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

by Beverley Harvey

  45

  Dale

  Going out for pizza had been Dale’s idea and offering to treat Star and Evie, an attempt to be conciliatory.

  Evie had been reluctant at first. ‘Let’s just split the bill. I suspect we’ve all run out of money by now.’

  But Dale had insisted. ‘No, please, let me. I’ve been such a vicious old cow recently, it’s the least I can do.’

  Star had been surprisingly gracious. ‘Thanks, Dale – that’s really nice of you. Have I got time for a shower and hair wash?’

  Relieved to be forgiven, Dale had beamed. ‘Of course, take your time, Star. Let’s reconvene at eight.’

  Now, feeling lighter at the prospect of going home and singing softly to herself while trawling her wardrobe for something clean, Dale can hear a ringing sound. Realising it is the bell of a landline, she opens her bedroom door and finds Evie in the hallway.

  ‘Where’s that coming from?’ Dale says, walking towards the sound.

  ‘From the study by the entrance. I answered it once before when Susanne’s neighbour Ronnie called for Harry. Wonder if it’s her again.’

  ‘I’ll get it,’ Dale says, suddenly serious. In her experience, ringing landlines often carried bad news, and to her ears at least, the sound is ominous.

  Inside the room, the blinds are drawn, and the temperature is a few degrees cooler; a fine film of dust covers the desk.

  Dale reaches for the handset, Evie standing next to her. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello. Who is this?’ An English woman’s voice, waspish.

  Dale makes a face. ‘This is Dale, I’m staying here. Who do you want?’

  An intake of breath. ‘Is Harry there, please?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, he’s gone out for the evening. Can I take a message?’

  ‘It’s Caroline Klein. His mother. I really must insist that he rings me. I’ve been calling and calling his mobile and it just clicks straight to voicemail.’

  Harry’s lack of respect makes Dale scowl at the receiver; poor woman, it’s not her fault that her son is rubbish at keeping in touch with his folks.

  ‘I’m getting so worried. We’ve heard nothing for weeks, not even a phone call on his birthday – and just a couple of snippy texts since then. We’re a close family. Harry wasn’t brought up to—’

  ‘It must be very frustrating, I don’t know if this will help, but boys will be boys, as the saying goes.’ Dale’s heart is beginning to thaw. Clearly the poor woman is only now waking up to what a selfish idiot her son is.

  ‘How does he seem to you, Dale?’

  So many answers vying to be spoken, and yet… Dale collects herself. ‘Er… perfectly happy and certainly very well,’ Dale answers, wondering what else to add.

  Evie’s eyes are wide as she listens intently, filling in the blanks.

  ‘Please get him to call me, will you? Sorry to bother you with this but I’m at my wits’ end. Tell Harry if he doesn’t phone me tomorrow, then I shall board a flight myself.’

  ‘I’ll tell him, but I’m not sure that—’

  There’s a catch in Caroline Klein’s voice as she says a curt goodbye and hangs up.

  Dale replaces the handset and stares at the silent phone. ‘How weird was that? Evie, I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Let me think for a moment.’ She paces the cool, still room, then spins round on her heel.

  ‘Right, Evie – I’m sorry to do this to you, but I want you to go through Harry’s old room. We must have missed something the other day.’

  Evie’s eyes are round. ‘How am I meant to do that? We’ve just arranged to go out.’

  ‘Say you feel ill; I’ll back you up. You’ve got sunstroke and you had a funny turn in the shower. Then I’ll keep Star out for a couple of hours… get her a bit tipsy and see if she’ll let anything slip. Evie, please. I know I’m onto something. Those two are working together and meanwhile, our best friend is alone and vulnerable. I’ll never forgive myself if anything happens to Susanne. Or to you,’ Dale adds, placing a hand on Evie’s forearm.

  Evie pats Dale’s hand and chews her lip. ‘But what am I looking for?’

  ‘Susanne’s missing necklace, her blue dress, letters, photos… anything at all that might be interesting. Yes, I know it sounds daft, but why all the mystery? Maybe Harry’s got himself into something illegal. You know he smokes weed, don’t you? Well, who knows what else he takes behind closed doors?’

