The Perfect Victim: A picture tells a thousand lies . . . (The Sophie Kent series) by Corrie Jackson

Author:Corrie Jackson [Jackson, Corrie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bonnier Publishing Fiction
Published: 2017-11-16T05:00:00+00:00

21

Florian’s was an Italian café chain that fell short of the authentic Italian experience by dint of its weak coffee, Polish waiters and German techno music. I pushed the door open, grimacing as the white lights grated against my eyes. An enthusiastic cleaner had gone overboard with the bleach and I covered my nose, willing my stomach to settle.

Durand sat in the corner, beneath a print of St Marco’s Square in Venice. His long legs stuck out either side of the table and the sun streaming in from the skylight turned his hair burned copper.

He was poring over the paper, squinting at something.

I dumped my bag on the floor beside him. ‘Just wear your glasses. I won’t judge.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘After last night’s performance you don’t get to judge anyone.’

I felt the colour hit my cheeks as snippets of our conversation ran through my mind. What possessed me to ask if Durand had a girlfriend? Was I seventeen?

I cleared my throat and slid onto the chair opposite, just as a short, dark-haired waiter appeared at my shoulder.

He gave me a smarmy smile. ‘What can I get you, beautiful lady?’

‘Large black coffee. Extra shot, please.’

As he melted away, Durand closed his newspaper. ‘Sure you don’t fancy a Bloody Mary?’

I shuddered. ‘I barely even remember getting home.’

‘I take it those aren’t the puke-stained shoes,’ he said, peering under the table.

The waiter reappeared and set a large mug down in front of me, leering. ‘Anything else, bellissima?’

As the waiter disappeared, Durand rolled his eyes. ‘Does the brazen approach ever work?’

I gazed out the window, distracted. ‘Maybe you should try it some time.’

‘Don’t need to.’ Durand cracked his knuckles and pointed at his hair. ‘Gingers are having a moment. Prince Harry is paving the way.’

I forced a smile. ‘Ron Weasley is probably more your level.’

‘Harry Potter’s sidekick? Charming.’

‘Who got the girl in the end?’

Durand held my gaze until I dropped my eyes to the table.

I heard him sigh. ‘Are you going to mention the tape at all?’

I shrugged. I didn’t want to think about that tape, let alone talk about it. I was lying when I told Durand I couldn’t remember getting home. It turns out I wasn’t drunk enough. I’d thrown myself into bed and pulled a pillow over my head. Alone for the first time, the silence was deafening. The image of Charlie kneeling over me burned the inside of my eyelids. All of a sudden, the bed tilted and I clutched the blanket as my breath came in short stabs. Then, with no one around to see, every emotion I’d fought to repress came shooting out of me. I stuffed the duvet in my mouth to drown out the noise. That was when I counted out the blue pills, wondering how many it would take to plunge me into a thick, black sleep with no end. For a brief moment, the idea of checking out was so tempting it scared me. I stared at the pills until an image of the small, unconscious woman on Charlie’s bed drifted through my mind.

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