by Daniel Hurst
All the money in the world can’t bring back his Mary.
I haven’t failed to notice the numerous photos around the apartment of Charles and his late wife, all of them taken at various points in their long relationship. There are the black-and-white ones from their younger days, and there are the colour ones in which it’s become more evident that time has started to take a toll on their bodies but not on their love for each other.
Charles has pointed out a few of his favourites to me already, including the one of him and Mary beside the Trevi Fountain in Rome. It’s clear that all he wants is somebody to reminisce with to fill his long, lonely hours. Ideally, he would find a new partner for that, preferably one closer to his age, but then again, with his money, he could probably attract whoever he wanted. But for the interim, he just needs company tonight, any company, and I’m glad I can provide it for him. The fact I am being paid a ridiculous amount of money to do it is not ideal for my conscience, but I have to remember that I am out tonight because I am working, so it’s only right that I earn.
‘Here we go,’ Charles says as he brings our drinks over and joins me on the sofa.
‘Thank you,’ I say as I accept the gin and tonic, and I’m just about to take a sip when he stops me.
‘We haven’t toasted yet,’ he reminds me, and I lower my glass.
Charles takes a moment to decide on what it is exactly that we should drink to before fixing me with his warm smile and raising his measure of whiskey.
‘To you, Amanda. May you one day sell so many books that you can buy yourself a home like this and be my neighbour.’
I laugh at the toast, but also feel touched that he is still conscious of my dream. Even in his lonely state, he displays such a caring attitude towards others.
We touch glasses before drinking, and I savour the refreshing liquid as it slips down my throat. Having been on red wine for the whole evening, it’s nice to have a change of pace, and as I take another sip, I’m not regretting coming back here at all.
‘I can’t get over how incredible your view is,’ I say, marvelling again at the sight of the river flowing by outside.
‘Do you have a view in your place?’ he asks me, and I laugh, not because the question is ridiculous but because the answer is.
‘Yeah, I have a view. I can see the side of the next building if I strain my head out of the bathroom window enough.’
Charles smiles and takes a sip of his whiskey, and I catch a glimpse of the golden wedding band on his fourth finger.
I take a moment to ponder whether I should go ahead and say what’s on my mind, and in the end, I decide to go for it because I’m not going to see him after tonight anyway.
‘I know you have said that you could never find love again after Mary,’ I begin, treading carefully so as not to upset my host. ‘But I really think you should at least consider going on a few dates. Proper ones, I mean. Not escorts.’
‘You mean with women my own age?’ he asks me.
‘No, that’s not what I mean at all,’ I quickly reply in case he is offended. ‘I just think it’s such a shame that you have your health, your wealth, and this beautiful apartment, but nobody to share it with. You could have another twenty years of life ahead of you. Don’t you want to make the best of it?’
Charles goes quiet for a moment, and I worry I’ve said too much. Why didn’t I just sip my drink and make small talk instead of trying to get all deep? He’ll probably tell me to leave now, and the possibility of that makes me keep speaking.
‘You’re such a nice man. You shouldn’t be paying people to be with you. It’s a privilege to be in your company.’
Maybe it’s all the alcohol talking, but I’m finding myself saying anything I can to make him smile. I know this is the last time I will see him, so I want to make sure I leave him feeling good about himself. I mean every word I say. Charles is a lovely man, but if he isn’t careful, then somebody might come along and take advantage of that, and they’ll be after a lot more than a few thousand pounds.
‘You know what, my dear, I think you might be right,’ Charles says, nodding his head. ‘It can’t do any harm to try. And it doesn’t have to mean that I love Mary any less, does it?’
‘Of course not,’ I tell him, placing my hand on his knee as a show of support. But I quickly remove it when I notice him look down at it.
I take another sip of my drink and decide to just finish it quickly now so I can get going for my train, when I feel Charles put his hand on my own leg.
‘I am going to miss you,’ he says, though I notice he isn’t looking at my face now and rather at my bare legs in my long skirt.
‘I’ll miss you too,’ I say, taking another hearty gulp of my drink, and now it’s almost gone.
Charles’s hand remains on my leg, however, and the longer it does, the more I start to feel uncomfortable about it.
‘I really should be going if I want to catch my train,’ I tell him, finishing my drink and placing the glass down on the small table beside the sofa.
‘What’s the rush? Have another. There’s plenty more where that came from,’ he says, standing up and making his way back over to his bar.
‘No, honestly. I’m fine, thank you,’ I say, and I stand up and go to put on my coat.
‘I suppose you’ll be wanting your money, then,’ he says rather despondently, but after the slight shift in atmosphere in this flat over the last minute or so, I’m not even bothered about that. I just want to get going before this gets any more awkward.
‘Look. Don’t worry about the money. Spend it on somebody you really like. I’ll just get going.’
I start putting on my coat, but Charles waves his hand dismissively at me as he finishes his drink.
‘No, no. A deal’s a deal,’ he says, and he places his empty whiskey glass down on the bar before heading for the large floor-to-ceiling cupboard beside the enormous flatscreen TV.
