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  Konrad was still for a while. ‘She’s in Bangor? But I thought she was based in Cardiff…’

  Annette pleaded with him. ‘Kon, you’re a good mate, and I can’t take the heartache I see in you much longer. Your mind is all over the place and you’ve been acting like a lost puppy since we finished filming the first series. You’re an idiot. The Truth Behind the Lies became a sensation and suddenly your wife goes into overdrive to sell you for more money, and blackmails you into saving your washed-up marriage. Money, not love, is what she wanted. You don’t need to spend the rest of your life with a dried-up cold fish like her. Grow some balls for fuck’s sake. Life’s too short.’

  Konrad was momentarily stunned into silence, and there was an uncomfortable pause before he simply held Annette’s rounded face in his hands and kissed her full on the mouth. ‘Why didn’t you say this three months ago?’

  He turned as if to leave the room but Annette had to call him back. She took a minute to recover from the unusual show of personal affection, despite knowing there was no romantic connotation to Konrad’s kiss. It was one of friendship and gratitude, but even so it had taken her by surprise.

  Desperate for a trip to the ladies’ toilet she had tried to stand, but her thighs had taken up the available space beneath the arms of her swivel chair and over spilled the seat to such an extent that she found herself moulded into it. It took a gargantuan effort on her friend’s part to help prise her free. ‘Thanks, Kon. I know… I should see if the doctors can review my thyroid function…’

  Konrad was left alone in the editing suite allowing him privacy while he checked his phone for messages again. Nothing.

  Disappointed, he diverted his attention away from his mobile and picked up the registered letter that Lillian had given him after lunch the previous day. He’d thrown it on top of a pile of correspondence that he was hoping would miraculously deal with itself. Reading the words in front of him, it dawned that the team’s search for Tessa had taken a dramatic step forward.

  “Dear Mr Neale and colleagues,

  Please do not persist in trying to identify me. I understand your wish to interview me for your documentary and I’m informed that you are busy editing the final product as I write, but I don’t want to be found. (Forget the postmark… I don’t live there.) Helena is dead and for that I am profoundly grateful to Matthew, because I can now be free, but only if you leave me alone. My expectation is that you will announce on social media that you are no longer seeking me out. You don’t need me. You have what you need from Matthew.

  Kind regards.”

  The letter was dated but not signed. Konrad did not need a signature to identify the author, as far as he was concerned, it had to be Tessa, and far from having any intention of withdrawing the search for Helena’s sister, he was determined to redouble the efforts.

  ‘Who has access to The Truth Behind the Lies’ Twitter page and Facebook?’ He asked Mike when he returned, cheese twists in one hand, coffees in the other.

  ‘There’s a whole department for that upstairs. I’ll give them a ring for you.’

  A new useful contact was made – Raj – who was extremely helpful in allowing Konrad to explain his intentions and in getting a strong message across to Tessa on social media. ‘Raj, you’re a star! That should hook her in, enticing words and a video clip. Lovely. A short, personal filmed appeal for information. That has to be one of the best ideas anyone has come up with so far. Nice doing business with you. Be in touch again soon.’

  9

  The house was warm, but the reception received when he walked in was decidedly frosty. Delia was not expecting an expensive gift from Konrad and he knew better than to consider such a cheap trick after his drunken antics in the early hours. Besides which, he had resolved to confront his shallow cowardice when it came to his future with Delia, and had put his plans in motion to make an escape from a life of hen-pecking.

  ‘I’m going to Bangor tomorrow to collect Freliza.’ Konrad made use of the appalling collective name given to his twin children by their friends. This infuriated Delia and set the tone for the evening. She would accept that he was in no mood to placate her. He had judged this correctly.

  ‘Please don’t call our children by that dreadful nickname. They are two individuals. When are we going tomorrow? It’ll have to be later in the afternoon, I have a hair appointment at eleven.’ It was clear that Delia couldn’t bear to look at her husband and she busied herself realigning ornaments on the sideboard in the lounge.

