The Lies He Told Read online

  My pixie-style haircut needed nothing more than a rub with a towel and a comb through to look good, but I spent time choosing what to wear. It didn’t matter that Toby wouldn’t see me; it was important to show the world what he was willing to throw away so carelessly. Black trousers, white silk camisole, black linen jacket. And, of course, sky-high stilettos, the ones I’d been careful not to wear for fear of towering over the five-foot-nine Toby and thereby denting his ego.

  It was a good look. Classy, slightly edgy, the dangling chandelier earrings I’d bought in India the previous year adding an arty touch. I dabbed concealer on the shadows under my eyes. Nothing I could do could hide the sadness that tugged at my lips and I hoped my all-seeing sisters wouldn’t notice.

  I had a few minutes to spare before the taxi I’d ordered was due. Switching on my computer, I did what I’d been longing to do all morning. I pulled up Google Maps, checked the address Toby had sent me and typed it into the search. A street view showed me exactly what kind of salubrious address he’d moved to. Beaufort Gardens, Knightsbridge.

  It took a moment for the tooting of a car horn to break through my seething and irrational envy.

  When the taxi, double-parked on the narrow road outside, tooted a second time, I grabbed my oversized leather clutch bag and hurried out walking on the balls of my feet to prevent my stiletto heels catching in the cracks in the pavement.

  I was always so damn careful so how did I get suckered in by Toby’s lies?

  3

  Misty

  It was only a short ride to Tentelow Lane where the Three Bridges Restaurant overlooked a park of the same name. It was a favourite place to meet my sisters and normally I’d have dressed more casually and walked the mile or so in flat comfortable shoes enjoying the luxury of being outside, away from whatever I was working on. But that day, I needed the armour of fine clothes and heels.

  Ann, my eldest sister, lived in Hounslow, and Ursula in West Ealing. About two miles away from the restaurant for both but they’d walk in flats, raise eyebrows when they saw my heels and shake their heads.

  Then I’d tell them about Toby and they’d understand. They always did.

  * * *

  As usual, I was first to arrive. The waiter showed me to a table that overlooked the park and I sat with the first hint of pleasure in the day. It was the best time of year: the tall trees were in full leaf with lime-green leaves that shimmied in the slight breeze.

  I ordered a bottle of Chenin Blanc without looking at the menu and it came almost immediately. The waiter left it sitting in the ice bucket as if assuming I’d wait for whoever was joining me at the table for three. Silly man. I reached for it, tossed the screwcap on the table, poured a glass almost to the brim and swiftly downed a couple of mouthfuls to reduce it to a more refined level.

  The glass was almost empty before Ann came through the door, her mouth curving into a smile as she crossed to the table. ‘I’m not late, am I?’ She bent to give me a kiss on the cheek. ‘Aren’t you melting in that jacket?’

  ‘I didn’t walk here.’

  ‘Even so. It’s been the warmest July on record.’ Ann sat on the chair opposite, picked up the menu and fanned her face. ‘I walked, maybe I shouldn’t have.’ She was wearing a sleeveless cotton blouse, the smooth stretch of her upper arm marred by a telltale tan line. Ann was, at heart, a polo T-shirt and chinos type of woman.

  She was also a woman of habit. I took the menu from her and wafted it back and forth gently. ‘I bet you left home late then had to hurry to catch up.’

  ‘You know me too well.’ Ann reached for the wine bottle. If she was surprised to see how much I’d already had, she said nothing and poured a small measure for herself before holding the bottle towards me. ‘More?’

  ‘Sure.’ I edged the glass closer to her, amused when she barely quarter filled it. Picking it up, I raised it towards her. ‘Cheers.’

  ‘To the success of your book!’ Ann tipped her glass against mine, took a sip and put it down. ‘So, are you taking a break before you start anything new?’

