A lie too far

By Denise Carrol

The Holland family are wealthy, with public lives that appear glamorous and steeped in success and materiality.  However, behind closed doors, things are very different.  Amelia Holland, PR guru with an agency that is going from strength to strength, has been supporting her lazy, womanising husband, Jason, for years as he fritters away his substantial inheritance on affairs and failed business ventures.

When their teenage daughter, Lily, disappears from outside her school, both parents are embroiled in an acrimonious divorce settlement meeting with their lawyers and only find out hours later that she is missing.  Desperate for answers, Amelia calls on investigative journalist, Jilly Reeve, to help find her.

The search takes on twists and turns that reveal that Lily was not, in fact, the innocent, quiet girl that everyone believed her to be and Jilly is led down paths that are both unpleasant and baffling.

Was Lily abducted or did she run away of her own volition?  Family secrets come to light, making finding out what happened to the missing girl extremely challenging as weeks go by with no sign of her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Denise Carrol
• Release date: Jan 22, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224410705

Denise Carrol

I have worked in the communications field for almost twenty years and headed up the communications department at a large financial services organisation before leaving to teach and travel in the East for two years. Sitting down at my laptop one Sunday afternoon not too long after my return, I started an impromptu memoir of my time spent travelling and the writing bug bit. I also enjoy interior design and live in a home where I'm surrounded by flowers and bright, happy colours. I share my living space with my much-loved Maltese girl, Shugie, and Oscar, a very naughty (but also very sweet) cat that decided to move in with me two and a half years ago.

Book preview

1

Amelia Holland considered her reflection carefully.  This was not going to be an easy meeting with her soon-to-be-ex-husband and she wanted to look in control, even if she didn’t feel entirely that way. Her instincts were telling her this latest ‘consultation’ was going to be brutal.

The newly-purchased linen taupe Chanel suit in a buttery shade complimented her shorter, highlighted ‘bob’ beautifully, bringing out the soft mix of blonde tones that had taken long, hot hours to achieve in the salon.  A change in image had felt necessary.  Long overdue even.

The face looking back at her from the mirror looked pensive, more mature, due in large part to the long locks she’d cherished for years no longer folding softly over her shoulders.  This was a different woman.  One that was tired of toeing the line and trying, pointlessly, to keep the peace.  Keep Jason’s drunken, maudlin tempers from igniting.

Taking a seat at her dresser, she dabbed her lips with a second coat of a power-red shade of lipstick she’d never used before. Gone too were the nude tones Jason had always said allowed her blue eyes to take ‘center stage’ in her oval face.  Studying the effect of the vivid slash of crimson, she realised they’d done exactly the opposite, made her look pale and insipid.  The way he liked her?

Amelia now suspected that that had been the case.

What a fool she’d been!

Propping up the SOB up for years while he drank and fooled around on the side at every opportunity, spending her hard-earned money on a string of floozies she’d stubbornly tried to ignore the existence of.

But, in fairness, she had loved him.  Too much, it would seem.  She’d become both his ATM and doormat, allowing herself to slip into both roles in the hope that their farce of a marriage would somehow miraculously right itself given enough time and patience.  

Take what you need, darling.  All I want is for you to ‘find yourself’ and be happy.  What a bloody joke!

And now.  Broke again and looking to cash in, Jason was on the warpath.  Obsequious pandering had finally, and sadly predictably, given way to vicious desperation.

He couldn’t possibly win, but that wasn’t going to stop him from trying.  Dragging the divorce proceedings though every court that would listen to his sorry account of a cold, ambitious, unsupportive wife who was trying to rob him of what he’d help to create.

So clichéd really.  It made her sick to the stomach.  How had she loved someone like that, and for close on eighteen years of a miserable, largely one-sided marriage?  How had she so successfully managed to ignore the man that he was?

Married out of community of property without accrual, what was his was his and what was hers was hers.  They’d both been happy with that arrangement as her PR company, even then, had been successful, with high-end, top-earning clients that paid sizeable retainers. She hadn’t needed, or wanted, his money.

