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The Shape of Lies: New from the queen of psychological thrillers

Page 17

by Rachel Abbott


  He smirked. ‘I’m rich. I have a housekeeper. Think again, Anna.’

  I swallowed hard. ‘Is there nothing I can do?’

  I could hear the pleading note in my voice and wished I could be stronger.

  ‘We made a suggestion to young Scott. Did he not pass on the message?’

  Scott had told me the idea of being an escort had come from Cameron, but he couldn’t force me to do that, surely?

  ‘I’m not prepared to be a prostitute,’ I said quietly.

  I saw Cameron raise an eyebrow at Jagger, who sniggered. ‘A word, Cameron?’

  Cameron nodded, stood up and went to the far end of the room with Jagger, who spoke quietly, Cameron lowering his head to listen. I had no idea what they were talking about and clasped my hands together to stop them shaking. Then Cameron sauntered back towards the table, pulled out the chair again, and sat down.

  ‘Okay, missy.’ His condescending tone grated on me, but I was in no position to object. ‘Jagger, who among his many talents is a very wise man, has made a suggestion that might well work. There is a naivety to you that we think some men would like.’

  I shivered. He wasn’t going to give up, but neither was I.

  ‘I’ve told you: I’m not prepared to be a prostitute.’

  ‘We got that, and frankly I don’t think you’d be much good at it. Tell me, have you ever been to a casino?’

  I shook my head, trying not to shudder at the thought of all the problems gambling had caused me.

  ‘I need someone to work for me four nights a week – possibly long nights. My father owns a casino in town, did you know that?’

  I didn’t, but now it made perfect sense. Cameron would know who was losing and then offer them loans. Bastard.

  ‘We often have visitors from out of town, and they get lonely. They need company at the tables – roulette, blackjack, poker. Someone to encourage them, to keep them at the tables for longer, persuade them to place higher bets to impress the girl by their side.’

  I didn’t want to set foot in a casino, but if it was the only way, I would do it.

  ‘Do I have to play?’ I asked.

  ‘No. Never. You don’t have to fuck the men either, so there’s a bonus for you. In fact, you never have to leave the premises with them.’

  The thought of how I would have to behave, the falseness of it, was almost more than I could bear. I wanted to walk away, to say no, to find some other way. But I was out of ideas.

  ‘Okay,’ I whispered.

  I worked for Cameron for three months, and he was right about the sex, although it was frequently suggested. But it turned out I was expected to lean against the clients and smile up into their faces, to let them touch me, put their arms around my shoulders and fondle my knees. What I didn’t know was that every encounter, every inappropriate touch, every fake smile, was being recorded by the secret cameras hidden in the lights, making me appear to be exactly what I had refused to be. A prostitute.

  And then it was over. I was out, and the interest started to mount again. But that was okay because by then we had a solid plan. We knew how we were going to repay our debts.

  38

  Now

  I push open the elaborate glass doors and stride confidently into the building, remembering that misty night eighteen months ago when Jagger and Cameron accosted me as I was leaving my school. It’s because of them that I’m here now – in a place I swore I would never return to after Cameron sacked me all those years ago. Yet here I am. I broke my promise to myself because I believed I had no choice. I didn’t want to return, but it seemed there was no other way.

  As I step onto the balcony and look at the vast room below I immediately feel a pulse of energy. I breathe in and out slowly, drinking in the atmosphere, listening to the clatter of the chips as they are scraped from the tables, the pinging of fruit machines and the occasional cry of elation or dismay from one of the punters.

  I no longer come here because I need to. I’m here because it’s where I want to be, where I come alive. It doesn’t matter that my winnings all go to Cameron. It’s the thrill of the game that has me hooked – and he knows it. He has a sixth sense where I’m concerned, because within seconds of my arrival his eyes always lift from the gold-topped blackjack table to the balcony where I’m standing now.

  I remember my shock when I realised that there was a reason that only one table – the one he plays at – has gold-coloured baize instead of dark red. It is the high-stakes table, where a player can stake up to fifteen thousand pounds on one hand, betting on unseen cards. That’s where Cameron plays. And he seems to lose far more than he wins.

