The Perfect Couple: The most gripping psychological thriller of 2020 from bestselling author of books like The Party and Have You Seen Her

by Lisa Hall

  ‘Do you want to go in and put the kettle on? I just need to seed these bits where the grass doesn’t seem to grow properly and then I’ll be in.’

  Sadie looks relieved to have a reason to get inside, and she scurries in through the orangery door with only the slightest of pauses. I sprinkle the seeds and then stand back to survey my work. Not bad for a first day, I think, a tug of pride nudging a smile onto my face. I can’t wait to see Rupert’s face when he gets home.

  Warmth hits my face as I enter the kitchen and I let out a sigh of satisfaction. I hadn’t realized how cold it was out there. I strip off my gloves and take the coffee mug Sadie holds out to me, sinking my aching bones gratefully into the kitchen chair.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re going to redo that garden all on your own. You must be mad,’ Sadie says, as she eyes me over her coffee cup.

  ‘It’s not that bad. Once I’ve cleared the overgrown stuff and planted in the gaps it’ll take care of itself. You didn’t used to help Caro with the garden then?’

  ‘Ha. No, definitely not. And Caro didn’t do that much. She had a gardener who did most of it, up until Rupert started the extension, and then after that… well, you know what happened after that. Rupert left the garden to go wild. It might be a good idea to put a pool in. Change it up a bit out there.’

  I pause, my gaze wandering to the open doors of the orangery. I saw Sadie pause, just as she stepped over the threshold, and I know that she is aware that Rupert closed it off after Caro died. ‘Rupert built the orangery for Caro, didn’t he?’ I know he did, but this is my chance to learn more about Caro and what happened.

  ‘Yes.’ Sadie follows my gaze and lets out a long breath. ‘She was so thrilled with it when it was finished. The light, the view, everything. Just thrilled. Her face when she showed us…’

  A memory swims to the surface of my mind – something about a party – and I grope for the words used, before remembering it was at the wedding, those bitchy women talking about a party. ‘Was that the night of the party?’

  ‘The party?’ Sadie says sharply. ‘Did Rupert tell you about the party?’

  I shrug noncommittally and sip my coffee.

  ‘Yes,’ she goes on eventually, ‘the party was to celebrate the orangery being finished. Caro was so excited, but there was definitely something in the air that night. She looked fantastic, as always.’

  ‘She did?’ I am thirsty for knowledge; I want to know every little detail. Looking at Caro’s Facebook or reading articles about her online just isn’t the same. I don’t push to know what Sadie means by ‘something in the air that night’, but instead let her speak, her words tumbling out as though someone has pulled a cork.

  ‘Caro always looked amazing.’ Sadie runs her eyes over me, and I feel every speck of dirt grained into my leggings, the sweat that has beaded and dried at my temples. ‘That night she wore a red, ruffled Givenchy gown – it was too much for a house party, especially in January, but that was Caro all over – with matching kitten heels, and her favourite diamond earrings, ones Rupert had bought her when they got married. Her hair all swept up in some fancy bun. You should have seen Rupert’s face as she came into the room.’

  I swallow, her words a sharp dig in my side, but Sadie doesn’t seem to notice, and she carries on talking. ‘It was an… odd night. It was mild for the time of year – there was a storm later that week, I think – and the orangery was warm… too warm, I had to ask Caro to open the door. People drank too much too quickly. I know I did.’ She looks down at her cup. ‘Speaking of which, shall we open some wine? The sun’s over the yardarm somewhere.’ Without waiting for a response, she pushes back her chair and goes to the fridge, helping herself to an unopened bottle of Sancerre. Reminding me that she’s known this house for longer than I have.

  I wait until she has poured us both a glass, even though I don’t really want one. ‘What happened, Sadie?’

  ‘I don’t know. They argued, Caro and Rupert.’ She blinks. ‘They tried not to let it show but everyone knew what was going on – you know the kind of row, where you’re trying to keep a smile on your face as you’re hissing at each other – and then Caro stormed out. Rupert called me in the morning to see if she was at mine, which she obviously wasn’t, and said that if she wasn’t home by night-time he’d call the police. None of us were overly worried – she’d done it before. Three days later I got the call to say they’d found her car and that she was gone.’

  ‘Sadie, I’m so sorry.’ I reach out and lay my hand over hers. ‘I shouldn’t have asked you about it.’

