Susanne hesitates; he can see the rise and fall of her chest as she takes a couple of deep breaths. She wrings her hands, her eyes becoming glassy with an emotion he can’t read. ‘My god, this is such a shock… I mean, a surprise. And I must be insane… but you make me happy, and I love you, too. So, I’m saying yes, Harry!’ Beaming, she puts out her left hand and Harry slides the gaudy bauble onto her third finger.
‘Yesss! Oh my God!’ Brandon punches the air and throws his arms around her, mindless of the faint sour smell. Then ignoring the onlookers, he kisses her lightly and helps her towards the car.
Cloaked in blackness except for the beam of headlights on the road, Brandon feels a degree of relief. He steels a glance at Susanne, but she has fallen asleep, lulled by the bouncing rhythm of the jeep. He’ll need a better car than this in England; it’s Harry’s pick after all, and far too basic for the likes of Susanne.
He can’t afford to dwell on the details right now – details like how an unemployed, former model slash escort will ever afford a car, or a flat likely to ensnare a rich divorcee. As if jarred by his thoughts, Susanne stirs; her eyes flutter open, then close again.
He’ll figure something out. He’s good at problem-solving – he’s smart, all his teachers at the Catford comp he’d gone to had said so.
Brandon’s eyes flick to Susanne; she is breathing deeply now, her head lolling awkwardly to one side.
His proposal had been desperate, not to mention a total shambles. Susanne ejecting her dinner had been gross, but he’d pressed on with the plan regardless. And for one horrible moment while he was on one knee, cheap roses in one hand, fake ring in the other, he’d thought his charm offensive had failed him. So, he’d pulled out all the stops: he’d said how Susanne mattered more to him than his entire family and it had melted her heart. The stuff about Cody had been a gamble, telling her how he couldn’t wait to meet him – like he gave a rat’s arse about her spoilt brat kid – but Susanne had bought it hook, line, and sinker.
Of course, he’ll have to tell her the truth. He smirks in the darkness, enjoying his own cleverness – or his version of it. He knows it would have to be soon, what with the complication of Ronnie the neighbour and everything. And if he says so himself, his cover story is utter genius.
He pictures Susanne’s face: shocked initially, then won over by the romance of it all, when he explains that he and Harry cooked up a whole disappearing act, so that Harry can escape his rich, oppressive parents and be with the woman he loves. He’s still fleshing out the finer details, but he knows they’ll come to him. Better still, some of Susanne’s neuroses about their affair will melt into insignificance, removing, rather than creating, obstacles to their domestic bliss. ‘So, you see, babe,’ he’ll say, clasping her hands and gazing into those clear trusting eyes, ‘you needn’t worry about Ronnie, she’s no relation. And as for the age gap between us, I’ll be twenty-eight in November…’
The more he thinks about it, the more convinced he is that marrying Susanne will be a win-win. Either he’ll grow to love her and the lifestyle they’ll construct together, or he’ll divorce her, take half of everything she owns, and simply disappear.
Brandon shields his eyes as a car flies towards them, passing them at speed on the narrow road, shattering his reverie.
Susanne will tell the other women about his proposal, of course; the ring is on her finger for all to see, and anyway, what woman would keep quiet about being engaged? Brandon pictures Dale: a look of horror on her beautiful, hard, slappable face, followed by a barrage of objections. Well, bring it on.
Just let her try and destroy things for the happy couple. His stunt hiding Susanne’s necklace, dress and bikini under Dale’s mattress had shocked Susanne to the core; he’d read it in her eyes, even though she’d been much too ladylike to confront Dale, saying she’d have it out with her once they were home. Yes, he’d done enough to undermine Dale, to shake her credibility and their friendship. He couldn’t wait to see the crazy bitch’s face.
Evie, on the other hand, would be sweet about it, even happy for them perhaps, offering her congratulations. He imagines Star, squealing with happiness, picturing her new lifestyle in posh Tunbridge Wells; a far cry from where they’d grown up in the terraced house opposite the bus station just off the South Circular, the roar of traffic echoing in their ears and the stink of diesel etched on their sinuses. No wonder both their fathers had fucked off without a backward glance, the losers.
