The Truth About You by Susan Lewis Page B

church and graveyard clustered around a few cobbled lanes, were like the dancer’s flying skirts. At the western end of the village was where the likeness came adrift, since the wider streets for the pricier houses, the playing fields and an ugly caged-in electricity grid had nothing of a dancer’s legs. It was Max who’d first come up with the simile, when he was about nine years old and a friend had taken them up in a light aircraft. They’d only just come back from a holiday in Spain, where the caballeros at a flamenco show had sat him and Tierney on one of the white horses so they could ride around the stage and be a part of the magic.
    It had been one of their more successful holidays.
    Had Tom known Julia then? Surely to God it couldn’t have been going on that long. If something
was
going on, and she didn’t know for certain yet that it was.
    What kind of a fool was she to doubt it?
    Not wanting to run into anyone she knew, she drove around the outside of the village, plunging through the light and shadow of leafy lanes searching her memory for some sort of sign, something that would tell her when the betrayal had begun.
    If there was a betrayal.
    Please God there wasn’t.
    Bumping over the cattle grid at the end of their drive she felt a sudden surge of anger, but quickly suppressed it. She had to deal with her father now, and Zav and Max. Thank God Tierney wasn’t coming home tonight. Did she mean that? Probably not. Actually, yes she did.
    What excuse was she going to give for the dinner being called off at such short notice?
Tom is having an affair and he’s decided to spend tonight with his mistress instead of us. Her name’s Julia, do you know her by any chance?
    Her head was spinning.
    She needed to get a grip.
    ‘Hi Marty,’ she said breezily as she sailed in through the kitchen door. ‘Everything OK with Dad?’
    ‘Right as rain,’ Marty assured her. ‘Went for a little walk down to the pub for our usual pint. You’re back sooner than I expected. Can I give you a hand in with the shopping?’
    ‘Oh, it’s OK, no need,’ Lainey assured him, tossing her keys on the worktop and glancing at the landline to see if there were any messages. No flashing light. Anxiety wrenched at her heart. ‘I didn’t get much today,’ she said with a smile. Going to her father, she cupped a hand round his face and gazed into his liquid blue eyes. ‘Hello you,’ she whispered, feeling her emotions trying to break over the surface of her self-control.
    ‘Hello, Lainey,’ he said, covering her hand with his. ‘Did you go to the market?’
    She smiled and nodded, pleased that he’d remembered. ‘And you went to the pub.’
    ‘Marty’s here,’ he told her. ‘I haven’t seen the children this morning. Are they at school?’
    ‘No, they’re just out. Are you OK sitting there, or would you like to go for a lie-down?’
    ‘I’m fine here. Did you go to the market?’
    Dropping a kiss on his head, she turned back to Marty. ‘Did you see Tom before he left?’ she asked, busying herself with a search for nothing in particular. ‘Did you speak to him at all?’
    ‘Only to say cheerio,’ Marty replied, reaching for his jacket.
    She wanted to ask if Tom had taken an overnight bag, but she’d only embarrass herself and Marty. ‘Thanks for coming,’ she said warmly, giving him a hug. ‘It always perks Dad up to see you.’
    Marty smiled at his old friend fondly. ‘Did you know,’ he said to Peter, ‘that the dot over the letter i is called a . . .’ He scratched his head as though he’d forgotten.
    Peter’s eyes shone with mirth. ‘A tittle,’ he finished happily. ‘And the most often used word in the English language is I.’
    Marty held out a hand to shake.
    They often ended their Saturdays with a factoid or two from a book they’d published over twenty years ago. It was amazing how easily Peter could recall the seemingly useless pieces of information, while trying to process what was