The Perfect Liar

by Beverley Harvey

Genres: Psychological Thrillers

Synopsis

‘Wow! I absolutely loved this book from the first page, it just pulls you in and doesn't let go!... The ending was brilliant… If I could give it more than 5 stars I would.’ Goodreads Reviewer ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘Are you sure he’s someone you can trust? We know nothing at all about him. Who is he, really?’ Susanne and her two best friends need this holiday. Between bereavements, bad break-ups and an ex-husband getting remarried, the three of them have had a hard year. A month in Italy will be the perfect chance to relax and enjoy each other’s company. Then they meet Harry. Handsome, charming and great company, Harry soon sweeps Susanne off her feet for a holiday fling. He is just what Susanne needs – except that everything he’s told them is a lie. Who is the man they’ve let into their house – who Susanne has let into her bed? They have no idea what Harry is capable of – what he’s done to get this far, and what he’s prepared to do to ensure he gets his way. By the time they find out, it will be too late to stop their dream holiday becoming a nightmare. An utterly addictive, page-turning thriller with a jaw-dropping twist. If you loved The Girlfriend, The Holiday and Something in the Water, you’ll be completely gripped by The Perfect Liar. Readers are loving The Perfect Liar ‘ I LOVED THIS BOOK!... Impeccably written and ticks every single box for a mystery junkie like me!... A fantastically, fast-paced, high tension filled end… I literally finished it all in one sitting. ’ Goodreads reviewer ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘ Wow! I absolutely loved this book from the first page, it just pulls you in and doesn't let go! I really had to force myself to put it down at times but it was well worth the wait! And the ending was brilliant… I can't wait to see what else this author has to offer in the future. If I could give it more than 5 stars I would.’ Goodreads reviewer ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘ Blood stopped in my fingers while holding my Kindle… Beverley just blows my mind with this brilliant story… Its characters are deeply satisfying with a crisp narration that you won't find in any other book.’ NetGalley reviewer ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘An intriguing, captivating, I-want-to-know-how-it-all-comes-together, leave-me-alone-and-let-me-read kind of book.’ B for Bookreview ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘ Fabulous read… The journey was fantastic and the characters were totally memorable, and the revelations – oh my!... Totally addictive.’ Carla Kovach ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘ Filled the void of missing a holiday abroad. I could feel the sun and smell the prosciutto. [Beverley’s] style of telling the story from each character’s perspective is perfect for this type of psychological thriller and I will definitely be keeping an eye out for more of her novels.’ Goodreads reviewer ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘ Many twists and turns in this book that I thoroughly enjoyed and didn't see coming. I cannot say enough about how much I LOVED the ending! I cannot wait to read more from this author.’ Goodreads reviewer ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘ Ticked all of the boxes for me and, most telling of all, I did not want to put it down… A captivating read, and I was seduced by the Tuscan setting that plays such a prominent role in the atmospheric intrigue. Highly recommended.’ Goodreads reviewer ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘ Well this is a thriller and a half… It completely hooks you in and you just keep wanting to know more. Very twisty and excellently written.’ beanie_bookworm ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘ Loved this book.An all around riveting read and one I highly recommend. Unusual plot, kept me guessing until the shocking ending. Don't miss reading this one ’ NetGalley reviewer ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Release date: November 6, 2020

Publisher: Bookouture

Print pages: 350

Sample

Susanne paces and hunts for a stain to punish. It’s been three days since her son boarded a British Airways flight to Edinburgh and already separation anxiety and cabin fever have set in.

‘Give him some space, Susanne. Cody’s fifteen, for god’s sake. Do you think for one nanosecond that I’d let anything happen to him? Please, love, don’t phone every day, it smacks of you checking up on him – on us.’ Colin had been emphatic during their second phone conversation in twenty-four hours.

Deflated, Susanne had agreed. Col is right of course. Her handsome, smart and independent boy will be just fine with his father during the summer holidays. If only she could convince her heart.