Not that it mattered. None of it did now. Gone. All gone. His beautiful mother, who still came to him in his dreams, her mane of dark hair floating about her face. And as for Graham, his biological father – certainly never a dad – and then Ziggy, who’d barely stuck around until Star could walk, he had no idea as to their whereabouts and wasn’t even curious. They might as well have been dead.
And if they were… he would dance on their graves.
48
Susanne
Susanne fights her way through sleep. How long has she been out? Heavy-lidded, her eyes slide to Harry’s profile. By the light of the dashboard, she can see his lips are curved into a smile, yet there’s tension in his jaw that makes his expression hard to read.
She peers out, trying to penetrate the darkness. Undulating hills and a spine of cypress trees silhouetted against an indigo sky offer no clue to their whereabouts.
‘Nearly home. How are you feeling?’ Harry says, as if reading her mind.
With a slight shudder, Susanne recalls waking up on the tiled floor of the ladies’ room. ‘Sleepy. Embarrassed. Bless you, Harry. What a weird night you’ve had. First, I faint and throw up on you – and in a fancy restaurant at that. And then I snore all the way back. What marvellous company I’ve been,’ she says, stifling a yawn.
It’s too dark to see Harry’s smile, but she can hear it in his voice. ‘The only thing I’ll remember tonight for is that we got engaged and I couldn’t be happier about it.’
There’s a feeling of something pressing on her chest, but she keeps her tone light. ‘Me too. But Harry, we mustn’t rush into things. There’s a lot to sort when I get home and my priority will be Cody. I haven’t seen him in weeks, and I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed him.’
The thought of her son being back in her arms and under her roof almost catches Susanne’s breath. All this craziness – her whirlwind romance with Harry – will all go on hold once they are home and Harry had better accept it.
Susanne frowns. Cody is not the only consideration. Dale and Evie will have to be told. Oh god, Dale. Her heart sinks at the thought of telling her, and she hasn’t even had the conversation about the dress, bikini top and necklace yet. Clearing the air will be another priority.
Susanne considers her ex-husband’s forthcoming visit with Melissa. Just thinking about it makes her stomach lurch. How much should she tell Colin while everything is so fresh and new? Perhaps she’ll beat him to the punch, and casually let slip about Harry’s proposal. Get Col’s take on her forthcoming engagement to a rising star in the city – leaving out the fact that he’s twenty-five years old and she’s only known him for five weeks.
She knows meeting Colin and Melissa in all their loved-up smugness would be more bearable with Harry on her arm – and not only because of his model looks. Upping the ante is the fact that Harry’s family are wealthy, that he’s achieved a business degree at Cambridge and that he is on the brink of a career – while her ex-husband’s has an imminent shelf life.
Susanne twists the cheap ring on her wedding finger. Bless Harry for going off in search of a pretty costume ring, how sweet and endearing of him. Almost weightless as his symbolic ring is, it feels natural for her third finger to be occupied again. She’d only recently removed Col’s engagement ring: a tasteful solitaire diamond on a platinum band that now resides in the safe in her bedroom.
The anonymous roads take on a familiar shape as they drive through a valley, past the darkened pizzeria, and then begin their ascent to Villa Giard
ino. As they draw closer, Susanne sees the SUV in the drive and a single light blazing. She wonders who is awake.
Normally, she and Dale would huddle over tea or hot chocolate as she’d share the minutest detail of her evening with relish, but not tonight. Revealing Harry’s surprise proposal and her bizarre mystery illness would only agitate her friend; plus, things were weird enough between her and Dale already.
‘Harry, let’s not say anything to the girls – about us, I mean. I just want to get home, get back to normal and let the dust settle before I go springing surprises on them. I’ve got a very difficult conversation with Dale ahead and telling her that you proposed tonight will be a red rag to a bull.’
‘Wow, how to make a guy feel special,’ Harry’s tone is flat.
‘Please, Harry. Dale doesn’t get us, you know that, so just work with me on this.’
