The Con

by L M Bee

  “That’s what I thought.”

  Mary sniffed and carried on. “I’m sorry I’ve been so selfish, wrapped up in my own pleasure, I’ve barely spoken to the children since I got here. Getting them to join us was a brilliant idea, they’re sounding really excited and looking forward to coming out. I’m sure the kids will love Ollie, fingers crossed, when they get to know him.”

  “Good,” replied Sophia choosing her words carefully, determined not to rock the boat this evening.

  “Guess what?” exclaimed Mary.

  “What?”

  “Ollie’s got a secret!” announced Mary.

  “A secret! What secret?” squawked Sophia, literally on the edge of her seat.

  “Imagine the humility of the man, he never told me this himself, I only discovered by chatting to Annabel the receptionist in his office! She said Ollie has invested quote 'millions and millions' into research to find a cure for pancreatic cancer. And apparently, according to his PA, they're this close to finding the cure.” Mimicking Annabel, she squinted through a tiny gap between her thumb and index finger.

  “Blimey!” exclaimed Sophia, determined not put her foot in it.

  “I know, and that’s not all. When I was in his office, there was a FaceTime call from a cancer patient called Charlie, up on the big screen so I could talk to him too. Charlie has pancreatic cancer, long story, but the point is thanks to Ollie’s funding into research Charlie’s expecting to be told in two weeks’ time that he’s been cured. Can you imagine that? Doctors gave him just a few months to live, and now they think he’ll survive – thanks to my darling Ollie pouring his fortune into a cure.”

  Sophia was genuinely at a loss for words. “Wow!”

  Mary looked overwhelmed by it all. “The last few days have been so dramatic, falling in love, meeting his staff and feeling so proud of him for funding cancer research. Oh my god his offices are so swish! His staff all say he’s such a good person to work for. Charlie told me Ollie’s 'a lifesaver' and 'a legend'.”

  Sophia took a long slow sip from her glass, to hide her top lip curling with disgust, praying she wouldn’t be expected to comment and hoping Mary would simply carry on.

  “Honestly, it’s been such a day of discovery. Annabel said Ollie was so devastated at losing his sister to pancreatic cancer, none of them thought he would ever get over it. That’s when he set up his cancer charity, building holiday homes for children undergoing treatment. A place for sick children to stay with their families, all the top medical staff on hand, and lots of fun things for the siblings to do. Not surprisingly, apparently a huge success. And then on top of all that, discovering his secret! Imagine how it feels to learn that your man has secretly poured 'millions and millions' into a cure for cancer. What a hero! My heart has literally burst with pride a hundred times today.” She paused to take a sip of wine, so Sophia slowly did the same. “That’s why it was a no-brainer, paying the builders to finish his house in London in time for Christmas.”

  “What?” squawked Sophia, choking on her mouthful of wine, and trying to regain her composure as fast as possible. “What did you say?”

  “His builders needed a lump sum by the end of today, or they were threatening to down tools and start on another job elsewhere.”

  “Did you give him money?”

  Mary ignored the question and carried on. “He’s poured so much into the research programme lately, it’s left him a bit short for a fortnight.”

  “What’s for a fortnight?”

  “Cashflow problem, only temporary.”

  Struggling not to lose control and blow her top, the worst thing she could do right now, Sophia dug her fingernails into the palms of both hands under the table to avert her focus from the horror of Mary giving him money.

  Mary breezed on, as though the incident was just a minor hiccough that had been easily rectified. “Let’s face it, my money’s just sitting in the bank doing very little, makes sense for me to help him out, so I offered to pay the builders. It benefits me too, because this way his house in London will still be finished in time for Christmas – we’re all going to stay there, the children too. Ollie and I have made some really exciting plans, they’re secret for now – I can’t wait, we’re all going to have such a good Christmas.”

  “How much money?” demanded Sophia, cutting to the chase.

  “What?”

  “How much money?” she repeated calmly.

  “Five hundred thousand.”

