I wondered about the story Toby had told me about his relationship with Babs, that it had been over a long time before he’d met me, that he’d not slept with her for months… had that, too, been a lie? Had I been as gullible as the woman who sat opposite looking as if the bottom had fallen out of her world. ‘Where did you meet him?’
Gwen gave her stained shirt a final flap before taking her hand away. ‘I have an art gallery on Knightsbridge high street. He came in to enquire about a painting that was on display in the window.’
It was so unexpected it dragged a reluctant laugh from me. ‘Seriously?’ I held my hand up. ‘Don’t tell me… he talked about buying it but decided it was too big, too small, too something or other.’
‘Too big.’
‘And you didn’t persuade him to buy something else?’
Gwen reached for what was left of her coffee and took a sip. ‘He came in a few minutes before we shut for lunch so he suggested I join him for something to eat so we could talk about it.’
‘Very smooth.’ I imagined Toby’s smile, that way he had of tossing his head to send his fringe flying back, dragging your eyes to it as it fell so perfectly into place, the smile in his blue eyes, the curve of his lips. I swallowed the memories with a gulp and concentrated on the woman opposite. ‘I bet he took you to an expensive restaurant and insisted on paying.’
‘Yes. An Italian near the gallery.’
I saw the glimmer of a smile that flitted across her face at the memory, it made my voice harsh and cruel. ‘And the dinners the following nights. Did he pay for them?’
Colour washed over Gwen’s pale cheeks.
With quick sympathy, I reached a hand across the table towards her. ‘I’m sorry. Don’t answer that, I know how he works. He insisted on paying again with enough emphasis that you bridled a little and demanded that he let you pay and he gave in with extreme reluctance.’
‘Almost exactly like that,’ Gwen agreed. ‘Then the next night, he said he didn’t want to offend me by offering to pay, so I paid again.’ She tilted her head. ‘So how long were you two together?’
‘Almost three months.’ I picked up the cafetière and filled our mugs. ‘Before me he was in a relationship for four years though.’ I gave Gwen a brief description of Babs’ visit and attack. ‘He told me their relationship had come to an end months before and he was sleeping in her spare room. Like a lodger, he said. And I, like a fool, believed him.’
‘Four years was a long time. Maybe he was lying about that. You know, making it out that he could commit and wasn’t flitting from one woman to another.’
I smiled. ‘It does seem a long time for someone with his track record but it was Babs who told me how long they’d been together, not him.’
‘Babs… is that a nickname?’
‘I don’t know, it might be short for Barbara, I suppose. It suits her, she’s plump and round-faced.’ I picked up my coffee and sipped. ‘Maybe that’s where Toby’s gone. Back to her.’ I put the mug down and rested my arms on the table. ‘I thought I saw her last night… outside on the road.’
‘Really? Are you sure?’ Gwen pressed her fingers to her eyes for a moment. ‘Why would she be there? Anyway, I don’t understand… if he’d planned to go back to her, why would he say he was coming to me? Why would he be that cruel?’
Anger flared again and tightened my voice. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Up to two nights ago, I thought we were perfect. There was no warning. No nothing. I was trying to get my book finished. He came in, said he didn’t love me anymore and left. Just like that.’
‘And he went back to Babs.’ Gwen’s lips pressed into a tight line. ‘Maybe that’s why she was outside last night, she came to warn you off. You know… Toby’s back with me, leave him alone.’
I hadn’t given much thought as to why Babs had been there and it was as good a reason as any. ‘If so, she must have chickened out because she never came to the door. It’s a pity she didn’t, I’d have told her that he’d already been cheating on me with another woman… slithering in and out of your bed.’
‘She probably doesn’t know about me.’ Gwen shivered. ‘By the sound of her, I’d prefer if it stayed that way. I’m not good at dealing with violent people, I’ve not had much experience really.’
Annoyed, I pushed my mug away and stood. ‘It’s not precisely the kind of thing I’m used to either.’ Nor was I used to dealing with people quite as precious as Ms Knightsbridge. ‘It appears we’re both well shot of Toby. Babs is welcome to him. Now, I must get on. Deadlines to meet, you understand.’
