Liar by Lesley Pearse

Author:Lesley Pearse [Pearse, Lesley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781405944601
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2020-06-24T22:00:00+00:00

12

Deciding it was kinder not to give Henry false hope until she found out if the other two girls in the photo were Lucy and Carol, she slipped the photograph into her jacket pocket.

Back in the snug he was waiting, looking expectant.

‘Anything?’ he asked.

‘Afraid not, nothing but the usual girls’ stuff. What a lovely room.’

‘It was never normally so tidy.’ He half smiled. ‘Rosie had a clear-up a couple of days before … Her mother was cross with her, saying if she wanted to live in a pig-sty, she could arrange it. Rosie only laughed, but she did tidy it. I know her mother would welcome an untidy room if we could have Rosie back.’

‘I’ll go to Mabel’s now. Would you mind giving me her address? I’ll see you in the morning, if you still want me to come.’

‘Yes, I do, but you can’t go walking up to Mabel’s alone. I’ll take you there and perhaps you can get the man who brought you here this morning to drive you home.’

Amelia had forgotten she wasn’t supposed to go anywhere unescorted. ‘I don’t want to put you to that trouble.’

‘You’re going to a lot of trouble for me,’ he said, and he squeezed her shoulder in an affectionate manner. ‘Let me just ring Mabel first, though, to see if she’s in. As for the Guide mistress, you’ll have to contact the vicar for that, but I can give you his number. He’s the Reverend Charles Turner. A good man.’

Mabel was at home, and twenty minutes later Amelia was in her sitting room.

Her flat was above a furniture shop in Chiswick High Road, but it was reached through a little courtyard at the back. Amelia’s first reaction was surprise. It wasn’t a couple of ordinary rooms but big, modern, light and bright. Newly decorated, it was filled with the kind of super-smart contemporary furniture that could only have come from Heal’s on Tottenham Court Road.

Mabel was Eurasian, exceptionally beautiful, with short curly black hair. She was wearing a long, slinky red sweater dress, the kind that was unforgiving on most women.

Amelia recognized her face from fashion magazines, and she had a vague recollection that her name had been linked with the photographer David Bailey.

‘I hope it isn’t an imposition descending on you like this,’ Amelia said, ‘but Henry Lark seemed sure you’d talk to me about Rosie.’

‘Do sit down,’ Mabel said, indicating the black sofa strewn with zebra-striped cushions. ‘Henry did explain your involvement and I’ll be glad to help in any way I can. I’m still stricken with guilt that I didn’t insist Rosie stay here that night, but I had a photo call at seven the next morning.’

‘When did you hear what had happened?’ Amelia asked, as she sat down.

‘The police arrived just a few minutes after I got home that evening. It was around seven, and I’d had an awful day. I was cold and hungry, and hearing Rosie had been killed was absolutely devastating. We’d been close friends for some years, and I can’t really believe she’s gone.

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