  ‘Oh god. Poor Susanne, she never said. I know she hates drugs. What must—’

  ‘Shh! The shower’s stopped running in Star’s room. Okay, you go – get into bed or something and I’ll explain to Star why you’ve blown us out.’

  ‘Such a shame Evie couldn’t come,’ Star says, biting into a crust of garlic bread, and not looking remotely worried.

  Dale nods. ‘I know, poor old Evie. She’s very fair and we were baking in the sun the whole time you and Harry were in San Gimi. Did you have a nice time?’

  ‘Oh, we didn’t do much really, just walked around the shops… Harry treated me to a gelato.’

  Dale groans with delight. ‘Italian ice cream is to die for. Did Harry sort out his tickets?’

  ‘Tickets?’ A look of confusion crosses Star’s face.

  ‘For the next leg of his journey. Actually, I can’t remember where he said he’s going next.’

  Their eyes lock for a moment. Star picks up her glass and takes a large swallow of Frascati. ‘I don’t think he’s decided yet… he mentioned going back to London soon.’

  A warm smell of garlic and hot bubbling cheese envelops them as a waitress arrives bearing two pizzas.

  ‘Fab. I’m starving,’ Star says, eyeing the food.

  Dale laughs. ‘Bloody hell, Star. Where do you put it all?’

  ‘Oh, my mum was naturally skinny… my dad, too – although I don’t really remember him. I was only a toddler when he took off.’

  ‘Bless you, that must have been hard.’ Dale refills Star’s glass. ‘Here, have a top-up. I can only have one glass so it’s all yours, hon.’

  Star beams. ‘Cheers, Dale.’

  ‘You know, Star, I really admire you,’ Dale begins, her tone light, ‘you’re just so chilled about everything. You’re eighteen, in a strange country, without a job and for all I know, pretty broke. You’ve split up with your boyfriend, who’s out there somewhere, god knows where by now. And then there’s Harry. You’ve only known him ten minutes, yet he’s become your best mate. Star, I’ve seen the way he always pays for you – and he’s very protective, too. I actually think you two would make a great couple.’

  To Dale’s surprise, Star’s shoulders begin to shake with laughter. ‘Oh, that’s so funny, Dale – you don’t even know how funny that is, oh dear…’ Star dabs her mascaraed lashes with her napkin.

  Dale smothers the irritation building inside her, knowing that Star could let something slip at any moment.

  ‘No? Well, you tell me then. What’s so funny?’

  Star mimes shock, gasping and slapping a hand over her mouth before making a zipping motion and tossing away an invisible key.

  Christ, enough with the pantomime. ‘What’s the big secret?’ Dale asks, her face beginning to ache from smiling so much.

  But Star shakes her head. ‘Nothing,’ she says, filling her mouth with pizza and clamming up. Realising that a new approach is called for, Dale changes the subject.

  ‘So, Evie mentioned that you’d lost your mum. God, Star, that’s rough. You must have been so young when—’

  ‘Thirteen. I was thirteen years old when she… when it happened.’ Star’s eyes darken. ‘Want to see a picture?’ she adds, her tone brightening. Then she rummages in her handbag, finds her phone and scrolls through a mosaic of photos.

  ‘Here, it’s not that clear – it’s a snapshot that someone scanned for me. But anyway, this is her sitting in our old garden, in the house where we grew up.’

  Dale studies the screen, blows it up with her thumb and index finger. A thirt
y-something woman relaxes in a canvas chair, a cigarette held between her fingertips. The setting is a cheerless suburban garden, with worn patches on a scorched lawn. Just in shot, a child’s bicycle leans against a fence, ribbons stream from the handlebars. With her fine-boned face, there is no mistaking the resemblance to Star, yet her mane of dark hair is a world away from Star’s pale, fine locks. Dale hands back the phone, reminded of someone else, someone she cannot place.

  46

  Evie

  As the sound of the SUV dies into the distance, Evie springs out of bed and goes to Star’s room, closing the drapes before daring to switch on the light. She looks around, reminds herself that although Harry openly shares Susanne’s bed at night, his possessions vie for space alongside Star’s in what used to be his room. It strikes her as odd that the two of them are so willing to share the space – a mark of their youth, perhaps.