As a hint, it wasn’t subtle but Gwen didn’t move. ‘I’d like to ask him why.’
I laughed. The sound was loud and harsh and bounced around the room. ‘I know why he left me, don’t forget. He left me for you.’
‘But–’
‘No. No buts. He made his choice.’ I let my eyes wander slowly over her. So elegant, so damn polished. ‘I don’t know why he changed his mind, and I don’t care. You or Babs. It’s all the same to me.’
‘Not to me, I need to find out why he lied. Babs… do you have an address for her?’
I pulled open a drawer, took out a notepad and pen and scrawled an address. ‘Here you go.’ I tore the sheet off and handed it across. ‘I’d advise you to go carefully. Maybe Toby was lying about her but she seemed damn unstable when she was here beating the hell out of me.’
Gwen looked at the address and raised an eyebrow before tucking it into her handbag. She got to her feet in one smooth elegant movement. ‘All I want is to know that he’s okay.’
I could tell she was lying. If she found Toby at Babs’ house, she’d beg him to come with her. She’d remind him of the words he’d whispered, all the promises he’d made. The hope he’d sparked in her heart, the vows of love, the future he’d painted.
All the lies he told.
11
Gwen
Gwen Marsham walked down Station Road to the centre of Hanwell. Conscious of the stains on her shirt and jacket, she clutched her handbag to her chest and walked as fast as her too-high heels would allow.
On the main street, she stopped. In Knightsbridge, she’d never wait long for a taxi. She wasn’t sure if she’d be that lucky in Hanwell and pulled out her phone to ring for an Uber. Two minutes later, the car pulled up in front of her and she climbed in with a sigh.
‘I need to stop in Beaufort Gardens, Knightsbridge, for a minute, then I want to go to Streatham, okay?’
‘No problem.’ The taxi driver indicated and pulled into the busy stream of traffic.
Gwen rested back, her head throbbing. Misty had been totally unexpected. Truth these days seemed to have become a flexible commodity.
Had desperation made Gwen so gullible that she’d fallen completely for Toby’s lies? Even now, when she knew the truth, she couldn’t quite believe it. She gave a snort of laughter that had the taxi driver’s eyes fix her in his rear-view mirror, assessing her before looking away as if reassured by the sight of the elegant woman.
It was time to face it; she’d been taken for a fool. One of those pathetic women she read about with a sneer curling her lips at how ridiculous, how gullible, how idiotic they were. The hard-faced Misty would probably have laughed if Gwen had told her the full truth, if she’d told her about the money she’d given Toby when he mentioned a financial difficulty he’d been too ashamed of to explain in detail.
Gwen squeezed her eyes shut, embarrassment flooding her. She was an astute woman; she hadn’t made a success of her art gallery by being stupid. Nobody could ever know about the five thousand pounds she’d handed over without a blink of hesitation to a man she barely knew.
Or maybe her mistake wasn’t in giving it, but in asking for it back.
The thought brought tears that blurred the streets of London and the faces of the pedestrians who milled around the taxi as it stopped and started on its journey to Beaufort Gardens. Gwen hunted for a tissue in her pocket and pressed it to h
er eyes. She wasn’t normally given to crying and certainly wasn’t going to waste tears on Toby. They were tears of anger, of frustration, of disappointment. How could she have been so foolish?
The taxi pulled into Beaufort Gardens and stopped outside the building where she had an apartment on the second floor. ‘I’ll only be a couple of minutes,’ she said, pushing the door open. She climbed out, kept her head down, and hurried to the communal front door.
Inside her apartment, she ignored the champagne that tilted sadly in the silver ice bucket and went through the lounge to her bedroom. Both her shirt and jacket were ruined, she tossed them on the floor and slid the wardrobe door back. The first shirt that came to her hand was another cream silk one, almost identical to the one she’d taken off. She slipped it on, fastening the buttons as she thought about Babs and Misty… and Toby, of course.
Her expression hardened. It would take a while to get him out of her mind.
