Believing the Lie by Elizabeth George Page A

that,” Angelina said firmly. She removed the scarf from around Barbara’s neck and with a few deft and maddening moves, she rearranged it. This put her closer to Barbara than she’d been before, and Barbara caught the scent of her: She was fragrant like a tropical flower. She also had the most flawless skin Barbara had ever seen. “There,” Angelina said. “Look in the mirror now, Barbara. Tell me what you think. It’s very easy to do. I’ll show you.”
    Barbara went back into the bedroom within sight of those pills, which, this time, she refused to look at. She wanted to dislike Angelina—a woman who’d left her daughter and her daughter’s fatherto have a lengthy fling for which she’d actually been
forgiven
?—but she found that she couldn’t. This went some distance, she supposed, in explaining how and why Azhar had apparently forgiven her.
    She saw her reflection and she had to admit it: The bloody woman knew how to tie a scarf. And now it was tied, properly, Barbara could see that it wasn’t actually the appropriate concomitant garment to the blouse. Damn it all, she thought.
When
would she learn?
    She was about to emerge and ask Angelina if she and Hadiyyah would accompany her on her next adventure in Camden High Street since she hadn’t a great deal of money to waste on making the wrong sartorial decisions. But she heard the flat door open and the sounds of Taymullah Azhar arriving home. The last place she wanted to be found was in the bedroom he shared with the mother of his child, so she hastily untied the scarf, removed the blouse, shoved them back into the bag, and donned the pullover she’d worn to work that day.
    When she rejoined them, Azhar was admiring the new paint on the walls, with Hadiyyah clinging onto his hand and Angelina linked to his arm. He turned, and his surprised face told Barbara that neither Hadiyyah nor her mother had mentioned her presence.
    He said, “Barbara! Hullo. And what do you think of their handiwork?”
    “I’m hiring them to do my digs next,” Barbara said, “although I’m demanding purple and orange for my colours. Think that’ll do me right, Hadiyyah?”
    “No no no!” Hadiyyah cried.
    Her parents laughed. Barbara smiled. Aren’t we all a happy family? she thought. Time to exit stage right. She said, “Leave you to your dinner,” and to Angelina specifically, “Thanks for the help with the scarf. I could see the difference. If I can get you to dress me every morning, I’ll be set for life.”
    “Anytime,” Angelina said. “Truly.”
    And the damn thing was, she meant it, Barbara thought. Maddening woman. If she’d merely cooperate and be a sodding cow, things would be so much easier.
    She nodded a good night to them all and let herself out. She was surprised when Azhar followed her, but she understood when he lita cigarette, something he would not do indoors now that nonsmoking Angelina had returned.
    He said, “Congratulations, Barbara.”
    She stopped, turned, and said, “For what?”
    “Your teeth. I see they’ve been repaired, and they look very good. I expect people have been telling you that all day, so let me count myself among them.”
    “Oh. Right. Ta. The guv—she’s ordered the entire thing. Well, not
ordered
exactly, ’cause she can’t do that in a personal matter like appearance. So let’s say she suggested it strenuously. She wants the hair fixed next. I don’t know where we go from there but I’ve a feeling it’ll involve liposuction and serious cosmetic surgery. When she’s finished with me, I expect I’ll be beating men off with a broom.”
    “You’re making light of it and you shouldn’t,” Azhar told her. “No doubt Angelina and Hadiyyah have already told you—”
    “They haven’t actually,” Barbara cut in. “But thank you for the compliment, Azhar.”
    So there was irony in a soap dish, she thought: a compliment from the very last man on earth who should have noticed her teeth and the very last man