The One You Trust E-Book

Paul Pilkington

• Herausgeber: Fast Paced Fiction
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: Emma Holden Suspense Mystery Trilogy
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 348

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

Experience the gripping third and final instalment of the bestselling Emma Holden suspense mystery trilogy, with its trademark twists, turns and page-turning cliff-hangers. 

If you think you know the truth, think again...

Emma Holden, now happily married, hopes that the nightmare is finally over.
But the biggest danger is yet to come…
Sinister accusations and shocking revelations sow mistrust, threatening to tear Emma and her friends apart.
Soon, Emma must fight for her life as the horrifying truth behind Dan’s disappearance is revealed.

Long-buried family secrets, sinister motives and fractured friendships await in this addictive, page-turning trilogy from best-selling author Paul Pilkington. Perfect for fans of fast-paced, twisting and turning mystery fiction with an emotional heart, from authors such as LJ Ross, CL Taylor, TM Logan, Lisa Jewell and Harlan Coben.

Leseprobe

The One You Trust

Emma Holden Trilogy Book 3

Paul Pilkington

First published 2014

This edition published 2022

Copyright © 2014 2022 by Paul Pilkington

Published by Fast Paced Fiction

ISBN: 978-1-915367-02-0

All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This novel is written in British (UK) English. British English words, spelling (favourite, colour, etc.) and grammar are used throughout.

Cover design by Jeanine Henning.

For my family and loyal readers

Also by Paul Pilkington

DCI Paul Cullen Mysteries:

Long Gone

Fallen Angel

Dead Ahead

Emma Holden Trilogy:

The One You Love

The One You Fear

The One You Trust

Standalone Novels:

Someone to Save You

I Heard You

For Your Own Protection

Contents

Prologue

Part I

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Part II

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Part III

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Part IV

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Prologue

‘Wake up.’

Peter Myers hadn’t been asleep. Before he turned over to face the prison guard, he tucked the photograph that he had been gazing at into his waistband, covering it with his top.

If they knew he had it, they would take it off him straight away.There was no doubt about that.All the effort that he had gone to would have been wasted. And that photograph was one of the only things keeping him going. Without it, he didn’t know what he would do. It was the thing that lifted him above the filth and degradation of life that festered within the prison walls, threatening to consume you.

‘Come on, Myers, up!’

He climbed off the creaky, uncomfortable bed, with its damp odour, paper thin mattress and unforgiving springs. Without saying a word, he faced up to the guard, who was about half a foot shorter than him. Their faces were only a matter of centimetres apart. He could smell the stale tobacco on the man’s breath.

‘Look lively, Myers.’ The guard liked to act tough, play the bully.

Peter Myers continued to just stare at him. He could sense his discomfort, no matter how well he tried to hide it. The man was afraid. He probably came to work every day with a sense of terror that someone would puncture the false bravado and show him up for what he really was. But no matter how much Peter Myers wanted to be that person, he had to behave.

He moved out of the cell and along the corridor towards the washroom. The guard watched from the door. There was only one other prisoner in the cramped washing area – a man by the name of Carl Jones, who was awaiting trial for attacking his wife with a knife after he found her in bed with his best friend. Jones liked to think of himself as a bit of a joker; sometimes playing the fool, and at other times trying to make a fool out of others. But Myers just found him annoying. He wanted to swat him away, like a persistent fly buzzing around a meal. So he didn’t acknowledge him as he entered the room. He just bent over the sink and swilled his face with ice cold water.

‘Hey, Myers, is this your girlfriend?’

Peter Myers, his face dripping, glared at Carl Jones in the mirror. The man was holding up the photograph. It must have fallen from his waistband.

‘Hey, she’s a real looker!’ he said. ‘Nice pai…’

The word was cut off by Peter Myers’ hand, which he thrust out and wrapped tightly around the man’s throat, pressing his thumb deep into his Adam’s apple – he heard a crack. ‘Give me the photograph back, now.’

He relinquished it immediately, grabbing at his throat, gasping. His face was blood-red. Peter Myers tucked the photograph back out of sight. He looked at Carl Jones, hunched over, and wanted to hurt him some more. But he had already done more than was sensible. He needed to stay out of trouble.

His plan depended on it.

