by L M Bee
“Here goes,” whispered Mary to Bernard.
“He’s back,” squealed Titty to the others, making herself comfy on the sofa.
“Impressive makeover!” observed Arthur, raising one eyebrow.
“Nah, you can’t polish a turd!” sneered Kitty.
Anna Lovushka spotted him and stepped closer the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I interrupt proceedings briefly please to avert your attention to the catwalk, and introduce you to the very kind gentleman who saved my Fifi’s life – sorry, sir, I don’t know your name.”
“Not the only one,” remarked Mary dryly, under her breath.
“Does anyone?” scorned Kitty.
The audience erupted, clapping and cheering their hostess’s hero. Loving every minute, he walked sedately along the catwalk lapping it up, arrogantly nodding appreciation to his audience and waving one arm overhead like a true champion.
“Pass the sick bag,” groaned Mary.
“Pride comes before a fall,” reminded Bernard sagely.
Harrison paused on the bridge to absorb the moment and turned full circle to revel in the applause. His over-inflated ego was clearly convinced he was worthy of such praise and congratulations; having always craved adoration and mass recognition, this was his moment. Standing in front of his grateful admirers, nominated as their hero, he was satisfied he’d found his niche at last – it was making him feel fabulous, he wanted more of this.
Anna Lovushka was standing at the far end, Fifi wedged securely under her arm and restored to full fluffiness after an emergency blow dry, patiently waiting to greet him properly this time.
“What a pleasure it is to shake your hand,” she gushed.
“I can assure you the pleasure’s all mine,” he replied, unable to resist adding, “Harry Olivier, pleased to meet you.”
Behind him one of the security guards coughed into his mic, “That’s a new one!”
Titty scratched her head looking confused. “Why’s he got so many different names?”
“Bernard said it’s his habit, like a drug addict,” explained Arthur. “After a lifetime of using aliases, apparently he can’t resist the buzz of making up a fresh name for each new scam.” Tipping back his head to fill his mouth with popcorn.
“But Olivier!” mocked Kitty. “Whatever next? Related to Sir Laurence!”
Chapter 34
The perfect photo opportunity: standing side by side, both elegantly dressed in Russian couture, on a replica of Monet’s 'Bridge over a Pond of Water Lilies'. Smiling and laughing for the cameras, Anna Lovushka and her hero held up the fortunate Fifi between them.
Harrison knew a photograph with Anna Lovushka would be valuable; being credited on social media as her friend would make it easier for him to persuade unsuspecting marks to invest in future deals. Milking it for all its worth, these images would undoubtedly raise his profile, and he was delighted by this unexpected bonus. He gloated to himself, yet another achievement thanks to his polished social climbing skills, as he turned his best side to the cameras – the narcissist in him loving the attention.
Beaming her megawatt smile at the photographers, Anna Lovushka added a little quote for the reporters.
“I’m very proud to be able to introduce you all to my hero, Mr Harry Olivier, who saved my darling Fifi from drowning.”
Recklessly complacent after years of getting away with his crimes, Harrison couldn't resist creating a fresh alias – he was oblivious to Mary’s presence, particularly now that he planned to dump her immediately after the party anyway. Loving the fact he was getting so much credit, chest puffed out with pompous self-adulation, Harrison had never felt better. In his far from humble opinion, it was only right and fair that these people should appreciate his noble and heroic deed, at last seeing him in the same light as he saw himself – a gentleman and upstanding member of society, always ready to help others (as long as it was for his own benefit). He was the vision of an oligarch, smug beyond words, exuding wealth and power. He would never forget this moment, eagerly anticipated since an early age, brimming with pride at his meteoric rise in status.
Having thanked the photographers, Anna turned to her hero.
“Harry, let’s go somewhere less noisy, there’s a private salon set aside for my exclusive use, follow me.”
Security held open the double doors as they entered the large candlelit room, lavishly decorated with gold-leafed mirrors and sumptuous velvets. A pair of dark sofas sat either side of a large gilded coffee table, and French doors opening out towards the party with more security standing sentry outside. The table centrepiece glowed bright white, spotlit from above. A large ice sculpture was carved into the caviar station housing bottles of Cristal champagne, the best Russian vodka and generous quantities of beluga. Delicate Venetian cut glass plates and gilded teaspoons had been neatly arranged nearby with black linen napkins.
Parking himself on a sofa, pulse racing with anticipation, Harrison reclined against the plump cushions and resisted the urge to put his feet on the table. I’m made for this, he thought, this is my world now. Forget the past, this is my present and my future. Visualising himself living the opulent lifestyle of an oligarch, his ego knew no bounds, exactly as he’d always wanted.
Anna handed him a gilded flute of champagne, eyes sparkling as they met his and raised her glass.
“I’d like to propose a toast. To the heroic Harry Olivier, may your future be rich and prosperous!” Taking a dainty sip, she smiled beatifically at him. Perfectly worded, he thought, couldn’t have put it better myself if I’d tried.
This party had panned out a million times better than he’d ever expected. Mary was barely entering his thoughts now, another sure sign that he should get rid of her after the party. In comparison to Anna Lovushka, The Weeping Widow was an utter waste of time. All that flattery he’d bestowed on her to manipulate her emotions, for what? Half a million quid, after nearly a fortnight of working on her! Whereas this elegant young wife of the powerful Russian could lead him to an entire treasure chest of riches, especially as her friends were only used to dealing in colossal figures. None of them had ever come across him before; this was virgin territory, it was highly unlikely they’d have any suspicions about him. As long as he played his cards right, he’d be able to get away with blue murder. His palms itched in anticipation of money flooding in and enthusiastically rubbing his hands together; there were a fair few in this flock to be fleeced for fortunes.
