Читать книгу Wicked Wives - Anna-Lou Weatherley - Страница 15

‘Where are you taking me?’ Ellie giggled girlishly as Vinnie guided her precariously along the narrow Soho street, his hands covering her eyes.

‘Not far now,’ he promised, barely able to contain his own excitement. ‘And no peeking!’ He knew his wife only too well.

‘Have you seen these heels?’ she protested, referring to the six-inch Pierre Hardy sandals she was wearing, squeezing his arm tightly in a bid to steady herself against the cobbles that were proving tricky to navigate. Vinnie laughed. It had not escaped his watchful eye that his wife had seemed a touch subdued over dinner tonight; it was the first time he had seen her genuinely smile all evening.

‘So then, are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?’ he’d eventually asked her, tentatively sipping a glass of the Chateau La Mondotte Saint-Emilion 1996 wine he’d just ordered and watching as she had unenthusiastically picked at her plate of caviar, crab meat and lobster jelly.

Ellie had given a small smile. Her husband was such an intuitive man; he’d always been able to see straight through her like a pane of glass.

‘I’m sorry, darling,’ she’d apologised. She hadn’t meant to be so sombre, especially not tonight; she had wanted to show him how glad she was to have him home. ‘Ignore me, it’s nothing … I’m just a little worried about Tess, that’s all.’ It wasn’t a lie exactly; Ellie had heard from her daughter just once since she’d landed in Ibiza and she’d had to physically stop herself from phoning every five minutes to check up on her. But since she’d seen that damned photograph of Loretta Fiorentino in the newspaper, and then of course there was the collapse of the business venue weighing heavy on her shoulders …

Vinnie had looked at his wife from across the table. She looked so beautiful tonight; her long hair hung in loose waves around her smooth, naked shoulders and the dress she was wearing, a strapless black Helmut Lang number, off-set the shamrock green of her eyes and caressed her delicate curves, modestly displaying the swell of her breasts and décolletage. Even after all the years that had passed Ellie could still manage to stop his heart in its tracks.

‘Tess will be just fine,’ he’d reassured her. ‘She can take care of herself; she’s her mother’s daughter, remember? And, well, you know, she’s not a kid anymore. In fact, if I remember rightly, Mrs Scott,’ he’d taken her hand in his, lightly played with her delicate fingers for a few moments, ‘you were just a year or so older than Tess yourself when we met.’

Ellie had narrowed her eyes at him playfully, taking another generous gulp of the expensive wine, though it wasn’t quite taking the edge off her mood as she’d hoped.

‘That was different,’ she’d objected.

Vinnie had given a knowing smile.

‘I was more …’ She’d thrown her husband a thoughtful look, trying to find the word she was searching for.

‘… Streetwise?’

‘Yes! Streetwise.’

‘I remember,’ he’d said, eyebrows arching provocatively.

She’d jokingly pushed his arm away. ‘Anyway, I’ll still never know why you picked me that night out of all those beautiful girls …’

‘There were other girls?’ Vinnie had clutched his chest in faux-shock as he’d held her gaze from across the table.

There had been a big buzz at the Venus Club that night twenty-one years ago as Vinnie and his entourage had strolled through the door, all sharp suits and expensive-smelling cologne.

‘I want first dibs on this one,’ Mercury, a tall, skinny black stripper from Des Moines had firmly stated, applying a thick coat of plum-red lipstick, her third since clocking on. ‘He’s got Big Tipper tattooed on his ass and this black ass wants to get me some of that.’ As the girls had begun to bicker amongst themselves, each vying for the handsome stranger’s attention in the hope of making a good earn, Ellie had continued to dance, lost in the moment, imagining she was performing on stage with the Royal Ballet, just as she had done as a child. It enabled her to block out the reality of what she was doing; displaying her goods to sleazy men in a tawdry strip joint for a few dollars.

Yet still he had asked for her out of all the others.

‘The name’s Angel,’ she’d told him with a fixed smile, slipping into the booth opposite him. He had a handsome face, the look of a young George Clooney about him and something had instantly told her that this was no ordinary punter.

‘You don’t say,’ he’d replied, with a smile. Only, it wasn’t the kind of smile she was used to; the kind that belied those base thoughts underneath. It was a smile that had reached his sparkling blue eyes.

That night Ellie O’Connor had felt unusually self-conscious as she had begun to peel the straps of her tiny dress from her smooth, slim shoulders. She had actually wanted to put on a good show for the man in the sharp suit, had wanted him to find her attractive.

‘I’d just like to talk,’ he’d said softly, holding his hand up to prevent her from going any further, ‘if it’s all the same to you.’ As powerful and ruthless in the boardroom as Vincent Scott was, and ultimately attractive to women as a result, he had never been one for strip clubs and had only attended that night out of courtesy for his hosts.

Ellie was dumbfounded. This was a first; no one had ever paid for her to keep her clothes on before.

‘Suit yourself,’ she’d shrugged, yanking her bra straps back up. ‘It’s your money.’

And so they had just talked, and Ellie had learned that at thirty-six years old, sixteen years her senior, Vincent Scott was the eldest of three siblings born to wealthy, upper-class parents and had been brought up on an affluent country estate in Wiltshire, England.