He’d come with a massive inheritance from parents who had both died in a car accident.  His father had been a plastic surgeon with very successful practices in three provinces.  His mother had owned and run a string of fashion boutiques, financed by his father, but she’d worked hard and made an enormous success of them.  He’d sold off everything and pocketed the proceeds, along with fully-paid-off luxury homes and an impressive investment portfolio.  The money had been used to finance a string of half-started businesses, all of which had failed due to his innate laziness. 

And his extravagance.  He’d spent his inheritance like it was an infinite resource which, of course, it never was if the pot wasn’t being topped up from somewhere. 

Which was where she’d eventually come in, and happily so, although she still couldn’t pinpoint exactly where and when.  It had just started, somehow, her floating him a loan, not for long, of course.  Or picking up some of the overdraft, whatever she could afford, so that his ‘business’ expenses didn’t bounce. 

And now she was being touted as the mean-hearted, miserly harridan to whoever was prepared to listen!

That had hurt, for a long time, but now all Amelia felt was blistering anger.  How dare he use her like he had and then try to paint her with the bitch-wife brush and take her for everything he could?

Amelia, deep in thought, almost smudged her last dab of lipstick as a soft knock came from her bedroom door.  Telling Beth, her housekeeper, to come in, Amelia stood up, reaching for her handbag and briefcase.

Peter is back from dropping off Lily, Mrs Holland.  Are you ready to leave?  I have some toast, fruit and coffee ready if you’d like a bit of breakfast before you go.

How was Lily?  Did she give Peter any trouble?

Beth shrugged.  Amelia knew the housekeeper could see no fault in in her daughter, even though she’d been acting up terribly with everyone of late.  Amelia usually took her to school in the mornings, but she hadn’t been able to face it today, not with the showdown she knew was likely coming in the next few hours.  Sarcastic pouting and irritable slamming of things ... Amelia felt her chest tighten painfully at the thought of it.

Lily knew she was loved by her parents and they’d both, in fairness to Jason too, tried very hard to keep things as stable as possible since the start of the divorce proceedings.  Civilised shared custody and happy smiles all round.  But she was nonetheless struggling, which Amelia knew was to be expected.

I’m having breakfast at the Westcliff Hotel, said Amelia, noticing with irritation the millisecond tightening around her housekeeper’s mouth.  Her affections had never extended to her employer. 

It’s not as if you’ve prepared a sumptuous spread for my breakfast!

I’ll let Peter know you’re on your way down, said Beth, starched uniform rustling as she huffed out of the room.

The view over Johannesburg and Sandton from the Westcliff Hotel never got old and Amelia sat happily sipping her cappuccino in the warm morning sunshine, protected from the direct sun by an oversized white umbrella flapping lightly in an also-helpful cool morning breeze.

I will enjoy myself for an hour.  I will put Jason out of my mind for now.

How long had it been since she’d met with friends?  Amelia honestly couldn’t remember.  Months.  The divorce and dealing with Lily’s mercurial moods had completely taken over her life.  Sapped her, if she was to be honest with herself. 

Her cellphone started to vibrate next to her elbow.  The office.

Mrs Holland? asked the receptionist.  New and very breathy over the phone.

Amelia waited.  Who else would it be?

I’m sorry to bother you, but will you be in soon?

Amelia had expressly told the girl to take messages as she would not be in until lunchtime.

Oh ... said with a nervous giggle, "I’m so sorry Mrs Holland.  I’m just so busy learning everything that I forgot you said you’d be in later ..."

What do you need Kirsten?

Mr Backus has arrived ... I don’t see an appointment in your calendar ...

That’s because there was no appointment with Mr Backus.  Michael Backus Publishing paid her a big retainer and expected her to be on call twenty-four-seven. 

Thank you Kirsten.  Could you hand Mr Backus the phone?

Amelia took deep breath.   Visualised a big, enthusiastic smile on her face, tried to inject it into her voice.

Amelia?

Michael.  I wasn’t expecting you this morning.

Clearly, came the plummy drawl.  Prize-winning authors unfortunately don’t keep office hours.

Jake Sutherland wasn’t prize-winning yet, but Amelia agreed that he probably would be soon. 

"When is his interview being published?  We expected to see it in this month’s edition of Writer’s Life."

"It is in this month’s edition. It comes out tomorrow."

