Читать книгу Behind the Lie: A nail-biting psychological suspense for 2018 - Amanda James - Страница 13

Chapter Four

This was ridiculous. He shouldn’t have to creep around in his own house; he was doing it for her in the end, wasn’t he? Simon held his breath and inched his way past the end of the bed, his eyes watching for any sign that his wife was waking. No. He needn’t have worried. Holly’s breathing was a slow and steady in-out-in-out. And with any luck he’d be out, too, in a few minutes, if only he could find his car keys.

Ten minutes later, a cold sweat beading his brow, he slipped behind the wheel of his Mercedes, a mixture of guilt and relief slipping in with him. In the ten days since his wife had been back from Cornwall, it had been difficult for him to get out of the apartment in the evenings. Holly had been clingy and anxious, asking him why he was going out, where he was going, what time he’d be home. Each time, he’d made excuses about work, or that he was out to dinner with old university friends, but the last five nights he’d just sneaked out while she was sleeping.

Simon couldn’t tell her the truth, of course. Last year, when things hadn’t been too desperate, he’d told her about his occasional casino jaunts and she’d looked at him as if he’d told her he was a child molester. Then he’d had the lecture about how the only people who really win are the casino owners and didn’t he know that it would all end in disaster. What did she know about gambling? Holly was a country girl with a very naive way of looking at the world. When he’d won big, she hadn’t turned her nose up at the extra gifts he’d showered on her though, had she? No. Particularly that beach house she adored so much. Did she think the money for that came out of thin air?

Then a little voice whispered in his ear that he was being far too hard on her. Wasn’t she just trying to look out for him? She loved him, that was obvious. In the end he was only getting angry because he knew she was right, deep down. It was a mug’s game. Nevertheless, things were about to change and everything would turn out just fine.

At a red light, Simon took a deep breath and expelled it along with any trace of guilt. Yes, he’d had a longish run of bad luck at the tables lately. The worst loss had been to that nasty little toad Giles, the night Holly had told him she was staying on in Cornwall. She’d upset him and that had clouded his judgement. Turned out Giles hadn’t been quite as drunk as he’d made out. Simon had been greedy and by God he’d paid for it. But he’d be lucky tonight; he could feel it in his gut. And it wasn’t just his gut; probability came into it too. He’d lost every night for ten nights. How long could a run of bad luck last, for goodness’ sake?

*

Everybody loves a winner, don’t they say? What a difference a few weeks made. Lauren looked at him quickly and then away as if he was something distasteful, something… Simon’s befuddled mind struggled for an adequate description… something unwholesome. Who the hell did she think she was? Jumped up little gold-digger.

‘Hey, Lauren, my glass needs a refill! What’s up, don’t you fancy me any more now Lady Luck has deserted me?’

Lauren looked at him and had the grace to blush. Then she raised a quizzical eyebrow across the room at a thick-set man in an expensive suit, one of the managers, Simon thought. He shook his head at Lauren and she shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, Mr West. Casino policy is to refuse to serve customers who might have had a little too much to drink.’

‘Eh?’ Simon leaned his elbows on the bar to steady his legs. ‘I’ve only had a couple! A double whisky in this glass now, if you please, miss.’ Simon thumped the glass down hard on the bar.

The thick-set man came over and whispered in his ear. ‘We don’t want to upset everyone, do we, Mr West? Allow me to escort you outside.’

Simon took a step back, his hands bunched into fists. How dare this ape of a man talk to him like this? ‘Upset everyone?’ Simon flung his arms up. ‘Who am I upsetting!’ Then, to his surprise, the ape grabbed his elbow and made as if to pull him towards the door. ‘Get your hands off me right now, or…’

‘Hey, hey, my man. No need for that,’ a deep and cultured voice said behind them.

The ape immediately released him and nodded in deference before walking away. Simon turned round and could have cried with relief. ‘Mark! Mark, am I glad to see you! Did you see what happened?’ Simon hung on to his oldest friend’s shoulder and swept his arm in the direction of Lauren and the ape. ‘They tried to humiliate me. Said I’d had too much to drink and…’ Simon’s words got blocked by a lump in his throat as he looked up into Mark’s sympathetic dark eyes.

‘Yes, old chap, I saw and heard.’ Mark linked arms with Simon and guided him to a table in a corner. ‘Look, just you sit there and gather your thoughts. I’ll get us a coffee and you can tell me all about it.’