  Maybe I was imagining things but the question seemed to have undertones. I was about to query it when my other sister arrived. Ursula was a year older than me and the wildest of the three of us. Certainly the most eccentric, describing her style as bohemian. She strolled across the restaurant in an off-the-shoulder blouse and matching floor-length skirt. Her mousy-brown hair was streaked with pink, and multiple bracelets on each arm created a noisy jangle as she waved wildly. Other diners raised their heads, then their eyes.

  Ursula looked like she should be the artistic one but, in fact, she was an accountant. Her style, she insisted, was a survival mechanism to counteract what she referred to as her daily nine-to-five drudgery. In a cloud of floral perfume, she enveloped me in a hug before she flopped onto the third chair and reached for the wine bottle. Less reticent than Ann, her eyes widened at the little that remained and she darted a look at me. ‘You’re knocking it back a bit, aren’t you?’

  Although she was right, I was irritated at the assumption. They thought they knew me so well. ‘It might have been Ann!’

  Ursula laughed. ‘I bet Miss Sippy is still on her first glass.’

  Ann lifted her wine. ‘You’re right!’

  ‘Fine, fine, yes, I’ve had a couple.’ I picked up my half-full glass, emptied it in two long gulps, then waved the empty glass and smacked it down on the table so hard the cutlery rattled. ‘Toby and me…’ If I said it, it made it real didn’t it, and I’d have to face up to it. ‘We’ve split up.’ I expected them to look shocked… stunned… to wail and gnash their teeth, to join with me in mourning my loss.

  But it was I who was stunned when Ann raised a clenched fist and mouthed yes! and Ursula dramatically wiped her hand across her forehead with a loud whew!

  ‘Oh, don’t look so surprised, Misty.’ Ann reached for her glass and this time took a large mouthful of wine as if in celebration. ‘You’ve been a different person since you met him… and not in a good way.’ She pointed her index finger at me and waved it up and down. ‘That outfit, for instance, who are you trying to be?’

  Ursula held the empty wine bottle up for the attention of a hovering waiter who took it and returned moments later with a replacement. It wasn’t until their glasses were full that she spoke. ‘Toby wasn’t good for you.’ She twirled a hand around in the air, sending bracelets jangling and ruffles flying. ‘He was a fake, all hot air and waffle.’

  I felt a lump in my throat and swallowed. I expected sympathy, for my sisters to join in with my tears of sorrow. Not this. They hadn’t liked him. How had I never known?

  ‘And there was that whole thing with his ex-girlfriend.’ Ann screwed up her mouth. ‘I still think you should have gone to the police about that, you could have been seriously hurt.’

  ‘Definitely,’ Ursula agreed.

  But then she always did agree with whatever Ann said. My two older sisters were closer, linked not only by sisterly love but by their children, Ann’s two and Ursula’s three. It was a common denominator which excluded me despite my love for my nieces and nephews. Close as they were, I knew when I’d told Ann about what happened with Toby’s ex-girlfriend that I was really telling both. They’d no secrets from one another – at one time that would have included me.

  The whole thing with the ex-girlfriend – how unthreatening that sounded… a thing!

  In fact, it had been a terrifying experience.

  4

  Misty

  It had happened two months before. Toby had been living with me for a month at that stage. He’d moved in a scant five weeks after we’d met at one of those cultural events I’d been invited to on the back of the success of my last book. Introverted by nature, crowded functions weren’t my thing and only my publisher’s declaration that they were important made me accept.

  The venue was the function room of a restaurant in Shepherd’s Bush. It was too small for the crowd who were no doubt attracted more by
the free drinks and canapés than by the procession of worthy people making dull speeches. I had pasted on what I hoped passed for a suitably intelligent expression and posed for photographs with fellow authors, agents, editors, and people whose role I didn’t know.

  When the photographers had left, when the crowd divided into smaller groups, little cliques where everyone appeared to know everyone else, my store of small talk became quickly exhausted. I excused myself without difficulty, my words lost in the snappy back and forth of conversation between others in the circle, the gap I left closing as if I’d never been there.