The house is silent as they let themselves in. Susanne groans with relief. ‘I can’t wait to shower and brush my teeth,’ she whispers, mindful that the others may already be asleep. Discarding her shoes by the front door, she turns to Harry. ‘I feel seriously grotty; do you mind if I sleep alone tonight?’
Harry makes a face. ‘Why? What do you mean? So, we get engaged and now you’re shutting me out?’
It’s a flash of petulance that Susanne can do without. ‘Surely you know why; I’ve just been ill,’ she reminds him patiently.
‘Oh, great. How will that look in the morning? I bet Dale will love the fact that we slept apart after our special night out.’
His jaw is set and miserable, his expression sulky. Is this a taste of life to come?
‘Harry, forget about Dale, please. Look, I feel all yucky. Surely you can have the sofa just for one night?’
With an exaggerated sigh, he relents, heading to Susanne’s room for a pillow and a spare duvet.
He puts his arms around her. ‘Think I’ll sit up for a while. I might even have another drink to unwind. I’m too excited to sleep yet. Get some rest, darling, and I’ll bring you some tea in the morning. It’ll be good practice for when we’re married.’ He releases her and studies her face. ‘Tomorrow is our last day here and I can just about bear it, knowing that we’ll be together in England, too.’
Later, in the shower, soothed by its piping hot needles, Susanne replays the evening in her head: images of Harry, dropping to one knee, first in a packed restaurant and later in the cobbled square with smiling onlookers willing them on. She tries to analyse her feelings, to label her emotions. She’d told Harry she loved him – and she hadn’t lied exactly, but how can she be truly in love with someone she’s only just met? Susanne is savvy enough to know that love and infatuation feel much the same during the first heady flush of romance. She considers the future: it’s difficult to put Harry in the context of her life at home in Tunbridge Wells. Because between Cody, his godmother Ronnie and the fact that Harry is practically a generation younger than her, they’ll always be facing obstacles. Thank goodness there’ll be plenty of time to reconsider their engagement at home…
At last, feeling deliciously clean and relieved to be alone, Susanne puts on an oversized T-shirt, climbs into bed and is grateful when sleep overwhelms her.
49
Dale
Wired, sleepless and still in her day clothes, Dale lies on her bed, fingers laced behind her head.
It has taken every ounce of her self-control not to rush at Harry – or whatever the hell his name is – and demand to know who he is and what he has done with the real Harry.
Hearing the jeep approach, Dale and Evie had scuttled to bed, leaving a light on in the hallway. Then Dale had listened through a crack in her bedroom door, at snatches of hushed conversation, as Harry and Susanne had moved through the house, before saying goodnight.
Why were they sleeping apart? What on earth had happened during their evening in Siena that had resulted in Susanne going straight to bed alone? Every fibre in Dale’s body is screaming at her to go to her friend, to tell Susanne what she and Evie know.
Only hours earlier, Dale had waited until Star was digging into a large portion of tiramisu before reaching into her bag and stealing a look at her mobile. Seven missed calls from Evie. Seven! Jesus, what had she discovered?
‘Star, Evie’s been ringing us. Mind if I give her a quick call and make sure she’s okay?’ Then Dale had excused herself from the table and slipped out to the car park.
Evie had picked up on the second ring, before blurting out that Harry was not Harry, followed by a gush of garbled words.
‘Evie, breathe… Slow down. Let me get this straight. You’re saying that you’ve found a passport with Harry’s name on it, but not Harry’s face? Christ. Okay, I’ll be back as soon as I can. I’m not getting anywhere with Star. She’s just guzzled her way through nearly a whole bottle of wine and three courses – and still managed to give nothing away.’
‘Please hurry, Dale. I’m really…’ Evie’s words had dried on the line.
‘Scared? I know, love, me too. Keep it together – and not a word in front of Star. She’s quite pissed so we’ll talk as soon as she’s gone to bed. Bye.’
Then Dale had hung up, feeling desperately protective towards Evie, who – good on her – had shown real initiative in her detective work.
Dale had tugged Evie’s arm and led her outside onto the terrace. ‘Come on, just in case Star’s still awake – although I can’t imagine it after what she’s put away tonight.’