  Sadie looks down at the table and sniffs, before she tugs her hand away and gives me a brisk smile. ‘I’m OK. And now look, Rupert has you, and you’re going to fix the garden, and everything will be as it should be.’

  I smile uncertainly, not sure if I am imagining the bite to Sadie’s words, and then Lola strolls into the room.

  ‘Oh! Rupert said he was getting you a special present for Christmas!’ Sadie leans down and rubs a hand over Lola’s back, before tucking the trousers of her silk jumpsuit out of the way so Lola can’t brush against her and leave cat hairs. ‘Isn’t he lovely?’

  ‘She. She’d be even lovelier if she hadn’t left me a dead bird on the doorstep.’ I wrinkle my nose and Sadie laughs, and by the time she gets up to leave I have convinced myself that she didn’t mean anything by her earlier comment. It’s just how she is, I think, but as I close the door behind her all I can see in my mind’s eye is Caro, dressed up to the nines in an expensive gown, excited to show off her new orangery, and then later, Rupert’s face when he realized she was never coming home.

  Hours later, the light outside is dimming, and I stretch from where I have been curled into the corner of the sofa, Rupert’s spare laptop on my knees. He gave it to me after we were married, seeing as I didn’t have one, and I don’t think he realized just how much stuff he’s left on there, which is simple enough for the wrong person to access if they wanted.

  Unable to help myself, I have spent hours scrolling through Caro’s Facebook page, a wealth of information at my fingertips. Her profile isn’t private – although I probably could have hacked in to it if necessary – and her statuses are generally upbeat, some inspirational quotes that relate to mental health, and photos of her life. There are some blank spaces – days, sometimes a couple of weeks – where she posts nothing at all, and I assume that these must coincide with her dark patches. They seem to be more frequent in the last six months of her life.

  Even though it is like digging my nail under a scab that isn’t ready to be picked, I can’t stop myself from obsessively scrolling through the photographs. There are hundreds – Caro and Sadie with a drink in their hands, at a festival with flowers in their hair; Caro, Will and Amanda crowded together around a church font, clearly at a child’s christening, and then there is photo after photo of Rupert and Caro together. Holiday photos – I feel a sharp pang as I recognize Bridgetown in one – Christmas photos, charity balls, evenings out. In every picture she is clear-eyed and smiling, sometimes facing him, sometimes looking away or into the camera, but every time I am struck by the way Rupert looks at her. I don’t think he’s ever looked at me that way.

  I get up from the sofa, wincing at the pins and needles that shoot through my foot, and pace the floor. Finding Rupert scrolling through Caro’s pictures means there is a chink in our closeness – a tiny gap, which if I don’t get control of, could spiral into a huge chasm, and I couldn’t bear to let that happen. I glance towards the now black laptop screen, wondering if it’s not me after all that is the problem. Maybe I need to become more like Caro. A better version of Caro. I can’t lose Rupert, not after everything that has happened. I love my life with him, and I won’t let it go without a fight, and certainly not because someone is trying to scare me off. I need to find out exactly what happened when Caro died, and do whatever it takes to lay Caro’s ghost to rest.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Excited, I spring my i
dea on Rupert as soon as he arrives home, but not before I guide him out into the garden. It’s dark, and mist is starting to roll in across the fields behind the house, but I’m hoping the bright glow from the security lights Rupert has installed will be enough.

  ‘Ta-da!’ I push him out through the back door onto the York stone patio. ‘What do you think?’

  Rupert takes a moment before he answers. I suppose I should have given him a chance to get his coat off and pour a drink before I bundled him back out into the cold. ‘Wow,’ he says eventually, before slinging an arm over my shoulder.

  ‘Do you like it?’ A grin bursts across my face and I squeeze his waist tightly. ‘I’ve still got more to do, but just think once the summer comes…’

  ‘I love it,’ he interrupts, leaning down and smashing his lips against mine, his teeth bruising against my top lip. ‘You don’t need to do any more, this is perfect. I had forgotten how good it could look.’ A look I can’t read drifts across his face, and I frown up at him.

  ‘Are you sure you like it?’

  ‘I love it, Em. You’ve done a brilliant job.’ He kisses me again, gently this time, his tongue flicking against mine as his hand moves to my breast. I sigh, relaxing against him for a moment before I pull away.