  I pushed through the overcrowded room towards the exit, skating around people, eyes down to avoid anyone I might know and be dragged back into yet more superficial chat. At the exit, another group had congregated, one man with a hand outstretched resting on the door frame blocking the way. ‘Excuse me,’ I said, raising my voice a little to be heard over the cacophony. When there was no reaction I tapped the man’s shoulder to get his attention.

  He did turn then, a question in vivid blue eyes, an appreciative smile curving his perfect mouth as he stared without moving. ‘I think I’d probably excuse you anything.’ He laughed and shook his head. ‘Although you might never forgive that cheesy comment.’

  ‘I’ve heard worse.’ I hadn’t but he didn’t need to know that and anyway, I’d have forgiven him anything. I wasn’t a believer in love at first sight, but lust, that was something else altogether. Any thought of my leaving the event vanished in that moment. Instead, I joined in with the band of people he was with, looking attentively at the man who was speaking without hearing a word, conscious only of the man at my side who stood so close I could feel the heat coming from him, could smell the musky masculine scent of his cologne.

  There were three glamorous women in the circle. I wondered if one was his partner. But none were shooting wary keep away from my man looks in my direction, their attention on the older man who was holding court, a writer I’d heard of but had never read.

  I was suddenly aware, as I’d not been before, that the black dress I was wearing was several years old. It was my go-to dress for every semi-formal occasion, close fitting and low cut with spaghetti straps baring enough flesh to be suitably fashionable. I’d put on a few pounds since I’d bought it, though, and had struggled to fasten the zipper when I’d slipped into it earlier. I resisted the temptation to look down to check my belly wasn’t bulging and clenched my abdominal muscles instead, just in case. The following week, I promised myself, I’d get back to that exercise regime I’d started but abandoned after a few days.

  The exit sign, neon bright, beckoned. A gap had opened near the doorway and feeling suddenly foolish I smiled at no one in particular, turned away, and edged around the man to make my escape into the reception lobby.

  I handed my ticket to the bored-looking woman in charge of the makeshift cloakroom. She was chewing gum with bovine intensity and looked at the slip of paper as if she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. Then, without a word, she disappeared into the room behind and returned moments later with my coat.

  It had been so hot inside that I greeted the chill outside with pleasure and left my coat draped over my arm. The heat had driven others from the venue. Small groups of people stood about chatting and laughing. A couple hiding in the shadows were kissing passionately. Two women, having obviously made the most of the free bar, were hanging from one another, giggling.

  And I was standing alone, taking it all in, wondering how much of it I could use, my thoughts already drifting back to my fictional world.

  There was a taxi rank across the street. I wasn’t surprised to see a queue and prepared for a long wait. There was the underground, of course, but I was nervous about using it late at night. My attention was on the passing traffic as I waited for a gap to cross, so when I felt a hand touch my bare shoulder I squealed, twisted away, and turned with my mouth open ready to scream for help.

  I shut it again with a snap when I saw the blue-eyed man from inside, an apologetic smile tilting his lips.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you. You’re not leaving already, are you?’

  I was thirty-two… old enough and wise enough to know better… but neither age nor wisdom were sufficient to enable me to resist the mesmerising eyes that bored into mine with obvious appreciation, the width of his shoulders, the lock of hair that fell just so, the absolute total gorgeousness of him.

  He jerked his thumb towards the door. ‘It’s a bit noisy and hot in there, isn’t it? If you’re done with all the publicity stuff, d’you fancy going somewhere quieter? We could get something to eat, if you like, those canapés didn’t fill much of a gap.’

  I’d stuttered out a yes almost before he’d finished asking, then laughed in embarrassment feeling unaccustomedly gauche.

  Maybe my descent from successful professional to tongue-tied ingénue had amused him too, or maybe he’d found it endearing because instead of laughing he leaned in and kissed my cheek. It was the barest touch, but his lips had lingered, the warmth of his breath tickling the fine hairs at my hairline, erotically charging each one.