He touches the surface of the cupboard, which unlocks it instantly, and Charles pulls it open to reveal several shelves hidden inside the piece of furniture. There are leatherbound books, several large awards, which I presume are from his theatre days, and even a photo of him with a famous Hollywood A-lister. But it’s the item on the middle shelf that catches my eye the most.
He has a safe too.
And it’s much bigger than mine.
‘Seriously, don’t worry about it,’ I say, heading for the door as Charles turns his back to me.
‘I always pay my debts,’ he says, and I see him place his thumb over the keypad on the front of the safe, which results in a loud clicking sound before the door pops open.
That’s when I see the tall piles of cash stacked inside.
There must be tens of thousands of pounds in there.
I guess I’m not the only one who doesn’t trust the banks.
I watch as he removes a bundle of notes from the safe and counts out what he owes me before he makes his way over to where I stand.
My eyes are on the money as he approaches, but I can tell that his eyes are firmly on me.
‘Here you go. Thank you for spending time with me. I hope it wasn’t too painful for you,’ he says as he hands me the money.
‘Charles, don’t be like that,’ I say as the notes are thrust into my hand. I knew I wasn’t going to feel great about taking extra money from him, but I didn’t think I would feel this bad. But just before he lets go of the cash into my hand, he pulls it back.
‘You know, there’s plenty more money to be made if you want it,’ he tells me, nodding his head in the direction of the open safe behind him.
My eyes drift to the piles of money over his slouched shoulders.
‘All you have to do is make an old man happy,’ he says, reaching out and running his hand along the tips of my blonde hair.
I wonder if he knows it is a wig. Would he hate the fact that I’m really a brunette? But I have bigger things to worry about right now.
‘I just want to go,’ I s
ay, stepping back a little in the direction of the door.
‘But I want you to stay,’ Charles replies, and he suddenly grabs my wrist to prevent me from moving away any further.
I’m startled not just by the action but the strength he possesses as he holds on to me. He’s certainly much stronger than he looks, and suddenly his frail frame doesn’t seem quite so fragile anymore.
I pull away, but Charles refuses to loosen his grip, and now I’m really worried.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask him, and it’s impossible to disguise the amount of fear in my voice as I speak.
‘I’m giving you what you want,’ comes the chilling reply as he pulls me towards him again so that my face is now only inches away from his.
Suddenly there is no sign of the friendly, docile, and grieving man I have been around for the last several weeks in the wine bars, restaurants and theatres of the West End. Instead, Charles just looks like all of the other men I have known in my life.
Selfish, angry, and desperate.
I try to free my wrist from his grip again, but it’s no good. He is stronger than me, even at his age.
‘Why are you fighting?’ he asks me in a terrifyingly calm tone. ‘Just spend the night with me, and I’ll give you all the money you need. Isn’t that what you want?’
‘I don’t want it,’ I say defiantly, and the fear of what might happen if I don’t get out of this situation allows me to summon up enough strength to be able to push the old man away from me.
Charles stumbles backwards, and the money he was holding falls to the floor. But I don’t look down at the cash scattered all around my feet now. I’m too busy heading for the door.
But it’s locked.
‘Open this door!’ I cry out, desperately fumbling with the catch and turning the handle.
Then I hear something click. I’ve managed to unlock it.
But before I can open it and run, I feel Charles’s hands on my shoulders, dragging me back into the apartment.
‘You’re not going anywhere,’ he says behind me, and I do my best to hang onto the door handle, but I lose my grip, and now I’m falling backwards onto the carpet.
The two of us land on the pound notes scattered across the floor, and we wrestle as I try to get up while Charles tries to keep me down. In the tussle, he grabs a handful of my hair, and my wig comes clean off, leaving him temporarily surprised but giving me the opportunity to get back to my feet and run for the door again.
I reach it, and I’m just about to swing it open when Charles slams me into it hard, and I hit my head against the frame. Now everything is spinning, and I’m sure I can feel blood running from my nose. But I can also feel his hands on me again, and now I’m too dizzy to make him stop.
He holds me against the door, and I’m not sure if his plan is to drag me away again or just try to rape me right here where we stand, but as my focus returns, I’m able to spot the gold statuette sitting on the table to my left.
I reach out for it, but it’s just beyond my grasp. But the sound of Charles’s heavy breathing as he forces himself on me gives me the strength I need to lunge to the side and grab it.
As I seize the solid object, the sudden momentum of my body sends me falling to the floor, and I hit the carpet hard. But before I can get back to my feet, Charles is right behind me. A slight groan escapes his lips as he lowers himself to his knees and looks to get on top of me, and I notice the crazy look in his eyes as he prepares to take what he wants.
But before he can, I swing the statuette , striking him in the temple and knocking him onto the floor beside me.
It was obvious from the sickening sound of his skull cracking open that Charles wouldn’t get up from that.
