The Therapist

by B. A. Paris

  “Maybe she was just a journalist who happened to be blond,” he says.

  “I know. And I’m sure she was. It’s just that Leo knew about Nina being murdered here before he bought the house but he didn’t tell me.”

  This time, he can’t hide his surprise. “That must have been—”

  “Devastating,” I finish for him.

  “Did he say why he didn’t tell you?”

  “He said he knew I wouldn’t agree to live here if I knew about the murder and he really wanted this house.”

  “Why this particular house?”

  “For obvious reasons, it was cheaper than other properties we’d looked at so he made out that it was because I wouldn’t have to sell my home in East Sussex to help buy it. But he also admitted that he wanted this house because it’s in a gated residence. That’s when he told me he was getting harassed by clients, something he’d never mentioned to me before.” I raise my eyes to his. “I did ask him if he knew Nina. He said he didn’t and I believed him. But that was before I found his passport.”

  “Would you like me to look up Leo Carter, see what I can find?” Maybe he sees the panic in my eyes; although I want to get to the truth, engaging a private investigator to look into the man I’d been hoping to spend the rest of my life with is a huge step. “I don’t mean as a private investigator,” he says quickly. “I mean as a friend. Here, now. I can google him, see if anything comes up.”

  “Yes,” I say. “Could you?”

  He takes out his phone. “There probably won’t be anything,” he says reassuringly.

  “And if there’s not?”

  “Then you’ll need to speak to Leo.” He smiles to lessen the tension. “Maybe he just didn’t like the surname Carter.”

  I watch, barely daring to breathe as he types into his phone. I keep my eyes fixed on his face, not on his screen, looking for a sign that he’s found something. It remains immobile, professional. I’m aware of his fingers scrolling down, then stopping. He reaches for the passport, opens it to the photo page with one hand. His eyes flicker from screen to photo and back again, staying there for a while as he reads.

  I’m afraid to ask. “Have you found something?”

  He raises his eyes to mine.

  “I think you might want to read this,” he says quietly, passing his phone to me.

  I look down at the screen, my heart thudding, and see a photo similar to the one in Leo’s passport, along with a news story about Leo Carter being sent to prison in 2005 for two years. For fraud.

  My heart slows to a dull beat, keeping rhythm with the thought throbbing in my head. Leo went to jail? It’s so far away from what I thought that I have trouble focusing on the words in the article, something about him having been a compliance officer for an asset management company. Panic whirls in my stomach.

  “I don’t understand,” I mutter.

  He clears his throat. “Unfortunately, in my line of business, changing identity to conceal a criminal background is fairly commonplace.” He pauses. “Leo didn’t mention it to you?”

  “No.”

  “You need to speak to him.”

  I nod. “I know.”

  “Then perhaps I should leave.” He gets to his feet. “Please, don’t get up, I can see myself out.” He walks to the door, then stops. “If you need anything, anything at all, you have my number.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  Silence shrouds me like a blanket. I sit without moving, trying to work through the emotions that assault me mercilessly, one after the other—disbelief, bewilderment, fear and anger. It’s the cold that finally moves me to my study for a sweater. I can’t find one so I put on my robe, tying it tightly around me.

  I haven’t called Leo, I couldn’t bring myself to. Again, it’s not a conversation I want to have with him over the phone and he’s in Birmingham until tomorrow evening. I want to talk to someone. Normally, I would have called Ginny because she’s nearer and could have come over. But she’s too close to Leo, so I call Debbie.

  “I’m so sorry, Ali,” she says, stunned at what I’ve told her. “Coming on top of him not telling you about the murder, you must be devastated.”

  “I am,” I say, brushing away the tears that I haven’t been able to hold back. “I feel so lost. I told him everything about me, everything. I didn’t hide anything, I was one hundred percent honest. That’s what makes it so hard.”

  “I know,” Debbie says. “Why don’t you come and spend a few days here, clear your head a bit?”

  “I’d love to, but I need to speak to Leo first. He’s not back in London until tomorrow evening. I was going to ask him to go to Ginny and Mark’s like last week but I’ll get him to come here. He’s going to think I’ve forgiven him for not telling me about Nina.”

  “Would you like me to come to you?”

  “It’s lovely of you to offer but I need to speak to him alone.”

  “Let me know how it goes and if you need anything, just shout.”

  “Thanks, Debbie.”

  It takes me a while to call Leo.

  “Alice?” Once again there’s that hope in his voice, that I’m calling to ask him to come back.

  “Are you working in London on Friday?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you can come home tomorrow evening.”

  “Really? Brilliant. Would you like to go out for dinner?”

  “No, it’s fine. See you tomorrow.”

  “Yes—thanks, Alice.”

  * * *

  In the morning, I find it impossible to concentrate on the translation I’m meant to be doing. My stomach jitters at the thought of seeing Leo this evening. He texts me when he arrives at Euston and suddenly, I’m scared. I have no idea how he’ll react when I tell him that I know who he really is. I don’t think he would harm me but who knows what he’s capable of when he’s already been capable of so much?