  He cupped a hand around my bare elbow and suggested a nearby pub. ‘It does good food and isn’t usually too noisy.’

  He was right on both counts. We found a quiet nook inside, ordered food and a bottle of wine and ate, drank, talked and laughed till closing time threw us out.

  We were still chatting as he walked with me back to the taxi rank. Now, when I’d have been delighted with a queue a mile long, there was only one person. ‘I won’t be waiting long,’ I said as if I were pleased, as if I hadn’t wished for a hundred people to suddenly appear and barge ahead of me demanding taxis.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘It’s getting chilly.’ He put an arm around my shoulder to draw me closer. ‘I’d love to see you again.’

  His warmth, the scent of him, was intoxicating. ‘So would I… see you, I mean.’

  ‘How about dinner tomorrow?’

  I pretended to consider it, then laughed. ‘Dinner sounds good.’

  ‘I’ll pick you up at seven, if that suits?’

  Of course it suited and by the time a taxi rolled up alongside we had it organised.

  I sat into the taxi and smiled all the way home, my phone with his precious number input by his long, slim fingers, clasped in my hand. I remember I felt bewitched.

  * * *

  Dinner the following night in a French restaurant I’d never been to before, was followed by dinner three nights later in an Italian we both knew and liked. The days in between, he rang me two or three times a day, and always last thing at night, whispering goodnight before he rang off.

  Our kisses became increasingly erotic. ‘You’re a witch,’ he said, shaking his head and putting me at arm’s length. ‘You’ve no idea what you do to me!’

  He made me feel powerful, feminine, sexy. And I loved it.

  Two weeks later, I invited him back to mine for coffee. ‘And dessert.’ I’d never been so daring, never taken the lead, but this felt so right. He empowered me like no man had ever done.

  In the following three weeks, there were nights of passion that left me gasping, and days lost in dreams where I struggled to write a word. And when I did, my criminals were suddenly uttering words of love in situations where such words had no context. I deleted with a chuckle and tried to concentrate on the murder and mayhem that was required.

  When I lay sated in his arms, the velvet darkness of night a warm blanket around our naked bodies, I knew it couldn’t get any better than this. ‘Why don’t you move in with me?’ The whispered words shimmered and floated away in the night. Unheard, I guessed, and I wondered if I should repeat them. Wondered if I’d lost my mind for asking.

  It was several minutes later before I heard him say, ‘Yes, I think that’s a great idea.’

  And that was it, five weeks after we met, Toby Carter moved in with me.

  5

  Misty />
  I had thought it would take a while for Toby to organise moving in and assumed he’d need to give a month’s notice to the landlord of the apartment he had in Streatham – so when I opened my front door the following day to find him standing there, two holdalls on the step beside him and a couple of boxes on the garden path behind, my delight was tinged with surprise. There was no sign of a car or taxi on the short street… it looked as if he’d simply materialised out of nowhere. The thought made me smile and fling my arms around his neck, dragging him inside, words of delight tripping from my lips. It didn’t matter… nothing mattered except he was there with me. This amazing, loving, gorgeous man.

  Toby wasn’t the first man I had shared a home with, but he was the first in a long time, and the only man I’d invited to share the house in Hanwell I’d bought two years before. I anticipated having to make some compromises. My schedule was often manic, with twelve-hour days coming up to deadlines. I was aware, too, that my writing consumed me, that often the characters in my books felt real to me, their lives more interesting than mine, their world safer, better than the world I lived in.

  But suddenly, with Toby in my life, everything seemed different. It was as if I was seeing my life through a kaleidoscope… everything… everyone… every word was shot through with colour.

  If it was different to what I’d expected, if the reality of living with this gorgeous man was more difficult than I’d hoped and if there were more compromises than I’d planned to make… with more give on my part, more take on his… that was simply a matter of adjusting, wasn’t it? That’s what I told myself. What I kept telling myself as the weeks passed.