Part I

1

Lizzy paused as she arrived outside Dan and Emma’s apartment block, just before eleven o’clock. The weather on this Friday morning in early December was sunny but bitterly cold, and Lizzy had her hands buried deep inside her winter coat and her strawberry blonde hair covered by a woolly hat. She liked this kind of weather – it was Christmassy, and she loved the festive season. She chewed on her lip as she considered the events of the past two weeks. She shook off the feeling of dread, and entered the block, glancing over at the pigeon holes where the postman deposited the mail for each resident. There were several letters in the space. Hesitating again, nerves rising up, she decided to just face up to things, and leafed through the mail. Thankfully there was nothing to be worried about here.

Not like just under two weeks ago.

The first letter was waiting for her three days after her best friend, Emma, and her new husband, Dan, had left for their honeymoon in Mauritius.

Emma had asked Lizzy if she would mind the apartment while they were away. Emma had only asked her to pop around once in a while, just to check that everything was well. But Lizzy had found herself drawn to the place every day after her friends had flown out from Heathrow for their well-deserved holiday of a lifetime. Maybe after all that had happened, Lizzy had just felt the need to be extra vigilant. Even though the nightmare was over.

Or so they thought.

The letter had been the only thing in the post tray that third morning.

It was addressed to Lizzy, sent externally, first class post.

Inside was a piece of lined paper, with just a single, taunting typed sentence, in a Gothic font, centred on the page.

Who can you really trust, Lizzy?

Lizzy had never considered herself easily intimidated. She had always been somewhat thick-skinned, developed during childhood years of being playfully taunted by two older brothers. And further hardened by surviving in the sometimes catty world of theatre. But this act certainly got to her. For the rest of the day it remained uppermost in her mind. Who had sent this? And why? Whoever had sent it must have known that Emma and Dan were away, and that Lizzy was visiting the apartment. She found herself looking over her shoulder, wondering whether the person was watching, following.

But she refused to be intimidated.

Defying her fears, Lizzy returned to the apartment every day, making the post station her first port of call. And each day, she had expected to find another letter for her. But it wasn’t for another seven days that the next communication arrived. The modus operandi was the same. A single typed sentence, in Gothic font, posted first class, addressed to her.

The one you trust is the one to fear. Who do you trust, Lizzy?

Lizzy had no idea what that was supposed to mean. It wasn’t a threat, as such. It was more like a warning. But it was not a friendly warning. It was designed to unsettle her.

Again, the question of who…

The suspect was obvious; Sally Thompson. Two months ago, Sally, masquerading as a girl called Amy, had planned to kill Emma’s brother, Will Holden. In a tandem skydive, which she had groomed Will for, they would both fall to their deaths. The motive had been revenge on the family – Sally blamed Emma for the death of her fiancé, Stuart Harris, who killed himself after his advances towards Emma, to whom he had once also been engaged to, had been spurned. But ultimately, she hadn’t carried it through. She’d pulled back from the brink, and hadn’t in fact committed any crime. Which is why the police had just given her an official caution. Maybe she was too obvious a suspect.

But if not Sally, then who?

Lizzy hadn’t told anyone about the letters. She certainly wasn’t going to let it spoil Dan and Emma’s honeymoon. There was no way that she was going to let this individual ruin things. And she hadn’t told Will, because she wasn’t convinced that he would be able to keep quiet, if Emma happened to get in touch. He probably wouldn’t say anything, but it wasn’t worth the risk. Lizzy had considered contacting the police, but there really wasn’t much to say, and experience of police indifference dissuaded her from taking that step. They wouldn’t be interested.

Lizzy climbed the stairs to Emma and Dan’s top floor apartment. She entered, glancing back down towards the staircase as she closed the door. There was of course, nobody there. Once inside, she did her daily check of each room, moving quickly. Everything was as it should be. But being in the place, devoid of its owners, unnerved her, and she never stayed in the apartment for more than a minute or so. She was always glad to exit. Lizzy peered around the bathroom door as she readied herself to leave. Again, nothing. But inside her head, she heard Will’s voice.

It’s Richard, I think he’s dead.

That image, of Will emerging from the bathroom, blood all over his hands, having found the battered body of Dan’s brother, Richard, still haunted her.

She always left the bathroom until last.