  ‘You’re not coming with me. I’ve arranged with Freddie to meet him and Eliza before lunch because they have to change their digs, so I’ll be moving boxes and furniture for the day, stay overnight in a B&B, then bring them back either Saturday or Sunday depending on how the move goes. I’ll let you know.’

  ‘What on earth do you mean? How fucking inconsiderate and thoughtless of you to make these arrangements without me. You owe me, big time, for your disgraceful drunken behaviour last night. You’re a bloody disgusting creature urinating in my investment piece. You shattered a mirror, you left clothing all over the floor and you insulted me by calling me her name. Yes, The Whore. Her. Miss Yoyo Knickers.’ Delia was spitting the words out like a machine gun, and her eyes had become slits from which emerged tiny arrows of hatred. ‘If you think I’m ever letting you into my bed again you’ve got another thing coming!’

  Konrad held fast. ‘While I’m away you’d better move my stuff into the spare room then, hadn’t you? Oh, don’t worry. I’ll tell the children my snoring had become intolerable and that you need your beauty sleep. They won’t believe me, but it’ll make you feel so much better. Another charade to convince people what a wonderful marriage we have.’

  At this, he ducked as a cushion was launched in his direction, followed by another accompanied by a screeching siren. ‘Don’t push me any further, Kon. I’ll take you to the cleaners. I’ll have every penny and the car and the house. You know it.’

  I do. Guess what, Delia…? You can have it. I hate this house, I want a Land Rover not a Range Rover, and I’d like to spend the rest of my days with a soft supple woman who wants to live in the real world, who laughs at silly things, farts in bed, dances in her bare feet, drinks for the hell of it, and sits on my fat cock because she enjoys it, thought Konrad. But he didn’t have the guts to say those words. Instead, his sensible head persuaded him to hold his tongue for the present.

  ‘I’ll play it your way, Delia, but if you want to keep our public face and our pretence of a cohesive showbiz couple intact, I suggest you reconsider your threats to withdraw conjugal rights. It’s the only weapon you have left and if you remove it from the battlefield then you lose.’

  Delia stared at her husband in disbelief. He’d never spoken to her in such cold and calculated terms before. He sensed her uncertainty. ‘Right, I’m going upstairs to pack a bag for my trip tomorrow. I take it you won’t be following me stripping off your clothes and kneeling before me, so I suggest you trot along to Sainsbury’s or Waitrose to buy delicious and expensive food for our offspring to devour when they return with me. As I said, we’ll let you know when to expect us home.’

  With that masterstroke, Konrad strode confidently towards the stairs. ‘And don’t organise a stupid party. I hate them. Freddie and Eliza are going to have a barbecue and invite their friends. We shall be upsetting the neighbours with loud music and drunken behaviour on Thursday night. I might invite Barney and a few other real people. Yes. That’s a great idea.’ Delia looked about her as if she were figuring out which world she had just landed in. She knew she wasn’t in Kansas any more.

  He found a suitable holdall, and threw it onto the bed, into which he chucked a couple of pairs of underpants. ‘That’ll do for starters.’ Stripping off, he headed for the clinically clean en-suite bathroom, and as he did so he was whistling, something he hadn’t done for months. His phone buzzed with a message and he performed an immediate about-face to pick it up, pleading with it to put him ou
t of his agony. ‘Please be Lorna, please be Lorna.’ It wasn’t. It was Barney.

  “Part two of the plan is in place. You can pick up your new toy this evening. Tax is sorted. Bring the old one as part exchange. See you at the yard 8pm.”

  ‘Cheeky bastard.’ Konrad smiled and headed back towards the shower, flicking his underpants in the general direction of the laundry basket.

  Not in the mood to talk to Delia during the rest of the evening, Konrad phoned Barney and they agreed to meet earlier to sort out the new purchase before an alcohol-free supper at the pub – where he would find out how much apologising he had to do, and to whom. His recall of the previous night was sketchy.

  ‘There she is. Much more sensible than a sodding Range Rover Evoque.’