"Writer’s Life comes out on the first of every month."

It’s not always hard and fast Michael, sometime there are printing and distribution delays, for an array of reasons.  I spoke to the editor yesterday and they will be couriering advance copies to your office later today.  They’re doing all they can.

You should have informed me of this.  My client was irate this morning.

No thank you for getting your unknown newbie a mention in one of the most prestigious industry magazines in the country!

But Amelia knew she should have given her client a heads-up on the delay.  She was letting small things slip a little too often for her own liking.

I need to start concentrating properly!

Taking it on the chin, Amelia apologised, giving assurances that the matter would receive priority attention as soon as she got back to the office.

Appeased, but only just, Amelia suspected, Michael Backus disconnected without saying goodbye. 

Amelia shrugged, oddly unaffected.  That was also something that was new.  Up until recently, she’d be running herself ragged to mollify an unhappy client.  It wasn’t that she didn’t care, not at all.  Her work was what was keeping her sane.  However, her life, she knew, had shifted.  A husband she had loved to distraction now fighting her for what she’d worked so hard for their entire marriage and a daughter who, seemingly, could no longer stand the sight of her.

Lily loved her father.  Like her mother for so many years, all she saw was a man with a big, generous heart who had lost his way somehow.  She had no clue of the truth of what lay beneath: a selfish, chronically-lazy, womanising letch.  Amelia understood this.  She’d been well into her thirties before she’d finally accepted the truth of what had been staring her in the face for a long time.

Lily blamed her for her parents’ unravelling marriage.  Couldn’t understand why her mother was being so cold towards a father who had, in fairness, always been loving towards his daughter.  And superficially so towards his wife.  Lily didn’t know about the tomcatting, how her father emptied out bank accounts with no thought about how they’d be replenished.

Amelia will see to it.  She always does.

And, of course, there was Samantha, Amelia’s therapist.  She had also assisted in putting things more into perspective for her.  She couldn’t be expected to juggle work and personal life as seamlessly as she had before the start of the divorce.  She needed to give herself some non-judgmental space to work through all the changes that were underway in her life. 

Let Michael Backus wait a few hours for my undivided attention while I give myself a little time out with friends.

That sounded like a difficult conversation, said Bea Trinkey, statement straight bangs almost obscuring her big, almond-brown eyes. 

Amelia noticed Bea’s close scrutinisation, sensing that she’d been watching her for a few minutes before coming over to the table.  She’d expected that, but still felt somewhat awkward.  She looked very different to the way she had the last time Bea had seen her.

I almost didn’t recognise you, continued Bea, giving voice to Amelia’s suspicions.  "What happened to your hair?  You’ve lost so much weight ... not that you were overweight ..."

Amelia forced a laugh she didn’t really feel.  Was that the first thing her friends were going to ask her?  Why does she look so different?  Not, how are you holding up?  Stress can do that to you.

That wasn’t all there’d been to it though.  Eating had become difficult for Amelia over the last months.  Usually a stress eater, her somewhat AWOL appetite hadn’t been unwelcome.  The never-ending demands of work and now Jason constantly at her heels should have resulted in her turning even more to food for solace.  But that hadn’t happened.

She’d also decided to make a concerted effort to lose some weight, stick it to Jason in more ways than one.  She’d never felt, until the real animosity between them had started, that a few more inches around her waistline had played any sort of role in her husband’s wandering proclivities, but now she wasn’t so sure.  Not that that would have been any sort of justification, but Amelia had decided it was time to take better care of herself.  Show the bastard that he was, from now on, going to be missing more than just the money.

"I wish!  One iota of stress in my life and I’m stuffing my face with whatever I can find."

Amelia had never seen any evidence of stress in her friend’s life.  Svelte with long, dark tresses professionally straightened twice a week, and an ex-model, Bea was loved to distraction by her doting, much-older husband.  She was also very high maintenance, which Amelia had come to suspect was the way to be when it came to men.  Keep them on the back foot, always scrabbling to make you happy as they try to anticipate your every need, read your enigmatic mind.

Would things have been different had she treated Jason that way?  Not been so much of an open book?

"Ladies!  So sorry I’m late."