Lizzy shivered, locking the outside door and returning back down the stairs. It wasn’t getting any easier, but she was going to come back every day until Dan and Emma returned. She wasn’t going to let her fears get the better of her.

By the time she reached the bottom, she was feeling better. But the sight of a white envelope in Dan and Emma’s post tray stopped her dead.

She looked across at the external door. There was no-one. Moving over to the tray, she took hold of the letter. It was the same handwriting as previously. But this time, no stamp. It had been hand delivered.

Lizzy gripped the envelope. ‘They’ve been here, just now.’

She was startled by the door swinging open.

It was Emma’s elderly downstairs neighbour. ‘Mr Henderson, it’s you.’

‘Oh, hello.’ Mr Henderson looked surprised to see her, although she’d seen him a few times over the past few days and had explained that she was looking after the apartment. She wondered whether he, like his wife, was starting to lose his memory. It didn’t seem much fun, getting old.

‘Did you see anyone leaving the apartments?’ Lizzy asked. ‘Just now.’

He looked confused, clutching on to a couple of shopping bags.

Lizzy tried again. ‘Did anyone pass you, just now, as you were coming in?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘A man.’

‘What did he look like?’

‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘He was wearing a hat. A cap, one of those peaked caps. Seemed to cover his face. He was looking down. I didn’t see his face.’

‘Do you know which way he went?’

‘North. Towards Euston Road. Is he a friend of yours?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Lizzy said. ‘What colour cap?’

‘Blue.’

Lizzy pulled open the door, still holding the letter. ‘Thanks, Mr Henderson.’ She stepped out onto the pavement and peered down the road. There were a few people walking towards her, and another several walking in the direction of Euston Road, some way up the street. One of them looked like they might be wearing a cap, but it was just too far to tell. Lizzy set off up the road towards them, walking at a pace just short of a jog. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do if one of them was the man in the cap, but she wanted to do something.

She passed two people – a twenty-something girl listening to music through headphones, and a businessman texting on his mobile phone. And then, up further ahead, she could see him. Striding purposefully, the man in the blue cap.

‘Hey, you!’

Lizzy wasn’t sure why she shouted, but it certainly got his attention, and confirmed her suspicions that this was the person. He turned his head at a low angle, just enough to see Lizzy, but still shielding his face beneath the cap.

And then he ran.

Lizzy gave chase, but the individual in the cap was much too fast and rapidly increased the distance between them. If she had been Emma, Lizzy thought, then maybe she would have a chance. But Lizzy, although relatively fit, wasn’t naturally sporty, and didn’t run for fun. She didn’t give up though, and pursued the person up towards the busy Euston Road.

The person in the cap sprinted straight across the road on red, dodging buses, taxis and cars, and carried on across into Regent’s Park. Lizzy could only stand by the kerb and watch from the other side, punching the crossing button repeatedly in a vain attempt to stop the traffic.

She leant against the crossing barrier to catch her breath and only then remembered she still had the unopened letter in her hand. She tore it open.

This time it wasn’t just a message.

‘What the hell?’

2

‘I can’t believe that tomorrow is our last full day.’

‘Me neither,’ Dan said, as they sat down for the Friday evening meal on the hotel restaurant terrace, looking out over the stunning beach and the expanse of the Indian Ocean that was bathed in a glorious sunset. Emma closed her eyes and enjoyed the feel of the mild, strengthening breeze, which in the past hour had taken the edge off the humidity. ‘It seems to have gone so quickly. Cheers to a wonderful honeymoon, Mrs Carlton.’ He smiled and raised his glass of champagne to meet Emma’s. This meal, in the smaller, Indian themed restaurant, was a special treat arranged by Dan. Unlike the other larger eating places in the hotel, you had to book ahead, and the setting was very much for special occasions, with open air dining by candlelight. But although this was an extra special meal, in truth, everything about the holiday had been a treat. The hotel was amazing. It was a luxurious complex right by the best beach on Mauritius’ east coast, complete with a number of swimming pools, several restaurants serving a vast array of food from around the world, and rooms that seemed palatial in their décor.

And then there was the island itself. A real paradise, bathed in sunshine, and offering a real mix of cultures, sights and landscapes – lush fields of sugar cane that spread out for miles, tea plantations, forests, the multicultural bustling capital of Port Louis, the impressive Hindu temples, and of course, the wonderful beaches that encircled the island.

