Читать книгу The Last Lie: The must-read new thriller from the Sunday Times bestselling author - Alex Lake, Alex Lake - Страница 12

Claire finished her glass of champagne. She looked around the room for Alfie; after his song and her dad’s speech he’d disappeared. It had been a while – maybe twenty minutes – and she wondered where he’d gone.

She was glad he’d gone, as it happened. She’d kissed him and whispered a Thank you, that was beautiful in his ear when he had finished singing, but in truth she wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about it. She veered between thinking it was a beautiful and touching gesture, and thinking it was a bit – well, a bit embarrassing. She knew he was soft and romantic and she loved that about him, but the song had been a little too soft and romantic – not to mention too public – for her.

She sometimes wondered whether Alfie misunderstood her. She loved his kindness and generosity but she got the impression he thought she was fragile and needed to be handled with kid gloves. She wasn’t; she might have lived a life of material privilege, but she’d lost her mum as a teenager and no amount of holidays and clothes and cars could take away the hard edge that had left her with. It rarely came out in her private life, and almost never in her marriage, but Claire was known at work as a tough-minded and serious professional. Alfie never really talked to her about work. She got the impression he thought it was just something she did for fun, but it was far from it. She would explain it to him one day.

She walked towards one of the waiters for a refill. She’d already had three – or maybe four – glasses, but more champagne was the only way she would get through the party. As she reached him, she felt a tap on her shoulder.

She turned around. A guy called Hugh was smiling at her. He was wearing red trousers and a designer cardigan. His thinning hair was cut short and his eyes were glassy. She’d known him for as long as she could remember; his parents were friends with her mum and dad, and he had been invited to family events – birthday parties, weddings – over the years. He was a few years older and for a while their parents had harboured ideas that they might get together when the right time came, ideas that Hugh had clearly shared; on her fifteenth birthday he had tried to kiss her and, when she twisted away, had grabbed her breasts with both hands. She froze, and he took advantage of her shock by thrusting his hand up her skirt and into her underwear.

As soon as she realized what was happening, she ran downstairs, intent on telling her dad what Hugh had done, but when she got there he was standing with Bill, Hugh’s dad, laughing about something. She hadn’t seen him laugh much since her mum died, and she stopped, suddenly unwilling to do anything to upset him.

So she said nothing. And she’d said nothing ever since. But every time she saw Hugh she felt sick.

‘Hi,’ he said, his hand running down her arm to her elbow. ‘Nice party.’

She shrugged his hand away. ‘Thanks for coming.’ Her voice was cold.

‘Don’t be like that,’ he said. ‘We’ve not seen each other for ages. Since the wedding, I think?’

‘Could be,’ Claire said.

‘What have you been up to?’ Hugh asked.

‘This and that.’

‘Have I caught you in a bad mood? You can tell me. We go back forever.’

‘No,’ Claire said. ‘I’m looking for Alfie. He’s gone missing.’

‘Alfie,’ Hugh said. ‘The lovely Alfie. I must say, it was quite a song. Quite a … scene.’

Claire looked at him for a while before she answered. She realized she was no longer embarrassed by Alfie’s song. It represented everything that was good about him, everything that was genuine and decent and honest. Everything that made him different to Hugh.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It was. It was wonderful.’ She smiled. ‘Very few men could do something like that, Hugh, don’t you think?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I have to go. And hopefully it’ll be another three years before we meet again.’ She sipped her drink, then added, ‘Or maybe longer. A lot longer.’

She walked across the room, not sure where she was heading but simply glad to be away from Hugh. She saw her dad walking into the living room. He caught her eye and gestured to her to come over.

‘You got a second?’ he said.

‘Of course.’

‘I was just chatting to Alfie,’ he said. ‘Telling him I’m glad you two are happy …’

Claire raised an eyebrow. That kind of conversation was not the norm for him and his son-in-law.

‘I know, I know,’ he said. ‘I’m getting soft in my old age. Anyway, he mentioned something about trying for a baby.’ He looked at her, his eyes fixed on hers. ‘Is everything OK?’

Claire nodded, then, after a second, shook her head. ‘It’s been a while,’ she said.

Her dad pointed to a man standing by the fireplace. He was tall, with neat grey hair. ‘That’s Tony Scott. He’s a friend of mine, and a doctor. I asked him for the name of a good fertility specialist—’

‘Dad!’ Claire said. ‘I don’t want everyone to know.’

‘They won’t. He’s a doctor. He’ll keep it to himself. And he gave me a name. Dr Singh, in Harley Street. Call him and say that Tony Scott gave you his name. He’ll see you.’

Claire shook her head. ‘We’ll be OK. It’s not time for a doctor yet.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ her dad said. ‘See him, get checked out. If there’s nothing wrong, it’ll put your mind at ease.’ He put his hands on her shoulders. ‘OK? You going to do it?’ He smiled a sad smile. ‘Your mum would want me to do whatever I can to help. She loved you, Claire. I know she had her problems, but she was a good mum. All she wanted was for you to be happy. That’s all I want.’

‘I am happy, Dad,’ Claire said. ‘And I’ll do it. Thank you.’

Her dad nodded and headed off towards the waiter. Claire watched him go. He was as good and loving a father as anyone could wish for. Between him and Alfie, she had the best two men possible in her life.