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

by Beverley Harvey

  ‘Oh, please don’t,’ Susanne had begged, ‘that’s my history homework. I’ll get detention now.’

  Hearing the Mitchells’ shrieks of laughter and Susanne’s indignant yelps, Dale had charged into the shower zone, grabbed the shredded textbook from Karen and shoved Debbie hard against a wall, putting an abrupt end to their volley of insults.

  ‘Leave her alone. Go on, get out now, or you’ll have my brother to deal with – and he’s in the army, you losers!’ Dale had stood her ground with such authority that the girls had sloped off, eyes narrowed, tutting and cursing as they went.

  Then Dale had waited for Susanne to dry and dress herself, before escorting her to geography, their final class of the day.

  Susanne had been meek with gratitude. ‘Thank you, Dale. But you shouldn’t tell lies, you know. You haven’t even got a brother, let alone some hard nut in the army.’

  Dale had only grinned mischievously. ‘They don’t know that, do they? And I won’t tell if you don’t.’

  The Mitchell twins had kept their distance from then on, and Dale had gained a new respect in her year group.

  Bless Dale. Protective is good. Suffocating… not so much.

  What if Harry has a valid point, and Dale’s feelings run deeper than friendship, deeper even than the sisterly bond that Susanne has always treasured?

  ‘What time is it?’ Harry stirs, his voice thick with sleep. He pushes himself up against the pillows, rubbing his eyes.

  ‘About eight thirty. We should get up. Go for a swim… or for a walk in this beautiful sunshine. Make the most of it all.’

  Unsaid words hang in the air between them: before we have to leave and return to real life.

  ‘How do you do it?’ Harry says, leaning up on one elbow and studying her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘How do you wake up even more beautiful than when you went to sleep?’ he says, moving a stray lock of hair from Susanne’s face, then adding, ‘Does he look like you?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Cody, of course.’

  Surprised by the mention of her son, Susanne looks away and fiddles with the sheet.

  ‘It changes. At the moment, he looks more like his dad, but when he was younger, he looked just like me. I’m getting up,’ she adds decisively, going to the bathroom and locking the door. Right now, she simply can’t think about Cody and Harry in a shared context.

  Dale and Evie are outside, drinking coffee and nibbling crackers. Their conversation dries up abruptly.

  ‘Good morning, Susie, sleep well?’ Evie asks.

  ‘I did, thanks. We were quite late last night, and we drank a fair bit, too, judging by the empties in the kitchen. I feel okay though.’

  Dale laughs softly. ‘Is the boy wonder up and about or have you worn him out?’

  ‘Dale!’ Evie looks shocked.

  ‘She’s only joking, aren’t you, darling?’ Susanne smiles. Let Dale have her little dig – the novelty will soon wear off.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ Susanne says, pulling out a chair next to Dale and taking a sip of coffee. ‘We’ll be going home in two weeks; it’d be criminal to leave Tuscany without visiting the Uffizi in Florence.’

  Evie looks wistful. ‘I’d love to see the Birth of Venus.’

  Dale nods. ‘Yeah, that would be cool. We’d need a whole day there, though – and we might have to queue for hours at this time of year.’

  ‘Well, we could get up really early, or…’ Susanne is thinking aloud, ‘we could spend a night in Florence, get there the evening before and then make a day of it. What do you think?’

  ‘Yes! Sounds great to me. When are we going?’ Dale is on her feet, excited by the idea of a mini adventure in Florence.

  Harry slouches over in ripped jeans and an open shirt. He scans the faces of all three women, his expression wary.

  ‘Morning, Harry. We’re just planning a trip to Florence. Girls only,’ Dale says, holding his gaze.

  Harry shrugs. ‘Don’t worry, Dale – I wouldn’t dream of gatecrashing your little road trip,’ he says, an unpleasant sneer darkening his face.

  Susanne is shocked. ‘Come on, Harry – Dale didn’t mean it like that.’

  ‘I know, I’m only joking,’ he answers, with a smile that does not reach his eyes.

  After breakfast, Susanne waits until Evie and Harry have gone to their rooms to shower and dress before pulling Dale aside.

  ‘Dale, what’s wrong with you? What is it between you and Harry? I honestly can’t stand the atmosphere. I thought now it was all out in the open, things would be better.’