It was certainly the holiday of a lifetime.

‘Em, are you okay?’

Emma snapped out of her daydream, realising that she was absentmindedly twirling her chocolate brown hair. She smiled sadly. ‘I was just thinking, on Sunday we go back to reality. Back to London, the apartment…’

‘It’s not that bad, you know,’ Dan joked, his attention taken for a second by one of the tiny sparrows that spent each day feasting on the scraps that fell from people’s tables. They’d come down early for the meal, before the later rush, so the restaurant was quiet, with only another two couples, seated some tables away.

‘No, it’s not bad at all.’ She tried to smile.

‘Everything is going to be all right,’ Dan said, reading her mind, as he reached across and took her hand. ‘Everything is going to be absolutely fine.’

Emma went to say something, then paused.

‘What is it?’

‘I don’t really want to spoil tonight,’ Emma said. ‘We shouldn’t let anything spoil it.’

‘I know, but if you’re worried about something, then it might be better to just get it out. We all know what happens when people keep secrets.’

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Okay, I’ll tell you. But please, I hope you won’t be upset.’

‘Of course I won’t, Em.’

Emma sipped at the champagne to ready herself. ‘Last night. I had that dream again.’

‘Right…’ Dan knew just what she meant. ‘The nightmare at the church altar.’

Emma nodded. ‘It was exactly the same as the other times. I was standing next to you, we were getting married…’

‘And then I turn into your ex-fiancé, Stuart Harris,’ Dan interrupted.

‘Yes. And then he turns into…’

‘Stephen Myers,’ Dan sighed. Stephen Myers, the man who had stalked Emma when she had worked as an actor on the soap opera Up My Street, in Manchester. Three months ago, Emma had discovered that Stephen Myers had been murdered, four years previously, by Stuart, following a blackmail attempt. Her brother Will had been pressured by Stuart to help him dispose of the body. Unknown to Emma at the time, this event led to the breakup of her and Stuart’s relationship. And it had also resulted, this summer, in the kidnap of Dan by Stephen’s father, Peter Myers, as he sought revenge on Emma and her family and friends.

Emma shook her head. ‘I really thought that once everything was sorted, you know, after the wedding, then it wouldn’t happen. I thought it was in the past.’ Yet Emma knew that the situation that had given birth to the nightmare wasn’t in the past at all. Peter Myers had yet to be sentenced, and there was still the worry that he would one day reveal that his son had been murdered and also Will’s role in it.

And the unanswered question – how had Peter Myers found out that Stuart Harris had killed his son?

Dan was about to reply but was interrupted by a waiter. ‘Sir, Madam. Are you ready to order?’

Emma and Dan exchanged a glance.

‘Not quite yet,’ Dan said. ‘Another couple of minutes?’

‘Certainly,’ the waiter replied, and moved away.

Dan turned back to Emma. ‘Why would I be upset about you having a recurrent nightmare?’

Emma shrugged. ‘Because this dream, it’s coming from inside me. I’m creating it. Inside, I must still be thinking about Stuart Harris and Stephen Myers. Doesn’t that bother you?’

‘Yes, it does. But not in the way you think. It bothers me because I want you to be free of the bad memories, free of the nightmares.’

‘Thanks.’

Dan thought of something. ‘Last night, is that the first time you’ve had the dream since the wedding?’

‘Yes.’

‘I thought you seemed a bit distracted today. I could tell something was bothering you.’

They’d been on a full day, escorted “Tea Tour” of the island. The trip was supposed to be by minibus, but as Dan and Emma had been the only people booked on it, the tour guide had accompanied them in a luxury taxi. They’d visited a tea plantation, the main factory on the island, and had a wonderful lunch at an old plantation owner’s house. It had been a lovely day, but Dan was right – Emma had been distracted at times, ruminating on the return of the dream.

‘Look,’ Dan said. ‘Maybe the dream is down to worry – worry about going home. This past two weeks, it’s been an escape. I don’t know about you, but everything about being here, it’s felt a world away from all the bad things that have happened to us recently.’