  ‘There’s more, though,’ I say, excitement fizzing in my veins. ‘I was thinking, what if we put a pool in?’ Stepping away from him, I mark out the position of where I imagine the pool to go. ‘We could put it here. Just think, when it’s hot and you’ve been in the office all day you can come home and we can jump in the water together.’ Waggling my eyebrows at him, I step closer, reaching out to pull him back into my arms.

  ‘No,’ he says shortly, turning away and walking back into the kitchen, leaving me standing open-mouthed for a moment before I follow him.

  ‘What do you mean, no?’ I can’t understand why he’s being like this. ‘It would finish the garden off perfectly, and we have the space.’

  ‘I don’t want a pool, Emily.’ His voice is cold, and he keeps his back to me as he wrenches the lid from a bottle of whisky, before pouring himself a generous measure. ‘Don’t even think about discussing it any further, I don’t want a pool out there.’

  ‘But Sadie said…’ Hot tears spring to my eyes, tears of frustration and anger.

  ‘Sadie? Since when does Sadie live here? Since when does Sadie pay the bills? It’s a waste of money, Emily – my money. I don’t want a pool – I don’t need a pool. If I want to swim, I’ll go over to Miles’s and use the pool, or I’ll go to the gym. The garden is fine as it is.’

  ‘OK,’ I say quietly, ‘I just thought…’ I swallow down the thick lump in my throat. ‘I just thought it would be nice, that’s all. I saw your swimming trophies at your parents’ house and I… oh, I don’t know.’

  ‘Em,’ Rupert turns, whisky in hand. ‘Oh God, Em, don’t cry.’ He reaches for me now, and I have to force myself not to pull away. ‘Look, it’s a lovely thought. I do love swimming, you’re right, and I do miss it, but not enough to shell out thirty grand on a swanky swimming pool, OK?’

  I nod my head and smile, swiping at the damp tracks on my face, before I make a show of starting dinner. All my hard work today in the garden, and still it seems I can’t get things right.

  The shrill ring of the telephone makes me jump, as I sit at the kitchen table paying bills online. I have taken over this household duty from Rupert, and I still get a tiny shiver down my spine at the figures that sit at the top of the banking page, still not quite believing they are real. Rupert could afford to put the pool in, I think, if I scaled it down a little. Part of me wonders if he feels strange knowing that it would be Caro’s money he would be spending. But Caro isn’t here anymore. Anya pokes her head around the doorframe, a bottle of bleach in one hand.

  ‘I get it?’ she asks, a frown distorting her features. She is always frowning, a permanent look of disapproval.

  ‘No,’ I breathe out, ‘I’ll get it.’ I snatch up the phone and jab at the answer button. ‘Hello?’

  Nothing. My heart stutters in my chest. Dead air again.

  ‘Hello? Hello? Listen, if you’re not going to say anything then just fuck right off, OK?’ Apprehension makes my words weaker than I had hoped for but calling in the daytime is new. I’ve come to expect it on the cold, lonely evenings when Rupert is working late, but not now, when the sun is streaming in through the orangery windows, and I am feeling if not safe, then less threatened at least. Anya’s face appears back in the kitchen doorway, her dark eyes wide.

  ‘Bitch.’ I hear the faintest hiss, the word floating down the line and I click the off button. Less satisfying than slamming down the receiver, but at least I cut whoever it is off.

  ‘Is wrong number?’ Anya asks.

  ‘Yes,’ I say shortly, slamming the lid of the laptop. ‘I have to go out now.’ Another day, another lunch, this time at Amanda’s. ‘If the phone rings, just… don’t bother to answer it, OK?’

  I step out into the bright, chilly sunshine, relieved to be out of the house. I am more shaken by the phone call this morning than I care to admit, and I am glad to be headed out for the afternoon, out of reach of that hissing, vitriolic voice. Walking quickly, the back of my neck itches where the wool of my scarf meets it, and as I reach up to loosen it, I think, from the corner of my eye, I see someone behind me. Pausing, I turn, scanning the pavement behind me. There are plenty of people there, all going about their day, but no one is looking at me. Following me.

  I let out a breath I don’t realize I am holding, and then start to walk again, conscious of the heels of my ankle boots as they strike the concrete. My heart sinks as I approach the underpass that leads to Amanda’s house. I could walk round the long way, up and over the dual carriageway, but it’s busy and there isn’t much of a footpath. Turning, I can see that the path behind me is empty. There is only me, and the long tunnel in front of me.

