Evie nods. ‘Star rang Harry while you were out. Apparently, he’s fine and just needed some time alone. He told Star that he’d have a bite to eat in San Gimignano and that he’d be back in a few hours. Apparently, he’s cooled down now and is sorry for going off in a huff.’
Dale watches relief flood Susanne’s face. ‘Well, at least Star didn’t have to make up some cock-and-bull story to get him out of the house. Where is she?’
‘Outside somewhere,’ Evie says. ‘Think she’s been in the pool. I might take a dip myself as soon as I’ve cleared this lot up.’
Happier now, Susanne smiles. ‘Evie, you’ve worked hard on that wonderful cake. Get your cossie on and Dale and I will wash up. I mean it, go on.’
Evie starts to protest, thinks better of it, then with an endearing clap of her hands, she runs off to change.
Despite her own misgivings about whether or not Harry deserves a party, Dale finds herself swept up in her friends’ enthusiasm and by four o’clock, with preparations out of the way, the women have an hour or so to relax. The temperature has risen, driving all four of them into the pool, two at a time. Star has removed her bikini top in an attempt to fill in her tan lines – Dale watches her from behind large sunglasses, amazed by her total lack of inhibition and by how happy and carefree she seems.
‘Star, have you spoken to your boyfriend recently?’ she asks, angling herself towards the younger woman.
‘What?’ Star’s eyes are wide.
‘Sander. Have you called him? Or are you still making him sweat?’
Star shakes her head. ‘Oh, no. I rang him this morning, but he didn’t pick up.’
‘What a jerk,’ Susanne says, pushing herself out of the pool.
‘If Sander’s being an arse, that’s his problem. He should have apologised by now,’ Dale says, in an attempt to be friendly and supportive.
Star doesn’t reply but rolls onto her stomach and closes her eyes.
Dale and Evie exchange looks, while Susanne makes a business of blotting her hair dry before reaching for her mobile phone.
‘Okay, I’m calling Harry. I’ll try and get an ETA from him. Everyone keep quiet, please. Remember, the last conversation he and I had was not good,’ she says, putting her mobile on speaker mode.
The phone rings once. ‘Hello, gorgeous.’ Harry’s voice. ‘I was just about to call you. Susanne, I’m so sorry about earlier, please forgive me. I was being an idiot and you were right of course, as usual. But, darling, there’s stuff you don’t know – I’ll tell you later. I’ll be back by six.’
‘Apology accepted, of course I forgive you.’ Susanne’s face softens.
‘Anyway, you phoned me. Was there anything specific, Susie?’ Harry asks.
‘Er… no, just wondered what time you’d be back and if you could get me some chocolate,’ Susanne says, wincing at her own poor improvisation.
‘Chocolate? Of course. Anything for my Persian Princess – what else are slaves for if not to—’
Susanne stabs a button on her phone; it silences Harry mid-sentence. She turns away and wanders a few metres from the giggling women before concluding the call.
Dale’s shoulders shake with laughter. Persian Princess?
‘It was just a silly game, you know how it is…’ Susanne’s cheeks redden.
‘No, I don’t. Still, whatever floats your boat.’
Embarrassed, Susanne mumbles something about getting ready and starts towards the house.
Dale grimaces. ‘I was only joking,’ she calls out, but Susanne does not look back.
‘That was a bit mean,’ Evie says, her face puckered with concern.
‘I was just teasing. Jesus, I am fed up with walking on eggshells around here,’ Dale grumbles before going to the pool and jumping in with an extravagant splash.
She treads water for a moment, luxuriating in its coolness. Why is Susanne being so bloody touchy? There was a time when they could say pretty much anything to each other – and they’d usually laugh it off. Clearly, those days are over. Dale starts to pull long, lean strokes, swimming faster and harder until her shoulders ache.
By six o’clock everyone has gathered on the terrace. On the linen-covered table, champagne tantalises from an ice bucket. Beside it, a row of glasses sparkles. Plates of canapés and bowls of snacks are dotted around, and Evie’s chocolate cake forms a mouth-watering centrepiece.