‘I’d hardly thought of any of it since we arrived,’ Emma said. ‘We’ve been too busy having fun. It just seemed like a distant memory – as if it happened to someone else.’

‘Exactly. And now it’s coming to an end, we have to go back home, to where it all happened. We have to face up to the fact that it did happen, and we’ve got to deal with it, Em, no matter how difficult it is. And that won’t be easy. It’s understandable if your subconscious is unsettled.’

Emma agreed. ‘In the past day, I’ve also been thinking about Firework Films. About whether they are still planning to make the television programme.’ The infamous production company, known for their exploitative reality TV shows, were making a drama-documentary of what had happened to Emma and Dan over the summer.

‘I think we have to assume that they will.’

‘It’s just that as we haven’t heard anything more from Adrian Spencer over the past couple of months, I thought it might be a good sign.’ Adrian Spencer, a researcher for Firework Films, had been pestering them incessantly for information. But after they had complained directly to the company, his unwanted attention had stopped.

‘I wouldn’t bet on it, unfortunately.’

‘I know. But I really wish they wouldn’t.’

‘Me too. But we have no control over what they do, do we? All we can try and do is deal with it in the best way we can – try not to let it affect us too much. It’s easier said than done, I know.’

‘You’re right,’ Emma said. ‘We need to focus on the positives.’

‘Yes. Like your new job.’

Emma’s new acting role, in a West End play, a dramatic piece called Down Under,about a family from Liverpool starting a new life in Australia whose dream turns sour, was indeed a really positive thing. Rehearsals weren’t due to start for a few weeks, but she had received the script via her new agent, and had already read through it several times. There was also a social planned with the cast. She didn’t know anyone else in the production, so it would be great to get to know the team.

Dan glanced up from the menu. ‘Have you made a decision about the reunion?’

Via her new agent, Caroline Conner, Emma had received an invitation to attend a reunion event next weekend for the cast of Up My Street, the soap opera in which she had spent five largely happy years. The event was to celebrate the twenty year anniversary of the show and the move of the production to brand new, state of the art studios at Media City, a massive media development at Salford Quays, some ten miles from their ageing base in Central Manchester. She had made many wonderful friends during her time on the show, both in front of and behind the camera, so it would be amazing to see her old colleagues again.

‘I’m still not sure.’

There were some things that made her hesitate in making the decision to accept the invitation. That time was in many ways the seeding ground for everything bad that had happened since.

It was where she had met and fallen in love with Stuart Harris.

And it was where she had first come to the attention of Stephen Myers – the desperate, needy stalker who had made those last few years on the show an absolute misery.

Emma looked out across at the ocean. A huge container ship was moving across the distant horizon, possibly heading for one of the big African ports. Their tour guide that day had explained how so much shipping traffic passed through, either stopping off at the Island or gliding past its shores. It was a shipping super highway. Emma noticed the sky was darkening purple and black in the distance – the guide had also warned them that a big electrical storm would roll in that evening.

‘Looks like the storm’s approaching,’ Dan said, seeing where she was looking.

The thought made Emma shiver a little. Thunder and lightning always unnerved her. One of her first memories of childhood was cowering under the covers during a storm, wishing that the noise would stop. Her mother and father came to the rescue, letting her sleep in their bed that night.

‘It’s up to you, of course, but I think you should go to the reunion,’ Dan said. ‘It might be a good way to move on.’

‘But aren’t reunions about looking back to the past?’

‘Maybe to deal with the past, you’ve got to face the past.’

Emma smiled. ‘Maybe you’re right. You think it might help to stop the dream?’

Dan shrugged. ‘Who knows? I’m not a psychologist. But at least you should have a good time.’

‘And what if Charlotte Harris is there?’

Charlotte Harris, Stuart’s younger sister, had played a small, non-speaking part in the soap opera. Stuart had managed to get her the role of one of the children in the school that sometimes featured.

‘She probably won’t have received an invite. But if she has, then just try to ignore her.’

‘I guess.’ Emma certainly didn’t relish the idea of seeing her again. Not after what she had said to her two months ago – blaming her for Stuart’s suicide and for the breakup of his relationship with Sally Thompson.

‘Don’t let Charlotte Harris stop you from going. If you really don’t want to go, then fair enough. But if it’s the thought of her being there that’s putting you off, then that’s different.’