I lie on the carpet for a few moments to get my breath back, but it’s mainly because I know the danger is over now. Charles is not moving, nor is he making a sound. His body lies still beside me, and I can no longer hear his heavy breathing.
When I do eventually get back to my feet, I notice the blood on several of the notes scattered around the floor. At first, I worry that it has come from me, and I put my hand on my nose, checking the damage after I went head first into the door. But there is no blood. It’s not mine.
It’s his.
I see the pool of velvet seeping out from behind the old man’s head as he lies in front of me with his eyes wide open and his body still.
I don’t bother to check if he is still alive. I already know he’s dead.
Now I just need to get out of here.
It’s only when I return to the door that I remember my wig is still in the apartment. I turn back to retrieve it and find it only a few yards away from where his body lies. But as I pick it up and return it to my head, I see the open safe across the room and the vast treasures that sit within it.
I contemplate what would happen if I just left right now. I might get away with this if I’m lucky. But that would be all. I wouldn’t come out of this awful event with anything but a bad memory of the attack.
Unless…
It’s an instinctive decision, made in a split second, and it almost feels as if my brain shuts down for a moment while my body goes into action.
I pick up my handbag from where it fell on the floor and rush to the safe before scooping out as much of the cash as I can fit inside. But it’s barely big enough to hold more than a couple of stacks of notes, so I enter a bedroom and find a small rucksack underneath the bed. Returning to the safe, I frantically pull out the rest of the money, but in my desperate state of mind, I also take a couple of items of jewellery too, including a watch and a ring. Then I close the safe door, and when I try to open it again, it won’t release because I know it needs Charles’s prints to open. Hopefully, the police will never know the contents were stolen when they eventually enter this apartment and see the dramatic scene inside.
Zipping the rucksack up, I head for the door, checking as I go that there is nothing left behind that could tie me to what happened here tonight.
My glass.
I rush over to the bar and pick up the one I was drinking from, stuffing that into the bag too. I’ll throw it in the river on my way out of here.
As I open the door and step outside, I take one last look back at the scene behind me.
The locked safe. The solitary whiskey glass on the bar. And Charles’s body lying on top of the bloodied cash.
Then I close the door behind me and go home.
30
AMANDA
From my position on the carriage floor, the photo of Charles in the newspaper stares back at me beneath the headline:
MYSTERY AROUND MURDERED DIRECTOR REMAINS UNSOLVED ONE MONTH ON
The image in the paper shows him how the world knew him, a suave and friendly gentleman in a suit smiling at the camera. But the image I see in my mind is the one of his true self: the angry, frustrated man with the evil glint in his eye.
It’s nice that there is no photo of what he looked like when he died in the article, but that doesn’t mean I can stop seeing the image of his bloodied body returning to me whenever I close my eyes. But right now, there’s no time for looking back at the past.
I need to get to my feet before I’m caught.
Pushing myself up off the train floor and brushing off the help of a fellow passenger, I scoop up the mobile phone and continue on toward the toilets. A quick glance over my shoulder tells me that my pursuer has suffered an unexpected hold-up of his own, and it’s the bit of good luck I have been lacking today. A rotund passenger has stepped out of his seat and into the aisle, effectively blocking the man who is chasing me down and giving me back the precious few seconds I lost when I fell. Now I’m closing in on the toilet door, and thanks to the dithering passenger, I’m certain I’m going to make it in time.
The green light above the toilet door tells me that it is unoccupied, and it’s a relief to get inside and slam the door. But I only feel safe when I turn the lock.
He can’t get me now.
I move away from the door as I hear the calls from outside.
‘Open up! Now!’
It’s him.
‘I’m serious, Amanda! Open this door, or you’ll regret it!’
That might be true, but I’ll definitely regret it if I do open it, so I stay away from the door and look down at the phone in my hands.
It requires a four-digit access code to open it. But unlike the owner of this phone who is so desperate to know my code, I believe I already have the digits that I need.
I type in the code from memory based on what I watched him typing in every time he unlocked his device during our conversations. It’s a little tricky because from where I was sitting, the phone was upside down, but I think I can figure it out.
2846.
The screen unlocks. I’m in. Now I can see the messages from James. But that’s not all.
I can also see the photo of my daughter tied up to my bed.
My stomach lurches as I see the look of fear in Louise’s eyes, and I get the same feeling of anger welling up inside me that I felt the first time I was shown the photo back at the table. But unlike then, I can actually do something about the situation now. I can try to bring an end to it without Louise getting hurt or without me having to open that safe.
I type out a message and read it through a couple of times to make sure it is okay before I hit send.
“Plan is cancelled. Leave the flat and meet me at the station.”
I’m not sure if it’s going to work, but I press Send anyway. I’m hoping that James will believe the message to be true and leave my daughter at the flat. Considering the text came from his partner’s phone, it shouldn’t raise too much suspicion. But I need to know that he has complied with the order and left so I can then call the police. I don’t want them turning up when he is still there because if they do, he will know something has gone wrong and he might hurt Louise. But I won’t know that unless he replies with confirmation.