My Lies, Your Lies - Susan Lewis Page 0,31

‘and now I should probably let you go.’

After ringing off she sat quietly finishing up her ale, enjoying the peace and quiet of a near-empty bar, the only sounds coming from the clank and rattle of a delivery going on somewhere outside and the noisy birds around the shore. Then she picked up the sough of the waves and hum of voices outside; the salty scent in the air wafted in as someone opened the door and mingled with the yeasty smell of beer. Although she couldn’t seem to stop fixating on Callum and how sad she felt that he wasn’t here, she was also aware of how relieved she was to be so far away from him and Martha-the-manta-ray with lovely horn-shaped fins and twenty-foot width.

Stop being childish, Joely. Focus on this assignment instead, because after this morning’s brief meeting it’s clearly going to be far from dull.

She looked down as her phone buzzed with a text.

I know you’re not going to answer this, but I wanted to let you know that Holly’s gone to stay with your mother. I think she misses you, as do I.

The last three words hit Joely hard. Why had he added them? What was the point when he didn’t mean them, probably hadn’t even thought about them, merely done what he always did as though nothing between them had changed? Damn you, Callum, she seethed inwardly. Damn you for making me think there might still be hope when you’re about to go away with Martha. What the hell is wrong with you?

She tensed as another text arrived. If it was from him, she was going to ring and tell him to stop messaging, that she didn’t want to hear from him and anything important about Holly she could hear from Holly herself or her mother.

Are you somewhere in the house, or have you popped out? FMD.

Not sure whether she was relieved or angry that it wasn’t him she checked the time and noting that it was still more than an hour before she and Freda had agreed to meet in the kitchen, she sent a reply. On my way back. Walking, so should be there by one thirty.

She wasn’t expecting a response to that so was surprised when one came saying, You should have taken the car.

Since it wasn’t possible to tell whether this was a rebuke or simply a kindly reminder that it was at her disposal, Joely swallowed the rest of her drink, zipped up her coat and after thanking the bartender she started back to Dimmett House.

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘Hey Jude’ was playing in the kitchen when Joely returned, the slow, mournful chords coming, she realized, from an iPad propped up on the dresser. She hadn’t imagined Freda being into gadgets, much less knowing how to download music onto a tablet.

It just went to show how mistaken first impressions could be.

Freda was at the Aga stirring the soup and humming along, glancing up only once to let Joely know she’d heard her come in.

Remembering that the song was mentioned in the memoir’s first chapter, Joely wondered if this was her host’s way of reminding her they had work to do. Well, Joely was here now, and she wasn’t late, so she didn’t need to apologize for keeping her client waiting. She simply removed her coat and scarf and hung them on the back of the door.

‘Is there anything I can do?’ she offered, going to the Aga.

Freda seemed on the point of replying when she lifted her head and sniffed the air. She turned to Joely curiously. ‘Have you been drinking?’ she asked, still holding the stirring spoon.

Flushing, Joely said, ‘I was invited to try a local ale at the Rising Sun.’

Freda nodded thoughtfully, and instructed Joely to sit down as she picked up a ladle to fill a bowl from the pot.

Doing as she was told, Joely said, ‘I’m sorry. I don’t want you to think that drinking at lunchtime …’

‘Were you offered one of Auntie Marian’s hot pickled onions?’ Freda interrupted, setting a serving of soup in front of Joely.

Startled, Joely said, ‘No.’

‘Mm, shame. They’re very good.’ She went to fetch some soup for herself and settled down at her usual place. ‘The next time you’re at the pub,’ she said, picking up a napkin, ‘perhaps you’d be kind enough to bring back a bottle of Exmoor Gold for me.’

Thrown, not only because she was sure she’d earned her first black mark but apparently hadn’t, but also because it sounded

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