In the mellow light, Dale studies the women. Susanne, stylish in a black jersey dress and strappy sandals, glowing with sunshine and anticipation; Evie, pretty in a rose-printed sundress, her hair twisted at the nape of her neck; Star, youthful in distressed blue jeans and halterneck top, beaded earrings peeking through her hair. Everyone has made the effort for Harry, Dale thinks bitterly. She smooths down her denim playsuit, feeling oddly apprehensive as they wait.
‘He’s here!’ Susanne cries, hearing Harry’s jeep pull up. She hoists the champagne in a napkin, ready to pop its cork. Evie and Star exchange excited glances. Only Dale remains cool, observing the scene with detachment. Harry may have a bucketload of charisma and have her best friend under his spell, but she remains unconvinced.Inconsistencies bother her; perhaps her teacher training is to blame. Always having to read between the lines, find the hidden subtext. Star may not be his girlfriend as she’d first thought, but there is something about their interaction that doesn’t quite ring true.
Neither does Star’s indifference to her recent upset with Sander. A few hours earlier, when asked if she’d spoken to her boyfriend, she’d seemed surprised, as if she’d forgotten all about him and was content to hang out in female company.
Dale looks across at Susanne, watches her return the champagne to its ice bucket. The minutes tick by: five, then ten, and still Harry does not materialise.
Dale frowns. ‘Where the bloody hell is he?’
‘Loo, probably,’ Evie mouths. But when Harry eventually appears, his hair is in damp tufts and he’s wearing a crisp, new-looking T-shirt.
He hangs back and surveys the party scene, a look of bewilderment on his face.
Beaming with relief and happiness, Susanne twists open the champagne, fills five glasses and presses one into Harry’s hand.
‘Happy birthday, babe,’ she says, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him.
31
Susanne
In full view of the others, Susanne kisses Harry with a fervour that surprises her. At once the feel of his lips on hers and the scent of his citrusy shower gel and cedar shampoo makes her tingle. With his arms around her and his fingers resting on the small of her back, all she wants is for everyone else to melt away – and for Harry to take her to bed and make her feel more alive than she’d ever thought possible.
But when they break apart, there’s a hesitancy in his eyes. He gulps some champagne and shakes his head, blinking in confusion.
‘Busted, I’m afraid, Harry,’ Dale says, ‘did you think we wouldn’t find out?’
Harry’s eyes widen; he takes another sip of champagne.
‘That it was your birthday, she means. Your godmother told us,’ Star says, a forced heartiness in her tone. ‘You could have said, Harry.’
Then Dale, Evie and Star gather round, hugging him and wishing him many happy returns.
Susanne sees a look of relief wash over him. ‘Well, what can I say? Thank you, that’s so sweet of you all. Oh my god, who made the cake? It looks fantastic!’
Evie beams with pride and raises an index finger. ‘Hope you like chocolate.’
‘Everyone likes chocolate,’ Dale says. ‘Right, let’s get this party started! More champagne, anyone?’
By sunset, Star and Evie are dancing, inhibitions loosened by alcohol, but Dale has snuck away and sits hunched by the pool, her legs dangling in its depths.
Concerned, Susanne extracts herself from Harry’s arms. ‘Oh dear, that’s not a good sign. Wait here while I check she’s okay,’ she whispers, promising to return.
‘Hey, love.’ She
drops to Dale’s level, removes her shoes and plunges her toes into the water. She gasps. ‘Oof, that’s colder than I expected. Are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to guess?’ Susanne says, her tone gentle.
‘Nothing. I’m fine… Probably had too much gin.’ Dale waves her almost-empty glass.
Aware that Dale is drinking quickly, Susanne nods and swishes the water, her feet and ankles beginning to acclimatise. ‘Must admit I feel a bit worse for wear, too. Are you sure? Nothing else bothering you?’
Dale’s laughter is brittle. ‘Nothing you want to hear, trust me.’
Susanne sighs. ‘Maybe. But tell me anyway. And then I think we should go and dance with the girls, maybe even get Harry to throw some shapes. It’s supposed to be his party, after all.’
Dale drains her glass and sets it down, her eyes suddenly hard. ‘All right. If you must know. I don’t trust Harry further than I can throw him, and as you ask, I don’t trust Star, either – or whatever the bloody hell her real name is. I just don’t buy it, Susie. Something’s off. With both of them.’
Susanne puffs out her cheeks and exhales, swinging her feet out of the water and getting up awkwardly.