She picks up her mobile phone, thumbs the app for her local gym and books a Pilates class for noon. Rule Number One while Cody’s at his dad’s: keep busy. Which shouldn’t be a challenge: she’s got an autumn 10K to train for, her regular midweek Pilates class with Evie and boot camp with her sadist of a personal trainer, Andreas, on Thursdays.

Then there are her landlady duties to contend with. It always amazes Susanne how much admin and running around two small cottages in the next street actually generates – especially after a tenant changeover when there are always teething troubles, however respectable the family.

So, work and fitness, then. She sometimes wonders who she’s keeping herself in such marvellous shape for.

She looks around her spotless kitchen – a dream kitchen, worthy of any interiors magazine – and is satisfied that there’s truly nothing left to clean; even the windows sparkle in the morning sunshine.

Susanne heads upstairs, twists long, nut-brown hair into a claw and steps into the shower where the warm, scented water has a calming effect. Then, after marching through her skin care routine, she goes to her dressing table and opens her leather jewellery box, ignoring the expensive trinkets gifted by Colin over the years, choosing instead the gold St Christopher bought by her Grandma Amy for her twenty-first birthday.

‘Miss you, Gran,’ she whispers to the mirror as she fiddles with the tiny catch.

After a quick trawl of her wardrobe, Susanne pulls on leggings and pictures Cody in his favourite T-shirt and faded denims, and hopes she has packed enough clothes to last him all summer.

With over an hour until she’s due at the gym, Susanne eschews a third mug of coffee for a cup of Earl Grey and forces herself to sit at the kitchen island and read her favourite magazine.

Exercise: Lifeline or Addiction, screams one headline; Loneliness on the Rise, warns another; then, over the page: Teenagers: When to Let Go.

Feeling like a living cliché, Susanne slams the magazine shut, pushes it aside and wonders how on earth she’ll survive the summer alone.

When her mobile phone shudders beside her she smiles, expecting the text to be from Cody, but it’s Evie, checking she’s still on for Pilates and whether she’s free for coffee afterwards.

Need class and coffee today. See you there. Susanne texts back a reply, adding a smiley face emoji at the end. As she’s got to know Evie, she’s learned that texts without kisses or smiley faces are deemed brusque in Evie’s eyes.

Despite her recent lecture from Colin, Susanne messages Cody. All OK? Miss you xx. It’s all she can do to stop herself texting ‘Mummy loves you, angel, come home at once’.

Car keys in hand, and gym bag over her shoulder, Susanne is about to leave the house when Cody replies to her message. She’s crushed when there are no words, just the slow download of a photograph of her son cuddled up to a liver-and-white spaniel, its eyes huge and a fuzzy blur where its tail should be.

A second message arrives: Melissa’s dog Banjo. So cute!

The dog is indeed as cute as Christmas, but Cody’s economy with words has done nothing to lift her mood. There’s no love, no kisses – and no ‘miss you mum’. She scrutinises the photo. Cody looks happy, playing with the dog (Melissa’s dog), his smile goofy and natural.

So, Melissa is still on the scene. When Col hadn’t mentioned her for a while, she’d begun to wonder if things had fizzled out between them. But Cody’s playful text has sent an entirely different message. The fact that her ex-husband has introduced his girlfriend to his son tells Susanne that they are serious about each other, and for reasons she can’t fathom, tears well in her eyes.

Still in leggings and trainers, Susanne steers Evie towards a window table overlooking the outdoor pool. A handful of people are swimming hard, putting their lunch hour to good use, while others bask in the sunshine, stretched out on plastic loungers, fooling themselves that they’re on holiday.

Feeling despondent, despite the punishing workout, Susanne pastes on a bright smile and focuses on Evie, who stirs her Americano, an expectant look on her flushed face.

‘So, how are you, Evie? What’s going on with you?’

‘I’m well, Susie. Actually, I’m feeling a bit better. More…’ Evie pauses, head cocked while she searches for the right word, ‘hopeful,’ she adds with a positive nod.

‘Well, hopeful’s good, isn’t it? I mean, you’ve been through so much recently…’ Susanne trails off, unwilling to upset her friend with painful reminders of the last few months. She diverts the conversation in another direction. ‘By the way, have you thought any more about going back to work?’

