The Last Lie: The must-read new thriller from the Sunday Times bestselling author

Will you meet me? he begged.

Yes. I’ll meet you.

Tonight?

Tonight.

And so they had arranged to meet later. Claire would be expecting him home, but he’d have to come up with some reason he’d stayed out later. For now, Pippa was the priority. He had no idea what he was going to do, but he knew he had to find out how she knew, who else she had told, and then he could start to figure out how to fix this.

He took his car from the office car park and drove to Barnes, where they had arranged to meet in a pub. They hugged and he was struck by how, even at an emotional reunion, there was a limpness and passivity in the way she embraced him. A shudder of disgust ran through him.

They ordered two glasses of wine and sat at a corner table.

‘So,’ he said. ‘It’s great to see you. How’ve you been?’

She looked at him, her eyes wide, almost fearful. ‘Not good,’ she said. ‘I was going a bit crazy.’

‘Me too. But I’m here now.’

‘And you’re not Henry Bryant,’ she said. ‘You lied to me.’

‘Only about that. Not about how I felt about you.’

‘How do I know that? It’s going to be hard for me to trust you again.’

Going to be, he noted. In her mind, they were already back together.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Truly I am. And not that it matters now, but how did you find out?’

She smiled a sly smile. ‘A friend.’

Shit. So someone else knew. This was getting worse. ‘Which friend?’

‘Jodie.’

He froze. If Jodie knew then it was only a matter of time before she told Claire. They were best friends. He was surprised she hadn’t called already. ‘How did she find out?’ he asked.

‘She didn’t. Not exactly.’

‘Then what happened?’

‘She was showing me some photos on her phone, and one came up of her with you. And your wife. Who I’ve met, by the way, a while ago. There was another photo of you singing a song. A romantic one, I assume. Of course, I was more than a little surprised to see you, so I asked who you were and she told me. Alfie Daniels, husband of the lovely Claire.’

‘She isn’t so lovely.’ He shook his head. ‘And it wasn’t a romantic song.’ There was an important piece of information he needed. The most important piece. ‘You told Jodie about us?’

Pippa shook her head. ‘No. I wanted to speak to you first.’

Alfie fought to stop himself shouting in relief. ‘Did you tell anyone?’

‘No. Like I said, I wanted to give you a chance to tell me your side of the story.’

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘That’s very fair. And it’s one of the reasons … it’s one of the reasons I love you.’

She blinked. There they were, the three little words that made all the difference.

I.Love.You.

‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘I love you too, Alfie Daniels.’

Hearing her words also made all the difference to Alfie, but not the ‘I love you’. It was hearing his name.

It reminded him that she knew who he was, and that she held his fate in her hands as a result. And it made everything clear to him. He knew exactly what he had to do.

‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘I have my car. We can book into a hotel. I can’t wait any longer.’ He took her hands in his and stared into her eyes. ‘And then I’m going to tell Claire it’s over. Tonight.’

She blinked rapidly, her lips pressed together. ‘Do you promise?’ she said.

Alfie nodded. ‘I promise.’

He told Pippa there was a hotel he had in mind in Tunbridge Wells, a hotel that was special to him and that, although it was a long drive, was worth it for what was, after all, a special occasion. He had no intention of going to a hotel there, but it sounded good. It was the kind of place where girls like Pippa imagined illicit assignations took place. He switched off his iPhone; he had a plan for what he would tell Claire later and it involved her being unable to get in touch with him.

As they approached Tunbridge Wells he turned on to a B road heading east. Pippa glanced at him.

‘Is this the right way?’ she said.

‘Yep. It’s a quiet little place. It’s in the countryside. Hardly anyone knows about it.’

Which was all true. Hardly anyone did know about their destination. The only thing he had failed to mention was that it wasn’t a hotel.

Ten minutes later he pulled into layby. It was on the edge of a dense forest. He switched off the engine, then put his hand on her knee. Her jeans were soft and expensive. He ran his hand up to her crotch.

‘Alfie,’ Pippa said. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m getting desperate,’ he said. ‘I can’t wait any longer. I want you. Now.’

‘How far is the hotel?’

‘Not far. But I thought’ – he turned and placed his hands on her cheeks and pulled her towards him – ‘we could get started early.’

She twisted in her seat and kissed him. As she did, he put his hands on her cheeks and held her face. She gave a slight moan and, for a second, he hesitated.

Then he slid his hands down her face and around her neck, and began to squeeze.

‘Alfie,’ she gasped. ‘What are you doing?’

He squeezed harder, and she squealed as the pressure increased and her windpipe began to narrow.

‘You silly little girl,’ he muttered. ‘Did you really think I was in love with you? Then you’re more stupid than I thought. But that’s good for me, because it made this easy.’