Desperate to go home but forbidden to leave Tuscany, the women had relocated to a modest hotel in San Gimignano. Two days later, Vincenzi had arrived unannounced.
‘Mrs Campbell, I am here about the alleged death of Mr Klein.’ She’d paused, looked around at the small air-conditioned lounge that had been hastily cleared of guests before settling on Susanne, her eyes like search-lights. ‘There is no body.’
No body? What did that mean? Susanne had shaken her head in confusion and disbelief. ‘But that doesn’t make sense. Star was clear about what happened. You must have been looking in the wrong place.’
Vincenzi had pursed her lips. ‘We examined the whole site. Our search was very thorough, very professional,’ she’d said with emphasis, as though mildly insulted by Susanne’s assertion. ‘Allora, no body. Traces of blood, yes, between the ruins and the road – but nothing more. Mr Klein’s family arrive later today. We are treating him as a missing person.’
‘Really? That’s… that’s brilliant news. It means that Harry’s still alive, that he could be found, doesn’t it? Does that mean we can all go home now? Detective, I have a son who needs me. We were supposed to fly two days ago and there’s nothing more we can tell you.’
‘About Harry Klein, no. But we are waiting for a full coroner’s report on how Brandon Connor died and until then, we must ask you, signora Morgan and signora Jones to remain in San Gimignano.’
It had been a demand, not a request. Terrified of being bugged or overheard, the women had hiked into the hills beyond the city walls, just to speak freely.
Halfway round a vineyard groaning with golden grapes ready for harvesting, gripped by panic, Evie had become tearful. ‘They know, don’t they? We’re going to prison – I just know it.’
Susanne and Dale had done their best to talk Evie down, reassuring her that nobody except the three of them could possibly know exactly what had happened that night. Even any marks on Brandon’s body where the women had held him down could be attributed either to Dale’s struggle, or their fight in the pool, they’d reasoned. And anyway – it was self-defence. They’d had no choice in the matter.
The coroner’s decision had been mercifully quick. Accidental drowning had been the verdict, underpinned by a toxicology report that revealed Brandon had been drunk and stoned by the time he’d entered the pool. And with this news came the women’s instant release; freedom to fly home and return to their lives, changed though they were.
Susanne and Dale had boarded the first flights available to Gatwick, collapsing into narrow budget seats with relief and emotional exhaustion. It was Evie who had stepped up to support Star, liaising with the police and British Consulate officials so that Brandon’s body could be flown home to London.
Star had been beside herself, hyperventilating with despair, telling Evie that a life on the street awaited her.
So Evie had taken Star home to Tunbridge Wells where she’d looked after her like a daughter, wiping away her tears and comforting her in the night when she cried out for her brother.
‘I’ve told Star she can stay as long as she likes,’ Evie had confided to Susanne over coffee on her third day back. ‘She can give me a hand doing Mum’s place up, it’ll take her mind off things and make her feel useful, starting with her own room – we’ll soon make it nice for her.’
‘You’ve got such a good heart, Evie. But what will you do for money while you’re not working?’
‘Apart from my inheritance, you mean? Actually, I thought I’d temp part-time, at least until the house is how I want it. Then I’ll start looking for something more permanent.’
Touched by the notion of Evie taking Star under her wing, Susanne had wanted to do her bit, and had offered Star two mornings a week cleaning. But Star had declined, preferring instead to waitress at The Gallery restaurant nearby, saying it gave her a little independence.
Dale sighs with contentment and places her knife and fork together. ‘I have news,’ she announces, her cheeks pink from champagne.
Susanne is all ears, ‘Well, go on – don’t keep us in suspense.’
Dale pauses for dramatic effect, her eyes sparkling by the light of a dozen candles. ‘From January, I’ll be head of English and Drama at school. How bloody grown-up is that?’
‘Oh, Dale, that’s wonderful… Congratulations!’ Susanne jumps up from her seat to hug her friend.
‘Brilliant,’ Evie says, raising her glass.
Star nods her approval. ‘Cool bananas, Dale.’
‘Wish you were my English teacher,’ Cody mumbles, filling his mouth with yet another roast potato.
Overhead, the ceiling vibrates with explosions coming from Cody’s room. Evie raises her eyebrows, tea towel in hand.
‘PlayStation,’ Susanne explains, ‘I bought him a couple of new games. You should see them, it’s like being in a movie. Not sure how fascinated Star will be, though. Bless her, she’s so good with him. I think Cody just wants to sit close to her… all those hormones racing. God, I feel for him.’
‘When does he leave for Scotland?’ Dale asks, loading plates into the dishwasher.
‘December twenty-ninth – in plenty of time for Hogmanay. Then the next time he goes up there, it’ll be for the wedding in March. Hey! Stop it, I can see you two, giving each other knowing looks. I’m fine, really.’
‘Seriously?’ Evie leans her head to one side. ‘It’s okay not to be fine. Your ex is getting married. It’s a big deal.’
