False Tongues Read Online Free PDF Page A

was not in Serena’s nature to be outwardly emotional, but the fact that she could sit dry-eyed through her husband’s funeral seemed extraordinary to Callie, who in the short course of her ministry had already dealt with a number of bereaved spouses, none of whom had displayed the degree of stoicism which Serena possessed.
    Now, though, something had been triggered—some deep well of grief—and the floodgates were opened.
    Serena wept copiously, surrounded by her family. Angelina, who seemed to have inherited her mother’s stoic nature, put her arms round her, while Chiara—perhaps feeling guilty because she had said the wrong thing—began wailing as well. Mamma went in search of a box of tissues, while Pappa wiped his own eyes with his handkerchief. Marco hovered at the fringes, making soothing noises. Soon, though, they were all crying, even Marco—all but Callie. If she’d felt like an outsider before…
    And she was supposed to be the professional, the one who knew what to say in situations like this. Yet she was helpless—useless—in the face of so many tears, so much emotion.
    There was no question of an engagement being announced. Not that day.
    Feeling utterly inadequate, Callie tried to creep away unnoticed. She’d retrieved her jacket and just about made it to the front door when Marco caught up with her. ‘I’m sorry, Cara Mia . So sorry,’ he’d said, tears in his eyes. ‘It’s too soon. We’ll have to wait to tell them.’ That’s when he’d told her to wear the ring.
    As long as she only wore it around people who didn’t know his family, presumably. And this week in Cambridge met that qualification.
    Cambridge. She should be there soon, Callie reckoned, trying to remember the last station they’d announced. Meldreth, or was it Shepreth?
    The train was slowing down. The train stopped.
    But the doors didn’t open, and there was no platform in sight. All Callie could see through the smeary window of the carriage was dark, featureless countryside. No lights—no streetlamps, no houses, no station.
    People who had studiously been avoiding eye-contact through the journey now looked at each other, raised their eyebrows, shrugged.
    It was another ten minutes before a crackly announcement came over the tannoy. ‘We apologise for the delay,’ said the disembodied voice. ‘There is an obstruction on the line. We will resume our journey as soon as possible. Once again, we are sorry for the delay, and any inconvenience it may cause.’
    The man across the table from Callie frowned. ‘They’re not a bit sorry,’ he muttered to no one in particular.
    Callie sighed. Would she ever get to Cambridge?
    ***
    â€˜Hey, Guv, we’ve found something!’
    Neville was still on the bench in the churchyard; he hadn’t summoned up the energy to move, though he was feeling increasingly chilled. Cowley had finished his first fag—conscientiously tapping the ash and dropping the end in a styrofoam cup to avoid contaminating the crime scene—and had started on a second. They both jumped at the SOCO’s shout.
    She—it was a she—met them halfway, proffering an already-bagged item.
    â€˜A phone,’ she said. ‘An iPhone, in fact. The latest model, if I’m not mistaken. Smashed.’
    Neville took the polythene bag from her with a skeptical frown. It was almost a matter of pride with him that he didn’t see the need to follow the trends in technology. His old boxy computer worked okay, and so did his ancient mobile phone. This object didn’t look anything like his phone: no key pad, no buttons at all. It was just a flat rectangular object with a screen which looked as if someone had taken a rock to it.
    â€˜Bugger,’ said Cowley. ‘Any idea how much one of them babies costs, Guv?’
    Trust Sid to get to the heart of the matter. ‘Not a clue. How