An hour and two coffees later, Simon was seeing things more clearly and he wasn’t sure if that was a good idea. Yes, he was sure, actually. It wasn’t a good idea at all. He remembered that he’d purposely downed those whiskies to obliterate reality – the vile, almost unbelievable, nightmare his life was turning into. Simon hugged himself and tried not to give in to the desire to rock back and forth. Wasn’t that what crazy people in movies did? He wasn’t crazy. Just sad, ashamed and… desperate. Yes, desperate was the main thing he was.

‘You’re looking a bit more like your old self now, my friend,’ Mark said, crossing his long legs and leaning his six-feet-five frame back in his chair. Not for the first time he reminded Simon of a hawk. In fact, Hawky had been his nickname back in the day. Dark eyes that missed nothing, aristocratic features, long, hooked nose, slicked-back tawny hair and a keen intelligence that was almost palpable. It was this that had led to his great success as a stockbroker. Mark was seriously loaded.

‘I wish I was my old self, Mark. I don’t care for this new one.’

‘You said you’d lost everything when we first sat down. Can you explain what you meant?’

‘I meant what I said. I have nothing… or won’t have once the bank has taken the house – keep defaulting on the mortgage, see? I lost the rest… everything.’

Mark narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. ‘Surely it can’t be that bad?’

‘It is.’ Simon swallowed hard. There was no way he’d add tears of disgrace to desperation. ‘Tonight was going to be the big win, but it didn’t happen. Should’ve listened to my lovely Holly. The only winners are the casino owners.’

‘We all lose sometimes, old friend. That’s the challenge, isn’t it? I think you might be seeing things a little gloomier than they actually are…’

‘You can afford to lose big, Mark. I can’t.’ Simon ran his tongue over dry lips and shoved his hand through his hair. ‘You know that little prick Giles Harwood we went to school with?’ Mark nodded. ‘He started it all off really. Yes, I was already on a losing streak but he tricked me. I thought he was pissed and risked a pile on that poker game. Lost it all.’

‘How much?’

‘Two hundred and fifty.’

Mark pulled back his neck and frowned. ‘Two hundred and fifty pounds is nothing, Simon. I…’

Simon shot Mark an incredulous look. ‘Of course not, Mark! Do you think I’d be worried about that? No, it was two hundred and fifty thousand!’

Mark stroked his chin. ‘Hmm. That was a tidy sum… I might be able to come up with some of it…’

Simon held his hand up. ‘But did I stop there? No. I carried on. And tonight I bet all of what I had left. My savings, my boat, my car… and the Cornish beach house.’ The enormity of what he was saying whipped up a wave of nausea in his gut. How could he do this to Holly? She’d be devastated.

‘So what are we talking here?’

Simon totted the amount up in his head, hoping he’d done it incorrectly earlier. He hadn’t. ‘Give or take, close on two million.’

‘Fucking hell, Simon… what were you thinking?’ Mark said in a low voice, though its gravity wasn’t diminished.

‘I wasn’t, was I? All I knew was that I needed a win.’ Simon’s gaze slid away from the mixture of pity and contempt in his friend’s eyes. To the table he said, ‘How am I going to survive now? I’m going to be a father soon. My work is suffering – had a warning from the main partner the other day. Holly will leave me, take the children with her. I would if I was her. But I can’t let her do that… oh, sweet Jesus, what am I going to do?’ Simon’s bottom lip began to tremble so he bit down on it.

Simon stuck his knuckles in his eyes and rubbed hard. Then there was a silence that lasted for too long – it made him want to scream.

‘Oh dear, you have made rather a mess of things, haven’t you?’ Mark said eventually, as he looked at his fingers, turning a plain wedding band round and round his finger.

Simon really didn’t need this; his stomach wanted to come up into his throat when he considered the impact of what had happened. He said through gritted teeth, ‘You could say that, Mark. My life is over.’

‘No. No, of course it isn’t. You’re not thinking straight, that’s all – and that’s perfectly understandable.’ Mark looked into the middle distance and did the chin-rubbing thing again. Then he stood and shrugged into his jacket. ‘Right, come on. I’ll get you into a taxi and we’ll talk about this tomorrow. It will all be okay.’

Simon shook his head. ‘How can it be?’ Then a glimmer of hope fought its way to the front of his mind. ‘Wait… do you mean you’re going to help me out?’

Mark helped Simon into his coat. ‘I might have an opportunity for you. We’ll talk tomorrow. I’ll ring you late morning, give you time to clear the hangover.’

*

Simon watched the rise and fall of his wife’s chest as she slept, a finger of moonlight caressing her beautiful face, and he prayed that Mark would come up with something before he lost everything. If he couldn’t fix it, then nobody could.