  ‘Susanne, I’m sorry – but I don’t trust him. He’s… secretive. Always mooching around, picking up fag ends of conversations.’

  ‘Dale, that’s not fair. He’s just a bit gauche, that’s all. We were young once. Bloody hell, cut him some slack.’

  Dale’s eyes darken with hurt. ‘You know it can’t continue, don’t you? When we get home, I mean. Or do you imagine Harry moving in with you and being a big brother to Cody?’

  ‘Now you’re being ridiculous!’ Susanne starts to walk away but changes her mind. ‘Actually, you know what, Dale? You don’t need to worry, because you were right. It’s just sex. And quite honestly, it’s bloody brilliant and it’s been a long time coming!’

  Dale looks at her feet, puts a hand to her furrowed brow but remains silent.

  But Susanne is on a roll. ‘Yes, I know Harry’s gorgeous, but I’m not deluded and when the three of us get on that plane to Gatwick, it’ll be over. Finished. What do you think? That maybe he’d like to live two doors down from Ronnie?’

  Dale shrugs. ‘Maybe! Look, I don’t know, but I just think he’s got an agenda.’

  ‘Well, haven’t we all!’ Exasperated, Susanne turns on her heels and marches to her room.

  In the garden, a welcome breeze stirs the lavender and sage, releasing their heavenly scent. Revelling in the luxury of a delicious hour alone while Dale and Evie are in the village and Harry catches up with friends, Susanne hunkers down on her sunbed, pushes her altercation with Dale to the back of her mind and focusses on the book she’s been meaning to finish all week.

  After ten minutes, she stares blankly at the pages, realising she hasn’t absorbed a jot of what she’s read. With a sigh, she sits up and considers a swim, but realises she hasn’t the energy. She catches her breath, a secret smile lighting her face. She and Harry had made love for almost two hours last night; no wonder she’s exhausted!

  It had been intense; the best she could remember. It delighted her that Harry had boundless energy and a matter-of-fact way of asking exactly what she wanted before delivering it in spades, and with only a passing regard for his own pleasure. No wonder she was becoming addicted to him.

  If only Dale could be happy for her and accept their affair for what it was.

  It was weird how upset she’d become – obsessing about Harry, banging on and on about how he couldn’t be trusted.

  It was totally uncalled for. Harry was from a good family.

  Oh god, Ronnie. To think that she is having the best sex of her life with her neighbour’s young godson slash nephew slash second cousin once removed… or whatever it is. She makes a mental note to impress upon Harry that Ronnie must never find out about their fling.

  24

  Evie

  For as long as Evie can remember, a faded print of a naked woman with flowing blonde hair standing on a shell has graced her mum’s downstairs loo in its tacky gilt frame. Because although her mum much admired Botticelli’s Birth of Venus, she’d always deemed it too vulgar to hang elsewhere in the house.

  Evie corrects herself: it is her downstairs loo now. In her house. A shudder of panic rips through her as she remembers. Pushing her anxiety to one side, she reminds herself that tomorrow she will see the real Venus in all her naked glory.

  She regards the neat pile of clothes on the bed: two tops – one is a T-shirt, the other loose and floaty, two sets of underwear (just in ca
se), a pair of trainers for sightseeing and high wedges for eating out. Then there are her toiletries. Who knew that a one-night stay required so much stuff? Evie crams everything into a modest holdall, sprays perfume on her neck and wrists and goes to join the others, whom she can hear moving around the hallway.

  As usual, despite the effort she has made with her appearance, Evie instantly feels like the poor relation beside Susanne and Dale: Susanne in her chic designer jeans, mock-croc belt and crisp white tee; Dale dressed in skinny black jeans and an embellished vest, her sun-lightened hair styled in a high quiff.

  Susanne’s smile is warm. ‘You look great, Evie. Okay, have we got everything? Right then: Florence, here we come!’ she says, picking up her handbag and her leather holdall.

  Dale nods. ‘I’ve already programmed the satnav and it’s only an hour and ten so we should be there by six o’clock.’

  ‘Perfect,’ Susanne says, ‘just in time for wine o’clock.’

