Little Liar Read online

  I shouldn’t remember saying to Bel, at the top of a very white staircase: ‘We really ought to be thinking about going home.’

  But Bel was wearing a coat of armour that she’d prised from the wall and was halfway through what she claimed was a re-enactment of the Battle of Hastings with three minor characters from the new Star Wars film.

  ‘Can’t leave now,’ came the voice from behind the visor. ‘Party’s just getting started.’

  ‘It’s already three,’ I protested.

  She did not hear me, fully immersed in her new role, shrieking with delight as she gesticulated with her sword. I hoped it wasn’t a real one. It was so hard to tell what was a prop and what wasn’t, nowadays. I slipped down the stairs and across the gleaming hall to the door. Balmy night air, rich with honeysuckle, greeted me as I came out. A uniformed doorman with an earpiece stood motionless on the step, hands clasped behind him. Why he was there, I didn’t know; either to protect the house, or one of the guests. In French, I asked him to call me a taxi.

  Anton had rented, or perhaps been lent, a magnificent apartment that overlooked the Boulevard de la Croisette. I turned the key quietly in the front door and walked up the stone stairs. When I entered the apartment, all was quiet; faint snores came from Anton’s bedroom. He would go out early the next morning for meetings, I knew; Bel was expected to join him and Gabriel Glass at one o’clock at Giuliana, an expensive-looking Italian restaurant near the Palais. Firmly, I’d said that I would be happy to amuse myself elsewhere. My feet bare, shoes in my hand, I went to the fridge and took out two Petit Filou yogurts. I ate these on the balcony, watching the beach parties disperse as the sound systems shut down. Now and again there came a screech of car tyres, as though some drunken reveller had strayed unwarrantedly far into the road. I wondered if Bel was all right.

  ‘If only she’d agreed to come home with me,’ I said aloud, to myself.

  Going to brush my teeth, I watched myself thoughtfully in the mirror. I did not look especially the worse for wear. This wasn’t surprising. I might have appeared to be drinking gin and tonics all night, but in point of fact my glasses had contained nothing but sparkling water. This is one of the oldest tricks in the book, and I was glad that I knew it.

  Sober as a judge, I slept; I kept my phone on my pillow, so that Bel could call or text if she needed to. She had her own key. But I did not really expect her to return. It would be very, very unusual if she did.

  Four or five hours later, the whoosh of the coffee machine told me that Anton was awake. I heard the shower, the sound of his phone; I heard him holding the kind of executive conversation that I’d gotten very used to during my time at the house in Rosewood Avenue, something along the lines of: ‘Close it. Close it. Take the money and run.’

  The door to the flat clanged shut, and clanged open ten minutes later and then shut again. He’d gone out for bread, I was sure, to leave for me and Bel, before heading out for the day. It was nine o’clock, and the sky promised heat and excitement.

  I went out in my T-shirt and pyjama bottoms to the marble-floored kitchen and dining area. A cream sofa lined one wall; you could lie on it and look through the glass doors to the balcony and the sea beyond. It was a balcony that put Evie’s and my veranda to shame. There was a white dining table with silver-backed chairs; a marble island with high stools; a fridge full of Evian and prosecco. I ate another yogurt, and then, after some thought, toasted a bit of baguette, which I had with butter and honey. Then I washed up my plate and put it away. I didn’t want to look as though I’d had a leisurely breakfast. By this time, I would, of course, have realised that Bel had not come back, if I hadn’t known already. I checked her room, to be triple-sure that this was the case, and indeed it was.

  ‘Now, Responsible Nora,’ I said. ‘What would you do first?’

  I texted Bel: Honey, are you OK? Where are you? Want me to come and get you?

  I wasn’t sure that my phone would work abroad. After some fiddling with the settings, I managed to activate delivery reports. Bel’s phone, I could see, was not switched on. This wasn’t surprising: her phone had very poor battery life and she wasn’t particularly good at remembering to charge it. What next? Although Responsible Nora was, of course, a trifle concerned about Bel, I did not think it would be inappropriate to go out for a time. It was a beautiful morning.