Evie grimaces. ‘It feels too soon, too many loose ends still to sort.’

‘Of course. You’ve probably got enough on your plate without job hunting.’ Susanne falls silent, her thoughts drifting back to Cody.

Evie is watchful, her expression full of concern. ‘Are you all right, Susie? Only you don’t seem quite yourself today.’

‘I’m fine. Just feeling a bit sorry for myself and missing my son terribly; it’s only been three days. I’m pathetic, aren’t I?’

‘Pathetic is the last thing I’d call you, Susie. You’re bound to miss him. He might be as tall as you, but he’s still your child.’

‘You’re right, I suppose – and there’s other stuff that I won’t bore you with.’ With a stab of irritation, Susanne thinks of the adorable spaniel photo. Melissa’s dog.

Evie frowns. ‘Love, you can tell me. For months you listened to me endlessly going on about my problems.’

Susanne scoffs. ‘Yes, I know, but that was different. Your situation was a lot more serious than me feeling a bit miffed because my ex-husband has wheeled out his new girlfriend. And maybe not so new. It’s been at least a year since he first mentioned her, so I guess it’s time.’ Susanne picks up her phone and swipes the screen until she finds the photo of her son playing with Banjo.

‘This came from Cody earlier. Her name’s Melissa and that’s her dog.’

Evie purses her lips and runs a finger around the rim of her coffee cup. ‘Now I’m not a mum, but I can imagine it’s painful to think of Cody spending time with someone else. Don’t beat yourself up, Susie, any mother would feel the same.’

Susanne squares her shoulders. ‘Maybe. God, Evie, all this doom and gloom; I need to get a grip.’

There’s a lull in the conversation while they watch the swimmers thrash up and down, doing their best to avoid each other in narrow lanes.

‘What are you up to this weekend? Do you fancy getting together? We could certainly do with a laugh,’ Susanne says, her tone brightening.

Evie’s face clouds over. ‘Nothing really. I thought I’d make a start on mum’s things. I’ve been putting it off for ages.’

‘Oh, Evie. I’m so sorry. Here’s me banging on about nonsense when you’ve got that to deal with. Why don’t I come over and give you a hand? It’ll be easier with two of us.’

Evie sits up straighter. ‘Thank you, but I think I’ll just potter through it – go at my own pace.’

‘Okay, well if you change your mind…’ Susanne says, feeling spare and useless.

‘Thank you, but I won’t,’ Evie says, her round face set.

Evie heaves herself into black leggings and an orange Lycra vest before stuffing a bottle of water, purse and house keys into a small rucksack. She never showers at the gym and today will be no exception – although as time has passed, she’s become less self-conscious, so perhaps she’ll feel brave enough soon. Anyway, as far as Evie’s concerned, nobody even looks at her, certainly not in the way they actively gawp at Susanne.

Once, they’d been leaving Costa Coffee in Tunbridge Wells when a woman had stopped dead in her tracks and looked Susanne up and down with such unconcealed venom that Evie had half expected scorch marks to appear on her friend’s face.

To her shame, Evie had felt that way once, too, the first time she saw Susanne in the locker room at the gym – bra-less and wearing just the tiniest scrap of lace that passed for knickers and not an ounce of cellulite on her body.

Spellbound, Evie had watched Susanne walk straight to the front of the class where she’d thrown herself into the workout with total abandon, while Evie had hidden at the back, red in the face and breathless, embarrassed by her size.

That was the day she’d decided to do something about it – to change. Walking in alone on that first day had been excruciating. But after a few weeks, it was Pilates every Wednesday lunchtime that kept her sane – and not just because she’d begun to lose weight.

The gentle routine of seeing the same faces at the same time every week had soothed Evie, giving her a simple structure to cling to while everything else spiralled out of control. On the day she broke down in the changing room after class, the entire group of around fifteen women had filed straight past her as she’d sat blowing her nose and wiping away hot, panicky tears, but only one woman had asked if she was okay.