‘No, not to me. Not now. After everything that happened in the summer, I just want a quiet life. No drama, no more adventures. We all need to move on. When I think what could have happened…’ Susanne shakes her head, reaches for her wine glass.
‘That reminds me. How’s Ronnie doing?’ Dale asks.
‘Okay, considering. She’s a tough old bird. I see her around town sometimes, driving her Porsche and looking immaculate, but Harry’s still missing and it must be horrendous for his whole family. I don’t know how I would cope if Cody disappeared.’
Dale shudders. ‘Don’t think about it, Susie. It will never happen. It’s weird, isn’t it? We spent all summer thinking we were living with Ronnie’s godson. Turns out we never even met him, and we probably never will.’
Susanne nods, the sadness that is never far away clouding her expression. ‘Poor Harry. At least he has parents who love him and who are still looking for him.’
55
Star
Tongue protruding with concentration, Star removes the vanilla-scented sponge from the oven and sets it down on the cooling rack.
‘Yay! My first cake. It looks good, doesn’t it?’ she says, clapping oven-mitted hands together and beaming with pride.
Evie smiles. ‘It looks fab, Star, well done. Wait until we do the icing later – that’s the best bit. I’m really proud of you.’
Star grins, fills the sink with hot soapy water and starts clearing up.
‘I’ll dry,’ Evie says, grabbing a tea towel. ‘I love that you’re learning to cook… Not that I’m an expert or anything, but I used to watch my mum so I can do all the basics.’
Star’s tone is wistful. ‘Don’t remember Mum making much; spaghetti hoops and pot noodle were about the limit in our house. After she died and it was just me and Bran, we mostly lived on sarnies and takeaways.’
She can see real affection in Evie’s eyes. Kind, patient Evie. So eager to share her time and her home with poor little orphaned Star. All alone in the world, just like Evie.
Perhaps that was why she’d helped so much in Tuscany; dealing with the police and other assorted officials – their names, titles and what they actually did had gone straight over Star’s head, as she’d descended into shock and despair.
And then, like a light switching on in her fuzzy grief-stricken head, it had occurred to Star that she might go to prison. After all, she’d managed to convince the police that Harry had fallen from that crumbling ledge – locking away the image of Brandon shoving him hard with the flat o
f both hands – but there was no denying that they’d failed to get help. That they’d left Harry’s body where it landed. Evie had spoken up for her, painting her as some sort of halfwit. An innocent child, who’d been swept along with her brother’s actions in a state of shock and confusion.
And then, in an incredible twist of fate, the police had been unable to find Harry’s body. What did that mean, exactly? Had he only fainted, or been stunned, and had at some point woken up and limped off into the hills? In which case, where was he now? None of it mattered to Star; all that counted was that there was no body. No body meant no murder, which meant there was no one to blame. Because even if Harry turned up in the future – which seemed highly unlikely – she’d stick to her story; that she’d seen Harry fall and had gone into shock, right there and then. Just like Evie said.
So Evie had taken her home to Tunbridge Wells – by far the nicest place Star had ever lived, with its pretty, expensive shops and lively bars and restaurants – and together they were doing up Evie’s mum’s house: pulling up old carpets, stripping off faded wallpaper, then bringing the rooms to life with airy, new paint colours and pretty curtains bought in the posh shop nearby. Evie had even talked about replacing the kitchen and bathroom, but she’d be leaving that to the professionals.
To Star’s surprise, she could be very practical when she set her mind to it. And not just in the house. Evie was teaching her how to use computers, too; starting with Word and Excel, which Evie said would be useful in getting a good job one day. She’d even treated Star to a tablet, quite possibly the best present anyone had ever given her. Then Evie had added the Kindle app and shown Star how to use it for reading all the romance books she enjoyed.
Online banking had been a total revelation, and it was so convenient now that Star had a part time job waitressing at The Gallery. She could access her modest wages easily, just like Evie did with her inheritance; a few clicks and poof! – it was all there on the screen, plain as day.
And it didn’t take a genius to figure out Evie’s password; a postcard of the Birth of Venus was pinned on the wall beside her computer, and Venus it was. So, Star had tested the water. Ten pounds here, thirty pounds there… Soon Star’s nest egg would run into thousands, before one final sweep of Evie’s account.
But there was no rush. Evie rarely checked her statements, and anyway, Star had other items on her agenda. ‘Agenda’: it was one of Evie’s words and it sounded so grown-up and impressive that Star had adopted it, setting out her own on a notepad that she kept under her bed.
Next on Star’s list, after relieving Evie of her inheritance, was Cody. Soon she would educate him, let him know what a scheming old slapper his mother really was. How she’d spent all summer in bed with a young man not much older than Cody himself. Gross! No kid wanted to hear that. Star had watched Susanne with her son; the way she mollycoddled and suffocated him, treating him like a child, when he was almost a man. It would be easy to sow a seed. Wouldn’t Cody be better off living with his dad in Scotland? At least there he’d be allowed to grow up, have a life of his own one day – and he’d be able to bring friends home without worrying that his mum might try and get them into bed.