  I press my face to the window and call Ginny. I haven’t been out at all today. In the square, a fierce wind whips the fallen leaves into a frenzy. Under the nearest tree, a small child, his little arms outstretched, tries to catch them, and they fall around him like extra-large confetti. His parent is filming the scene on his phone. It’s Tim, I realize, with his youngest son.

  “Hi, Alice,” Ginny says cheerfully. “How are you?”

  “Leo’s arriving any minute now,” I say, my eyes still on the little boy.

  “Yes, I know, he told me you said he could go back.”

  “Only to talk.”

  “Oh.”

  “I hate to ask but would you mind coming over? It’s just that I might need some back-up.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  I turn from the window. “No, not really, but I’ll explain when you get here. Could you leave now? It’ll give me time to speak to Leo on his own first.”

  “I hope it’s not what I think it is,” she adds sadly. “I love you both.”

  I want to tell her that it’s worse than she could possibly imagine.

  * * *

  Even though I’m expecting him, the sound of his key in the lock makes me jump. There are the usual sounds from the hall; the rustle of his Barbour being shrugged off, then his jacket, the chink of coins as he throws it over the newel post.

  “Alice?”

  “In here.”

  He comes into the kitchen. He’s wearing a sweater I’ve never seen before. He’s had his hair cut and the stubble he had five days ago is thicker, almost a beard. It makes him look younger. It makes him a stranger.

  “How are you?” he asks.

  “Not great.”

  I’m sitting at the kitchen table, like I was last time, when I confronted him about the murder. His passport is balanced on my knees, out of sight.

  There’s a scrape as he pulls out the chair opposite me.

  “Has something happened?”

  Questions crowd my mind. There’s so much I want to ask him, too much.

  “Is there anything you want to tell me?
” I ask, needing him to come clean, because then, there might be hope for us.

  “Apart from being sorry I didn’t tell you about the murder?”

  “Yes, apart from that.”

  “No, I can’t think of anything.” He rubs his hand over his chin. “I mean, I’d like to know how much longer you’re going to hold it against me, because we can’t go on like this.” He leans forward, his eyes pleading. “I love you, Alice. Can’t we put this behind us? I made a mistake. I’m sorry. Can’t that be an end to it?”

  “I’m going to ask you something, and this time I’d like the truth. Do you have a passport?”

  He sits back, fake puzzlement on his face. “You know I don’t. I told you that.”

  I can’t look at him, I can’t believe he’s thrown our relationship away.

  “What about a birth certificate? Have you got one of those?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Can I see it?”

  “I don’t have it here.”

  “Where is it?”

  “It’s in a safe, in the bank.”

  The pause was slight, but I noticed it. “In a safe? I didn’t know you had a safe.” He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me mutely. “Why don’t you start by telling me who you are?” I say.

  “What do you mean?”

  It goes on a bit too long, the pretense that he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. Tired of his lies, I take his passport from my knees and lay it on the table.

  “I found this in your filing cabinet.”

  The change that comes over him is dramatic. His eyes dart around the room, looking for somewhere to hide and, realizing that there’s nowhere to go, because I’m sitting right in front of him, they come to rest on me. The panic I see in them sends waves of adrenaline coursing through my body. For one horrible, frightening moment, I think he’s going to lunge at me across the table.

  The silence as we stare at each other becomes unbearable. My heart is racing so fast I think I might never be able to breathe again. Behind me, there’s a tiny drip-drip from the tap in the sink. I focus on it, counting each drop. When I get to ten, I swallow painfully and force words out.

  “Is your real name Leo Carter?”

  It’s there in his eyes, the knowledge that he’s cornered. He puts his elbows on the table and buries his face in his hands.

  “Leo.” His despair makes him oblivious. “Leo,” I say, raising my voice.

  He lifts his head. His tear-streaked face is ashen. “You must hate me.”

  I can’t cope with his pain. I push my chair back and move to the sink, turning the tap so that it no longer drips. “I could never hate you,” I say to his reflection in the window.

  He rubs at his face. “I shouldn’t have lied to you, I know. But I couldn’t tell you the truth, I was too scared that if I did, you wouldn’t want to be with me anymore.”

  I turn back to him. “What is the truth?”

  He sighs heavily. “When I was young and stupid, I worked for an asset management firm. I allowed myself to be influenced by a couple of guys I worked with and spent a few months in prison for fraud.”

  “How many months?”

  “Four or five.” I keep my eyes fixed on his face. “Maybe a bit more,” he admits.

  “I looked you up, Leo. I looked up Leo Carter. You spent two years in prison.”

  He shakes his head. “No. I was released early for good behavior.” I don’t say anything. “But you’re right, it was more than a year, I’m not sure—”

  I walk over to the table, hating that he still hasn’t got it. “It doesn’t matter how long you spent in prison, whether it was two months or two years,” I say. “What matters is that you’re still lying to me.”

