Читать книгу BETRAYED - Jacqui Rose, Jacqui Rose - Страница 16

Edith Williams lay on the sun lounger and broke wind as she stuffed the last of the Godiva chocolates into her mouth. No matter how much she tanned herself in the heat of the Marbella sun her skin didn’t turn any shade of anything, apart from red.

Her over-processed undernourished platinum hair hung like straw from under her hat. Her swollen size twenty body was squeezed into her expensive Pucci swimsuit, with the layers of fat straining to escape. Puffy fingers held an array of Bvlgari and diamond-encrusted Chanel rings. Her fingernails were painted a deep purple, matching the swollen veins on her hands and legs.

Feeling something warm on her chest, Edith looked down, and noticed that one of the chocolates had fallen onto her creped skin, melting and oozing dark liquid down her swimsuit.

‘Oi, bleedin’ hell. Look at the state of this. It looks like I’ve been shat on by a flying pig.’ Edith spoke loudly to herself.

‘Alfonso! … Alfonso! Bring a bleedin’ cloth to mop me up before the flies come and eat me alive.’

From inside the villa, Alfonso Garcia sat at the large marble kitchen table, finishing off his freshly squeezed lemonade, and rolled his eyes. He had no intention of moving until he’d finished his drink. At the best of times he didn’t like to do much, but today it was especially true. He was tired and the Costa del Sol heat was, as it always did, getting to him.

He’d only just got back this morning from a trip to London. Another errand for Edith; bringing back chocolates from Selfridges. Why she couldn’t be like anyone else and buy her chocolate from the local shop he didn’t know. And now, even though in the last twenty-four hours he’d had less than two hours sleep, he was still supposed to be at her beck and call. Well he wasn’t going to be rushed by anyone, least of all Edith Williams.

Spitting a lemon pip back into the iced drink, Alfonso listened to Edith’s screeching, which was becoming louder and more hysterical with every call.

‘Alfonso! … Where the bleedin’ frig are you? … Alfonso!

‘Alfonso! … Stop bleedin’ mugging me off … Alfonso!

‘Alfonso! … Get your skinny arse out here … Alfonso!’

Having given it another five minutes before going to see what Edith wanted, Alfonso walked out onto the pool area and was promptly greeted by an empty box of chocolates being thrown in his direction.

‘Where the friggin’ hell have you been Alfonso? I was calling that much and that loud I’ve got gut rot now. You know stress does funny things to me stomach. I’ll have to go to the khazi now and do a banana split.’

Ignoring Edith’s crudeness, Alfonso smiled a sickly smile. ‘I didn’t hear you.’

‘I was calling loud a-bleedin’-nuff.’

‘I was at the back of the house sorting out some of the deliveries that came this morning. Perhaps next time you should shout louder.’ Alfonso held his smile for a moment before adding, ‘What was it you wanted anyway?’

‘Look at the state of me.’

Alfonso stared at Edith, trying not to show his disgust in his face as he looked at her beached-whale body on the sun lounger, covered in gooey chocolate.

‘Come and help me clean myself up.’

Alfonso picked up a towel discarded on the other lounger and went towards Edith to wipe away the chocolate. Straight away Edith screeched loudly, brushing him away with her hand before he could wipe up the mess.

‘Not with bleedin’ that you silly sod. Get me some tissues. Oh and Alfonso. Where’s my kiss?’

Alfonso’s sickly smile reappeared as he inwardly shuddered. ‘How could I forget?’ Bending down he kissed Edith who, with shark-like speed, opened her mouth, pushing her tongue past Alfonso’s tightened lips.

Coming up for breath, Alfonso took the opportunity to pull away. ‘Now my princess, let me go and get you those tissues otherwise like you say, the flies will eat you alive.’

Edith scowled. ‘I thought you said you didn’t hear me.’

‘I heard you as I was coming through to see what was wrong.’

‘But I said that when I first called you.’

Alfonso shrugged his shoulders. ‘Edith my darling. I’m here now. Stop getting your pretty little head in a flap.’ Alfonso winked at Edith who giggled in a childlike way, causing Alfonso to shudder again. ‘Right, you’ll be okay here for a moment while I go and get those tissues.’