Five minutes later, she was back in the taxi and on her way to Streatham. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d crossed the river… or the last time she’d needed to… years before probably. There was a time, when she was younger – arty, bohemian and poor – she’d lived in various parts of the city, in squats, on the floor of friends, lovers, mere acquaintances. With success had come the gloss, the elegant façade, the money, and her world had condensed to the area where she now lived, worked and socialised.
Streatham looked interesting. She peered out the taxi window at the busy streets, the bustling pavements, the mix of independent shops, and the architecture – Victorian, or maybe Edwardian, she wasn’t too sure. It was all far more impressive than she’d expected.
The taxi turned onto Wavertree Road and stopped in front of an imposing red-bricked building.
‘Here you are.’
Gwen paid the fare and got out. It was tempting to ask the driver to wait. After all, the conversation was unlikely to be a prolonged one. But as she stood, hesitating, the taxi pulled away making the decision for her.
The apartment block stretched a distance in both directions with pillared entrances one to each side. With no idea which one to use, Gwen shrugged and turned to her left. She passed by the well-maintained borders that fronted the building, then took the six steps to the matt-black front door.
A row of doorbells was simply numbered with no names to identify the occupant. Gwen pulled out the scrap of paper and checked before pressing her finger against the 12.
There was a sign to one side warning that CCTV was in use. Gwen was tempted to look up at the camera, smile and flutter her fingers, but she resisted and pressed the bell again. This time she had a response. A simple, yes. The voice was surprisingly clear as if the speaker was standing right beside her – clear enough to hear the tone and it wasn’t welcoming.
Gwen would have liked to have been formal, would like to have asked to speak to Ms or even Miss, but Misty hadn’t known the woman’s surname so she was stuck with asking, ‘Is that Babs?’
The reply was less than encouraging. ‘Who wants to know?’
Gwen wasn’t surprised. It would have been similar to what she’d have said if their positions had been reversed. ‘My name is Gwen Marsham. We have a friend in common… Toby.’ She hoped his name would be the key she needed but the reaction wasn’t what she expected. Laughter pealed through the intercom. A raucous sound. It made her pull away and when the buzzer sounded allowing her access, she debated the wisdom of entering. This was, after all, the woman who’d beaten up Misty and whereas Gwen considered herself to be tougher than she looked, she wasn’t interested in coming to blows with anyone.
But she’d not gone there to turn away at that point and before the buzzing stopped, she pushed open the heavy door.
The entrance lobby was an unwelcoming, nightmarish, green-and-black tiled space that hurt her eyes. A floor directory on the wall next to the lift door indicated that apartment 12 was on the fourth floor. Gwen pressed the button to call the lift and when the door slid open, stepped inside, holding her breath as it shut, feeling instantly claustrophobic in the tiny space.
On the fourth floor, the door swished open onto a quiet corridor. On the wall opposite, ornate arrows painted above a row of numbers directed her to the right. Her stiletto heels clicked loudly on the tiled floor and as if listening for a sign, a door opened halfway along the corridor and a woman stepped out, hands on her hips.
When the scowling face came into focus and brown eyes under heavy unplucked brows stared, assessing her, Gwen raised a perfectly arched eyebrow in response, refusing to wilt under their scrutiny. She was older and with age came the advantage of experience.
Babs sniffed, and waved a hand inside. ‘You’d better come in, I suppose.’
Inside, a small dark hallway opened into a surprisingly spacious lounge. A pleasant room, it was obviously furnished for comfort rather than style. Gwen looked around the room and couldn’t imagine Toby in such a domestic setting. Couldn’t picture him slumped on the sofa, his feet up on the shabby footstool to watch the overlarge TV that dominated the room.
Gwen wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing there. Was she seeking an explanation… or simply trying to put the pieces together hoping that when the last piece was in place, when she could see the whole picture, it would all make sense and she could let it go?
She walked across to the window and stared out at the street below. Closure. A much abused and overused word. But maybe, all the same, it was what she was seeking.
When she turned, Babs was sitting on the sofa, arms tight across her chest, eyes narrowed and focused on Gwen. ‘I assume you’re going to tell me why you’re here.’
‘I was hoping to talk about Toby.’
