House of Lies: A gripping thriller with a shocking twist. E. Seymour V.

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ stone arch and wide street flanked with cars on either side. The Fiat glides into a parking slot, leaving me with no alternative but to continue and funnel into the one-way system, where a narrow street packed with shoppers and pedestrians hem me in. People spill from tiny pavements onto the main thoroughfare. One guy puts the flat of his hand on the Fiesta’s bonnet to indicate that he is crossing the street, car or no car. I feel as if, expecting a Harrods experience, I wind up in Primark. Alien to Cheltenham, for sure, but alien to my groovy Totnes, Devon roots too.

      I crawl past a square with an outdoor market in full swing despite the sodden weather, search for somewhere to stop when, right in front of me, I spy Ludlow castle. There’s a car park nearby in a street between a chocolatier and a slick- looking Pizza Express. I park in the pay and display, grab a ticket for two hours for the simple reason I don’t have the right change, and head back out to the square, but not before I walk past the castle entrance. To my left, as I cast a glance at the ancient stone, there is a small grass area with benches. In front, a cannon squats. A tiny piece of a bigger picture fits. This is where Stephanie stood, thinking of her beloved husband. This is the shot that appears on her Facebook page. Perhaps Tom/Adam even took the photograph. Madness almost attacks my mind, propelling me back to my car, but more primeval instincts kick in – survival and a blind desire for knowledge and certainty and, hell, payback – and I dart away and head towards the centre, past a group of middle-aged women who chatter away in Welsh, all hard consonants and upward inflexions. The street narrows and I turn right, down the hill, to where Stephanie’s Fiat is parked.

      It’s absolutely bitter. Further west, and bordering Wales, the climate seems to have its own weather system: frigging cold and several degrees down on the rest of the country.

      “Hey,” a voice calls behind. I twist around. “Thought it was you,” Stephanie says, pink-cheeked with embarrassment. “Look, about earlier, I hope I haven’t put you off.”

      I smack a fake smile on my lips. “Not a chance, as you can see. Why else check out the surrounding territory?”

      “Unfortunately, there isn’t much in the way of new-builds here. Not yet, at least.”

      “Pity.”

      “It’s a lovely place to live.” She casts around, her gaze resting on the ancient building, a half-smile on her face. With pride.

      “Your home town?”

      She nods.

      I stand clumsily. Frozen inside and out. There is so much I want to ask but daren’t for fear of messing up. Stephanie looks awkward too, her face tense with strain. “I was having a particularly bad day, I’m afraid. So sorry about what …”

      “Absolutely no need to apologise. It’s me that’s sorry. Anita explained.”

      “Did she?” She flinches and her eyebrows draw apart. Sensitive. It’s one thing to endure tragedy in your life, another to have someone talk about it to a complete nobody. I touch her sleeve lightly. Make a connection. It’s not hard. I like Stephanie on sight and it’s not because she looks like me, or sounds a bit like me, or that we share the same lover, but because I sense that she is a better person, somehow. More grown up. More sorted. Perhaps motherhood does that to a woman. Inside, I squirm with longing.

      “It’s all right. I understand.” I feel no fraud in the loss department. We both forfeited the same man. We were both duped. God alone knows why.

      She studies me for a second. Thoughtful. Weighing me up.

      People tell me I have a listening face. At this moment Stephanie is wondering whether she can trust me and, perhaps, tell a perfect stranger things she won’t tell anyone else. Except I’m not a stranger. We are more alike than she could ever imagine.

      A great burst of cold air surges past, vandalising an A-frame sign, almost knocking us off our feet. Fearful the opportunity passed, I blunder in.

      “Look, is there anywhere we could grab a coffee? Of course, if you have other plans,” I add in a ‘no problem’ manner.

      She glances at her watch, frowns. “I’ll overstay my parking space.”

      “Doesn’t matter,” I say, thinking it matters enormously. Pushing my luck, I blurt, “I just don’t want to be on my own.”

      “Oh?”

      “Must seem pathetic by comparison to you, but, well …” Breaking off is not part of my act. I’m straying into deeply dangerous territory, from which retreat may be completely cut off.

      “Yes?” she says, eyebrows drawn together in concern.

      I swallow. “I lost my job this morning. My boyfriend dumped me yesterday. Been living together for years. Thought he was the real deal.” There is a catch in my voice. A tear creeps into my eye. I’m not faking either. Saying it aloud to Stephanie makes me so exquisitely and maddeningly sad.

      “You poor thing,” she says, resting her fingers lightly on my arm.

      “I’m okay.” My smile is shaky. The tear now trickles down my cheek and plops onto the pavement. Oh God.

      I hate the way my emotions hijack me. I need to stay angry. I must. If I do, I’ll be all right. Cry later, and only if I have to, but not until I get to the bottom of Tom’s massive Houdini-like vanishing trick.

      Fired up again inside, I stand a little straighter. A decent woman, Stephanie raises her chin, freshly determined, strangely mirroring my moves, “If you don’t mind jumping into my car, we could get something to drink at my place. I live on the other side of town.”

      She’s so trusting and open and, although I feel bad for me, I feel worse exploiting her. “Are you sure? I really wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.”

      “What else will I do until my daughter comes home? Sit around and mope? Come on,” she says. “You need cheering up.”

      I snap a smile, thinking that Stephanie was a pushover for someone as manipulative as Tom Loxley.

       Chapter 10

      We head for the Fiat and I jump in beside her. Stephanie expertly reverses out and drives back the way we came, taking a left along a narrow street and left again up a hill that finally drops down, past an ancient-looking hotel called The Feathers. I stare up at the exterior, a triumph of Medieval and Tudor architecture.

      We don’t speak and already I’m regretting my decision to inveigle my way into her life. What started out as a mission to find out why Tom upped and dumped me changed to something sinister and inexplicable. I remain in a dilemma. Stephanie exists under the illusion her husband and father of her child is dead. How can I shatter that? Should I even try? Surely, it would be too cruel.

      Medieval quaintness left behind, we travel over a bridge and underneath a railway arch, up an unprepossessing hill, past a hospital and dental surgery, until we finally turn off into a street of artisan terraced houses, Victorian by the look of them.

      Stephanie drops me out while she parks tight along a wall.

      “I’m here,” she says, indicating a forest-green-painted front door with an empty hanging СКАЧАТЬ