Walking back into the villa with his back turned away from Edith, Alfonso’s face changed into a nasty sneer. He’d been employed by Edith for the past three years, going from the maintenance man to the cook, to the chauffeur to the housekeeper and finally to her bed; not that there was any attraction on his part, quite the opposite in fact.

He’d stupidly thought becoming her lover would’ve given him a certain sway; imagining being able to do as he pleased – more to the point, being able to spend her money as he pleased. But he couldn’t have been more wrong if he’d tried. Edith had become more demanding, both in the bedroom and with the things she expected him to do for her. Treating him more like the hired help than ever before. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have other staff working for her, yet she insisted on him doing it.

Going into the large, ostentatious gold-leafed bathroom, Alfonso grabbed some tissues. He stopped to look at himself in the mirror. He was naturally olive skinned but the years of living abroad had given his skin a constant dark mahogany tinge, making him look more Mediterranean than the locals and helping him turn from the East End-born Alf Garfield he really was into the suave, well-spoken Alfonso Garcia.

When he’d first come to Spain it’d been his intention to lie low and blend into the background, needing to be unseen, but he couldn’t have imagined for a moment how well it would turn out. It’d worked out perfectly in fact.

Over a short period of time his skin had darkened, his mousey brown hair had been dyed to a jet black and he’d changed his name, picking up the local lingo along the way. He’d reinvented his life and erased the past. Changing his history from the life of crime he’d led – spending the majority of it going in and out of the nick – to a third generation Spaniard who’d come to live back in Spain with his mother who’d passed away ten years ago.

He’d picked up odd jobs, looking over his shoulder at first until he realised no one was actually looking his way. And over time he’d been able to put Alf Garfield to rest, and in his place the smooth-talking Alfonso Garcia was born.

Then one day he’d been in Puerto Banús, the luxury marina south-west of Marbella. He’d bumped into an old acquaintance – a retired face from London that he’d done some work for when he first came to Spain – who’d told him about a job where they needed someone to keep their mouth shut and their eyes open. Alfonso had known this wouldn’t be a problem; it’d been how he’d lived his life. A few days later a meeting had been set up with some cronies before he was actually taken to meet the man himself. Del Williams. Husband of Edith, and number one face.

Even though it paid well and the work came with living quarters provided, Alfonso hadn’t seen the job to have any redeeming features; unblocking toilets around the villa, changing fuses and whitewashing already brilliantly white walls as well as always keeping schtum to the comings and goings of the Costa del Sol’s biggest faces, wasn’t his idea of living the high life.

But then a couple of months after he’d started work at the Williams’ villa, Alfonso had woken up to find Edith sitting in the kitchen, having returned from one of her luxury holidays. Within hours, Del had left the villa, going back to London, not being able to stand more than the minimum of time with his wife. So that had left Edith and him.

At first, Edith had viewed him suspiciously, but one thing Alfonso had always been good at throughout his life was reading people. Giving them what they wanted before ripping the granny out of them and taking them for everything they had. Edith was no different. Alfonso knew exactly what she needed to get him what he needed.

‘Alfonso! … Alfonso! Where are those bleedin’ tissues? Where the fuck are you?’

Alfonso scowled. The time was coming when he wouldn’t have to jump to Edith’s every whim. She was a fat, loud-mouthed cow – but a very rich one, and even though it’d taken longer than he thought it would, if he continued to play his cards right, he’d be able to get his hands on that wealth.

His phone started to vibrate in his pocket, breaking his thoughts. He answered, slightly annoyed.

‘Yes.’

Alfonso listened to the caller for a moment, before growling down the phone. His voice changed from the feigned affected voice in which he spoke to Edith, into the heavy threatening cockney accent of Alf Garfield.

‘Listen geeze, I told you to never fucking phone me … I’m warning you mate, don’t press my fucking buttons, pal, otherwise I ain’t going to be held responsible for my actions.’

Cutting off the call, Alfonso straightened down his clothes and walked out into the brilliant Spanish sunlight, trying desperately to ignore the nagging unrest that had just come over him.

Back in his office in London, defence barrister Alan Day slowly put down the phone as the line went dead. He had a bad feeling. A very bad feeling indeed.