A Few Little Lies. Sue Welfare
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have very long canine teeth peeking provocatively from under her top lip. Tonight she wore a Mona Lisa smile.
Lawrence slipped a hand casually into the pocket of his dinner jacket. He had no great desire to see either his daughter, Sarah, or Calvin Roberts, but he had even less inclination to spend any time with Guy Phelps. He walked slowly down the stairs. He had seen the selection lists from party headquarters. There were at least four stronger candidates than Mr Phelps.
He could still hear Alicia Markham’s insistent voice at the selection meeting. She’d railroaded the rest of the committee.
‘What we need is another local man, someone who understands the Fens,’ she’d snapped waspishly as the other names were offered up.
Lawrence shook his head; what they needed was Jack Rees. Alicia had thrown Phelps’ CV onto the table.
‘Guy comes from a well-known local family, he’s happily married, his children all go to local schools. His interview went very well.’
They’d fallen like skittles – Harry Dobbs, Celia Heath, Elizabeth Hewitt …
The noise of the club bar rose up the stairwell like smoke, breaking Lawrence’s train of thought.
Calvin Roberts was in the foyer hanging the phone back into its cradle. He smiled up at Lawrence as he descended. ‘Evening, Lawrence, just a quick business call. No peace anywhere these days, you know what it’s like.’ Calvin spoke far too defensively for there to be any truth in what he said. ‘How are you this evening?’
Lawrence nodded. ‘Fine. Sarah in the bar?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. Calvin fell into step beside him and they walked in through the double doors, shoulder to shoulder like a pair of gunslingers.
Sarah Roberts smiled when she saw them both and got to her feet.
‘Daddy, I’m so glad you came down. How did the dinner go? Did Calvin tell you his office was broken into?’
The two men stood either side of Sarah, eyeing each other up like dogs contesting territory. It was an old battlefield, the lines well drawn. Sarah slipped her arm through Lawrence’s.
‘I wanted to thank you again for a lovely day on Sunday. Lunch was wonderful, as always. The girls had a super time. I was saying to Calvin it was a shame he had to miss it.’
Lawrence wasn’t looking at his daughter, but at Calvin, who in turn held Lawrence’s gaze. Sarah talked on and on, her voice a delicate silken thread that bound both men together.
‘Would you like a drink?’ said Calvin, cutting across her.
Lawrence nodded. ‘Brandy.’
Calvin was the first to turn away. Sarah guided her father to a table. Instantly, the atmosphere lightened and he smiled down at his precious child.
‘So,’ he said, ‘what are those girls of yours doing tonight?’
Sarah leant closer and rested her head affectionately on her father’s shoulder.
‘I’m hoping that they’re sound asleep by now. We’ve got a new au pair, she …’ Lawrence listened with half an ear, comforted by trivia.
Across the room, Calvin was sharing a joke with the barman.
In her flat in Gunners Terrace, Dora took one final deep breath and opened the door for Jon Melrose. He stood on the dimly lit landing, hands stuffed in the pockets of his casual jacket. His hair was longer, it suited him. She smiled, feeling a peculiar little flutter of excitement in her stomach.
‘Hello, why don’t you come in, I’ve just put the kettle on.’
He stepped into the little hallway and grinned, running his fingers through his hair. ‘I hope you didn’t mind me dropping in. I recognised your name on one of the report sheets –’
‘No, not at all. It’s really nice to see you after –’ Dora stopped, not daring to count up how many years. ‘I heard you’d been transferred.’
Jon nodded. ‘That’s right. Sold down the river. But only as far as Keelside. Rationalisation, they call it. What it really means is that all our officers and most of the crime reports end up sitting on a desk half way across the county.’
Silence closed over the two of them like a heavy fog. Dora rubbed her hands uneasily on her sweater. ‘Why don’t you go into the sitting room, I’ll bring the tea in.’
Jon nodded. ‘No sugar for me.’ He paused. ‘You’ve been painting.’
Dora grinned, tugging at a magnolia streak in her hair. ‘I didn’t like the design job my uninvited interior decorator did. Bit radical for my tastes. I’ve just given it another coat, mind you, if you squint you can still read most of it. Who said the youth of today are illiterate?’
The silence dropped again; neither moved. Dora laughed, thinking how ridiculous it was. She lifted her hand in invitation. ‘If you’d like to go through –’
Jon looked at her. ‘Things have changed a bit since I last saw you.’
Dora nodded, as Jon, like everyone else who ever visited her, stepped straight into her office. She sighed and went into the kitchen.
His disembodied voice followed her. ‘So how’s the writing coming along?’
‘Not so bad –’
‘Ever write that book we planned?’
Dora peered round the office door. ‘Some of it. I just couldn’t sell the idea to anyone else. Seems like a long time ago now.’
He had pulled out a copy of a Catiana novel and was squatting on his haunches in front of the book cases, letting the pages of print flicker open. Sensing her standing in the doorway he held it out towards her.
‘Do you read much of this stuff?’
Dora blushed crimson. ‘Er, no, actually I was going to ring the police about that.’
Jon lifted an eyebrow.
‘I couldn’t tell the officer who came round after the burglary because my sister was here.’ Dora bit her lip, marshalling her thoughts into neat crisp lines. ‘I don’t read them, I write them. I’m Catiana Moran.’
Jon pulled a face. ‘I’ve lost this somewhere.’
‘My agent, Calvin Roberts, hired someone to represent me – to pretend to be me, to promote my books. That was the girl who was on TV.’
‘He mentioned you were a client of his.’ Jon looked up and closed the book. ‘You’ve picked an interesting way to make a living.’
Dora blushed even more. ‘It pays the bills,’ she said defensively.
His face had settled into a flat landscape that told her nothing about what he was thinking. ‘I wouldn’t have thought it was your sort of thing.’
‘I’m not sure it is really, but it sells well.’
Jon looked at her levelly. ‘And, apparently, gets you burgled.’
Dora felt an unexpected crystal shard of pain in her throat, with tears pressing up fast behind it.
‘I wondered if it might be a coincidence,’ she said slowly, trying to steady each word before it came out.
Casually, Jon slipped the book back amongst the others. ‘Maybe. This sort of break-in is very common, but it seems odd after what you’ve just told me that they did over Calvin Roberts’ place on. the same night.’
Dora leant against the door frame, trying hard to fight back the compulsion to ask Jon the next question. ‘Do you think,’ she began unsteadily, ‘that I was burgled because of the TV programme?’
Jon pursed his lips, and stood up slowly. ‘No idea, but I don’t think we can rule out the possibility.’ He spoke on a long outward breath, holding her gaze. His