chatting around the table, the familiar rustle and chirp of the night critters is drowned out by the throb of dance music as Susanne, inhibitions lowered by the wine, cranks up the volume and gets up to dance.
At once, Harry is on his feet, pulling her into his arms, twirling and dipping her so that she laughs giddily.
As the song finishes and morphs into the next track, Susanne breaks away from him, her eyes dancing with happiness.
‘Wait here, I’ll open some more wine,’ she says, diving back into the kitchen and beaming at Dale as she passes. A moment later, Susanne returns and refreshes all four glasses. ‘Whoops. Well, that didn’t last long.’ She laughs, steadying herself against Harry, who looks amused.
‘That’s the third bottle tonight, isn’t it?’ Dale says, her tone prim. ‘Be careful you don’t bring on another headache.’ A thought suddenly occurs to her. ‘Evie – don’t you have a message for Harry?’
Evie raises her voice over the music. ‘Yes. Harry, while you were out this afternoon, your godmother rang. She wants you to give her a call… or your mum – either, as long as you phone home.’
Harry makes a face. ‘Really? What did she say?’
‘That nobody has heard from you in weeks and that people are getting worried,’ Evie says with a little shrug.
‘God, she exaggerates! It’s been like two days. Thanks, Evie. I’ll speak to my mother in the morning.’
If Harry feels emasculated by his female relatives checking up on him, he doesn’t show it, Dale muses, watching him dance and cuddle with Susanne, who looks distinctly like the cat that got the canary.
Evie looks on, her face pensive. ‘Dale, perhaps we’re being cynical, and they really do like each other.’
‘Yeah, maybe. But something’s not right,’ Dale says, pursing her lips and keeping her eyes on Harry as he whispers something that makes Susanne throw back her head and laugh.
Suddenly, Susanne stops twirling and gyrating. ‘Where’s my St Christopher?’ she cries, feeling for the chain at her throat. ‘My necklace… it must have come off. Oh no! Please, help me look for it.’
At once, all four of them drop to the ground and begin feeling around the cool and dusty paving stones.
‘Got it!’ Harry’s smile is victorious as he holds the necklace between his thumb and forefinger where it glints in the candlelight.
Susanne throws her arms around him, her face a picture of gratitude. ‘Oh, thank god. I couldn’t bear losing it… it’s the only thing I have left from Grandma Amy and I’d be lost without it. Bless you, Harry – you’re amazing.’
‘You’re amazing,’ Dale mimics sourly, turning away.
23
Susanne
Susanne watches as Harry sleeps, marvelling at the length of his eyelashes, the curve of his cheekbones, the straightness of his nose. She strokes his hair, lying dark as a raven’s wing against his forehead. He reminds her of a god from a school textbook on Greek mythology that she’d loved. For now, at least, Harry is her living, breathing, personal Adonis.
Telling the others had been unplanned but a huge relief. Dale and Evie seemed to accept, if not exactly welcome, her relationship with H
arry. There seemed no point in pretending now, by going off to separate rooms, only for Harry to sneak along the hallway and tap on her door later; a delicious inevitability as the sex was incredible – truly mind-blowing, especially given Harry’s youth and relative inexperience.
At first it had seemed fantastical that Harry could be so besotted – not to mention turned-on – by a woman in her forties, but he’d brushed aside the gap in their ages as meaningless and trifling and now Susanne found herself doing the same. In the car with Evie, she’d trotted out the ‘age is just a number’ cliché but the closer she and Harry became, the more it rang true. And anyway, the whole holiday was a fantasy – there’d be plenty of time to face reality at home. Susanne pushes the future firmly to the back of her mind. One day at a time.
If only Dale would take a chill pill and embrace the moment. She’d caught her watching them drinking and dancing together, her face closed and unreadable.
Bless Dale, always so loyal and protective, even at school when Susanne had suffered a term of bullying at the hands of Debbie and Karen Mitchell, twins from another class who’d become obsessed with Susanne’s good looks, waging a hate campaign against her for months.
Once, after a netball match in which Susanne’s team had thrashed them, Debbie and Karen had waited until Susanne was alone in the showers, naked and shivering, before commencing their pincer attack. While Debbie taunted Susanne about her burgeoning breasts, calling her a ‘fat slapper’, Karen had been at work ripping pages from Susanne’s exercise book, casting them into the stream of soapy water pooling at her feet.
The Perfect Liar: A completely gripping thriller with a breathtaking twist Page 10