I’ve only just arrived myself, said Bea, jumping up to give Violet Chalmers a hug.  Amelia watched her two closest friends embrace, feeling very much the outsider.

Taking a seat, Violet gave Amelia a long, appraising look.  You look amazing.  Much more mature.

I hope you don’t mean old, said Amelia, touching her hair.  I feel like I’ve aged a hundred years, to be honest.

You look like a woman who’s in control and looking after herself.  Violet, in her usual fashion, looked around pointedly, instantly drawing a scuttling waiter to their table.  More coffee and the menu, please.

Bea and I grinned at each other.  Trust Violet to waft in and take charge.

So, tell us, continued Violet after the waiter had topped up their crystal water glasses, have you been on a diet?  When did you decide to lob off that beautiful hair of yours?

Amelia was still adjusting to her shorter look and felt naked without her hair around her shoulders.  She’d seldom worn it back, was unused to a bare, exposed neck.

"Yes, I’ve been on a diet, although I have been a little off my food.  The hair came off two days ago."

Amelia had been very purposefully trying to change her look.  Felt like a new façade had become necessary to her new outlook in life.

Goodbye ATM and doormat!

Who have you been seeing? asked Bea.

Seeing?  I’m not seeing anyone.

Bea raised a manicured eyebrow.  "You look like that and you haven’t been seeing anyone?"

Violet widened her eyes in agreement, then started to laugh at what was undoubtedly Amelia’s confused expression.  She means, which dietician and image consultant?

Amelia forced another laugh.  My therapist has a dietician at her practice.  She offer’s the whole wellness package.  Hair and clothing selection are courtesy of Amelia Holland.

You’re seeing a therapist? asked Violet, buttering a croissant very liberally.

What do you think?  Have you heard anything I’ve told you over the last months?

Amelia gave them an abridged version of what had been happening since they last spoke, telling them that she suspected the now-brazenly vexatious Jason was going to go for the jugular in a few short hours.

Are you sure about this? asked Bea, tilting her head quizzically.  She knew about Jason’s womanising and propensity to spend his wife’s hard-earned money, but, Amelia suspected, couldn’t fully grasp the extent of hurt all of that had caused her friend.  Infidelity and dwindling finances were very foreign concepts to her.  Her husband, at almost sixty, was still a workaholic, managing partner at a large, multinational law firm.  He was definitely not one to draw on his wife’s trust fund or have a roving eye around the office.  She had no frame of reference.

"Dennis does say Jason is taking severe strain.  He really doesn’t want this divorce."  Violet’s husband played golf with Jason, at a top-tier, exclusive course that Amelia paid the exorbitant monthly fees on.

Only because the coffers are now empty.  The Amelia well had dried up.

Amelia didn’t respond, realising that her friends didn’t fully understand.  How could they, really?  Both with loving, hard-working husbands.  Happy marriages.

"Now, tell us honestly.  Is there really no new man on the horizon.  I’m sure they must be beating your door down now ..."

Amelia smiled and lifted her mimosa in a toast.  She was just going to enjoy her lovely, funny, largely clueless and unintentionally-insensitive friends, and breakfast.  To new men on the horizon.

You mean ...

Amelia really did laugh at the suddenly-taken-aback expression on Bea’s face.

Amelia’s heart rate ticked up rapidly as she sat listening to the latest claims put forward by Jason.  Contribution to her estate ... resulting debts incurred ... only fair that the estate be shared ...

What planet was the man living on?

What contributions had Jason ever made to her estate, how had she put him into debt?  This was madness!

But my home was never contributed to by Jason, said Amelia, taking a few deep breaths to try and keep her temper under control.  Ronald Guy, her divorce attorney, wasn’t to blame for Jason’s increasing unreasonableness.  "I owned it before I married him.  Lily and I moved out of the marital home into my home when I decided to divorce, you know that."

Jason’s sprawling Westcliff mansion, one of the properties left to him by his parents, was much bigger than her townhouse in Hyde Park, hence them deciding to relocate there after marrying.

Moving out of her home and into his hadn’t been something Amelia had particularly wanted.  His Westcliff home, whilst palatial with breathtaking views, had always seemed sepulchral to her.  Lots of white and echoey marble everywhere, it had never felt homely or particularly welcoming. 