  “Five hundred thousand pounds!” shrieked Sophia, her head about to explode. What the fuck was Mary thinking, giving half a million quid to a man she hardly knows? It was taking every ounce of self control not to throw a complete hissy fit. Stay calm, she told herself, and call Bernard later for advice.

  “Half a million pounds,” repeated Sophia as calmly as possible. “What did your bank say?”

  “Nothing they can say. It’s my money, Henry left it to me, and I can spend it however I want. Anyway, Henry would be proud of me for helping someone who's invested millions into cancer research.”

  Sophia dug her fingernails in so hard she almost yelped out loud with the pain. Recalling an old proverb, she frantically recited it over and over in her head: “If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”

  Chapter 23

  The rest of the evening passed in a complete haze for Sophia, barely noticing anything around her, utterly devastated that Mary had been scammed out of half a million quid. She was too distracted to hold a proper conversation, relying on the occasional murmur or vague comment, as Mary chatted away non-stop.

  Mary was on a roll. Full of it. Once she got onto the subject of Oliver Harrison she never bloody stopped, on and on about him. Since there was nothing Sophia could say, without inciting a riot, she kept her opinion firmly to herself, desperate to call Bernard for advice before it got too late, but Mary didn’t seem to be noticing the time – far too busy banging on.

  Eventually, Sophia had to pretend she was totally exhausted, yawning her head off to get the point across.

  “Sorry, asleep on my feet, would you mind if I go up to bed?” she begged.

  “Not at all, I’m tired too,” agreed Mary, “what an amazing day!”

  Back in the privacy of her own room, worried it might be too late to call, Sophia phoned Bernard.

  “Sorry to ring so late.”

  “Not a problem. Bruno called earlier, they’ve run an ID check on that photo, it’s turned up surprising results – and a match for the fingerprints. He and I are going to meet tomorrow to discuss his findings, I’ll let you know when I know more. How’s things your end?”

  “You were right.”

  “About what?”

  “He’s taken half a million quid off her already! She’s being scammed, I’m sure of it, he’s a con artist!”

  “Slow down. How do you know?”

  “Mary and I have just had a long chat over supper. Don’t worry, I bit my tongue and didn’t say a thing. She’s been singing his praises all bloody night, eulogising about the legendary Oliver Fucking Harrison – sorry, that just slipped out.”

  “Never mind, carry on.”

  “How he’s a 'legend' and a 'lifesaver', his property empire, his cancer charity, how he’s got a secret that she didn’t know about, he’s poured 'millions and millions' into research to find a cure for pancreatic cancer. That’s what Henry died of – honestly, you couldn’t script it! Then this afternoon he admits to having a temporary cashflow problem, builders working on his new house in London needed five hundred thousand by close of play today or they’d down tools and move to another job. He wants the house finished by Christmas, some plan he and Mary have hatched up together. Mary’s so proud of him for funding cancer research, she’ll do anything for him right now, even give him a load of money. The transfer’s done already, straight into the account, just like that – bosh!”

  “Never give a hot mooch time to cool off.”

  “What?�
��

  “The golden rule of con artists, never give a hot mooch time to cool off. In other words, imperative to work as quickly as possible.”

  “Oh,” responded Sophia lamely, feeling like her head was going to explode.

  “Con artists are born con artists. Scientists believe their genes load the gun, and the environment pulls the trigger.”

  “What can we do? How can we stop him?”

  “I’m going to ask my old friend for help, Jake Mann the London underworld boss, he’ll know what we should do.“

  Chapter 24

  Excited about her children arriving, Mary was in high spirits all the way to the airport, even when the brakes failed. Thankfully it happened in the airport car park, as they were looking for a space, rather than on the busy roads. Another car suddenly pulled out in front of them without looking, terrifying Sophia when she pressed the brake pedal and nothing happened, frantically pumping it in that split second before narrowly avoiding a collision. Luckily they were in the car park so they could just abandon the vehicle, managing to push it into a space and leave it there, by which time Sophia’s rage was at boiling point.