  Evie smiles, though she longs for a night off the booze. Her friends’ capacity for alcohol far exceeds her own. In her recent experience, drinking can make her feel fat and sluggish, but neither Susanne nor Dale appear to have gained a pound.

  They’d said goodbye to Harry an hour earlier, before he’d taken off for San Gimignano. His goodbye had been sweet as he’d embraced Dale and Evie, pecking them both on each cheek before giving Susanne a lingering kiss – complete with embarrassing sucking sounds which had made Evie blush to her roots.

  ‘Have a great time, but please be careful,’ Harry had implored. ‘Stick together and watch out for pickpockets. Ciao!’ Then he’d sped off in the jeep, a hail of gravel flying in his wake.

  Dale had made a face. ‘Well, he’s in a good mood. Anyone would think he’s glad to see the back of us.’

  And there it was: an eye roll from Susanne, followed by a small shake of the head.

  In the week since she’d first mentioned going to Florence, Susanne had been decidedly cool with Dale, keeping her at arm’s length and spending hours holed up in her room with Harry. But Evie was keeping out of it. Taking sides or getting between them seemed like a terrible idea, especially as they were sure to become thick as thieves again, which inevitably would leave her at odds with them both and reduce her to an object of scorn.

  At the solicitors where Evie had worked, Kerry, one of the other secretaries whom she’d been friendly with, had pinned a trio of postcards above her desk of popular slogans like ‘Keep Calm and Carry On’ and ‘Believe You Can’, which she’d point to when the department was under pressure and people were running around like headless chickens. But Evie’s favourite was ‘Sisters Before Misters’: Kerry, resolutely and unapologetically single, had sworn by it. Evie wanted to say it to Susanne and Dale now. To remind them that Harry was just an arrogant young man – albeit the most handsome one Evie had ever met – who came across as shallow and selfish, taking what he wanted, without a passing thought for anyone else. Because from where Evie was standing, Harry was at risk of ruining the whole trip.

  Evie looks from Susanne to Dale, willing them to set aside their differences. Forget about Harry. Let’s just enjoy beautiful, romantic Florence in all its glory, she longs to say. Instead she gets into the back of the SUV and gazes from the window, drinking in the scenery as it flashes by.

  But the warmth of the car and the undulating hills have a soporific effect, and Evie wakes to Susanne crawling in first gear, looking for a space in the hotel’s tiny car park. Sticky and thirsty, she wipes a line of drool from her chin before the others notice.

  ‘Sorry, I must have dozed off. Are we here?’ Evie peers out at the signature green wooden shutters clinging to ochre, biscuit and terracotta walls that rise above the narrow streets.

  ‘Wow, even the back streets are romantic; we couldn’t be anywhere else but Tuscany,’ she breathes.

  The hotel is small and charming, and only a short walk from Piazza del Duomo and the Uffizi. The women are greeted warmly by two young receptionists who are so alike that they are surely brothers, if not twins.

  They’d been lucky to find decent accommodation at a week’s notice and had jumped on the first hotel that looked clean and affordable. Now, after checking in, there’s a brief and guarded exchange about the room configuration; the upshot being that Susanne and Evie end up sharing a rather grand room, while Dale takes a well-appointed, but smaller one on her own.

  ‘But wouldn’t you rather share with Dale?’ Evie whispers while Dale rifles through a rack of tourist leaflets in reception.

  Susanne shakes her head. ‘What with her snoring?’ she mouths.

  Once in the room, with its ornate, dated furniture and heavy silk drapes, Evie tries again. ‘Look, it’s none of my beeswax, but you and Dale have been friends forever, you’re like sisters. I hate to see the two of you falling out and being so awkward with each other.’

  ‘Evie, please don’t worry,’ Susanne’s tone is patient. ‘You’re right, we are like sisters, and sometimes family argues. But we’re fine, honestly. Dale just needs to chill out about Harry and mind her own business. It’s up to me who I go out with – I wouldn’t dream of interfering with her love life.’

  Knowing she is on thin ice, Evie lets the subject drop, secretly wishing that they’d never met Harry.

  25

  Susanne

  They’d skipped the long lines that straggled outside the Uffizi’s main entrance by buying advance tickets. Then they’d stalked the echoing halls, greedily devouring familiar, iconic works by Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, Titian and Botticelli.