  As she’d expected, the room is a raggle-taggle of shoes and clothing. Star’s scent, light and powdery, hangs in the air, and there’s a fresh-looking spill of metallic blue nail polish on the rug. Ronnie is sure to be delighted by that!

  Unsure where to begin her reluctant trawl through Star’s girlish stuff, Evie’s eyes rest on the small chest that doubles as a dresser. Brushing a hand over Star’s still-warm hair dryer, Evie hesitates. Rifling through someone else’s private possessions feels all wrong, so intrusive. She’d be mortified if anyone did it to her – not that they’d find anything of interest. Why on earth has she agreed to do this?

  Think, Evie. Focus.

  Dale had already carried out a rapid (yet quite thorough!) search of drawers and cupboards and the only suspect item she’d come up with had been the locked tin. Dale had been convinced that they’d find Susanne’s missing necklace under lock and key, but then Harry and Star had interrupted them – which was excruciating to recall now – and things had quickly turned unpleasant. But then Evie had registered a degree of pleasure in Harry’s smug expression, as he’d lifted the lid and revealed nothing more than a passport and a few coins in the tin’s depths.

  But what if Harry had called their bluff? And Susanne’s pendant had been hidden beneath? Then again, why on earth would Harry and Star collude on the theft of a cheap necklace in the first place? The whole silly incident beggared belief.

  All this suspicion and intrigue; because of a missing necklace, an errant frock – which Susanne had probably forgotten to pack in the first place – and the fact that Harry was selfish and forgetful about calling home.

  And yet. A tiny doubt gnaws away in Evie’s mind. There’s no denying the strange atmosphere in the house and the thought of going home the day after tomorrow floods Evie with a relief so intense, she catches her breath.

  Sod it. She’ll take a look around – if only to reassure Dale that nothing peculiar has come to light.

  Gently, methodically, Evie moves around the room, pulling back bedding, checking under pillows, opening drawers, feeling along shelves and finally peering into the cavernous wardrobe, where a rail of stylish, good quality men’s clothes lines up beside a clutch of colourful, petite jeans, dresses and kaftans; Star and Harry’s wardrobe merged into one incongruous collection. Beneath the hanging clothes, several pairs of men’s shoes and an oblong, dust-free space where the tin had lived – until recently.

  Now Evie’s suspicions are aroused. She scans the high shelf, her eyes alighting on a folded scarf or sweater. Standing on tiptoe, she feels beneath the soft layers to something, cool, solid. And then the tin is within her grasp. It is locked, of course. She goes to the bedside table, feels to the back of the drawer and is amazed to find its tiny key.

  Open the tin, Evie – just bloody get on with it!

  She hesitates. What if the necklace is inside? Without answering her own dilemma, Evie inserts the key, feels a click and she’s in.

  As expected, a UK passport. Evie lifts it, but there is nothing else to see – even the handful of change has now gone. No necklace, no secret compartment or false bottom where one might languish. Without the passport, the tin is empty.

  Suddenly, struck by a childish desire to peek at Harry’s photo, Evie thumbs to the ID page. She frowns, perplexed. The name on the passport is Harry Klein, but the photo is of a person she does not recognise. She pauses, skims the details.

  Date of Birth 28.08.94

  Indeed, they’d celebrated Harry’s birthday recently, but the young man in the photo looks nothing like him. The date of issue shows that the passport is four years old. Had his appearance really changed so much? Evie scrutinises the photograph. The eyes that gaze out at her are rounder and lighter in colour, the nose thicker and shorter – and where is Harry’s trademark chiselled jaw?

  None of this makes sense. Operating on instinct now, Evie grabs her mobile phone and snaps Harry’s passport, zooming in on his face, before locking the tin and replacing it on the high shelf beneath the sweater. Then she returns the tiny key to the nightstand drawer, scans the room for anything else out of place, hopeful that it’s such a mess that neither Star nor Harry will notice the difference.

  Finally, Evie turns out the light, then half opens the drapes as she found them and shuts the door behind her. Exhaling audibly, she realises she’s been holding her breath.

  Heavens. What on earth is going on?