‘You’re right. I will go. And you’re right about needing to face up to the past in order to move on. I’m thinking of maybe going to see a counsellor. Maybe the person who Miranda recommended. She said she’d see me on a more informal basis. What do you think?’

‘I think you should do whatever you feel you need to do. I’ll support you, whatever you decide.’

‘And you? Do you think you might benefit from counselling?’

Dan smiled. ‘I think I’ll be okay.’

The storm hit just as they had finished their meal. They ran back to their room as the rain began to harden. Within minutes, the water was cascading down the guttering and pooling across the balcony. Emma and Dan watched from the comfort of their room as the sky flashed and the thunder boomed.

The intense, powerful storm raged on throughout the night, and Emma didn’t sleep very well. But at least the dream didn’t return. And by morning, all was calm.

3

Will Holden and Katie left the lovely Italian restaurant in Soho, after enjoying a wonderful Saturday lunchtime meal. The December sun was shining, and all seemed great. It was then that Katie asked him the question that marked the end of their brief relationship.

‘Are you thinking about somebody else?’

Will was shocked at Katie’s perceptiveness. But perhaps it had been obvious? He had spent most of the meal daydreaming, or worrying about how he should deal with the thoughts that just wouldn’t go away. It had been the same that morning, on a riverside walk. So, when challenged, there was no point in arguing.

Will just nodded.

Katie smiled sweetly, kissed him goodbye on the cheek, and left. She crossed the road and disappeared from view without looking back.

And that was that.

Will stood there for a moment or so, collecting his thoughts, as a young couple with whom they had shared the restaurant exited, holding hands as they moved away, laughing at a shared joke. He watched them and blew out his cheeks, his breath visible. Katie was a lovely girl. Kind, intelligent, pretty. And they got on really well. They seemed to share opinions on the main things that mattered, and they made each other laugh. He should have been racing after her, telling her that the thing he was thinking about meant nothing compared to being with her. But instead he had let her walk out of his life, without even a word.

He wandered around the streets of the West End for half an hour or so. By the end of his walk, he was sure. No matter how lovely Katie was, and how much they connected, there was a big problem.

He was in love with someone else.

‘I must be crazy.’

That afternoon, Will Holden watched the girl from a safe distance, at the edge of Newington Green, a small park in Stoke Newington, North London. He’d been just down the street from her apartment when he’d spotted her, exiting and making her way in the opposite direction. She looked amazing – her blonde hair falling perfectly over the back of the long red winter coat that reached down to her UGG boots. His first reaction had been to turn around and go back home – it had been a foolish decision to come here in the first place. But then he’d felt an uncontrollable urge to follow, to watch her, longing to be close enough to hear her voice.

My God, he was behaving like a stalker.

He’d trailed her for a few minutes, hanging back as she’d entered the park in the middle of the square. It was there that she’d been joined by the man. A tall, ginger haired guy wearing jeans and a bomber jacket, probably about Will’s age. They walked side by side along the footpath, as Will watched from behind a bank of trees.

Surely she hadn’t found someone else so soon?

They weren’t holding hands, but they did look close – maybe brushing against one another as they walked. Will felt sick, and jealous, although he really had no right to be. The two of them sat down on a bench, next to the deserted children’s play area, with their backs to Will. He waited for them to kiss, or embrace, but they just talked.

What the hell was he doing here? This girl had planned to kill him. If Emma knew he was seeking to re-establish contact, she would be so angry.

Just after that West End walk, he’d headed for the tube. It was almost as if he was on autopilot, guided by his heart rather than his head. He knew it was an incredibly stupid thing to do, and that it would probably only do damage, but he just couldn’t help himself. If he didn’t speak to her, and tell her how he felt, well, he knew that he would regret it.

Surely Emma would understand that?

But did she ever need to know?

The answer to the first question was maybe. The answer to the second was probably not. And as much as Will didn’t want to keep secrets any more, if it was for the best, then so be it.

He waited while the two of them continued to talk. Then, just as he was beginning to wonder how long they would stay, the couple rose and parted company without an embrace.

Were they lovers?

Will shook the thought from his head. It was really none of his business.

He resisted the temptation to approach her on the way back to her apartment. He decided it would just look too weird, him appearing out of nowhere. So he waited until she got back home, and then held back for another five minutes, before approaching the door to the ground floor apartment.