Still glowing from exercise, Susanne had squatted beside her, her clear, tawny eyes full of concern.

‘Oh dear, lovely. Are you all right? Can I help with anything?’

Evie had been mortified – she hadn’t meant to make a fuss, but the night before, over fish and chips destined to be abandoned and left to congeal in their waxed paper, things had come to a head.

‘We need to have a proper talk, Evie,’ her mum had said gently, before dropping the bomb that her cancer had spread, despite a harrowing course of chemotherapy.

‘The thing is, love, it hasn’t worked. All that pain and sickness, losing my hair… all for nothing. I don’t think I can handle any more. It’s time I let nature take its course, Evie – it’s for the best.’

They’d argued, of course, but Jean had dug her little size four heels in, and in the end, Evie had had no choice but to accept her decision.

The following week, she’d resigned from the solicitors, which had felt hard; Evie loved being a legal secretary and took great pride in the way people trusted and relied upon her. Then three weeks later, she’d given notice on her flat – which had been even worse – and moved back in with her mother. Rent-controlled and in a quiet house near the station, with good neighbours and a narrow strip of garden that Evie had lovingly filled with terracotta pots which were a riot of colour all spring and summer long, her flat had been her haven for seven years. Evie wept the day she gave back the keys.

And somehow, she’d ended up leaking her personal disaster all over Susanne, a complete stranger, sitting in the snack bar at the health club, mocked by its cheerful lemon-and-lime walls, her sniffles drowned out by the hiss and roar of the coffee machine and the perky banter of a dozen other gym-goers.

After half an hour, Evie had dried her eyes. ‘Sorry. I bet you wish you hadn’t asked now,’ she’d said with a watery smile.

But Susanne had shaken her head. ‘Don’t be daft. Shit happens to all of us, and it helps to talk. The way you’re looking after your mum is amazing. Not everyone would take that on, you know. You’re tougher than you think, Evie – never forget it.’

Months, and a dozen or so Pilates classes later, on Evie’s thirty-ninth birthday, Susanne had taken her to a swanky department store for a manicure and a sleek blow-dry. Then they’d taken the lift to the rooftop café for smoked salmon sandwiches and champagne. Susanne had even organised a neighbour to sit with Jean while they were out. It was a level of kindness unknown to Evie.

They’d made an odd pair, standing at the front of the chilly crematorium, the air heavy with the scent of lilies and carnations, on that crisp March day. Evie was braced between Susanne and her auntie Cath, her Uncle Ken and her cousins filling the rest of the pew, whilst behind them was a sea of faces, blurred by Evie’s tears, who’d come to say goodbye.

And as the visceral, gaping grief began to give way to something flat, grey and ordinary, Evie had assessed her situation.

She was alone now. She had no choice but to get another job; experienced legal secretaries were hard to find so at the very least she could temp for a while.

But there was no rush, because to Evie’s utter astonishment, thanks to her mum’s parsimony in life, as well as inheriting the small terraced house in Calvert Street, she’d gained a modest nest egg to renovate it with. It excited her to think of putting in a sleek modern kitchen and a pristine new bathroom; of taking down her mum’s twee wall prints of sunflowers and teapots, and kittens in baskets, and painting over her dusty and dated wall colours. It gave Evie a little rush of optimism to imagine replacing the busy, tired carpets and to put up cheerful new curtains and blinds, and when she thought of filling window boxes and the little garden at the back with vibrant geraniums and petunias, she could almost smell their perfume. No. 9 Calvert Street was her house now and she would work hard to make it her own.

The flare of a car horn blasts through Evie’s thoughts; she’d better get a move on or the class will start without her. Cheered by the thought of seeing Susanne, Evie shoulders her rucksack, steps into the late morning sun and power walks to the gym.

Dale snaps her laptop shut and strides out to the fire escape which doubles as a balcony. The insistent throb of a neighbour’s drum and bass music and the early evening humidity only adds to her ill humour.

Shit! How dare the woman? Five! Five fucking messages on Facebook, in addition to the three unanswered texts on her mobile. Helena has jogged past keen, sailed right by persistent and has now entered stalker territory.