  ‘Cor, you’re not kidding. I’m glad to see the back of the bloody thing. It’s like a giant posing car for a hairdresser. Useless. This is much more the business.’ Konrad took a long admiring look at his new wheels. ‘Lovely green colour too. She’ll really hate this.’

  ‘I don’t want to be anywhere nearby when The Camp Commandant clocks what you’ve done.’ Barney was giving his friend a worried look.

  ‘Have faith, old pal, it’s worth it to see her squirm with embarrassment in front of all her posh friends. Anyway, I can’t see what’s wrong with this one; it’s a bloody good vehicle. Just the job for moving the kids’ belongings around in Wales at the weekend. Right, here are the keys and the documents for The Commandant-Carrier, get what you can for it. I’ll drive this gorgeous green beast home, park up, take the flack, and see you at the pub. No beer this time. I’ve got to drive tomorrow.’

  ‘Just a couple?’

  ‘No, Barney. I’ll buy you one, though, for getting this sorted without The Commandant finding out. Listen for the explosion. I’ll see you in ten minutes.’

  Delia’s radar was working perfectly, and she appeared at the front door as Konrad drove in at the wheel of the used Series 4 Land Rover Discovery, in dark metallic green livery. He stepped out and walked towards Delia, putting the keys into his pocket as he did so.

  ‘Whose is that?’

  ‘Mine.’

  ‘Where’s my car?’

  ‘Yours is in the garage, dear, where you left it I expect.’

  ‘Not the Mini, the Range Rover. Where is it? In for a service, I suppose, with that idiot Barney who’s had the gall to lend you this ugly monstrosity.’

  Konrad revelled in announcing that he was the proud owner of this lovely low-mileage Discovery.

  Delia’s furious snobbery came spilling out. ‘You can take it back. It’s second hand on a twelve plate for God’s sake, and it’s green!’

  ‘It’s mine, and I like it,’ Konrad replied as he threw some waterproof clothing and walking boots into the rear of the Land Rover, in case he forgot to pack them later. After which, he left Delia stewing on the doorstep as she sent daggers into the back of his head with her withering stare.

  ‘You out and out arse, Konrad Neale. What will people think?’

  I couldn’t give a flying fuck.

  Having avoided a direct hit from Delia, he strolled sedately towards The Valiant Soldier, but because his phone beeped at him, he stopped to perch for a while on a low stone wall. Taking his mobile out of his pocket to read what he hoped was Lorna’s response, he prayed silently.

  “Hello, Kon. So, she’s finally had enough of you has she? You want to come creeping back into my life now, just when I thought I had begun to get over the pain. If you can find me, I’ll listen to what you have to say. If you can’t, then it’s goodbye. I give you forty-eight hours. Lorna.”

  Konrad tilted his head towards the clouded sky and thanked a God he didn’t believe in. Then he remembered to thank Annette, and was about to call her as another text came through, which he assumed was an afterthought from Lorna announcing her undying love. It wasn’t.

  “You got my letter and you chose to ignore it. You will not find me, but I will find you and show you how it feels to have your life ruined.”

  Good grief, we’ve rattled Tessa’s cage. He checked the phone number on the text, another different one. Clever. She really doesn’t want to be found. His thoughts were brave, but he could only hope that Tessa was making idle threats to keep him away.

  A belly full of food and a couple of pints of shandy later, Konrad took a deep breath, walked into his house and straight upstairs to finish his packing. ‘Laptop, don’t forget the bloody laptop.’ Locating his wash bag, he made certain that he packed Lorna’s favourite aftershave, clean shirts, decent jeans, walking trousers and more clean underpants. ‘Two pairs might not be enough.’ He pictured himself and Lorna ripping off each other’s clothes in a wild sexual frenzy of reunion, and then he crash-landed back to reality, knowing how unlikely that would be.

  The house was empty and eerily noiseless which was unnerving. It was a while before he realised that Delia seemed to be missing. No one was nagging at him.

  What day is it? Thursday. Her night for swanning around at the golf club though neither of us plays. Good, she’ll be late.

