The Care and Management of Lies Read Online Free PDF

crusty, again—along with a wedge of cheese, two tomatoes, and an apple. She added a jug of lemonade covered with a doily, and set off. Tom might expect a cooked dinner at noon, with a pot of strong tea, but Kezia knew there was enough food to see him through the rest of the day. She would be home in time to prepare a hearty tea and have it ready when he walked through the door at six. It was coming on harvest time, and he would go out again later. There was always more work to be done on a summer’s night.
    Kezia had no idea where she was going, only that she would set off towards what she believed to be the perimeter of the farm beyond Micawber Wood, and then along the edge, which she expected to be marked with a fence. She planned to explore the forested acres flanking Twist, the largest of the hop gardens, where the spicy hops with their dense, green, and pungent fairy-wing petals lay heavy on the bine. She thought she would even ramble to the edge of the Hawkendene estate. She knew little of the property abutting Marshals Farm, only that there was a wealthy man and his wife, their son—older than Tom, or Kezia—and a host of lackeys to do their every bidding. The family opened their gardens once a year, in late August. Trestle tables would be set up with linen tablecloths rippling aimlessly in a light breeze, like sails on a ship becalmed. There would be triangled sandwiches and small fancies with pastel icing. The tea would have a fragrance to it, and at least one of the villagers would be heard to comment—in a low voice, of course—that the lukewarm beverage was only fit to dab behind the ears, and wouldn’t set you up for anything, of a morning. When Kezia went into the village, it seemed that everyone was talking about the party, even with a month to go before the anticipated day. Thea had written to her—since the wedding, they were both endeavoring to nurture the friendship, for weren’t they now joined as family?—and told her that she should not go. She maintained that this inequity, this fawning on the rich by the poor, should have died with the old queen. Kezia thought she had a point, but at the same time found herself getting caught up in the excitement. She wondered, though, as she jumped over a stile as if she were a schoolgirl, if her enthusiasm was due to the fact that the people who set such store by the party were referring to her as “Mrs. Brissenden” for the first time. After almost a month she was getting used to her new name, and in the village shop now ceased to look round when greeted, in case the ghostly specter of her late mother-in-law had appeared behind her.
    Hawkendene Lake was still, the summer sun reflecting surrounding trees into the water as if copied there with oils. Kezia chose her spot, a place at the foot of a giant oak where thick roots reared up from the earth, providing a place for her to sit and rest her head. She pulled a square embroidered cloth from the knapsack, setting out her repast. She closed her eyes and sighed. This was it, a perfect place. Across the lake, just visible, the house in which the Hawkes family lived appeared to lounge amid perfect lawns and pruned hedges. It was, she thought, somewhat intimidating. Spires rose up from rooftops, poking their way skyward as if in competition with the pines. It was a tableau to be painted, one day, this image now scored into memory; the house, the woodland, the lake with water lilies in bloom. The light buzzing of worker bees toiling in the fields behind her seemed to settle her soul. Bliss, she thought. For two hours, perhaps more, she would read her book and pen whatever thoughts came to her. Soon, though, despite her best efforts to resist the heat of the day, the gentle swoop of birds across the lake, and the meadow fragrance, her eyelids grew heavy and she slept.
    “Did you know you’re trespassing?”
    At first the voice seemed to come from far away, and, she thought later, had even entered her dream,