  She immediately phoned the hire car company to give them a piece of her mind, not pulling any punches; she dumped her pent-up rage over Oliver Harrison and laid it on thick, screaming down the phone that they could’ve been killed. She demanded a replacement vehicle be available right away; she said she was walking into the terminal to meet a flight expecting to pick up a new set of keys from their desk in the next ten minutes.

  Mary checked the board for incoming flights, whilst Sophia went to continue her battle with the hire car company, planning to meet afterwards in the café.

  Mary got there first, bought two coffees in paper cups and managed to find some space at a sticky table littered with cold chips.

  “Their flight’s on time, should be through in about thirty minutes. How did you get on with the car company?”

  “Ugh,” groaned Sophia. “Very apologetic, exchanged it for another one, but it’s a Fiat 500! All they’ve got in stock, literally nothing else available. There’s no way we’ll all fit in – plus luggage!”

  “You’ll be surprised, Henry and I got nine people into a Fiat 500 once. Listen, it’s a damn sight better to have a car with brakes than without. We’ll just have to tie their cases onto the roof or something and all squeeze in somehow. Titty can sit on someone’s lap. Stop fretting, it’ll be fine.”

  The children came bursting through Arrivals, forgetting all recent tantrums, thrilled to see their mother and Sophia. Mr Bojangles was still sleeping it off, so everyone was happy. For the time being, so far so good.

  “You’re bloody kidding me!” howled Kitty, glaring indignantly at the Fiat 500.

  “It’s not that bad,” replied Sophia defensively, “at least this one’s got brakes.”

  “It’s way too hot to all sit squished on top of each other,” complained Arthur.

  “No bloody air-con!” Gobsmacked, Kitty turned to leave.

  “Okay, whoa!” shouted Sophia, “there’s one other option.”

  “What’s that?” asked Mary diplomatically.

  “If we drive the Fiat 500 to their other branch in Marseille, they’ll swop this for a bigger car, with air-conditioning!”

  “Yes!” shouted Kitty, punching the air.

  “Marseille’s vast, where exactly?” groaned Arthur.

  “On the outskirts, apparently. Some industrial estate, their maintenance workshop for all hire cars in the area. Arthur, have you got Sat Nav on your phone, can you be in charge of directions please?”

  “Sure, no problem. What’s the postcode?”

  “Here, it’s on this compliment slip.”

  After much bickering and moaning they all squeezed into the Fiat 500, packed in tightly like sardines.

  “How far is it?” wailed Titty. “Kitty’s elbow’s in my face, and Mr Bojangles is waking up.”

  “According to the Sat Nav another fifteen minutes,” replied Arthur.

  The next quarter of an hour passed agonisingly slowly, as the squabbling and whingeing never stopped, every minor problem always somebody else’s fault.

  “His foot’s in my way.”

  “Her arm’s strangling me.”

  “Ow, my bum’s on the gear stick.”

  “How much longer? I need a pee.”

  Almost at the end of her tether, Sophia couldn’t wait to chuck them out of the tiny car. The industrial estate had a variety of different retail units, all relating to motor vehicles. Tyres, brakes, windscreens, resprays and even a secondhand car dealership. Pulling up to the hire car office, Sophia spotted a café near the tyre fitters and secondhand cars.

  “Guys, see that little café? Go and get a coffee or whatever, and I’ll meet you over there when I’m done.”

  Mary and the children wandered over and made themselves comfortable at a wooden table with bench seating under a wonky Coca-Cola umbrella.

  “Coffee, Coke or water. That’s the choice I’m afraid, what do you want?” asked Mary as Sophia joined them.

  “Water please,” she said, hauling one leg at a time over the fixed wooden bench so she could sit next to Mary. The kids were constantly up and down, wandering off and coming back, never sitting still for long.

  “Here you go,” said Tertia, plonking down a bottle of water.

  “How did it go with the rental company?” asked Mary.