  I sent another message, as Responsible Nora would: Don’t forget, darling. Giuliana at 1 p.m.

  Then, gathering a beach towel, a book and my sports bikini, and practising in my head certain lines that I thought might come in handy a little later on, I went down to the beach for a swim.

  4

  Slightly out of breath, I pushed through the glass doors of the restaurant. It was five past one. Anton was sitting alone at a corner table laid with a peach-coloured cloth; arranged in front of him were his phone, sunglasses and notebook, like a Cannes survival kit. Ten days in the south of France had tanned his skin. He was wearing a navy shirt, a cream jacket, jeans. I could not see Gabriel Glass, and that was good, because the conversation that Anton and I were about to have was one best not shared with anyone else.

  Anton was studying a wine list and looking up from time to time. When he saw me, I witnessed the unfolding of different emotions in quick succession. Recognition, then surprise, then suspicion and possibly dread, and possibly also disappointment. I hated to be the bearer of bad news. Daintily, I wove a path through the maze of tables, apologising to my left and right, although I was in nobody’s way. Meeting Anton’s gaze, I smiled, keeping on my face that same subtle mask of apology.

  I knew exactly how I wanted the scene to be played.

  He stood up as I approached, but didn’t kiss me hello.

  ‘Is everything all right, Nora?’ he said.

  A waiter appeared at my side, drawing out a chair for me. I shook my head, telling him in French that I wouldn’t be staying. He nodded deferentially and withdrew.

  Then, to Anton, I said: ‘I’m afraid Bel’s still out. She hasn’t come home.’

  He glanced over to the door, and then back at me. I always think it is a tremendous cliché when people in books are described as sighing, or exhaling loudly, or breathing out through their noses, but that is exactly what Bel’s father did. He exhaled loudly and long, looked at his watch, half closed his eyes and then opened them again.

  ‘For heaven’s sake,’ he said, not loudly and not particularly emotionally. ‘Do have a seat, Nora, please.’

  I sat down on the edge of the chair. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘It’s my fault.’

  He nodded: go on, and poured me a glass of water.

  ‘We went out to the Grand, and then on to another bar,’ I explained. ‘Bel was – she was celebrating a bit. You know. Enjoying being out in Cannes, and relaxing after her first exams. I mean, she’s been working so hard … I think she felt as though she deserved a bit of time off.’

  ‘Letting her hair down, shall we say,’ said Anton dryly.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘She had a few drinks. I – I wasn’t watching very closely, so I’m not sure how many. I don’t know … Certainly more than me. I don’t really drink. It got later and later, and I felt it was time to go home. It can be a bit boring, you know, if everyone else is drinking … and I was really tired. Bel said she’d stay out an extra half hour, maybe an hour, and then come back. She promised. I made sure she had her phone and enough money for a taxi, and then I … I just couldn’t stay awake any longer. I had to leave. I wish I’d been able to persuade her to come back with me.’

  ‘What time was this?’ asked Anton.

  ‘About a quarter to four,’ I replied. I didn’t think this was a test, but I couldn’t be sure. It hadn’t sounded as though he had woken up when I turned the key in the door, but there was the slimmest chance that he was trying to catch me out with the question, so I thought it was best to be truthful.

  ‘And where is Bel now?’ he said.

  I shook my head.

&nb
sp; ‘I just don’t know. I … When I woke up this morning she hadn’t come back. Her phone isn’t on. I rang and rang … I wanted to go back to the place where we were, but it was a big house up in the hills and I didn’t know the address. I thought about calling you, but I didn’t want to worry you, or interrupt your meetings, and I’d reminded her about lunch today at one o’clock, so I thought, you know, that she might even come straight here. But I waited at the flat most of the morning, in case she didn’t have her phone or her key. And then I realised it was nearly one o’clock so I sort of ran down here. To tell you.’

