And I had liked him. Really liked him. It had been my first time with anyone since Caspian died. My first time with anyone other than Caspian since my early twenties. And it had been so good. Better than I ever remembered the sex being when I was married.
A wave of guilty misery washed over me. Sex with Caspian might not have been very exciting, but at least Caspian had been reliable and dependable. He would never have lied to me like Harry had. I doubled over, sobbing into the duvet. The soft cotton felt cool against the heat of my face. I sat up, wiping my damp cheeks, as a furious anger grew inside me, dark and knotted in my stomach.
Harry had screwed me over in every conceivable way. Dad and Uncle Perry had simply been investigating PAAUL, just like they’d both said, and I’d doubted their word purely because Harry had put the poison of mistrust into my head. I gritted my teeth, twisting the duvet in my fist.
And then another, even more terrible thought struck me. I couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to me before: suppose Harry had already gathered enough material to write an article? He had said I meant more to him than the story, but suppose that had been yet another lie? He had clearly known all about PAAUL from the start. What if I had unwittingly supplied him with sufficient additional information for him to twist into a false story about Dad?
What if he was on the verge of making that story public?
Even if Dad denied it or sued for libel some of the mud thrown would stick. Poor Dad had already gone through the hell of Lucy’s termination being exposed in the Catholic press almost eleven years ago. The scandal had nearly destroyed my family – and in that instance, the information made public had been true. I couldn’t allow a false story to destroy everything Dad had built up for himself in the decade since then. Especially when I’d inadvertently helped to create that false story.
My tears dried. My rage subsided. An idea began to form. I picked up my phone, clear-headed, determined and focused. Everything depended on what I did next.
The following morning – Saturday – I dropped Rufus at a friend’s and Ruby at football club and drove into Kensington to Dad’s house. He and Jacqueline were waiting for me. After their initial shock about Harry, they were as keen as I was to carry out the plan I’d suggested over the phone last night.
‘We can’t reason with him or trust him,’ I’d explained, ‘so we need to frighten him off his story – threaten him with lawyers if he goes ahead, that sort of thing.’
‘Ready?’ I asked, walking into the living room.
‘Oh, yes,’ Dad said.
‘Absolutely.’ Jacqueline nodded. She turned to Dad. ‘I’m thinking you should put on your new Gieves and Hawkes jacket.’ She looked down at her own black crepe dress. ‘I’m going to add some pearls to my Jil Sander.’
I suppressed a smile. Dad just nodded, absently. They both looked tired – I was guessing they hadn’t had much sleep – but determined.
Lucy was in the room too, though she didn’t say anything. Dad must have told her what Harry had done because she was hovering white-faced in the corner. She was dressed in one of her floaty white skirts, her long fingers twisting anxiously around the hem of her baggy cardigan.
‘I don’t believe this is happening again,’ Dad muttered, grim-faced. ‘Sodding reporters.’
‘I know.’ I glanced at my sister. She was peering out of the window and gave no sign of having heard us. ‘I’m so sorry, Dad.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ Dad said, offering me a sympathetic smile.
Across the room Jacqueline cleared her throat. ‘I think you should call Harry now.’
I scrolled to Harry’s number, putting the phone on loudspeaker. He answered on the first ring.
‘Thank God,’ he said. ‘Fran, I’m so pleased you’ve called.’
‘Hi.’ I hesitated. I had to get my tone right. Not too conciliatory but not too furious either. ‘I’ve been thinking.’
‘Of course,’ Harry said. ‘Do you understand now why I had to find a roundabout route to the truth?’
Across the room Dad gave a low growl.
You mean ‘lie’? I bit the words back.
‘Not really,’ I said. ‘I mean, I get why you didn’t want to bombard me with accusations about Dad early on, but why lie about everything else?’
‘I didn’t,’ Harry said eagerly. ‘Everything I told you was true. Including about my family. My mum had cancer last year, my sister’s struggling to cope—’
‘But you never met my husband?’ I persisted. ‘You lied when you said he told you he was being threatened?’