  It was strange not to see him at his usual spot on Monday night, but sometimes he arrives after I leave. Other times Jagger is waiting to tell me that Cameron wants me by his side at the table, and his wish is my command. He believes my presence brings him luck, although there is no evidence of that.

  When Cameron demanded that I put our house and my mother’s up for sale, I knew I had to do something desperate, something I would never have dreamed of doing under normal circumstances. But there was no longer any such thing as normal. There was only one way I might be able to get that amount of money. I had to win it.

  Thoughts of Scott tortured me during those first weeks. It was because of his gambling that I was in this mess, but finally I understood the feeling of euphoria he experienced when he won, even if I couldn’t forgive him for persisting when he lost. I wasn’t going to follow in Scott’s footsteps, though. I wasn’t going to play blackjack. It relies too much on luck, and I needed to feel in control.

  I had learned a lot in the months that I worked for Cameron, hanging around the men who paid for my company, watching them play, encouraging them to take chances, and I always thought I could do better. But there was only one game I ever considered playing – the only one with a human element that relied on the ability to read a situation, calculate the risks and analyse the strengths and weaknesses of other players.

  Poker.

  I had no idea if I could do it, but I had to try. I didn’t want Cameron to know what I was planning, so while Dominic lay in his hospital bed I went straight from visiting him to a casino – one where I knew no one and which held no memories of Scott.

  My mother had come to help with the children and she thought I was spending all my time with Dominic. I prayed she would never say a word to him, but I was doing it for us. How could I tell him that I had run up debts when I was at university, and they were the reason he had been attacked? I couldn’t tell him that without telling him the rest, and I wasn’t prepared to do that. So it was my responsibility to fix this.

  Walking into a casino alone for the first time eighteen months ago, knowing I was going to be playing for money – my money – was the most terrifying thing I had ever done; worse by far than jumping out of an aeroplane, because my home, my family, depended on my success.

  I remember moving towards the poker lounge slowly, as if delaying the moment, then walking blindly to a seat, almost stumbling as I pulled it out to sit down. My mouth was dry, but I hadn’t brought a drink with me, scared I would spill it on the table despite the special glass holders.

  The other players seemed focused and barely registered my arrival. Some had huge piles of chips in front of them, and mine looked paltry in comparison. But I had enough for the buy-in, and I had to believe in myself.

  At first I played cautiously, trying to recall how it worked. I remembered that two cards were dealt to each player – the hole cards. I lifted the corners of mine to sneak a look. A king and a four. I was either going to have to put some money on the table or fold. Nerves got the better of me and I decided to fold.

  As the five community cards were dealt into the centre of the table – first the three flop cards, then the turn and finally the river – I could see I would have had two pairs and would have won the hand. But the odds had been against me, and I could never have predicted that outcome.

 
After four hands I still hadn’t placed a bet. I knew I either had to do this or get up from my chair and go and tell Dominic that we had to sell our house. And then have the same conversation with my mum.

  It was time to be brave. I had to be much more ambitious.

  Maybe the moment to be daring was misjudged. I was dealt two spades. It seemed worth the risk, so I bet. At the flop there were two more spades and I felt a flutter of excitement. I needed one more for a flush – a good hand – and there were two more cards to be laid down.

  Neither was a spade.

  I felt sick. The betting had been high throughout the hand, and I had put in too much. It was time for me to do the sensible thing – fold – but if I did that, I would never have the nerve to play for higher stakes. And I had to, if I was ever to repay Cameron.

  Something happened to me at that moment. I forced my shoulders to drop, my head to lift and I placed my bet. Fifty pounds on a hand with nothing. I gazed confidently around the table. The player on my left raised to one hundred. He was fiddling with his chips, lifting them and dropping them. Was he nervous?

  He lifted his eyes and I saw what looked like a hint of defiance. Was he bluffing?