  With the car packed and laptop placed on the hall table to remind him to take it along on his trip to Wales, he phoned Freddie to confirm his plans for the following day.

  ‘I should be there late morning, depending on the traffic, so I’ll see you and Eliza at your place. Got everything packed?’

  ‘Yes, Dad. Liza became bossy and fucking irritating, so I let her get on with it. She’s so anal. Our stuff is packed, boxed and labelled. There are hardly any big items, so we’ll probably manage the move in a couple of runs. The new place isn’t far from The Management Centre and the best pub in town, which is handy. I’ll stand you a pint or two in the evening if you’re lucky.’

  ‘Very magnanimous of you to spend my money on me, son. You’ll go far.’

  ‘See you tomorrow. Love to Mum. Did you mention the barbecue by the way?’

  ‘Yes, I did. Brave of me, don’t you think?’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘There were no objections.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really. See you tomorrow.’

  Konrad had trouble sleeping. The bed in the spare room was comfortable enough, but his anxious anticipation about seeing Lorna the next day kept him tossing and turning. He heard Delia come home, slamming doors and clip-clopping across the tiled floors to let him know her foul mood was still very much present.

  I really can’t find any love left for her. She’s turned into a self-centred, bitter and cold cardboard cut-out.

  Eventually, he drifted off into a restless sleep dreaming about an escape from Colditz, until he rose well before six in the morning to head north and west to Bangor. His alarm didn’t wake him, a text message did.

  “Your wife doesn’t think much of you. She and the other Stepford Wives had a mammoth bitching session at the golf club last night. Fancy getting drunk and pissing in her best vase, you naughty man. What would your public think? Your wife may have closed her fanny, but she’s good at opening her mouth.”

  He stared at the phone in disbelief. Tessa? Could she really be that serious? He read the message again, before deciding to deal with Helena’s sister when he returned from Wales. She would have to fester until then.

  10

  She set the camera up on a tripod to give the desired angle and checked the viewfinder to ensure the placement was correct. The record button was pressed. She then stepped towards the tall stool only three feet away, turned, sat down and spoke briefly before rising slowly, and stopping the recording.

  When the short video was replayed to her satisfaction, she grinned to herself. Initially, she had tried to film using a bookshelf as a place to stand the camera, but it was at the wrong height entirely and resulted in her having to hunch her shoulders to remain in the shot.

  Although at first, she had resisted having to unpack the small tripod stand, this set-up was much more stable. There was nothing in the out-of-focus backgr
ound identifying her surroundings. No pictures on the walls, no personal items in the shot. Just her head and shoulders with a plain wall behind her. Although the lighting was poor, it would have to do. She didn’t have much time.

  She pressed the record button again. As she took her seat on the stool, the floorboards creaked and the small red light on the front of the camera flickered slightly as the tripod shifted on one of its legs. She waited for the camera to become still before she spoke, looking into the lens as if talking to someone she knew well.

  ‘Your wife, Konrad Neale, is one of the most unpleasant people I have had the displeasure of eavesdropping on. There she sat in the corner of the golf club bar, on a comfy leather sofa, with her so-called friends sipping wine and discussing the most intimate details of your private life. She didn’t even take enough interest in me to give anything other than a cursory glance in my direction. I could have been anybody.

  ‘You should have seen her taking great delight in demeaning you, her own husband. She sounded so false. Everything about her is pretence, apart from her tits. They are real, I think. Pretence and pretentiousness, that’s Delia. I listened to her as she made it clear, to anyone who cared to listen, how much she despises you for not wanting to be in the right social set. How unhappy she was that you didn’t go with her to Pippa’s book launch. She had to drive herself there and back again which upset her plans for parading around with her famous husband clutching a glass of Prosecco. How thoughtless of you, Konrad.

  ‘Your wife has told the freaky-faced, plastic women of the golf club how you disgraced yourself by getting drunk and pissing in her vase. You have more spirit than I gave you credit for. In fact, you’ve surprised me once or twice.