‘Yes,’ Harry admitted. ‘But honestly, I wanted to tell you the truth a million times. Remember last night at the bar? I said there was something and you said I should tell you later but once we—’
‘I really need to talk to you about all this,’ I interrupted, not wanting him to mention how we’d made love while I was on loudspeaker with Dad and Jacqueline listening. ‘I’m so confused. I don’t know what to think any more.’
‘Of course,’ Harry said. ‘Shall I come over?’
I glanced at Dad. He nodded. Jacqueline gave me a thumbs-up. Lucy was still turned away, looking out at the street.
‘I’m at my dad’s house,’ I said. ‘He’s not here right now, but he’ll be back later. I was wondering if you could come here, to my dad’s, explain everything to me. Then maybe we could talk to Dad together?’
There was a pause and, for a moment, I thought Harry might be about to smell a rat. But then he spoke and I heard the relief in his voice.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll be right over.’
Harry turned up three quarters of an hour later. He must have raced out of the door to get here so promptly. I opened the front door and, in spite of myself, my heart skipped a beat as I saw his face: handsome and smiling.
‘I’m so pleased we’re doing this,’ he said, those chocolate-brown eyes shining with pleasure. ‘Because I really don’t want to stop seeing you. I need you to believe what happened last night meant a lot to me.’
Was that true? Seeing him face to face – his expression of total sincerity – I wavered. Did I mean anything to him other than as a way to build a story about Dad? I stood in the doorway as the soft drizzle misted on Harry’s hair and on the shoulders of his grey jumper. A dull ache settled in my stomach. Whatever Harry said now was irrelevant. There was no way I could trust him any more. The skies overhead were dark and gloomy, the perfect reflection of my mood.
‘Do I mean more than your story?’
‘I told you already: yes.’
‘So are you prepared to drop the story?’ I asked.
I watched him closely, expecting him to fudge and wheedle.
‘Yes,’ Harry said, meeting my gaze. There was no guile in those brown eyes. ‘I promise I’ll give the whole thing up.’
My mouth fell open. I hadn’t expected him to be so direct. So absolute.
Or was this another lie?
‘I mean it,’ Harry said. ‘I know you want me to talk to your dad with you. You must be desperate for the truth. And I’ll do that if you want. But what we do with all the information . . . on your dad, on PAAUL, on your husband’s death, that’s up to you. Totally up to you.’
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. My mind whirred. This was a massive promise, if it was genuine. Did it change what I’d planned with Dad and Jacqueline? Surely it had to. For a second I fantasised about grabbing Harry’s hand and racing off down the street with him. Because if he was serious about dropping his story then what we were going to do was overkill.
And then, as I hesitated, Dad’s voice drifted towards us. ‘It’s taking too long,’ he was muttering. A second later he strode out of the living room.
Harry’s jaw dropped. He met my gaze. ‘Fran?’
‘Get inside the house,’ Dad ordered, his fists clenched. ‘Now.’
‘You said your father was coming back later,’ Harry spluttered.
‘An expedience.’ Dad’s eyes fl
ashed. ‘It seemed the best way to deal with you. Now come here.’ He grabbed Harry’s arm and yanked him into the hall.
I gasped. Harry shook him off, wide-eyed. ‘Fran, what is this?’
Dad stood, his breath coming in furious jags. He looked like he was barely able to stop himself from punching Harry.
‘I . . . I . . .’ My voice faltered. I hadn’t seen Dad this angry in years.
‘Don’t you dare appeal to her,’ Jacqueline snapped, emerging from the living room. ‘You’ve already hurt her enough.’
Lucy fluttered into the doorway. The ends of her long cream cardigan swung back and forward as she fidgeted from side to side.
I stood frozen. Dad pushed Harry against the hall wall.
‘How dare you spread lies about me and my son-in-law?’ he hissed. ‘Caspian was a wonderful man. The idea I might want to hurt him . . .’ He prodded Harry, hard, in the chest. My guts twisted into a knot. ‘You’re going to leave this family alone, do you hear me?’ he ordered, spit flying from his mouth. ‘And you’re going to drop your pathetic, made-up lies about me.’
Harry’s gaze flickered from Dad to me and back again.
