Chapter
Eight
“I’ve got another twenty four
hours in London...the City that never sleeps...come on!”
Dylan sighed
still not lifting his face from the bed, barely holding the handset; he’d had a
late night and was in no hurry to head out. “I thought that was New York,” he
offered with a groan.
Patrick
wasn’t taking telling, “come on buddy, I enjoyed our golf last week, but we
haven’t hit the town for ages. I’ll meet you at four, dinner at floor thirty of
the Shard; I’ve heard it’s amazing there. Then there’s this party, Men and
Health Magazine are having a party on a boat on the Thames. Women, free drink
and glamour! How can you say no?”
Dylan
groaned again, “I’m not in the mood Patrick.”
The other
man sighed down the phone, “I don’t know anyone else in town, not anyone that
can party like Dylan Wallace anyway. You were never one to turn down a good
time...what’s changed? That little ex wife of yours?”
That made
Dylan rolled over, he took in the fact that he was in his bedroom, not the golf
club hotel, but his apartment in London. He was still wearing his suit, and his
tie, that was almost choking him as he woke in his post alcohol haze unable to
remember getting there.
“It’s nothing to do with her!” It’s EVERYTHING to do with her. “I just
need some rest.”
Patrick
laughed, “four pm. The Shard. BE there.”
As the phone
went dead Dylan tossed it across the room, he tried to sit up, but his head was
banging, the world spinning. He groaned, his last memory was hitting a bar in
Soho after storming out of the hotel and getting out of his car in the City. Whisky...he’d
started with single malts in a hotel bar and moved onto several other places.
And now? Now
he had the hangover from hell. Did he feel better for it?
Do you hell? That damned internal vocal reminder refused
to settle down. But it was right, he’d drunk to forget the chaos and
destitution he’d caused Matilda, and none of that had gone away. Had he worn
blinkers through those days? He’d wanted the best for her, the best for them,
and he was so sure that one of his tip offs, one of his plans would come good.
All she’d needed to do was wait, trust him. For six years he’d thought she’d
given up on him, that she’d moved on to pastures new, wanting better,
more...not being willing to wait, to see the future he saw. All the time he had
been turning the screw, making things harder and harder, straining their relationship
beyond belief and forcing her into a ridiculous situation.
He
remembered her mother being ill, taken into hospital, Sylvia Davies was a
lovely woman, she’d always looked out for him, he had the extra portions of
everything for Christmas lunch and she defended him whenever Matilda was
critical of her husband. Those years as part of her family had been
amazing...he’d not had that until he met her, his mother was a polygamous
socialite who didn’t have a maternal bone in her body, holidays in his childhood
had been to Cannes to shoulder rub with rich and famous men, he’d tagged along
or been palmed off on the latest in a string of nannies. But time with the
Davies family, coming home to a wife who’d made him dinner, waking up with a
woman who loved him was a long time ago. Many years where his bitterness and
hatred had escalated in rapid proportions.
Hong Kong
had been his most confident tip off to date. He could remember his elation at
the thought of finally getting his chance. Admittedly he’d not been as honest
as he could have been to Matilda, but then she’d been jaded, snappy before that
point. He’d called her, told her he was heading to Hong Kong; she’d been disappointed,
but no more. Dylan sighed remembering how he’d got the remainder of the money
that he needed for the trip, phone calls to a loan company, the money
transferred directly to his contact and partner for the deal. He’d never
thought that the debt would land on her.
He’d been in
Hong Kong a couple of days when she stopped answering her phone. It was hectic
there, business was good, the deals were brokering, he’d presumed that he could
work things out with her, make it up to her once he got back to London, but
after a couple of months the divorce papers appeared at his desk.
Instead of
dealing with how that made him feel, he signed them, not contesting the grounds
of unreasonable behaviour, and posted them back. He was moving on to New York
high on success when the decree absolute found
him, and by then he didn’t care about her anymore, and he told himself he
hadn’t until he walked into her hotel a week earlier.
A shower
helped. He felt a little more alive. But as he scrubbed himself clean the image
of Matilda’s mother Sylvia popped repeatedly into his mind. He couldn’t imagine
the house in Oxfordshire without her in it. To him she epitomised everything
that a mother should be, she was always happy, smiling, always hugging her
daughter, and later him, and then there was the constant smell, fresh bread,
coffee, cakes, pies. The house was so homely, and that was what he’d loved,
along with the banter between the parents and their children. How would it be
without her there at the helm? How had Matilda coped with losing someone so
important?