What part of ‘I’m not into you’ doesn’t she understand? Dale hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but it was a case of being cruel to be kind. After all, Helena hadn’t responded to Dale’s initial – and gentler – attempts to say goodbye.

Fuming, Dale stomps inside and picks up the phone, but it’s not Helena’s number she dials.

‘Susie, it’s me, can you talk?’

‘Dale. Hello, darling. Are you all right? Only you sound a bit cross.’

‘Ha! That’s one word for it. Actually, no – I’m not all right. You remember Helena, that girl I was seeing?’

There’s a pause on the line. ‘No, I don’t think you mentioned her,’ Susanne says.

‘Ah, well there you go – that’s because it was just a fling.’ Dale is triumphant, adding ‘Just a… thing… that meant nothing, and now the woman won’t leave me alone!’

Cradling the phone against her shoulder, she opens the fridge, removes a bottle of pinot grigio and sploshes some into a large glass.

‘That’s better,’ she sighs after taking a big glug of the chilled wine. ‘Okay, Susie – where was I?’

‘You were telling me about your stalker. So, let me get this straight. Helena is some woman you saw a couple of times and now she won’t take no for an answer. Ooh, you callous heartbreaker, you.’ Susanne chuckles softly.

‘It’s not funny! She’s a barista in my favourite coffee shop. I’ll have to go elsewhere for my pre-school flat white now… or… or settle for bloody instant in the staffroom, yuk!’

Susanne giggles. ‘Oh, Dale. Sweetheart, I’m sorry – but you’re such a drama queen!’

‘What can I say? Guilty as charged; it’s my job. Oh, but what am I going to do about this girl? Seriously, she’s left me about ten messages and we only met twice. Once we went to some tedious book fair on the South Bank, and the other time we had a drink and I… slept with her. And, Susie, believe me when I say, it wasn’t good. So, I said I’d made a mistake. That’s it. End of.’

‘Not for her, apparently. Your place or hers?’ Susanne asks.

‘What? Oh, hers of course. I mean, I’m not stupid, she doesn’t know where I live. Yet. But she knows where I teach, because I told her on our first date – and I’m worried she’ll rock up at school. Thank god we break up for summer in a couple of weeks.’

‘Okay, just don’t give the woman any oxygen. Ignore her.’ Susanne’s tone is firm.

Dale drains her glass, refills it. ‘You don’t think I should tell her to bog off?’

‘No, do nothing. Remember that guy I had problems with last year? The muscly one from the gym… anyway, we didn’t even go out, let alone shag – but all my polite, wheedling refusals just gave him the attention he craved. He soon stopped contacting me when all he got was silence. Dale, you still there?’

Dale takes another swallow; the wine is beginning to take effect. ‘Yes, just thinking. Anyway, sorry, I haven’t even asked about you. How are you? When does the boy wonder leave town?’

‘He’s already gone. Cody left three days ago. I felt sick putting him on the flight. I know he’s with Colin and I’m being ridiculous, but I miss him so much. Now I’m rattling round this big house, wondering how I’ll get through the holidays.’

Dale’s mood softens. ‘Bless you, Susie. I’m sorry. Do you want me to come down?’

‘Would you? A visit would be fab. In fact, why don’t you come for the weekend? Get away from what’s-her-name. We can go out in Tunbridge Wells on Saturday night, let our hair down a bit. Shall I pick you up halfway? Sydenham to here is a right faff by train.’

‘It is, but don’t worry, I’ll borrow Mum’s car, she won’t mind. Shall we say sevenish? It’ll be great to see you. Sorry for being a grumpy cow. Lots of love, honey – keep your pecker up.’

Mollified by the wine, Dale slumps on the sofa. Outside, the sun is sinking below the stucco-fronted flats on the other side of the park where she’d meant to cycle for half an hour before marking essays on Macbeth. Now she’s too lethargic to do anything more productive than forage for a ready meal in the freezer and find a drama serial on TV.