She’d put in some personal touches of her own, of course, oversized rugs, comfy, colourful cushions and, most importantly, resonance-reducing oils and tapestries up on the walls.  That had never helped all that much, though.

And then Lily had come along, more quickly than Amelia had wanted, to be honest.  Suggesting moving back to her home or buying a new one had just never come up after that.  Also, there were the massive infinity pool, tennis court, sauna, indoor pool and cinema to consider.  What child wouldn’t want all of that?

He wants you to sell it and share the proceeds in order to help settle some of his debts ... or do the same with your investments ... or your business ...

Sell off my home?  My business ...?

Ronald inclined his head slowly.  That’s what he wants, yes.  He feels the support given to the household took away from the time he had to run his businesses properly, in part resulting in their failure.

What support does he say he gave to the household?  I don’t understand.

Being at home with Lily, doing the shopping, keeping things going generally while you ran your twenty-four-seven, three-hundred-and-sixty-five PR company.

The housekeeper did the shopping!  He was only at home because he wasn’t working ...my work kept Lily in private school and food on the table.  The staff, insurances and cars paid ...

Ronald twirled his Mont Blanc between index and middle finger.  The Westcliff house is going on auction.  He’s going to be homeless soon, it would appear.

Amelia felt shock and dread wash over her.  Were things really that bad?

What?  I had no idea he was losing the house.

Apparently.  Hence the stepped-up demands.

Ronald’s desk phone bleeped.  Mr Holland and Mr Fritz have arrived.

Please show them in Rosemary.  And order a tray of coffee and biscuits.

Indicating that Amelia should move from the seat in front of his desk to the meeting table, Ronald pulled a chair out for her.  Let me do the talking.  Don’t get into pointless arguments.

It had been a while since Amelia had last seen Jason.  He sat in the idling car outside her townhouse when picking Lily up for his weekend, never so much as a greeting hoot or wave.

He looked thinner and a little disheveled, his chin dark with five-o-clock shadow that looked days old.   Another hour, and he’d be sprouting the start of a beard.

But still very handsome, Amelia couldn’t help but notice.  Dark hair with blue, hooded eyes that had a brooding, inscrutable quality that sucked you in.  Dressed sharply in a clearly bespoke dark suit she didn’t recognise, she wondered how he’d afforded it given his soon-to-be-homeless status. 

With fastidious sartorial tastes, Jason didn’t shop for his clothes, he had them made for him.  Even his jeans were tailored.

Rosemary settled everyone in with cups of fresh, hot coffee, giving Amelia a few minutes to study her husband and calm her nerves.

She’d met Jason at university, although, doing different degrees, they’d only ever greeted each other in the corridors or in the canteen, attended overlapping tutorials from time to time.  She’d noticed him immediately; however, how could she not have?  Drop-dead gorgeous and clearly monied, he’d had an easy, confident air about him that she’d found immensely attractive.

They’d run into each other a year after finishing their studies. She’d been peddling for business for the PR company she’d been determined to start as soon as she’d finished her degree and approached his father’s practice on possible promotional work after an introduction from a friend of a friend.

That had resulted in referrals to a few of the practice’s well-healed, super-successful clients with big businesses and the rest, as well as her and Jason, had been history.

She wished again, as she sat looking at Jason’s brooding expression as he sipped the steaming coffee with a grimace, unable to meet her eyes, that she’d noticed his lack of motivation even then.  She’d been so driven to make a success of herself, get her company off the ground at record speed, how had she missed his total lack of the same.  How indulged he had been, how completely comfortable he was living off his parents’ wealth and doing as little as he could to get by.  Pampered, he’d viewed himself, even then, as some sort of dashing entrepreneur, dabbling in this and that on his inherited dime.  His latest had been a designer sock and tie emporium in an exclusive mall with an exorbitant rent that he couldn’t possibly have covered with the income his limited stock would generate.  What was left had been lost very quickly.

Had his roving eye been present back then too?  Or had that developed years later, as he’d started to become resentful of her?

