False Tongues by Kate Charles Page A

same, with her long, mousy hair and her glasses, yet there was something different about her: that indefinable extra glow that came from happiness, from living the life she wanted to live. ‘I didn’t see you at breakfast,’ Callie said.
    â€˜We usually have breakfast at home.’ Val pointed across the courtyard at the block of modern flats and terraced houses, the accommodation provided for faculty, staff, and married students. ‘Jeremy doesn’t much like having to make conversation first thing in the morning,’ she added with unmistakeable wifely smugness.
    â€˜How is Jeremy?’ Callie asked dutifully.
    Val smiled. ‘Oh, he’s great.’
    â€˜And marriage is…everything you thought it would be?’
    â€˜And more. It’s wonderful.’ Val held out her hand so that her solitaire diamond sparkled in the sun, contemplating her rings intently. Then she turned to Callie with a somewhat shamefaced expression. ‘Listen, Callie. I’m really sorry that I haven’t been better about keeping in touch.’
    â€˜It’s my fault,’ Callie said automatically.
    â€˜No.’ Val shook her head. ‘It was me. I felt so bad for you, about…Adam. And all that. It just seemed so unfair. I had everything I wanted, and you had…nothing. It made me feel guilty, and I didn’t want to keep reminding you about it, and rubbing your nose in my good fortune.’
    Callie was astonished; it had never occurred to her that she was such an object of pity that her friends were deliberately avoiding her. ‘It’s not like that,’ she said, searching for the right way to say it. ‘I’m…fine. Really. My job is…an interesting challenge. I love parish ministry. And I’m over Adam. Truly. Good riddance to him.’ It sounded to her own ears almost as if she was protesting too much.
    Val, though, seemed to buy it. ‘Oh, I’m so glad!’ She gave her a hug. ‘Wait a minute. What’s that on your finger?’
    It was Callie’s turn to hold out her hand. ‘I told you I was over Adam.’
    â€˜Oh my God!’ Val squealed in an unclerical way. ‘Tell me! Tell me everything!’
    ***
    The first thing Lilith Noone did, after taking leave of Rob Gardiner-Smith and before she departed the Globe ’s offices, was to check the Metropolitan Police’s website. She did it without a great deal of optimism, and indeed the Met press office had nothing at all to say about the stabbing death of an unidentified teenager; the most recent press release on line had to do with the theft of a large quantity of Easter eggs from a corner shop in Bethnal Green. Lilith snorted in disgust and shut the computer down.
    Just as well, really, she told herself as she headed for the Tube. If it were on the website, then every journalist in town would have access to the information and there would be no chance of getting in there first. She would have to employ a bit of ingenuity and lateral thinking.
    The Paddington area, Rob had said. That was where she would go. Straight to Paddington Station, then up the road to the police station. Maybe she would strike it lucky there.
    But she had reckoned without the heavy security on the door; the armed guard was adamant that she couldn’t go in, even when she flashed her press pass, and she had to resort to her mobile phone to speak to the desk sergeant. ‘I understand that there’s been a stabbing,’ she said, without giving her name. ‘An unidentified boy?’
    There was a palpable hesitation on the other end, measured in several heartbeats. ‘I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed,’ came at last.
    â€˜Identified, then?’ Lilith persisted.
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Could you put me on to someone else? The chief superintendent, perhaps?’
    The desk sergeant cleared his throat, loudly. ‘The press office is what you want, Miss. I can