  At this, I looked ruefully down at my slight dishevelment. My hair was a tangle over one shoulder; I wore flip-flops and a denim skirt and a T-shirt of Bel’s that said Desperately Seeking Susan. In spite of this, I’d taken some care with my makeup. My skin was bright and dewy and made it clear that I had no hangover to speak of, and the biro marks on my hands indicated that I might well have spent the morning hard at work on some kind of academic assignment.

  ‘It really is my fault,’ I said again.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Nora,’ he said. ‘You can hardly keep her under lock and key, and no one was expecting you to.’

  A different waiter came with a tall orange drink.

  ‘Will you have a Campari and soda?’ said Anton.

  ‘No, thank you,’ I said. ‘I should go back, just in case … I’m quite worried about her.’

  ‘Was she in any discernible danger?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘Then don’t be worried,’ he said. ‘She’s a big girl. She’ll come back when she wakes up and remembers where she is. If I had a penny for every time Annabel did something worrisome, I wouldn’t have to work so hard to raise financing. Trust me.’ He broke a bread roll and buttered one half absent-mindedly, and then laid it by his plate. ‘Mind you,’ he said, picking up the bread again, ‘I’m not entirely thrilled by her behaviour.’

  This, I felt, was an understatement, quite typical of Anton and the way he spoke. It might not have been Bel’s only opportunity to meet Gabriel Glass, but it was a good one. And not turning up for a scheduled meeting was one of the worst things you could do in the business. Everyone knew that.

  ‘Ah,’ said Anton. ‘Here he is.’

  A slight, dark man of about forty with a mass of corkscrew curls was shaking his hand and then embracing him in the European style. The man turned to me and smiled, his eyes hidden by aviator shades, and said to Anton: ‘And this must be your lovely daughter.’

  ‘In point of fact, this is my lovely, or my not-always-so-lovely daughter’s lovely friend, Nora.’

  I stood up. ‘Nice to meet you,’ I said. ‘I’m a big admirer of your work.’

  He looked pleased and a little surprised.

  ‘I’m afraid Bel is indisposed,’ said Anton. ‘Nora, you are going to stay for lunch, aren’t you?’

  ‘Oh, I shouldn’t,’ I said.

  ‘Do stay,’ said Gabriel Glass, sitting down and removing his sunglasses. ‘I can’t possibly talk to Anton for an hour on my own.’

  He had a strong, complex accent – there was a bit of German in there, I thought, and a bit of something Nordic, perhaps, although I am no expert. He asked for some fried zucchini and a glass of Pinot Noir. A long conversation ensued about wine. We ordered: asparagus, squid, pasta. I kept my choices very plain, as befitted a guest who shouldn’t, in fact, even be there.

  ‘Nora,’ said Gabriel Glass. ‘I’m dying to know which of my films you particularly admire.’

  I saw Anton looking on with interest, wondering, I was sure, what I was going to say. I won’t report the speech I then gave, covering more or less every film that Gabriel Glass had either written or both written and directed over the past decade, but I can assure you that it was very pretty indeed. The thoughts and opinions I shared were very much my own too; I had cribbed from no critic, but instead watched his films and decided what I, a well-read, considerate seventeen-year-old girl, felt about each one. The story, the characters, the moods and the music. Anton was smiling at me as I spoke, and I realised something: he was relaxed now, but he hadn’t been relaxed at all when I first walked into Giuliana’s. Our starters came and Gabriel said how refreshing it was to meet a teenager who was so incredibly film-literate.

  ‘Did you watch my films with Annabel?’ he asked.

  I hesitated. ‘No,’ I said. ‘I’d seen them all a while ago.’

  ‘And do you want to work in film yourself?’

  At this I looked bashful and a shade unsure of myself.

  ‘You’re acting in a play at the moment, aren’t you?’ said Anton. ‘A Doll’s House, I think you said.’

  The conversation moved on to theatre. By the time our plates were cleared I knew one thing absolutely: both my dining companions were very impressed with my knowledge of the dramatic arts. There was laughter and refilling of glasses; I was careful not to dominate discussions at any point, just to supply intelligent Norian thoughts when invited to do so. And it was working.

  Oh, it really was working.