  The desperation on his face is hard to witness. “I’ll tell you everything, I promise. That woman, the one who came to Harlestone, I wasn’t lying, she was a journalist. She wanted to write about the irony of someone who was once convicted for fraud advising clients on risk management issues. She kept on asking me and each time, I refused, because I didn’t want you to find out what I’d done.” New tears fall from his eyes. “Don’t you see, Alice? I’ve turned the bad stuff I did into a positive. I’m making amends.”

  “Which is great, Leo,” I say. “But it doesn’t change the fact that at heart, you’re dishonest.” I stop, struggling for the words to tell him why it feels like the ultimate betrayal. “What I can’t get my head around is why you didn’t tell me the truth when I told you everything about me. Everything.”

  “But I went to prison!”

  “Exactly. You paid the price for what you did.” I turn at the sound of a car pulling up outside.

  “Where are you going?” he asks.

  “To open the door. Ginny’s here.”

  “Ginny?”

  “Yes, I asked her to come.”

  “But we haven’t discussed anything yet.”

  “There isn’t anything to discuss.”

  “Alice, please!”

  “I’m sorry, Leo. It’s over.”

  I go and open the door. Behind me, I hear Leo sobbing and I hate myself for not being able to comfort him.

  “Is Leo still here?” Ginny asks anxiously, coming into the hall.

  “Yes.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “I’ll let Leo tell you,” I say, reaching for my coat. “It’s his story, not mine.” I give Ginny a hug. “I’ll call you later.”

  In the square I sink onto a bench and let the vicious wind whip tears from my eyes.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Ginny calls me.

  “Where are you?” she asks.

  “Sitting in the square.”

  “Coming now.”

  “I can’t believe it,” she says when she arrives a couple of minutes later, looking as shocked as I still feel. “I can’t believe Leo spent time in prison.”

  I shove my hands deeper into my pockets, only realizing now how cold I am. “It’s why he could never admit to having a passport. He must have changed his name officially, because he bought the house in the name of Leo Curtis.”

  “I’m so sorry, Alice, this is awful for you.”

  “How is he?”

  “Upset, broken.”

  “Why do I feel guilty?”

  “Because you still care for him.”

  “Maybe. But I can’t forgive him.”

  “Because of his crime? I mean, fraud is terrible but it’s not as if he murdered anyone.”

  “You’re right, he didn’t. But it’s not that.”

  “Is it because he spent time in prison?”

  I nod slowly. I wish I could explain to her why it matters so much, but I can’t.

  “What are you going to do?” she asks.

  “Go back to Harlestone, I suppose. I’ll ask Debbie if I can stay with her until I can get the tenants out of my cottage.” Tears fill my eyes. “Six weeks, Ginny. Leo and I barely lasted six weeks.”

  She puts her arm around me. “Why don’t you come and stay with us for a while?”

  “That’s lovely of you but I’m going to ask Leo if he’ll let me have the house for another couple of weeks.”

  “But—won’t he want the house? Especially as he’s going to be working in London from Monday.”

  “Why? Has the Birmingham job finished?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh,” I say, deflated. “Could he stay with you for a bit, do you think?”

  “Of course. But why do you need the house for another couple of weeks? It won’t take you long to pack up your stuff, will it?”

  “No, but I need time to work out what I’m going to do.”

  “Can’t you do that from ours? You can stay as long as you like, you know that.”

  I shake my head. “I want to be here.”

  She looks curiously at me. “This wouldn’t be about the murder, would it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Leo says you’ve become a bit obsessive about it.”r />
  “No, it’s not about the murder.” I hate that I’m lying to Ginny. “I want to be able to say goodbye to everyone properly. Anyway, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to ask for a couple of weeks, given what he’s done.”

  “You’re right.” She links her arm through mine. “Come on, let’s get you back. You’re freezing.”

  We leave the square and cross over to the house.

  “Do you think Leo will stay in The Circle?” I ask Ginny.

  “I think he intends to.”

  It doesn’t seem fair, somehow.

  She leaves me in front of the house with a hug. “If you need anything, you know where I am.”

  * * *

  Leo is waiting for me in the kitchen, leaning against the worktop. I go and lean against the sink so that I’m facing him.

  “I wish there was a bigger word than sorry,” he says. “But there isn’t.”

  “I’m sorry too,” I say.

  “What for?”

  “That it hasn’t worked out.”

  He nods. “It’s all right. I always knew this would happen once you found out.”

  I push myself upright. “But not if you’d been upfront with me from the beginning!” I say, upset that he doesn’t seem to understand. “If you’d told me about your prison sentence when we first met, everything could have been different.”

  “It wasn’t a risk I was prepared to take.” He gives a wry smile. “I’ve never been able to own up to my mistakes, I’ve always preferred to lie my way out of trouble. At least, that’s what my therapist told me.”

  “You saw a therapist?”

  “Yes. But not anymore. My parents found her for me when I was released from prison.”

  Something jars. “Are you really estranged from your parents?”

  He sighs. “How could I introduce you to them when I was using another name? You would have found out pretty quickly that they were Mr. and Mrs. Carter, not Mr. and Mrs. Curtis.”

  I don’t know why I feel shocked. “Don’t tell me. They’re loving parents, you had a pretty decent upbringing.”