She reflects on the weekend. It will do her good to get out of London, and anyway, a stay at Susanne’s swanky pad is never a chore.

Even at school, it was a standing joke that with her looks, Susanne was bound to do well for herself: that she’d meet a rich man and live in a big house somewhere smart and leafy.

Marrying Colin Campbell, an Edinburgh-born fund manager, and buying a period town house with a view of the common in Tunbridge Wells had ticked several boxes in one hit. But the dream hadn’t included divorce, nor failing to get pregnant a second time. Dale of all people knew that as perfect as it appeared, Susanne’s life was as flawed as anyone’s and that she nursed her own brand of pain and disappointment in private.

Aware she has already drunk two thirds of a bottle, Dale excavates her freezer and is digging into an indeterminately flavoured pasta bake when her mobile pings with another text from Helena. Fuck you bitch is all it says. Dale hurls her phone across the sofa, then casts the remains of the gloopy red mush into the bin, her appetite vanished.

She rakes long fingers through her floppy blonde crop. ‘Roll on the weekend and getting out of Dodge,’ she says aloud, draining the last of the wine and switching on the television.

Outside the master bedroom, Evie hesitates. She pushes the door open; it drags on the pile of the rose-patterned carpet. She rarely comes in here: the room where five months earlier, Jean’s eyes had fluttered open for the last time, moments before she’d taken her last breath. Evie stands within its peach-coloured walls and feels the sadness weigh upon her like an old eiderdown.

A dry smell, like stale biscuits, has gathered now, not helped by the heat. She heaves up the sash window which has stiffened from lack of use. Dust motes dance in the sunshine as fresh air pours in.

She pads to the wardrobe where Jean’s best wool coat hangs beside a row of tweed skirts, slacks and cotton blouses; a beaded dress shimmers beside a Nehru velvet jacket – both bought for a theatre trip organised by Evie on Jean’s sixty-fifth birthday.

On the dresser, shrine-like, her mother’s toiletries have garnered a thin layer of dust. A zipped floral bag, crammed with cracked palettes of eye shadow and face powder, tubes of worn-down coral lipstick and a pot of rouge, sits beside a barely used bottle of Lalique that has begun to cloud. Evie picks up Jean’s hairbrush, still laden with her DNA, and a sob escapes her throat. She tears a bin liner off a roll and gets to work.

By five o’clock, Evie is tired, hot and dirty. On a whim, she calls Susanne.

Susanne’s tone is gentle. ‘Hi Evie, how did it go today?’

Evie puffs out her cheeks and exhales slowly. ‘It was hard, Susie. But I’m glad I finally got over myself and dealt with it. Mum’s house is mine now and I have to move forward. So, anyway, I filled at least a dozen bin liners for the Sue Ryder shop, put some things in the loft and packed a little suitcase of all the bits I want to keep… you know, jewellery and photos and so on.’

‘Well done. Bet you’re relieved, aren’t you? Look, why don’t you jump in the shower and come over? It’ll do you good to kick back a bit. Dale’s coming later, my old school friend. I’ve mentioned her before – the one who teaches at the big comp in south London.’ Susanne’s laugh tinkles across the phone line. ‘Dale’s feisty but great fun and she can cheer anyone up.’

The company of happy, shiny, good-looking people holds little thrall for Evie. But the thought of another Saturday night spent alone in the shadows of her mum’s house, wallowing in memories, is worse.

‘If you’re sure I won’t be gatecrashing your evening, that would be lovely.’ The words are out before Evie can think them through.

‘Absolutely not! Get your lippy and some high heels on and we’ll hit a couple of bars. Dale’s fab – honestly, you’ll love her.’

Evie feels guilty as she showers away the day’s misery, spritzes on perfume and slips easily into her best jeans and wedge-heeled sandals. She pats her shrinking midriff. There’s no diet like the Grief Plan, she muses. A slick of lip gloss and two coats of mascara later, she totters across town in the direction of Susanne’s.

Outside the grand townhouse, Susanne’s white Range Rover dwarfs a red VW Polo that Evie has never seen before. As . . .