One Little Lie: From the best selling author comes a new crime thriller book for 2018. Sam Carrington

condescending.

      How can I veer the conversation in a different direction?

      ‘Yes, really, Marcie. I’m good. Getting stuck into work helps, but you know that. After your dad died you did the same, didn’t you?’

      I see the flinch in her face, the flicker of her eyes as I bring the conversation back to her. See how she likes it.

      Over to you.

      ‘I guess so.’ She takes a sip of her drink. ‘But I had little choice. Me and Alexander had to get stuck in, keep the business Dad had built afloat. We owed it to him. Not to mention that we had to ensure everyone, like you, kept their jobs.’ She smiles.

      Back to me.

      ‘That must have been a challenging time. No opportunity to grieve for your father.’ Now I put my head to one side.

      Over to you.

      ‘It was challenging at times, yes. But I mourned in private. And I tried to keep my private life separate from work, you know? I think that’s important.’ Her eyes are fully on mine as she places her cup down and props her elbows on the table.

      Back to me.

      Now I’m aware of where this ‘chat’ is going, I drop the pretence – the personal game I’m playing – and get to the point.

      ‘You’re trying, in your roundabout fashion, to tell me I’m not keeping my private life separate from my work life.’ My irritation oozes out in my tone.

      She exhales dramatically and looks away from me for a moment. Then faces me and begins to deliver her speech, the one she’d probably rehearsed all night.

      ‘I’m … we’re … worried about you, Deborah. It’s been four years, yet you still appear to be in mourning. It was a shocking, terrible, event—’

      ‘Event!’ My shrillness pierces the room, other people stop their conversations to look at me. ‘Event, Marcie?’ I lower my voice to a harsh whisper. ‘My son was murdered. I lost my only child.’ The tears are escaping my stinging eyes. I didn’t want to show my emotion in this way. It’s not helping my cause.

      ‘I know, and I’m so sorry – I can’t even begin to imagine …’

      ‘No. Of course you can’t.’ I look down at my lap. Wait for her next shot.

      ‘You didn’t take a lot of time off work when it happened. I thought that was a mistake at the time, now I definitely do. Take some time right now, Deborah.’

      I look up sharply. ‘No. No, I don’t need to take time off. I need to be in work, with other people.’

      ‘But, Deborah, you don’t even speak to your colleagues. I mean, unless you absolutely have to for your role. You are falling behind on your workload, and most of the time you don’t appear to be with us at all. Things are getting missed, others are having to carry you.’ She leans forwards, takes my hands.

      This is it. She’s letting me go.

      ‘You’ve been part of this company since its birth. I want you to continue to be part of it. But I’m seriously concerned for your welfare, and with that in mind, I’m telling you to take some time – with full pay to start with, of course. Two months, maybe three, that’s all. To get your head together.’

      I’m defeated. I can’t even think of an argument to strengthen my case to stay. The words ‘to start with’ echo in my ears. It won’t be just two or three months – she’ll keep stretching it out, make sure I don’t return at all.

      ‘What will I do, Marcie?’ I hate the sound of my own desperation.

      ‘That’s the problem, isn’t it? Outside of work you have nothing. Maybe you need a hobby.’

      And we’re back to being condescending. Even more so.

      I do have a husband – has she forgotten that?

      ‘Fine.’

      I push my chair back, the loud screech hurting my ears. I don’t look at her again. I take my bag and walk, head down, out of Costa. Out of my job.

      What the hell am I going to tell Nathan?

      Marcie demanding I take time off work is a mistake.

      Me, alone with my thoughts, is going to be an even bigger one.

       CHAPTER THIRTEEN

       Connie

      The chill of the wind caught Connie across her face and made her eyes water. She touched the back of a hand to her right cheek and winced.

      ‘Shall we make our way back down to the car park?’ Lindsay’s arm reached out, giving Connie’s a tug.

      ‘Sorry. This outdoor life’s still taking some getting used to.’

      Lindsay shook her head – a gentle mocking of Connie’s fragility.

      ‘Yes, your ability to survive on the moor in adverse conditions is questionable. But you’ll become hardy, eventually.’

      ‘If you’ve got anything to do with it. Even if it kills me.’ Connie slumped against a large rock, catching her breath. Her walking boots were heavy, clogged with mud, making her feel a stone heavier when she walked. On the plus side, she thought her thighs had started looking less chunky. But today was a bit much. They’d walked further than they’d done before and the weather was bitterly cold on the high ground. Dartmoor was one of the most beautiful places she knew. It was Lindsay’s idea to spend more quality time there, despite it being an area her professional life had brought her to on a few horrible occasions. She wanted to make good memories on the moor. Replace the bad ones. Or at least, diminish them.

      ‘Ready to go back down?’ Lindsay offered an arm.

      ‘Oh, yes. I’m ready.’ Connie gave a grateful smile.

      Connie sat in the passenger seat and shivered, the North Face jacket Lindsay had lent her rustling with the small, jerky movements.

      Lindsay poured a coffee from the flask, and handed it to her.

      ‘That’ll have you warmed up in no time,’ Lindsay said. She poured herself a plastic cupful as well and leant back in the driver’s seat. ‘What do you reckon to eating out tonight, save either of us having to cook?’

      Connie shrugged. ‘Sure, I’m up for that. Where do you fancy?’

      ‘I thought maybe the Italian in town, we could walk there?’

      ‘More walking?’ Connie raised her eyebrows, but smiled. ‘Sounds good. We’ve not been out for ages.’ She drained the cup of the warm liquid.

      With Lindsay’s recent work pattern being so erratic, they hadn’t seen a great deal of each other in the evenings. Often, Connie spent the hours of darkness alone. Her previous irresponsible, single-life antics had all but ceased weeks before she’d met Lindsay, so she’d got used to the quiet, lonely evenings prior to her moving in. But then she’d had a period of time with Lindsay being home with her more, her hours almost sociable. It’d been comforting; she enjoyed Lindsay’s company – her friendship had become important to her. Now, again, she was having to accustom herself to it being just her and Amber, her ragdoll cat, most evenings. This weekend had been a rarity – they’d spent the entire time together, uninterrupted by work.

      Connie knew it was likely to be a one-off. Something was bound to crop up – some big case that would take all of Lindsay’s focus; her time, even at weekends. For now, though, Connie would make the most of it.

      She