  The player to my right folded. There were two of us left, and my opponent’s last bet was for a hundred pounds. I was certain, based on his betting and his body language, that if we went to showdown, I would lose.

  That was the moment I became Saskia Peterson – the woman I had always believed I could be – a woman with confidence who apologised for nothing, who was every bit as good as everyone else, maybe even better.

  As Anna I would have folded, choosing the sensible path and cutting my losses. But I was Saskia, so I raised to two hundred, my mood defiant, hoping my opponent would think he was beaten. It was make-or-break time.

  The man stared at the table. He had lost a few hands earlier and he was down on the night, but if he raised again I couldn’t match him. I had just fifty pounds left. If he called, I was certain I would lose.

  I stared straight ahead, my face expressionless, until I heard a grunt of annoyance as he pushed his cards into the centre of the table. ‘Fold.’

  At that moment I felt a burst of elation as the tension that had gripped me exploded into a million glittering fragments. I had won! I wanted to dance, to sing, to shout – even to cry. And that feeling has never left me. But the part of me that people could see remained impassive, my eyes blank.

  No matter how often I play, my muscles tense as I take my seat at the table and my heart speeds up. But no one can tell, and that’s the way I like it. To this day I don’t know who had the better hand that night. He had folded so there was no showdown, and I had no obligation to reveal my hand. But I am certain his cards would have beaten mine.

  One week after my first success at the poker table I got a message that Cameron wanted to see me. The venue was the casino where I had worked for him all those years ago – the casino I am standing in right now.

  I knew what he wanted, and I could only hope and pray that he would listen. He met me on the balcony, looking down on the scene below.

  ‘Jagger’s been checking,’ he said without preamble. There was no hint of a smile on his face. ‘The houses are not on the market. You’ve been warned, Anna.’

  ‘I know. But I have another plan, Cameron.’

  ‘Don’t fuck with me, lady,’ he said. ‘Sell the houses – and quickly. There’s no other plan. Where else are you going to get the sort of money you owe me?’

  That was when I glanced towards the tables below me. ‘I’ll win it.’

  Jagger barked out a laugh, and Cameron narrowed his eyes. ‘Do you know how much money I lose on these tables each week? And I’m good at it. Don’t be so fucking stupid.’

  ‘Not blackjack. Poker.’

  Cameron was shaking his head. ‘I’m not prepared to wait another twelve years while you piss around winning a fiver here and there. You’d have to be winning thousands each week, and have you even got the buy-in for the big games?’

  I couldn’t admit that I had no idea how much that was these days; I’d been playing small stakes.

  ‘Give me six months to get you the first payment. If you’ll take a hundred grand then, I’ll make the rest within a year after that. Will that do?’

  ‘Why would I agree to this?’

  ‘Maybe because you like taking risks.’ I couldn’t believe my own bravery as I said the words.

  He stared at me long and hard. ‘If you fail on one single payment, you will immediately sell both houses, and you’ll pay an additional one year of interest.’

  I remember gritting my teeth, knowing how massive a gamble this was. ‘Let’s worry about that if it happens, shall we? Watch me, Cameron. Then you’ll see I’m good enough.’

  With that I’d headed downstairs and into the poker lounge, walking with a confidence I wasn’t feeling. To show him I was serious, I was going to have to play to win and risk every penny I’d won the previous week.

  Cameron watched me that first night, certain I would lose – but I didn’t, and he walked away without another word. He will never know how I felt, how close I had come to falling to my knees, begging him to let me find another way. Whatever confidence I had managed to exude was fake. I didn’t know if I could do it, but I had to try.

  It was so difficult for me at the beginning, lying to Dominic about the gym, telling him I had a sudden desire to get fit and learn self-defence after what had happened to him, getting changed and putting on my make-up and wig in the back of my car, living in fear of him checking the contents of my ‘gym bag’. I knew Jagger continued to watch me play and reported back to Cameron, so I wasn’t completely surprised when after two weeks he was waiting for me, barring my way into the poker lounge. I thought he had come to tell me it was over, that I’d lost because I wasn’t winning enough to satisfy Cameron.