‘So, we’re here again, are we? You’ve got a very suspicious mind, Dale – maybe you’ve been a teacher for too long. Let’s not talk about this now; everyone else is having a good time and it’s not fair.’
‘Susanne, wait.’
Dale paws at her hand, but Susanne ignores it, instead walking back up the shallow steps, carrying her shoes and leaving a trail of wet footprints as she crosses the terrace.
Evie calls out to her and Susanne sees at once that her ladylike dress has been swapped for jeans and a T-shirt. ‘Come and dance, Susie. Look, I’m twerking! Star taught me how to do it,’ she giggles, her words slurred, her hips jutting back and forth in time to the throbbing base. Star staggers, shrieking with laughter, while Harry watches from the shadows, a bemused grin on his face.
Susanne smiles and gives Evie a thumbs up before joining Harry.
He clasps her hands and pulls her towards him. ‘Thank you, Susanne. It’s lovely of you to organise this. But that’s you all over, isn’t it? You’re so thoughtful. And beautiful – you look amazing in that dress,’ he says, emitting a playful growl.
Susanne smiles. ‘You think? It’s not the dress I was planning to wear. I’ve got one just like this in cornflower blue, but I couldn’t find it.’
And not for lack of trying. Susanne had searched every corner of her wardrobe and even checked her laundry bag, but there’d been no sign of it.
Just then, Susanne catches sight of Evie weaving towards the kitchen. ‘Let’s follow her – she looks pretty hammered.’
Once in the kitchen, Evie gulps water from a bottle, leaning unsteadily against the sink, face flushed and eyes gleaming.
Susanne and Harry exchange an amused grimace.
‘Evie, I can’t think why you would, but have you seen my blue dress anywhere?’ Susanne asks, already anticipating the reply.
Evie shakes her head. ‘Nope, sorry. Don’t mer-rember you wearing anything blue since we got here.’
‘Okay, darling. Never mind, it’ll turn up.’
Harry is watching Evie intently, a look of consternation on his face. ‘Evie, are you all right? Are you going to throw up?’
Evie emits a loud hiccup. ‘I’m fine.’ A sleepy smile spreads across her face before she teeters outside, slamming her shoulder against the door frame as she goes.
Susanne winces. ‘Ouch. That’s going to be a nasty bruise.’
Harry shrugs. ‘She’s drunk, probably didn’t feel a thing. Look at her, dancing with Star. Bless her, she’s having so much fun.’
Susanne presses herself against Harry and wraps her arms around his neck. ‘Are you, though?’
‘Am I what?’ Harry brushes her lips with his own.
‘Having fun? I realise that spending your twenty-fifth birthday with four women, three of them old bags, isn’t exactly a dream celebration.’
Harry sniggers. ‘Hey, one of those old bags is my girlfriend, if you don’t mind.’ He smiles and takes her hands. ‘Anyway, spending it in a gorgeous Tuscan villa with the woman I love could scarcely be better.’
Susanne’s brow furrows as she studies his face, unsure how to answer. Her heart is beating so loudly in her chest, she’s sure Harry can hear it. Is he really saying he loves her? Or is the heady cocktail of champagne and gin doing the talking for him?
He makes a face and runs a hand through his hair. ‘Sorry. Too much? Susanne, time is short… I just wanted to be honest with you.’
Susanne attempts to silence him with a kiss, but Harry pulls away. ‘Wish I hadn’t said it now…’ He pouts. ‘I’m being much too serious, aren’t I? Come on, let’s go join the girls.’
Susanne resists a sudden urge to tell Harry that she loves him too, and instead leads him outside where Star is still on her feet, but no longer dancing, fatigue having clearly set in.
Dale is plodding up the steps, the black cloud over her head almost visible.
Harry groans. ‘Jesus, what’s wrong with her? She can be a moody bitch at times. I mean, I’ve made a real effort to be friends but she’s bloody hard work.’
‘Talking about me?’ Dale smiles sweetly, suddenly eye to eye with Harry.
He shrugs. ‘I’m sorry, Dale, but I hate to see you so pissed off. What can we do to cheer you up?’
Dale’s eyes widen. ‘We?’