  Don’t be ridiculous, Emily, I chide myself, it was a voice at the end of the phone. There’s no one following you. Just walk.

  Tentatively I take a step forward, pulling my hat off my head and pushing my hair away from my ears. Nothing. It’s fine. I step forward again, my shoulders easing down, my breath coming a little easier in my chest. Idiot. I allow myself a little breath of laughter as I fix my eyes on the white, cloudy sky, rimmed by bare tree branches at the end of the underpass. A faint smell of piss and something musty hits my nose, and I speed up, my heels striking the concrete with a dull thud.

  And then I do hear it. A second footstep in time with mine, then faster than mine, and muffling a shriek into my scarf I start to run, too frightened to look over my shoulder at whoever is chasing me, too scared to slow down even though my chest is hurting through lack of oxygen. I tear through the tunnel and out the other side, only slowing when I am out into the daylight. A burly man walking an English bull terrier gives me a curious glance as I bend at the waist sucking in gasping lungfuls of air.

  I raise my eyes to the tunnel, but it is dark. No one comes running from the mouth of it, and after a few seconds a cyclist whizzes through, legs pumping, eyes hidden by sunglasses.

  Idiot, I think again, there wasn’t anyone chasing you, you didn’t even hear footsteps. It was a bloody cyclist.

  Straightening up, I start to walk again, a thick, hard lump in my throat. Maybe Rupert is right. Maybe I am just imagining it all.

  ‘Emily!’ Amanda opens the door with a grin, ushering me through into the huge kitchen, where I take off my coat and sink gratefully into a chair, my body still sticky with sweat from my impromptu run.

  ‘Sorry, I’m a bit early,’ I say, glancing at the clock. Sadie isn’t here yet. ‘It didn’t take me quite as long as I thought it would to walk over.’

  ‘Oh God, you didn’t go through that dodgy underpass, did you? I’m always terrified walking through there; I’m convinced that someone is following me every time I walk through it.’

  ‘It was fine,’ I lie, saved by the sou
nd of the front door slamming closed, as Sadie makes an appearance, dramatically kissing Amanda on the cheek and complaining about the traffic.

  ‘Emily—’ she kisses my cheek too, leaving a jammy red lipstick stain on my skin, ‘gosh, you are keen, aren’t you? I thought I was the early one! Still, I suppose you didn’t have much to do this morning, did you? Amanda, please tell me you got some of those gorgeous little macarons. We have to let Emily try them!’

  I smile, though the thought of eating anything right now, even ‘gorgeous little macarons’, makes me want to heave.

  ‘Ladies, it feels like ages since we were all together,’ Sadie announces, as she pops the cork on a bottle of champagne. I groan inwardly – Sadie is only ever concerned with every event being a party – and I am too exhausted to try and battle the headache that is sure to follow drinking champagne at one o’clock in the afternoon. Amanda also doesn’t look too thrilled by Sadie’s decision to get the booze out.

  ‘I’m not sure I fancy it, to be honest,’ I say to Sadie. ‘I’ve got a bit of a headache already and you know that champagne doesn’t agree with me.’ Not strictly true, and Sadie knows it but as I suspect, she doesn’t challenge me.

  ‘You do look a little bit peaky,’ Sadie says, lowering the bottle. ‘Are you feeling OK? Look at her, Amanda. Doesn’t Emily look a bit pale?’

  ‘I suppose so. A bit tired, maybe.’ Amanda shrugs, before she turns to the oven to pull out the macaroni cheese. ‘Sorry, ladies, it’s only something simple I threw together.’

  It doesn’t look thrown together. It actually looks quite fancy, if macaroni cheese can look fancy. ‘Looks delicious,’ I say, even though the heavy smell of cheese is turning my stomach.

  Amanda gently puts the steaming hot dish of pasta on the table, rips off her immaculately clean oven gloves and slides into her chair with a sigh. ‘Gosh, I’m starving. Dig in, ladies.’ She raises a hand as Sadie goes to pour her a glass of champagne. ‘Oh no, Sadie, not for me. I’m with Emily today, I’m afraid.’ Sadie pouts, but reaches for the glass jug of fruit-infused water on the table and fills both our glasses up, before pouring champagne for herself. As Amanda spoons the cheesy pasta onto my plate, I have to fight back a wave of nausea.