  All around the restaurant thrummed with activity: knives scraped and glasses clinked and peals of hysteria rippled from wall to wall. At one point, Anton said, ‘Don’t look now, Nora, but Brad Pitt has just come in,’ and I giggled with appropriate delight at this piece of news, although it didn’t interest me in the slightest. I wondered when Anton and Gabriel would start to discuss Jacaranda. I felt that I shouldn’t bring it up myself, although I wanted to desperately.

  Finally, Gabriel said, ‘So. Where are we with the cast?’

  ‘Dennis Havelock only wants to do one film this year,’ said Anton, ‘and it’s this one. Miriam Campbell will play Audra.’

  ‘Is she a big enough name?’

  ‘I think so. I think she’s right for the part.’

  They talked then about a certain casting agent whose services they wanted to use. I could hear from the shift in their tones of voice that they did not necessarily agree on casting matters. It surely made it all the more important that Bel should have been there to meet Gabriel. The waiter murmured contritely that our main courses were on the way; I suspected that the arrival of Brad Pitt had slowed down our orders.

  ‘I was very much looking forward to meeting Annabel today,’ said Gabriel. ‘It’s a shame she couldn’t make it.’

  ‘Perhaps she and I could meet you this evening?’ said Anton.

  ‘I’m taking a flight at six, unfortunately,’ Gabriel replied.

  ‘Pity.’

  ‘Her showreel was most instructive,’ said Gabriel. ‘I do see why you suggest her to play Clementine. And of course, the fact that your wife also played the part … well, it’s a touching side note.’ In his tone of voice, I could hear that he was not totally convinced.

  Some technical chat ensued about money and locations. I excused myself and went to find the bathrooms. The ladies’ room was peach-coloured, like the tablecloths, and as opulent as I’d come to expect of all things Cannes. OtherNora stared back at me from the mirror, eyes alight, as I washed my hands.

  Am I doing enough? I said to OtherNora.

  But she didn’t reply.

  I tied my hair back, thought better of it and fanned it over my shoulders. I imagined Gabriel Glass, during my absence from the table, saying: ‘What a delightful girl. So intelligent,’ and Anton agreeing: ‘Yes, she’s really quite something.’

  Walking back towards the dining room, I smoothed the wrinkles in my skirt and rehearsed a couple of throwaway phrases that would, very subtly, recall Clementine’s famous last speech in Jacaranda. When I got to the table, I saw that the main courses – china bowls piled high with linguine alle vongole – had arrived.

  And so had Bel.

  She was wearing another white dress. This one had panels of French lace at the sides and a pleated skirt; the cap sleeves allowed her arms to float like swan’s wings, and a row of brightly-coloured wooden bangles sailed from elbow to wrist each time she made a gesture. She w
as sitting in my chair, next to Gabriel, and I saw that another one had been brought to the table between her and Anton, presumably for me. She was talking with her mouth full of bread. Her eyes shone, and her hair, which she must have washed and conditioned, was a cluster of burnished buttercups. None of them had seen me yet. Without even meaning to, I reached behind my head and tied up my hair again. It just couldn’t compete.

  Gabriel gave a burst of laughter at something Bel said. ‘That’s hilarious,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, that’s nothing,’ she replied. Then she saw me. ‘Honey!’ she said.

  ‘Hey, darling,’ I said.

  Anton caught my eye, as though to ask me not to betray any of my concerns about Bel’s wellbeing.

  ‘I’ve had quite a time getting here, I can tell you,’ said Bel.

  She went on to recount a tale that was, frankly, Norian in its sheer outrageousness. A trip for a last-minute manicure, the theft of her handbag, a kind man who apprehended the thief, getting lost in the backstreets of Cannes, and hitching a lift with a butcher on the back of a moped in order to get to Giuliana by one forty-five.

  ‘Unforgivably late, I know,’ she said, in her Britishest, most Clementine accent. ‘I just can’t apologise enough.’

  But I could see from the look of wonder and admiration on Gabriel Glass’s face that no apology was necessary.

  ‘So,’ said Evie. ‘How was it?’