Ronald Guy and Travis Fritz started out civilly, but the latter’s brash, conceited attitude, she could see, was starting to grate on her attorney.  Significantly older than all of them, Ronald managed to hold his tongue as his opponent laid out his client’s newest demands in a staccato fashion, like he was listing perfectly reasonable requirements.

Jason was still looking everywhere but at Amelia.

Let me stress again, said Ronald, when he was finally given a chance to speak, that our clients are married out of community of property, with no accrual.  Your client cannot thus claim debt relief in the form of the sale of shared assets, as there are none according to the contract.  We have been sitting around this table for months thrashing out this same pointless issue.

Yes, but as you well know, my client’s situation has now changed.  His home is going up for auction and your client can be held responsible for this state of affairs, to some extent.

My client is not responsible for your client’s inability to manage his finances, Mr Fritz.  You know this very well, given their marriage contract.

Ah, but you also know very well, Mr Guy, that this may be subject to judicial discretion.  My client gave up a lot of his time to take care of the household while his wife ran her very demanding company.

Amelia opened her mouth to speak, her shaking hand rattling her coffee cup on its saucer.  Ronald cleared his throat pointedly, shaking his head slightly in her direction. 

Your client is quite in his right to voice his demands in court, Mr Fritz.  We will give them no further credence in this office.  I look forward to receiving notice of your court date.

Quite in his right! spluttered Amelia, glaring at her husband.  "You know full well why you were home all the time-"

Ronald stood, forcing everyone to do the same.  Travis Fritz was red-faced at the dismissal and Jason now had a smug set to his mouth, although he still wasn’t making eye contact with anyone.  With a short buzz to the meeting table telephone, Rosemary was at the office door is seconds to escort them out.

"Further credence. I’ve ... we’ve ... never given any of it credence!  Why would you have said something like that?  Haven’t we now created the impression that some of his other petty demands will be considered?  I will not agree to the shared sale of any of my assets or collectables still at the Westcliff house, I will not pay off his Jaguar and I will not agree to a monthly allowance, no matter how reasonable."

Lawyer-speak, Mrs Holland, nothing more.  Mr Fritz knows full well that his client has no right to any of that.

I still can’t believe this.  Do you think he’ll take us to court?

There’s almost no chance of your husband succeeding in his application, Mrs Holland.  Mr Fritz would be mad to recommend that he take this to court, especially given your husband’s obvious lack of funds.  It would be costly with, in my opinion, no chance of success.  And thus no chance of payment for Mr Fritz.

My husband is a very wily man, Ronald, as you well know.  He’s kept us around this table with demands and veiled threats that should never even have been entertained.  How, for instance, did he afford the suit he had on?  I never bought it for him.  Has he found some other source of income to fund this?

He has no more money, Mrs Holland, we have studied his accounts.  And now, with the house-

Maybe he’s met some other meal ticket.  Another foolish woman taken in by all the schmooze.  Or he’s hidden money somewhere.

Why have I never thought of that before?

As I’ve said, Mrs Holland, I can’t see-

"But there could be a chance? You used that word Ronald," said Amelia, swallowing tepid coffee that she almost choked on.

It’s unlikely, Mrs Holland.

Another repetition of the weak platitude, no definitive stance. 

More lawyer-speak.

2

Amelia sat at her desk, once again cluttered with papers to sign, magazines with post-its at important pages and files that hadn’t been there when she’d left the previous evening.  She was fastidious about a tidy desk at the end of the day.  A tidy desk made for to a tidy mind.  A tidy home made for a tidy life.

Jen, her most senior associate and right-hand man, was out for the day with a client and a cacophony of unanswered phones due to lunchtime-empty desks was making her head ache.  Why did no-one ever remember to switch them over to voicemail? 

Why did her employees always require the proximity of senior staff to do things as she instructed?

Placing her head in her hands, Amelia swallowed back tears, her throat aching with the need to cry.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Why was she feeling so angry, like things were running away from her?  So not in control?  It wasn’t as if she hadn’t expected Jason to come at her with everything he had this morning.  She’d been determined to take whatever it was in her stride and deal with it, like she always did, and, here she was, battling to stop herself from going into floods at the office.

Jason losing the Westcliff home?  Muscles in Amelia’s stomach tensed at the thought of what she knew that was going to mean