Susanne watches Dale’s face harden into a mask of belligerence. Determined to quell the brewing storm, she takes Dale’s arm and leads her away, babbling about needing help in the kitchen. It’s a ruse, but Harry follows them.
Dale droops, puts her head in her hands. ‘Look, I’m sorry. Just ignore me. Mixing my drinks does this sometimes. Think I’ll go to bed and leave you to your toy-boy. Night.’
Toy-boy? Susanne flinches and starts to protest, a flush creeping into her cheeks, then decides to let it go as Dale blows her a kiss and lopes off to her room.
Guilt and relief wash over Susanne as Harry pulls her into his arms. At once, her body responds, and she aches to be alone with him.
‘I know exactly what I want for my birthday,’ he whispers, his breath warm against her ear.
A sigh escapes Susanne’s parted lips, but she pushes Harry away as Star and Evie burst through the door.
‘Can we cut the cake now?’ Star whines.
‘Yes, let’s,’ Harry replies. ‘So sweet of you to make one, Evie – must have taken you hours. How on earth did you know that chocolate’s my favourite?’
Back outside, a breeze stirs and the candles flicker. The music has stopped, leaving only the background fizz of the night critters.
Evie dishes out huge wonky slabs of cake: there’s a satisfied silence as they all take first bites.
‘Mmm, delicious. What a shame Dale missed out,’ Harry says, licking chocolate from his lips and fingertips.
‘I suspect Dale had too much sun,’ Susanne says.
Harry rolls his eyes. ‘And too much booze, and too much of me. I’m afraid your best friend disapproves of us – and nothing anyone says will change her mind.’
Susanne glances in Evie’s direction. Unsteady on her feet, she’s starting to clear plates and glasses, her expression uneasy.
Susanne warns Harry with a slight shake of her head. But Harry either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. ‘Dale wants you all to herself. I don’t know why you can’t see it. Everyone else can, eh, Star?’
Star yawns. ‘What? Dunno, it’s none of my business, and anyway, my bed is calling. Thank you for a lovely party, everyone. Can’t remember the last time I drank so much or danced like that. Na-night, sweet dreams.’
Evie moves into the kitchen, scraping debris into a bin liner and clattering glass and crockery, marking the end of the party.
Suddenly, alone with Harry, Susanne remembers something – a hangover from their phone conversation that af
ternoon.
‘Harry, I’m so sorry – what was it you wanted to tell me?’
His expression is vague. ‘What, other than saying that I’ve fallen in love with you? Yeah, Susanne, about that. I—’
‘No, not that – as lovely as it is. It was something you said on the phone today: there’s stuff you don’t know, I’ll tell you later. I’ve only just remembered, but please, tell me now. I’d like to understand.’
Harry cups her face in his hands and kisses her. ‘Doesn’t matter, Susie… I can’t even remember to be honest. Now can I please take you to bed and do what I’ve wanted to all evening?’
32
Brandon
Rome, May 2019
Brandon surveys the bar. It’s dead this evening, with almost as many staff as punters. Palazzo Angeli is his second venue of the night; two blocks away, at Hotel Clio, it was the same story. Well, what did he expect, midweek in May?
His knock-off Rolex is saying eight fifteen. One drink. Just one, then he’ll call it a night and pick up a takeaway on the way home – maybe get some of that angel hair pasta with the creamy mushrooms that Star likes so much.
He signals to Marco, who nods, goes to the bar and returns with a beer and a small dish of olives.
‘It’s too quiet in here, Marco – what’s going on?’ Brandon says, spearing an olive and letting its saltiness burst on his tongue.
The waiter shrugs. ‘Is normal. We busy this weekend – you come then, my friend.’
Brandon nods resignedly. ‘Maybe, or perhaps I’ll go somewhere new.’ He pauses as a sleek blonde in a fur-trimmed jacket glides past, straight to a booth near the bar.
Marco’s smile is that of a lizard basking on a rock. ‘Scusami, I have real customer,’ he says with a wink and a small click of his heels.
From his vantage point across the lounge, Brandon watches as the woman downs two drinks in quick succession, kicking off with something pink and cloudy in a martini glass – a cosmopolitan? – followed by a glass of white wine, thick and golden in colour – probably chardonnay, he muses.
The Perfect Liar: A completely gripping thriller with a breathtaking twist Page 14