And while that was happening, Star would sort that other lanky bitch in London. Being promoted to head of department in a school that size was a big deal. To Star, it felt like a gift. Because it wouldn’t take much to drip-feed a little poison, a few rumours on social media about Dale’s inappropriate behaviour among some of the young, impressionable female students. And it wouldn’t matter that the rumours weren’t true. People remembered, gossiped. What was that expression? No smoke without fire.
Of course, some might say that it wasn’t nice to cause chaos for three women who had helped her – especially Evie, who’d given her a home and a fresh start in a posh area. But that was because they didn’t know the truth.
Well, Star knew. The only truth that mattered was that those three stuck-up bitches had killed her brother. Goading him into attacking them like that, then pushing him into the pool when he’d been too drunk and stoned to know what he was doing.
They said it had been an accident. That there’d been a struggle in the water after Brandon had gone crazy and tried to kill them all. But Star didn’t believe them. All Star knew was that she missed her kind, funny big brother, who’d done everything for her since she was thirteen.
Those women – they’d taken away the one thing Star had left and the only thing she’d loved.
Now it was payback time.
Epilogue
San Gimignano
Seated at a pavement café, muffled against the chill, a young man finishes up scrambled eggs and coffee. His right hand strays to the band of white skin on his left wrist, to the vacuum left by his watch. In the shop where he’d sold it, the two men had been friendly enough, eager to trade his Rolex for a fat roll of notes.
The watch had been all he had, and something told him it had been important to him once. But right now, he has other priorities. Like filling his stomach when it growls and finding a comfortable bed for the night.
He considers his most recent home – the only one he can remember. The bed had seemed hard at first; basic, like all the other furniture in the little stone house, yet oddly comforting, with its view of the hillside and the sheep and goats that wandered past: he’d liked falling asleep to their bleating.
The elderly couple had been so kind, especially given they weren’t his people. He knew that because he couldn’t understand a word they said, but the woman had looked after him with such care that they might as well have been family.
And thank god that the old man had come along. How long had he lain there? On the stony ground, with the wind whistling through the cloisters? An hour? A day? A week? But apart from a searing headache – which the matted stickiness of his crown explained – a swollen ankle, and a thirst the like of which he’d never known, he didn’t feel so bad; well enough, in fact, to limp as far as the nearest road.
It felt like he’d only been walking an hour or so when a farm truck slowed behind him and the driver had offered him a ride.
‘Luigi,’ the old man said, patting his chest and expecting a reply. Which was when he’d realised that he hadn’t a clue who he was or why he was there. So he’d smiled, pointed to his injuries and hoped the man would take him to a hospital.
The rocking movement of the truck was pleasant and the sun warm through the windshield, but when he woke, there was no hospital, just the stone house, with sticks of furniture and a stove.
Luigi’s wife, Marta, had welcomed him. She’d cleaned him up and bandaged his ankle, then poured him bowl after bowl of the best soup he’d ever eaten, all the while revealing what few teeth she possessed in a warm smile and chatting in a language he could not understand.
Then she’d given him clean (if loose and scratchy) clothes to wear, and he’d begun to feel human again until exhaustion overtook him, and he’d woken up in the tiny room on the hard bed, to the sound of animal grunts and whinnies outside his window.
Using the sun, he’d counted the days, which soon became weeks and then months, until one morning as the days were growing cooler and shorter, a row erupted between the man and woman. There were tears from her and shouting from him, and the clang of tin pots being thrown against stone walls.
The following day, their dispute over, Marta had handed him a parcel of clothing – including a bright red shirt which looked oddly familiar – and some food from the larder, before hugging him as tears spilled down her wizened cheeks.
This time in the truck, Luigi had been silent except for the odd remonstration with other drivers as they’d approached San Gimignano (according to the sign they’d passed), where he and his package had been deposited outside the city’s walls.
A memory stirred. He had been here before. And not with Luigi or Marta.
So, he’d wandered the steep narrow lanes, their sounds and smells fragments of a dream just out of reach…
Hunger satisfied for now, the young man pushes his plate aside and fingers the wad of cash in his pocket. His head may be empty, but some things make sense. Food must be paid for; money is currency and now he has some – but soon it will run out. And then what?
He strokes his beard. Every day it becomes less itchy and more part of him. He wonders if his hair has always been this long: almost as long as the other boy’s. The one who often comes to him in the mornings during his first few seconds of consciousness: a flickering image of a tall, handsome young man and a blonde girl with eyes the colour of a swimming pool.
A vision of his family, perhaps? The thought is comforting. He hopes they are looking for him.
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The Perfect Liar
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The Perfect Liar: A completely gripping thriller with a breathtaking twist Page 26