Remember not to call her Amy…the false name she had used to deceive him…

The door swung inwards just a few seconds after Will had knocked. Will knew that his presence would be a shock, given the circumstances of their parting, but he hadn’t quite expected the look of horror that flashed across Sally’s face.

‘Will. I…’

Will took a symbolic step back. ‘I’m sorry, for coming out of the blue like this, but I just wanted to talk to you.’

Sally looked pained and sad. ‘You shouldn’t have come. You really shouldn’t.’

Will nodded his understanding. ‘I’ll go. As I said, I’m really sorry for turning up here like this.’ He turned and made to walk away, his stomach lurching from the sight of her. She looked radiant. Just as he had remembered.

‘Wait,’ he heard her say. ‘It should be me who is apologising.’

Will stopped and turned around. ‘I didn’t come for that.’

‘Then why? Why have you come here, Will?’

Will pinched the bridge of his nose as he searched for the words. ‘I came because I want to find out if the girl I thought I knew is really you.’

Sally seemed to understand. ‘Let’s go and grab a coffee. There’s a place just around the corner; it’s nice and quiet.’

‘I’m so sorry, Will, for what I did to you.’

They were seated towards the back of the café, as far away from the counter as you could get, to stay out of earshot. They were the only ones in the place.

‘It’s okay. I understand that you weren’t thinking straight. You were grieving for Stuart, I understand that. You were hurting, you were angry, you wanted revenge.’

Sally looked away. She closed her eyes. ‘I can’t believe what I did. What I was planning to do. I am just so ashamed of what happened. So very ashamed. If there was a way I could make it up to you, then I would.’

‘You don’t need to.’

‘How can you mean that?’ she said. ‘I led you on for weeks, I lied about who I was, and I was planning to…’

‘But you didn’t go through with it. You didn’t do anything.’

‘No, I suppose I didn’t.’

‘Why didn’t you go through with it?’ Will had been desperate to ask this question ever since the revelations at the airfield. Sally, a qualified skydive instructor, had driven him there with the intention of tandem jumping out of a plane and sending them both to their deaths. Why, after all that planning, that thought, had she left him on the ground?

Sally considered her answer. ‘Because I liked you. I know it sounds pathetic, but I did really get to like you, Will. And I just couldn’t do it. Especially after what you said to me when we were getting ready to jump. About how I’d changed your life for the better. I guess it just woke me up to the horror of what I was doing – how terribly, terribly horrific it all was. Those weeks after Stuart’s death, well, they’re all a blur really. I was in such a state, such a deep depression, that I don’t think I really knew what I was doing. It was like I was possessed.’

‘Were you still planning to kill yourself?’ Will asked. ‘If we hadn’t radioed through to the pilot to land the plane, were you still going to go through with it?’ Emma and the others had got to the airfield just in time, to alert Will to what Sally was planning to do.

‘I was in a really bad place,’ she replied, not quite answering the question.

‘And now?’

Her smile seemed slightly forced. ‘Better. Much better. I feel like I’m coming out of the darkness.’

‘That’s good. Really good.’ Will watched Sally. She did look good. Not someone who was in the depths of depression. But then, how was he to really know the truth? She’d fooled him totally once before, and he had to assume that she could do so again.

They both took sips from their coffee, glancing over at the entrance as a mother and baby entered. ‘I’m still confused, Will, why you’ve come to see me. You’ve got every right not to want to remember that I even exist.’

Will laughed, and shook his head at the thought. ‘Believe me, I’ve tried.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Maybe you’re right,’ Will said, struggling for the words. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have come here.’

‘You said back at my apartment that you wanted to know if the girl you thought you knew was really me. What do you mean?’

Again Will shook his head, rueing the feelings that he had tried but failed to suppress. ‘I…I fell in love with that girl…with Amy. I fell totally in love with her. She made me feel alive. I want to know, are you Amy?’ He’d thought this was going to be extremely difficult, but now he’d started the words were coming freely; he felt emboldened. ‘Are you the girl that I fell in love with?’

Sally seemed taken aback. ‘I’m not Amy, Will.’

‘But how much of Amy was you?’

‘I’m not sure how to answer that.’