‘Just to be clear . . .’ Dad snarled. ‘If you don’t drop the story we’ll get an injunction. If you ignore the injunction we’ll sue you for libel.’
‘We have very good lawyers,’ Jacqueline snapped.
‘Never mind the effing lawyers.’ Dad prodded Harry again. ‘If you write one word about me, I will personally make sure you are fired from your job and never get another.’ He paused. ‘It shouldn’t be hard to completely discredit you.’
‘You don’t frighten me.’ Red-faced, Harry pushed Dad away from him. ‘And you won’t be able to discredit me if it’s the truth.’
‘But it isn’t the truth,’ Dad said, squaring up to him again. ‘Which is how I know that you have no proof and you never will have any proof.’
Harry looked at me again. Bewilderment and anger filled his face. I steeled myself. I’d thought this moment would make me feel triumphant and elated. But right now all I felt was confusion and misery.
Harry walked towards the front door, Dad following him. I turned to go back into the living room. As the front door opened, I could hear Dad talking again, his voice low and threatening, then more footsteps on the parquet. Harry’s voice rose up, loud and scathing.
‘This is ridiculous. You can’t do this.’
I hurried out into the hall again. To my astonishment, Detective Sergeant Smart was standing with Dad and Harry.
‘Harry Elliot, I’m arresting you for harassment . . .’
‘What? I didn’t . . . It wasn’t like that.’ Harry’s voice drowned out the rest of the police officer’s speech. My mouth gaped. Arrested for harassment? When had that become part of the plan?
‘Dad?’
Dad spun around. Harry looked up. He caught my eye.
‘Fran?’ he appealed. ‘I’m so sorry, I never—’
‘I didn’t know.’ The words flew out of me, guilt suddenly overwhelming me.
‘Get back into the living room, Francesca,’ Dad ordered.
A set of trembling fingers found mine. Lucy. I hadn’t even realised she was standing beside me. I let her tug me back into the living room.
A second later the front door shut. Harry appeared through the window, DS Smart at his side. They walked along the pavement and out of sight. Harry was talking, gesticulating wildly. He didn’t look back at the house.
‘I think that worked,’ Jacqueline said as Dad strode back into the living room.
‘When did you set that up?’ I demanded. Now that the shock of Harry being arrested had subsided, I filled with anger. This was so typical of Dad: taking over, thinking he knew best, all drive and fire. ‘I don’t think what Harry did was exactly harassment. It was lies, but—’
‘Don’t make excuses for him,’ Dad interrupted. ‘I had a word with the Chief Super, that’s all. Solid chap. I know him from the prison rehab committee. He’s just getting one of his lads to put the frighteners on. Same guy who spoke to you about Simon Pinner, he said.’
‘But . . .’ I stared at Dad, overwhelmed with frustration. It was me Harry had tricked. Surely it should have been my decision whether or not to go to the police.
‘Your father’s just trying to help,’ Jacqueline interjected.
I shook my head.
‘It’s a favour to me,’ Dad said. ‘It won’t go anywhere. They’ll just shake Harry up for a few hours, then let him go.’
‘It does make it more likely he’ll drop his story,’ Lucy said softly.
‘Did you know Dad was having him arrested?’ I turned on my sister.
She shrank back, shaking her head.
‘Come on, Francesca,’ Dad said, his voice suddenly soothing. ‘I’m just doing what needs to be done. To make sure this is over.’
‘And at least you’ll never have to see Harry again,’ Jacqueline added.
I met Lucy’s gaze. She knew I’d left with Harry last night. Had she guessed I’d taken him home and made love with him?
Even if she had, I was certain she wouldn’t have mentioned it to Dad and Jacqueline. Not that my sex life mattered in all of this.
I let out a juddering sigh. They were right, all three of them. That is, Dad had gone over the top with the arrest, in typical Dad fashion. He should have consulted me about that – but at least I could be sure now that Harry was truly out of my life for good. Even if Harry had meant it about putting the story behind us, I would never have been able to trust him. It was better this way.
I still didn’t feel triumphant.