  “Result! They’ve given us a brand new Audi Estate, for the same price as the Fiat 500!”

  “Result!” The two old friends high-fived each other like teenagers.

  “What’s up suckers?”

  “Arthur! Stop speaking like that, you know it drives me mad. If you mean how did it go with the hire car company, Sophia’s had a stroke of luck.”

  Kitty appeared at Arthur’s side, grouching about a snagged nail.

  “Have we got a new car yet?”

  “Yes,” replied Sophia proudly, “WITH air-conditioning!”

  “Result!” cheered Kitty and Arthur in unison, sitting down side by side, within seconds eyes glued to their phones.

  “Where’s Titty?” asked Mary.

  “Gone to the loo. Wants to get Mr Bojangles out of her bra.”

  Sophia leant back against the café wall, slowly sipping her bottle of water. It was a few minutes before she noticed Mary had turned as white as a sheet, staring at something straight ahead.

  “Mary, you all right? Look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

  Wide-eyed, and as still as a statue, Mary didn’t respond.

  Sophia nudged her elbow. “What are you looking at?”

  Unable to see anything of particular interest, the entire godforsaken place almost devoid of customers, except for two cars waiting to have tyres done and a man buying a used car. Nothing remarkable, tall with dark hair, buying a secondhand Porsche Cayenne.

  “It’s him,” whispered Mary in utter amazement.

  Sophia understood immediately, intrigued to see what Oliver Harrison looked like in the flesh at long last.

  “But he told me he was busy with the bank, and then meeting investors, he would be in his office all day today,” mumbled Mary, sounding baffled. They both watched like hawks as he shook hands with the salesman who handed over the keys. Oliver got into the car, adjusted the rear view mirror and drove off.

  “Come on,” shouted Sophia on impulse. “Let’s follow and see what he’s up to.”

  Mary didn’t need any encouragement, curiosity getting the better of her and eager to know what he was doing – especially when he’d categorically said he’d be in the Monaco office for the entire day.

  “Kids, get in the car,” bellowed Mary, eager to snoop on him.

  “What’s the hurry?” groaned Arthur.

  “Tell you in the car,” shouted Sophia. “Quick, get in!”

  As Mary fastened her seat belt, Kitty’s head appeared between the front seats. “Mum, who’s that man that’s just driven off
?”

  Sophia looked at Mary and started the ignition, it was up to her to explain.

  “It’s Oliver,” replied Mary succinctly.

  “The dickhead?” growled Arthur.

  “Yes, darling, except he’s not, as you so eloquently put it, a dickhead.”

  “That man’s the one you’ve been seeing?” asked Kitty, needing confirmation.

  “Yes, darling.”

  Sophia pulled out of the industrial estate and floored the accelerator to catch up with the car in front.

  “Why are we chasing him?” quizzed Titty anxiously.

  “We’re not chasing him,” soothed Sophia, “we’re just following at a safe distance wondering what he’s up to. He told your mother he had meetings in his office in Monaco all day today. We’re just curious to know what he’s up to, and why he didn’t tell her the truth, that’s all.”

  Chapter 25

  “He’s taken the D559,” announced Arthur, keeping one eye on the Sat Nav.

  Half an hour later, they were still heading East on the D559 through the Calanques National Park, maintaining a respectable distance between themselves and the car in front. As they neared Cassis, the Cayenne indicated right.

  “Google Maps shows that road leading to a campsite called Camping Les Cigales, maybe he’s heading there. Yes look, he’s turning into the caravan park!”

  Threadbare box-hedging separated different areas. Small one-man tents had been set up on some sandy areas, but mainly it was a selection of caravans and motorhomes, many of them with bicycles and cars parked outside.

  “Look!” shouted Arthur, pointing ahead. “He’s stopped at that Airstream over there with the old red Jeep and a wheelchair outside, see?”

  Sophia parked the car behind a tatty hedge, safely out of sight from the caravan yet close enough to be able to watch through the holes in the hedge. The kids peered round the headrests.