  Evie’s mind is racing now with questions that flash like neon signs. Firstly, if the young man in the passport photograph is Harry Klein, then who has taken Susanne to Siena? Secondly, where is the real Harry Klein?

  Goosebumps rise on Evie’s arms as she reaches for her mobile and dials Dale’s number, willing her to pick up.

  47

  Brandon

  He’d expected to sweep Susanne off her feet. Well, he’d done that all right. Now she is slumped on the tiled floor of the ladies’ room, a pungent pool of vomit beside her, spatters visible on her dress and hair and it is all Brandon can do not to gag and leave her there.

  Susanne is murmuring apologies and trying to sit up. He covers his shock and disgust. ‘Don’t try to move yet, give yourself a moment. You fainted. And then you threw up.’

  Susanne groans. ‘Oh, god… how awful, I’m so sorry… in front of everyone, in such a beautiful restaurant.’ Tears well in her eyes and she pushes herself into a sitting position, edging away from the contents of her stomach, self-loathing visible on her pale face.

  ‘It’s okay, nobody saw anything. One of the waiting staff helped me half drag and half carry you in here before you were ill. How are you feeling now, darling?’

  ‘Mortified. I’ve never eaten wild boar before… I guess it doesn’t like me much.’ She shakes her head, a look of dismay on her drained face. ‘Give me a minute, will you – I need to freshen up and then we should go.’

  Brandon nods. ‘Of course.’ He backs out of the washroom and pays the bill, adding a generous tip in lieu of someone having to clean the ladies’ room. Then, deflated and mildly disgusted, he waits for Susanne to emerge before guiding her from the restaurant. A few people are staring – well, let them. It’s not as though he’ll ever be back.

  Once outside, Susanne’s colour returns. ‘I’m feeling a lot better,’ she says, ‘now that I’ve ejected that lovely and expensive dinner. Harry, I’m so sorry… and I know my timing was terrible. I saw you… on one knee and everything, before I blacked out.’

  Shit. This is not what he’d planned at all. Brandon attempts a joke. ‘So, it’s official. I literally make you sick. What a total idiot I am.’ Why couldn’t something go well for him? Just for once?

  Susanne starts to protest. ‘Harry, don’t be ridiculous. Believe me, if I’d wanted to put you off, I’d have picked a far more ladylike way of doing it. Look, can we just go home, please? I reek of sick and I’ve managed to ruin the evening, for both of us.’

  Brandon feels for the cheap costume ring in his pocket. The circumstances are far from ideal, but he needs to rescue the situation, make light of it somehow and finish what he’s started.r />
  They are almost back at the car, under cover of darkness except from the golden glow of cafés and bars, when Brandon spots a flower seller leaving a restaurant. He sprints forward and peers into the vendor’s basket where a dozen or so individually wrapped roses languish, unsold.

  ‘How much for all of them?’ Brandon asks, fumbling for cash. Then he’s striding towards Susanne, a huge grin on his face, the boxed ring in one hand, scarlet blooms in the other. Encouraged by her reaction as she rolls her eyes and giggles, her hand over her mouth, Brandon falls to one knee, ignoring the discomfort of the cobbles.

  ‘I love you, Susanne. Will you marry me?’ he asks in a clear voice.

  ‘Harry, please get up!’

  ‘Will you though? Just give me an answer, Susanne – we belong together.’ A wheedling, begging tone has crept into his voice. He’s asking the impossible and he knows it.

  A grimace from Susanne. ‘Harry, I’m really flattered, honestly. But I think you’re barking mad. We’re so different – what about your family? How will they feel when you—’

  ‘I couldn’t care less what my family thinks. You mean more to me than any of them and I’ll walk away from them if I have to. You don’t understand; there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Cody sounds like an awesome kid and I know once I meet him, I’ll want to love and protect him, too.’ Brandon pauses. Susanne is eyeing the ring and has probably noticed it is a cheap fake.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking and you’re right,’ his tone is urgent, ‘the ring is just symbolic. Put it on now and I’ll have one made for you as soon as we’re home. Together. Forget about all the obstacles… there’s so much I need to explain but not here, not tonight.’

  A cold numbness is creeping into Brandon’s bended knee and a small audience has mushroomed around them as people have come out of bars and passers-by have paused to watch the spectacle.