‘I was hoping to talk about Toby.’ Babs imitated her accent, her mouth twisting in a sneer. ‘And what was it you wanted to talk about, eh?’ She lifted an index finger, holding it up as if testing which way the wind was blowing. ‘No, let me guess.’ Pressing her lips together, she hummed off-key for a few seconds. ‘Let me guess,’ she said again, bringing her gaze back to Gwen. ‘You didn’t know him long so you probably haven’t spent a fortune buying him new clothes, expensive dinners, exotic holidays so…’ Babs tapped her finger against her lip. ‘I bet you fell for some idiotic sob story and loaned him money. Am I right?’ Seeing Gwen’s expression, Babs grinned. ‘I’m right, aren’t I? Toby was nothing if not predictable.’
Gwen sank onto a small bucket chair. ‘He left you for–’
‘A writer called Misty Eastwood.’ Babs tilted her head. ‘I didn’t think much of his taste there, to be honest.’ She let her eyes slide over Gwen. ‘You’re older but at least you look as if you’ve a bit of style about you.’
‘He lied to me; told me he was living with his sister.’
Babs waved a dismissive hand. ‘That was the thing about Toby. He was gorgeous to look at, could charm the birds from the trees, but he didn’t bother with things as inconvenient as the truth if a lie was necessary to get him what he wanted.’
‘And that was?’
Babs shrugged. ‘Money, status, excitement.’
‘You were with him for four years–’
Whatever Gwen was going to ask was lost in the howl of Babs’ laughter. ‘Four years! Are you crazy? Toby lived here for six months. I spent a fortune on him in that time. Even if he’d wanted to, I couldn’t have afforded to have him stay longer.’
‘But… but… you attacked Misty for stealing him from you.’
Babs got to her feet and crossed the room. She vanished through a doorway, returning moments later with a bottle of red wine and two glasses. ‘It’s red or nothing,’ she said. She put the glasses on the coffee table, twisted the cap and poured, filling both almost to the brim.
Flopping back onto the sofa, she reached for her wine and gulped almost quarter in one mouthful. ‘Toby was an addiction. Like any, you know it’s bad for you, that you should stop, give it up, but you simply can’t.’ She took another dr
ink. ‘He made me feel like a better version of myself, slimmer, prettier, sexier.’ Her laugh was bitter. ‘He had a way of asking for money… no, not asking really, more insinuating in such a way that I’d be begging him to take it from me.’
Gwen reached for her wine and took a sip. It was cheap plonk but she drank it anyway. ‘Yes, I can understand that. Like when he asked me for four thousand pounds and I ended up giving him five, to make sure he’d enough.’
‘Big mistake.’
‘Yes.’ A bigger mistake asking for it back but Gwen didn’t mention that. There was silence between the two women, the only sound the regular click of the wine glass hitting the table as Gwen put it down after each mouthful.
‘More?’ Babs reached for the bottle and wagged it in the space between them. She filled both glasses at Gwen’s nod, then sat staring into her wine. Eventually, she looked up and sighed. ‘I hadn’t spoken to Toby since that time in Misty’s house.’ She smiled a little. ‘It wasn’t from want of trying but he’d blocked me and told the staff in his office not to put my calls through.’ She tilted her glass, making the wine see-saw and slop over the edge. Switching hands, she shook the spillage away.
Gwen watched as red drops fell on the pale wood of the coffee table where they sat and shimmered in the sun that came through the window. Drops that fell on the cream carpet immediately soaked in. They’d leave a stain that would be there long after Toby’s memory had faded. Gwen guessed that Babs hadn’t noticed or if she did, she didn’t care.
‘I don’t drink every day now,’ Babs said, taking another mouthful. ‘I did the first few days after he left. When I had a verbal warning at work, I knew I had to get my act together.’ One further tiny sip of wine and she put it down. ‘I didn’t, and I’m on suspension. To be brutally honest, things are pretty much falling apart.’ She sat silently for a moment before shrugging dismissively. ‘Enough about me. Toby hadn’t moved in with you so your addiction should be less. Count yourself lucky.’
The Lies He Told: a gripping psychological suspense thriller Page 5