He ran his
hands over his face in frustration, he’d abandoned her too. Left her at the
same time, they’d argued, he KNEW her mother was ill, but he had chased his
dreams anyway. Then the debt had caught up with her instead of him, and she’d
had to deal with bankruptcy at the same moment she lost her influential and
much loved parent.
He was a
bastard. His mother told him repeatedly that he didn’t think of anyone but
himself, he learned that from her, but he had always convinced himself that he
was different, that he was better than his self indulgent mother. But he
wasn’t. Was he?
Self hatred
was a horrible thing and he eyed the bottle of whisky that tempted him from the
corner of the room. He couldn’t spend another day and night buried in a bottle
of whisky.
Mattie was
just applying makeup when there was a knock at the door.
“I know, I’m coming, can’t a
girl be late for a change?”
Stood there
laughing at her was Andrew, who lived across the hall and the closest thing to
a friend that she had.
“You can be late for fun, but
not for work. COME on!”
Taking her
hand he literally dragged her out of the doorway and to the stairs.
For the last
three months, since Andrew’s girlfriend had disappeared, she’d been
masquerading on her evening off as her. Andrew was a casual worker for a
hospitality company, and she’d started to join him. It gave her cash, in her hand, illegal but a
life saver for her. It was a long time since she’d had money to spend and she
needed more work clothes to maintain the elegance in keeping with her position.
When Andrew’s girlfriend left town, there was a vacancy at the company. The
work was both erratic and casual, and if you asked no questions you were asked
none back. A win all round if you weren’t the tax man.
She’d taken
on an IVA, a step down from bankruptcy when her finances became unmanageable.
Most of her debt was paid off, but she was committed to paying well over fifty
percent of her salary to meet her end of the bargain. It left her with little
to play with after rent and travel expenses. If she was caught doing this
unofficial job she’d get in real trouble, but she had struggled without things
for SO long, and she didn’t mean life’s luxuries, she meant food, drink,
clothes. But Mattie’s almost abstract fear was being recognised by someone,
friend, colleague, a patron of the Sunset Club, or worse, so she was in
‘disguise’, an auburn hairpiece changed her own hair dramatically, brown
contact lenses transformed her own blue eyes, and spectacles, black rimmed but
with clear glass all helped. The lenses had been expensive, but SO worthwhile.
Tonight she
was joining Andrew at a PR party. These were the easiest nights, drunken people
on a free night tipped hugely, especially when they got drunk. For these nights
she was the most anonymous and usually earned loads of money serving drinks.
The easiest money she could make.
The party
when they arrived was quiet, but it had all the makings of a wild night. A
decommissioned boat on the Thames with two different bands playing on two of
the levels, four bars, two buffets, and dance space for several hundred people.
As Mattie joined Andrew behind one of the bars, she could barely see for the
money lust washing over her. It was pure greed and self indulgence, but the
following day she was planning a trip to the salon, hair, waxing, the whole
works. With Dylan being around her was feeling the need to both look AND feel
good.
Bar work was
easy to her, something that she felt natural doing, and to do it well wasn’t
easy, but on the other hand it wasn’t as taxing as some of the other jobs she’d
had in the past five years. For a month she was a security door worker at a
nightclub, or then there were the night shifts at a rather dodgy petrol
station. No she’d done worse, but she couldn’t risk being spotted, recognised.
“Cocktail list.” Andrew called
out from her right and glancing up she took the list from him, Mojito,
margaritas, sex on the beach. Nothing too challenging. Giving a nod she looked
up at the first customer with a smile. Candy
from a baby, she sighed to herself as she started to deposit the
increasingly larger notes in her back pocket.
“Think of the feast we’re going
to have in Khalif’s cafe when we get home, four course breakfast at five am.
Sound good?”
Mattie
glanced up and smiled at Andrew, “amazing. Counting down the minutes.”
Turning back
to the people approaching the bar, a smile plastered on her face, she froze,
heart stopping, breath whooshing from her lungs. There in front of her, waiting
for a drink, for a moment unaware of who she was, a natural smile on his lips,
was Dylan.
Hehe interesting .Wondering IF Dylan does recognize her or know about her secret what will he do
ReplyDeleteLooking forward for the next update
Annie
Well.... this is awkward. Having to serve drinks to your ex-husband at a bar. I like the fact that Dylan feels guilty. He deserves to know how much Mattie had to struggle to pull through. Thank you for the chapter!
ReplyDeleteSamaira T