Beside me, Lucy drew her cardigan tightly around her chest. Tears welled in her eyes. I met Dad’s gaze. He raised his eyebrows, his expression reflecting the same mix of concern and irritation that Lucy’s behaviour engendered in me. Why on earth was she getting so emotional? Okay, so she’d confessed to finding Harry attractive – and that was probably a bigger deal than I realised, considering Lucy’s lack of romantic experience – but she’d barely spoken ten words to the man.
A beat passed, then Jacqueline tactfully backed out of the room murmuring something about being late for a facial and leaving the three of us together.
Lucy brushed away her tears and gave Dad and me a rueful smile.
Dad walked over and stood beside her. He glanced at me, to include me in what he said next:
‘I’m so terribly sorry you’ve been put through this.’
‘I’m fine,’ I said, more pointedly than I meant. After all, it wasn’t Lucy’s fault she was so fragile. ‘I’m just sorry I let Harry make me think . . . all that stupid stuff about you and . . . and PAAUL.’
‘It was Harry’s fault.’ Dad shook his head sorrowfully. ‘The devil has all the best tunes.’ He put his hand on Lucy’s shoulder. She shook him off with a shudder. ‘Hey, sweetheart.’ Dad caught my eye. ‘Help,’ he mouthed.
‘Lucy?’ I said. ‘Are you okay?’
Lucy nodded. ‘Like Daddy says, at least we know the truth now . . . that everything Harry said was a lie,’ she said, with a sniff.
‘Exactly,’ Dad said, a note of relief creeping into his voice. ‘All lies.’
Is that really true? a small voice in my head whispered. Just because Harry lied about some things doesn’t mean he was wrong about everything. He might have made up all that stuff about Dad threatening Caspian, but even if Dad didn’t have anything to do with PAAUL, Caspian could still have been killed by the organisation.
No, I told myself. Harry was manipulating me from start to finish. It’s over.
I waited again for the sensation of triumph to wash over me, but it didn’t come.
HARRY
Harry had taken an instant dislike to Detective Sergeant Chris Smart. After arriving at the police station, Smart had made Harry wait for over two hours before, finally, taking him into an interview room.
Right now they were sitting across a table from each other. Harry’s emotion
s were barely in check: his anger at Jayson Carr was only outmatched by his guilt over Fran. Smart, on the other hand, looked as if he’d never had an emotion in his life. A weasel-faced man with dark, sharp eyes set close together, Smart’s wiry frame was tensed against his seat as if, any second, he might leap up from it. The man was a master in an art Harry had pretty much perfected himself: that of asking a shedload of questions then keeping quiet and allowing the person you were speaking with to fill the silence and, in so doing, give themselves away.
Much as this made Harry want to clam up completely, he knew that he needed to talk.
‘I think we both know that harassment is a stretch,’ he said. ‘There’s no way you can charge me for telling a few lies.’
What he wanted to say was that he was bloody certain he had only been arrested because Jayson Carr had powerful friends and something to hide. The look on Fran’s face when he’d been frogmarched out of Carr’s front door suggested that she hadn’t known in advance that her father was going to pull the arrest stunt. Not that it mattered. Fran had still tricked him into going round there. Which meant she was still furious with him for lying to her.
And with good reason.
Smart sat without speaking for a while. He shifted in his seat. ‘I take it some of those lies you told concerned a fictional meeting you had with the husband of one of Carr’s daughters . . . er, Francesca?’ He looked up.
Harry fought with himself. This was the perfect opportunity to pass on what he and Fran had found out about the Carrs’ interest in PAAUL at the family home. Not to mention all the internet rumours that suggested Jayson Carr had left moderate pro-life organisation Shield in order to pursue a more violent, extreme and secret anti-abortion crusade as head of PAAUL in the UK.
‘I was doing my job,’ Harry said, playing for time. Should he tell the detective? He’d already promised Fran he’d drop his story. Passing on information to the police was a different matter from writing a news article, but he doubted she would see it like that.
And yet what was the point in keeping quiet? Fran was never going to trust him.
‘Oh, and which bit was your job? Lying to the Carr family? Passing yourself off as a sales rep? Ingratiating yourself with a vulnerable woman?’