  Evie’s response had been touching. ‘My mum always wanted to see this,’ she’d said, her voice cracking with emotion and tears welling in her eyes as she’d gazed in awe at the Birth of Venus. ‘It’s in her downstairs loo – I mean, my downstairs loo,’ she’d added.

  ‘Well, now you’ve seen Venus for her,’ Susanne had said kindly, ‘and isn’t she beautiful? Just look at the luminous skin tones and the texture of her hair. Gorgeous.’

  Dale had agreed. ‘Yes, incredible. Check out the realism of the flowers and foliage. You know, I might even try and work old Venus into my Wednesday night drama club.’

  Now, standing inside the Duomo, they are speechless. They’d agreed to spend an hour inside, but nothing could have prepared them for the cathedral’s grandeur and opulence and one hour soon becomes two.

  ‘Such skill and devotion,’ Evie whispers as the three of them gaze upwards towards the soaring painted dome of Santa Maria del Fiore.

  They stare in awe at the stained-glass windows by legendary Italian masters and walk over its grand marbled floor, drinking in the magical atmosphere. Eventually, they step back into reality and the afternoon sun where tourists, workers and pilgrims alike mil in the square like players on a magnificent stage set.

  Susanne rubs her neck. ‘I ache from looking up so much,’ she says, ‘and I could do with a drink.’

  Dale nods. ‘Go for it, hon – it’s my turn to drive. Evie? Cheeky glass of wine before we head off?’

  A pretty café where flower-filled planters divide one establishment from the next and the dishes are named after Renaissance painters beckons them in. Soon they are ordering wine, mineral water and an array of elegant, bite-sized treats; a delicious blend of sweet and savoury traditional Italian fare that seems to disappear in minutes.

  Dale closes her eyes, her expression one of utter bliss. ‘Oh my god. I think I prefer Italian afternoon tea to the English kind,’ she says. ‘The arancini balls were to die for and I’ll be dreaming about those tiny lemon cannoli for weeks.’

  Evie smiles and takes a sip of wine. ‘I might have a go at making cannoli when we get home. Would you both come if I did?’

  ‘Is the Pope Catholic?’ Dale laughs, brushing Evie’s arm affectionately. ‘Like a shot, hey, Susanne? We can toast your new des res.’

  Susanne nods. ‘Absolutely, I’ll bring the champagne. We’ll need something to look forward to, once we’re h
ome and the summer is over.’ She glances at her watch. ‘Well, no wonder we were all starving; it’s almost five o’clock and we’ve had nothing since breakfast,’ she says, blotting her mouth with a paper napkin and discreetly applying lip-gloss. And then she is alone with Dale, while Evie goes in search of the powder room: no distractions, no audience. They both start to speak at once.

  ‘You go first,’ Dale says, her smile lighting her eyes for the first time in days.

  ‘I’m sorry for being such a cow, Dale. You’re my oldest friend and I love you. I know you were only looking out for me. But I’m not as daft as you think – you don’t need to worry about Harry.’

  ‘No, I’m sorry, for steaming in like the bossy bestie. Of course you can handle yourself, Susie, and I’m the last one who should give advice. Just look at the state of my love life!’

  Susanne feigns surprise. ‘What love life?’

  ‘All right, don’t rub it in!’

  Evie returns, drying her hands on a tissue. ‘That’s better. You two look happy. What have I missed?’

  Susanne beams, ‘We were just having a moment,’ she says, winking at Dale and adding, ‘I’ve loved today. I’ll always remember Florence and I’m so glad I got to see it with my two best friends.’

  At Villa Giardino, Susanne is first through the front door. Spotting the sandals at once, she stops in the hallway and frowns. Soft biscuit leather and with a sparkle trim, they are the kind a teenager would wear. A row of grubby toe prints like tiny pebbles whisper of the petite wearer.

  Dale is hot on her heels. ‘Oh, whose are those? Have we got company?’

  Evie straggles in last. ‘They’re little – who do they belong to?’

  Then, as if searching for some modern-day Cinderella, the women dump their bags and go out to the terrace where Harry’s deep voice punctures the gathering dusk.