Beautiful Liars. Isabel Ashdown

no one could shed any more light on the mystery. We now also know that there was a previous sexual assault allegation made against David Crown when he was a teacher, but that it was dropped and written off as a pupil’s fabrication.” Toby runs his finger down his list. “Have I missed anything?”

      Martha gazes past him toward the busy foyer of the library café. “Olivia and Juliet fell out earlier that night,” she says, bringing her focus back to Toby.

      “Really?” He looks back at his notes, frowning as though he might have overlooked something.

      “It wasn’t reported on, because Liv didn’t mention it in her interview.”

      “But you knew about it?”

      “I heard them—it was just before Juliet set off for work and the two of them had left the café ahead, while I said good-bye to Tom and a few of the others. When I got outside, I saw them round the corner—Juliet was unlocking her bike—and they were having a heated argument. Really heated. Liv was trying to stop Juliet from leaving, grabbing her coat, but Jules shook her off, pushed past. It stopped the minute they saw me.” Martha can see their panicked faces now, their rage quickly shutting down to avert her questions.

      “You didn’t mention this in the meeting yesterday.”

      “No. And I didn’t tell the police at the time either. Liv asked me not to.”

      Toby’s eyebrows furrow. “Really? Didn’t you think it was important to let them know? It could have been vital to the case.”

      “Bloody hell, Toby. Were you ever a teenager, or were you born fully grown? We were seventeen—our best friend had just vanished, and we were terrified and guilty and grief-stricken. Liv didn’t want anyone to know that they’d argued, because she was just so ashamed that her last moments with Juliet were bad ones.”

      “Do you know what the argument was about?” Toby asks.

      “No,” Martha replies. “I asked Juliet at the time—as we were walking away from the bar—but she dismissed it. Said Liv was just being a drama queen and it would blow over. She made it clear the subject was closed, so I didn’t push it.”

      Toby looks unconvinced.

      “I was fine about not telling the police they’d been arguing. I mean, I knew Liv didn’t have anything to do with Juliet’s disappearance. But it always bothered me that Liv never told me what the argument was about. Those two—Juliet and Liv—their relationship was always just that bit tighter than it was with me. They went back further, they’d known each other since primary school—I met them at the start of secondary. Of course, they bickered from time to time, but it never got serious or nasty. I don’t think I’d ever seen them exchange cross words before that night.” She picks up her coffee cup. “Or ever again.”

      Toby adds a few neat lines to his notebook. “You’ve written to Liv, you say? We really need to speak to her next, don’t we? Find out what they were arguing about—see what else she might know. That’s got to be a priority.”

      “I’m on it,” Martha replies, suddenly irritated, sensing a suggestion that she doesn’t know what she’s doing. Scowling, she adds, “And I’ll give the orders, thanks, Toby. You do know I’m the lead here, don’t you?”

      There’s a moment’s silence as she stares him down, challenging him to disagree.

      “Martha,” he says in a soft voice. “I think we need to get this out of the way, don’t you? Look, I really want this to work, and I really want to do the best I can for the show—for you. But it’s going to be hard if you’re going to pick on me for every little thing. It feels as if you don’t trust me.”

      “You have to earn someone’s trust,” she replies, feeling her cheeks flush as she realizes how uptight and clichéd she sounds. “How can I trust you when I don’t even know you?”

      He smiles, not unkindly. “But that’s not true, is it? And even if it were, would you be as hard on someone who, well, who came to the job without any connection to you at all? Some graduate, or a junior from outside the team?”

      She feels shame creeping beneath her collar, and she hides behind her coffee cup, stalling for time to think.

      “Is it because of my connections on the board? Because everyone else seems to have gotten over that particular elephant in the room.” He gives a small laugh, self-conscious to have brought it up.

      “Have they?” she replies, reaching across the table to break off a corner of the untouched flapjack. “Everyone knows you leapfrogged several perfectly capable junior researchers to take this role—most of them women, I might add—and there’s not a person on this project who thinks you got that job purely based on your qualifications or experience.”

      “And there’s not a person on this project who thinks you got this job without sleeping your way to the top.”

      Martha would have made a show of alarm if Toby hadn’t beaten her to it.

      He clamps his hand to his forehead and curses, a whisper of a word. “Crap. Martha, I’m sorry. That was a low blow.”

      Now it’s her turn to laugh, and she’s not even sure whether it’s relief or embarrassment she’s feeling. “So that’s what people think, is it? That I slept my way to the top? Do people actually say that?”

      Toby shrugs, looking as though he’s about to retract his words, then shrugs again, defeated. Well, I got what I wanted, Martha thinks with no sense of victory. Good boy Toby tells it like it is.

      “I’ve heard it said,” he murmurs, his shoulders dropping, his eyes downcast.

      Wow, Martha thinks, she really has knocked the wind out of his sails. At once she feels like the school bully, and she hates herself all over again. “So, exactly how many executives am I supposed to have shagged to reach these lofty heights?” She allows a humorous lilt to break through, a show of forgiveness perhaps. Something.

      Toby’s eyes flicker up beneath his furrowed brow, and Martha sees the slightest glimmer of hope reignite.

      “One?” she ventures. “Two? Five? Ten?” He doesn’t answer, but a slow smile starts to spread across his features as the number rises. “More?!” Martha demands, breaking into incredulous laughter and slumping against her chair back in disbelief.

      Recovered, Toby stands and picks up their empty cups. “Just the one,” he replies.

      Martha rolls her eyes and snaps off another piece of flapjack, nibbling the corner of it like a petulant teenager. She blanks him, scrolling her forefinger down her phone, checking for new messages.

      “I’ll get us a refill,” Toby says, and if she didn’t know better she’d think he was stifling a laugh. “And then—please can we agree to a fresh start?”

      He has her in the palm of his hand, Martha knows. What’s the expression? Kill them with kindness? Well, he’s slaughtered her. And despite herself, she finds she likes him, and she has no choice in the matter when she agrees. “OK. Fresh start.”

      Ignoring the chime of an e-mail alert on her phone, Martha picks up the rest of the flapjack and takes a bite. “What are you waiting for?” she asks through a full mouth. “Fuck off and get those coffees. We’ve got work to do.”

      5

      Casey

      I’ve barely slept a wink tonight, worrying myself into a state of high emotion over the e-mail I sent to Martha this morning. As I lay in the darkness I ran over the words in my head, searching for clues that I had got it wrong. Had I misjudged what Martha wanted? It was true that there was some urgency in her original message, wasn’t it? My stomach knotted and turned; at this rate I would be stuck on the toilet for most of the morning while my insides cleared out. It’s a curse, I reminded myself, passed on from my mother. A delicate constitution, Mum had called it. Irritable