‘Her personality, character, her likes and dislikes, sense of humour, her attitude and outlook on life – live for the moment, challenge your fears. Is that you, or was it just an act?’

‘No, that’s me.’

‘Then it is you that I’m in love with.’

Sally shook her head. ‘You don’t mean that. You can’t be in love with me, Will.’

‘Do you really think I’d be here if I wasn’t?’

‘It doesn’t matter anyway,’ she said. ‘After what’s happened.’

Will wasn’t giving up. ‘I’m okay with being friends. If that’s all that you want. I’ll accept that. I promise that I will never pressure you for anything more than you’re comfortable with.’

‘Friendship requires trust, Will. How can you ever trust me, after what I did to you?’

‘I do trust you,’ he replied. ‘Yes, I know it sounds crazy, but now that I’ve seen you again, spoken with you, I know that I can trust you.’

‘And what about your family, Will? Will Emma trust me? Does she know that you’re here, wanting to be my friend?’

‘She’ll understand.’

‘And if she doesn’t?’

Will didn’t know the answer to that one.

Sally watched as Will turned the corner of the street, after their brief but friendly goodbye. She waited until she got back to the privacy of her apartment before dialling the number. ‘Hi. There’s a problem. It’s Will Holden. I think he was following me, and if he was, then he probably saw you.’

4

‘So, you wanted to speak to me,’ Adrian Spencer said, unsmiling, as he approached Lizzy on Saturday afternoon at their agreed meeting point, just down from Westminster Bridge, right by the river Thames. Adrian, his balding hair shaved short, looked up at the darkening sky with his slate grey eyes. ‘Looks like it’s going to rain.’

Lizzy nodded. Following the events of the previous morning, she’d thought of cancelling the meeting. Concerns over the item left by the mysterious capped individual was weighing heavily on her mind. But part of her wondered whether this would be her only chance; her only opportunity to try and convince Firework Films to drop the idea of the drama-documentary that they were planning to make about Emma.

Part of her also wondered whether she was crazy to even countenance the idea that she would be able to change their mind. They were a commercial company, with commercial concerns. They obviously thought that the programme had the potential to be lucrative. But surely, it was worth a try? And what better present to give Emma on her return from honeymoon than the news that they had dropped the idea?

Lizzy tried a smile. ‘Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.’

Adrian Spencer had been curt but professional on the phone. In truth, Lizzy hadn’t really expected him to agree to the request. After all, the last time they had met, he had been ambushed by Lizzy, Emma and Dan, and faced uncomfortable accusations – that he was a researcher for Firework Films, not the newspaper journalist he had purported to be. Then he had seemed defeated, and deflated. On the run. But today, was that a hint of bitterness in his eyes, maybe even sadness?

‘You’ve not got your friends with you today?’ he said, looking over his shoulder pointedly. ‘Dan Carlton isn’t waiting in the wings is he? Your knight in shining armour?’

Maybe the meeting had been a mistake. ‘You know why we had to do that.’

Adrian surprised her by nodding. ‘Of course I do.’

Spots of rain began to fall, and the clouds were thickening grey.

‘Do you want to go for a coffee?’ Lizzy said. ‘There’s the outdoor place just over there, it’s got cover, and outdoor heaters.’

He shrugged. ‘Whatever you want.’

The place was protected by a canopy, draped with lit multi-coloured Christmas lights. Not the best of structures, but enough to keep out the light drizzle, and the outdoor heater was doing its job. They both ordered a drink.

‘So, you didn’t explain what you wanted to talk to me about,’ he said, placing his gloves on the table.

‘It’s about the drama-documentary. I wanted to ask you if there was any chance that it might not go ahead.’

Adrian Spencer just looked at her.

Lizzy tried again, undaunted by the lack of reaction on his part to the initial question. ‘Is it definitely going ahead?’

‘Why do you want to know?’

‘Because it’s about us, me and my friends. And it’s going to be very upsetting, for everyone involved - if it goes ahead. Why wouldn’t we want to know what’s happening about it? We have a right to know.’

‘No, you don’t,’ he replied. ‘You don’t have any rights at all, not really.’

Lizzy bristled, and fought to keep her cool. Is this why he had agreed to the meeting, so that he could play games with her?