  He held out an envelope. ‘What’s this?’ I asked, suspicious of anything to do with Jagger.

  ‘From Cameron.’

  I opened the envelope and peered inside. Money – lots of it.

  I looked up at Jagger. ‘Why?’

  ‘You’re pissing around winning a few hundred here and there. Time to get serious, Anna. If you lose it, we add it to your account.’

  I wanted to push it back in his face, but I couldn’t. He was right. I needed to be playing for more, upping the ante, risking a raise when I thought I had a good hand and the odds were in my favour, bluffing when I thought I could get away with it. I had been playing too safe, scared of losing my meagre resources.

  I became increasingly successful, never missing one of Cameron’s payments, and I realised I needed to look the part. The more professional I acted, the higher my winnings seemed to be, so I reinvested, renting the apartment with its parking spot close to the lift so no one saw Anna Franklyn sneak in through the car park. I didn’t care who saw Saskia Peterson walk out of the front door.

  Now, eighteen months later, I feel the adrenaline rush of the game without the fear. The occasional bad night isn’t the end of the world, and I always hold some money back so I can play again.

  Tonight is different, though. It feels like that first time – as if I have everything to lose. As I stand here on the balcony, I am conscious that Cameron isn’t in his usual position at the blackjack table, following me with his eyes. Maybe it’s better that he’s not here, because I need to focus. Jagger wasn’t bluffing. Cameron needs cash if he wants to avoid being found by whoever wants him dead.

  I can only believe it has to be Scott. It’s too much of a coincidence that the man Scott hated more than any other was targeted at the same time as the threats to reveal my past and ruin my life have been aired.

  For a moment I feel a flash of white-hot anger and I grip the balcony rail tightly. How dare Scott do this? Everything I have suffered at the hands of Cameron and Jagger – the attack on Dominic, the lying and cheating of which I am so ashamed – all of it is down to him. Those intense
feelings of first love blinded me, and I made mistakes. And I’ve been paying for them ever since. None of this would be happening if it hadn’t been for Scott’s weakness. How dare he torment me now?

  I breathe slowly to calm myself. Tonight I have to play to win big, and to do that I need to control my breathing, focus my mind. After a few moments drinking in the familiar sight of the gaming hall below me, I feel ready to make my way downstairs to the bar.

  ‘The usual, Saskia?’ the barman says, and I nod with a smile of thanks. He squeezes some fresh lime, adds soda and ice and passes it to me. I never drink when I’m here; I need all my concentration. I pick up my glass and make my way through the hall, hearing shouts of delight and groans of despair as I pass the tables. I can’t understand why roulette is so popular; the odds are not good enough for me. I walk to the back of the hall, to the glass wall on which are engraved the words POKER LOUNGE.

  It’s quiet in here. People concentrate, hide their true feelings, and I’m good at that. Deception seems to be something of a forte of mine, and I often wonder whether poker has led me to hide my true self, or whether I am a natural liar.

  39

  Tom spent a quiet evening at home, trying to work out what was going on with Lucy and Kate. He had sent Lucy an affectionate text, simply asking her if she was okay, rather than making her feel under any pressure from him. It sounded as if she was getting enough of that from her mother.

  Louisa was working, and so, having knocked up a quick bowl of pasta for his dinner, he switched on some music and sat back, trying to empty his mind, hoping that inspiration would come to help him solve either the problems with his daughter and ex-wife, or the puzzle of the car park murder.

  Keith had called Tom on his way home to say they now had all Edmunds’ bank information, but he suspected it was only half the story. Money for household expenses appeared to come from an account in the name of Edmunds Senior, who had refused to return from his holiday now he knew his son wasn’t dead. There was nothing in the accounts that reflected any money won or lost in the casino, though, and it had been confirmed that Cameron had been known to lose half a million in a bad week. It didn’t take many bad blackjack hands at the top table for that to happen. Similarly, he had been known to win – and win a lot. But there was no sign of any of this cash.

 

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