Then Evie had swiped through her phone, stopping at the incriminating passport photo she’d taken and handed it to Dale in silence.
‘God, Evie. What the— Who is this?’ Dale had gasped, scrutinising the defiant young face in Harry Klein’s passport.
‘Well, it’s not the guy who’s been living here all summer, that’s for sure. Dale, what are we going to do? We need to warn Susanne, get her away from him and find out what the hell has happened to the real Harry.’
‘Absolutely, but we need to tread carefully, because the thing is, right now, Harry – or whatever-his-name-is – thinks they’re an item. He trusts Susanne… I mean, I don’t know if he really loves her, or if it’s all some elaborate ruse, but we’ve got to be careful that we don’t tip him off.’
Evie had agreed. ‘We’re flying home the day after tomorrow anyway. Let’s get Susanne on her own in the morning, tell her everything and then come up with an excuse for the three of us to leave straight away. We can spend our last night near the airport or whatever, anywhere away from him.’
Dale had agreed, impressed with Evie’s thinking. ‘All right. And as soon as we’re somewhere safe, we’ll go to the police. Evie, I’ve got a bad feeling about this. I think he killed Harry.’
Evie’s hands had flown to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. ‘No! Please don’t say that, Dale. We don’t know… there could be a perfectly innocent explanation as to why he’s not here and what’s-his-name has taken his place.’
‘Evie, come on. You don’t really believe that any more than I do. He’s got Harry’s passport, which speaks volumes. Look, we’ve just got to keep it together now – nauseating and scary as it is, we’ll wait until the morning to tell Susanne. Agreed?’
Evie had nodded her head firmly. ‘Agreed.’
Dale reaches for her mobile phone: the digits glow 01:57 – only twelve minutes since the last time she looked. She’ll never sleep tonight. How can she? How could anyone knowingly sleep under the same roof as a killer?
Get a grip, Dale – we don’t know that yet. Innocent until proven guilty.
Someone is awake and moving around the kitchen. She can hear the clink of glass, of water running and the faint rattle of the terrace doors being opened.
Before she can stop herself, as if spring-loaded, Dale is up, forcing her feet into trainers and tying the laces. Hyper-alert, she moves along the corridor, and towards the kitchen, which is bathed in moonlight. She peers outside, sees the boy, a bottle of gin in one hand and a cigarette – or a joint, pe
rhaps – in the other.
She opens the door, ignores the churning of her stomach and paces towards him.
‘Hey, Harry. Can’t sleep? I can’t either. How was Siena?’ Dale says, keeping her voice even, pleasant.
‘Dale.’ He drags deeply on the joint, screws up his face. ‘Actually, it was very interesting,’ he says with emphasis, adding, ‘although it could have gone better. Susanne was ill. Food poisoning.’ He feigns gagging.
‘Oh! Is she okay? Poor Susanne,’ Dale says, wondering if he’s lying.
‘She’s sleeping it off. I’m sure she’ll be fine in the morning.’ The boy raises the bottle to his lips and swallows.
‘Need a glass?’ Dale offers, attempting to sound helpful.
‘The bottle is just fine, Dale.’ He eyes her coldly, pulls on the joint again, then lets his head fall back as he exhales a pungent plume of smoke, the arc of his throat reminding Dale of a serpent. He extends the weed towards her, but she shakes her head, revulsion lifting the fine hair on her arms.
Dale answers carefully. ‘Cheers, but I haven’t smoked that stuff in years. It doesn’t go with being a teacher – although I know a few who might argue that point.’
‘Oh, come on, Dale. Being coy doesn’t suit you. You’re pretty rock and roll beneath that disapproving exterior.’ His laugh is unpleasant, high-pitched and gurgling with alcohol.
Dale longs for a drink to steady the jangling in her head.
‘I was just enjoying the moonlight,’ he says, looking up at the sky, ‘but I’m glad you’re here. We can have a chat, man to man.’ Again, the high-pitched, unpleasant snigger at his own joke.
Her heart racing, Dale watches him walk ahead of her; loose limbed he stumbles against a chair in his path.
The Perfect Liar: A completely gripping thriller with a breathtaking twist Page 22