By all accounts, Vincent, or Vinnie as he had insisted she call him, had been close to his father, a kind and loving man who had taught his eldest son to hunt, shoot and fish. When he’d died, some five years previously, Vinnie had taken over at the helm of his father’s property development business, Great Scott Properties. He’d been modest about his accomplishments; crediting great timing and the property boom of the late eighties for his subsequent global success. But Ellie sensed that underneath his soft veneer lay a steely determination. Inherited money or no, a man didn’t become a successful billionaire without an iron will.

‘But enough about me,’ he’d said, modestly. ‘Tell me, how does a young woman such a long way from home come to be working in a place like this?’

He had listened attentively as Ellie had recounted the story of how she had been just seven years old when her mother had upped sticks from the East End and followed her heart to Las Vegas.

‘I still miss it,’ she’d smiled a little ruefully, ‘London, I mean. It’ll always be home to me.’

‘And your mother?’ he’d enquired, watching as a deep sadness had seemed to descend upon her, dulling the brightness of her eyes. Ellie had shook her head as she’d thought of Charlene; she had often wondered what might have been had her mother never met Ray Black, for she was in no doubt that it was their tempestuous and abusive relationship that had led to her subsequent demise. The real tragedy was that in spite of everything – the gambling, the womanising and the drinking – Charlene O’Connor had truly loved ‘her Ray’. But it had been the worst kind of love; the kind that tore right through you like a cyclone, destroying everything good in its wake, and it had left her mother an empty shell of a woman; hard-faced and bitter, dependent on alcohol just to make it through the day.

‘So I’ve had to put my dreams of becoming a professional ballerina on hold for a while. Just until I make enough money to put myself through dance school and make ends meet, you know how it is?’ she’d casually explained, realising that he probably didn’t have the first idea. ‘Now that Tom’s no longer on the scene, I’ve got to look after myself, hence the reason I’m here,’ she’d looked around the low-lit club filled with drunken leering men with a resigned sigh.

‘Tom?’ he had quizzed her.

Even now Vinnie could recall the pause she had given, that she had looked down at her cheap stiletto-clad feet as if she hadn’t quite known how best to answer the question.

‘… Tom’s my … step-brother.’

Vinnie had left the Venus Club that night on a high of the like he’d never experienced before. On the surface he was incredibly modest, unassuming even, but it belied the sharp business mind and hard-nosed determination that lay at his very core. He was certainly no pushover, as some had learnt to their detriment, and he wasn’t the type to lose his heart without careful consideration, especially to a young stripper from the wrong side of the tracks. And yet on the night of July 18^th, almost twenty-one years ago to the day; call it fate, destiny, or whatever you liked, he had made the decision that he could not leave Las Vegas without her …

*

‘Oh Vin,’ Ellie looked across the table at her husband with a deep fondness. He was older now, in his mid-fifties, his salt and pepper hair now more salt than pepper, and the faint lines around his eyes had turned into deep creases; years of laughter etched on his face like a timeline. She knew how lucky she was; Vinnie had taught her everything she knew. They had never had a cross word their entire marriage, and yet deep down Ellie had an instinctive fearfulness of her husband. There was another side to his gentle, caring nature, one that he kept hidden from her at all costs, but that she knew existed all the same. Vinnie had given her wealth and status of the like she had only ever been able to imagine; the chance to be somebody and make something of herself. She felt forever indebted to him because of it, and yet she had come so close to nearly losing it all …

It had been a mutual decision not to reveal to anyone the truth about Ellie’s former occupation. Not that Vinnie was ashamed; quite the opposite in fact, he had been proud of the way his young girlfriend had dealt with the hand she’d been given in life, but he was nobody’s fool; he had known how it would look. Beautiful young stripper meets older, billionaire businessman. By burying Ellie’s past, Vinnie had only ever wanted to protect her. After all, when they had married in a lavish ceremony in the lush grounds of his family’s Wiltshire estate some thirteen months later, people had whispered about the union between him and his lowly, if beautiful, secretary. Ha! If only they had known the real truth!

‘Ta-da!’ Vinnie dropped his hands from her eyes and stood back to survey her reaction.

It was dark now and the narrow cobbled Soho street was lit only by the rich amber glow of a singular streetlamp. Ellie blinked up at the dark, boarded-up building in front of her that she assumed was some kind of disused warehouse and wondered what exactly it was she should be looking at. ‘Number twelve Starling Street, W1; your new dance school …’ he announced with a theatrical wave.

Instinctively Ellie put a manicured hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp.

‘Now, before you say anything I want you to listen. You have to understand that a man of my, how shall I say, standing in the property business, gets to hear things on the grapevine …’

Ellie’s heart thumped against her ribcage.

‘So you already know about me losing the venue then?’ she had looked at him with a mix of indignant relief, ‘about those bastards gazumping me at the last moment?’

He put a finger to her lips to prevent her from continuing and felt the softness of them against his skin. ‘Ah, now none of that matters now,’ he reassured her, ‘what does matter is that we find you another venue, a better one; this one.’ He pulled her close to him and felt the warmth of her skin against his own.

‘We’re going to bid for it at auction next week, and we’re going to win it. So tell me, Mrs Scott, what do you think?’

Ellie kissed him then, small scattergun kisses over his clean-shaven face and then deeply, her tongue exploring his.

‘I think, Vinnie Scott,’ she breathed, ‘that you are the most wonderful husband in the world.’