Focusing on the bigger picture, if he kept his friendship with Anna Lovushka squeaky clean, he could use her to gain entry to glittering social events. He was planning to ingratiate himself with Vladimir, gain his approval as a trusted walker and chaperone his wife to events he’s unable to attend. Vladimir Lovushka must be a very busy man, without doubt he’d be delighted to have someone he could trust to chaperone his wife. That’s the answer, he thought, congratulating himself on his wise idea. Don’t bite the hand that feeds, illustrate a clear intention to never take anything from the Lovushkas, but secretly fleece the living daylights out of their friends. It would be years before any of it caught up with him, they would be far too embarrassed to admit they’ve been scammed; most victims choose to keep their loss of face totally confidential.
Yup, his new goal. He lounged back against the sumptuous velvet cushions, clapping himself on the back, thoroughly impressed by his own genius. His aim now was to befriend Anna Lovushka, getting so close you couldn’t slip a fifty pound note between them. He would become recognised as her companion, and trusted confidant, accompanying her to international social occasions. Needless to say, other women in the same circle would instantly trust him, knowing he’d got Vladimir’s blessing – the key to unlocking Russian treasure chests.
He took a sip of champagne, delighted that his new plan had fallen so neatly into place. He couldn’t wait to discuss it with Mo, select their first mark together and then work their way through the Lovushka’s address book.
&
nbsp; And another massive plus point that appealed to him greatly – he’d had to do very little work so far for such a tremendous result. Literally all he’d had to do was turn up and save the dog from drowning – not bad for a day’s work, considering it had opened up a fresh supply of stinking rich targets. By the law of averages, only a handful would make suitable marks but the projected income per capita would be pretty hefty. Never hesitating for a moment to have any qualms about his own ability, knowing he had the knack with vulnerable women, he knew how to get inside their heads and manipulate them to do whatever he wanted. Mo always said it was second nature to him; he knew exactly how to play them, and that was the trick.
Without doubt the oligarch’s wife clearly loved him already. All he had to do now was wheedle even closer, visualising himself as her new best friend and trusted confidant. She was making it so easy for him too, by doing all the running. He couldn’t believe his luck, convinced this was yet another top result thanks to his spiffing new image, which couldn’t have been more appropriate this evening, especially when she toasted his rich and prosperous future – he loved that.
Sitting elegantly on the opposite sofa, Anna Lovushka was studying him through her lashes.
“Did you realise we almost met a few days ago?” she smiled playfully.
“No! Where was that?”
“The Fairmont Monte Carlo. I saw you, but you didn’t notice me, you were busy ordering champagne in the rooftop restaurant.”
“Yes, that would’ve been me, spend a lot of time and money there. How clever of you to recognise me!”
Anna giggled, adding in her most plummy accent, “Well, you are a most distinguished looking gentleman, Mr Olivier!”
“Harry, call me Harry,” he replied, preening himself.
“Harry, you have a tremendous presence, impossible to ignore, I couldn’t help noticing you in Monaco. Were you there for business or pleasure?” she enquired curiously.
Harry cleared his throat before adopting a deeper, more earnest tone. “Oh business, very definitely business, not enough time for pleasure.”
The pool house surged into uproar as Mary’s children shouted at the screens.
Pointing accusingly with both hands, Titty bounced up and down on the sofa chanting loudly, “Liar, liar, pants on fire, you were with Mum!”
“Bet that dickhead can’t lie in bed straight,” jeered Arthur, leaning back and throwing his arms up in disgust.
“Lies like a rug,” quipped Kitty. “Can’t wait for him to get his comeuppance.”
Privy to all their remarks on his earpiece, Bernard smiled fondly at Mary. “You’ve got super supportive kids.”
Touched by his kind remark, a little tear welled up in the corner of her eye.
“I know. I’m very, very lucky. They’re my world, and I love them with all my heart.” She forgot that every word was being transmitted full volume in the pool house. Waving their arms in the air her three children cheered loudly.
“Love you too, Mum!”
Bernard grinned from ear to ear and leaned closer to Mary.
“They’re shouting, 'Love you too, Mum!’”
Mary beamed with pride and squeezed Bernard’s arm affectionately.
Knowing how to massage his narcissistic ego, Sophia had been religiously focusing her attention on Harrison and showering him with compliments, secretly enjoying the visible reaction as he puffed up with conceited arrogance, his ego inflating like a hot air balloon. As per Bernard’s instructions, she was playing him like a fiddle.
It was blatantly obvious that Harrison enjoyed talking about himself more than anything else in the world. She only had to feed him the occasional well-chosen line to trigger him off, and then sit back as he eulogised about his own remarkable success and achievements. It was crystal clear that he was well-versed in this favoured topic, and giving her the unabridged version; he was on a roll.
Sophia stood up to lift the open bottle of champagne from the ice sculpture, and walked seductively round the table until she was standing in front of his knees.
“More champagne, Harry?” she asked, purposefully sounding subservient.
He barely paused from his monologue, nodding briskly, giving it full throttle on his prosperous property empire, and even sharing his latest plan to open a Berkeley Square office next year and central Rome after that.
Thanks to Bernard’s tuition – you need to be a master of the cold read to reel in a big fish – Sophia had got the measure of her mark now.
Having topped up their glasses, she sat neatly beside him on the sofa, elegantly crossing her long legs to listen with rapt expression. Having warmed to his specialist subject he clearly had no intention of putting the brakes on, not until he’d impressed her with every last detail.
From time to time Sophia had to bite her lip, secretly dying to laugh out loud at the shocking number of compliments he was paying himself; he was staggeringly self-congratulatory and clearly no ambassador for modesty.
From Harrison’s point of view, everything was going perfectly to plan; the oligarch’s wife was hanging on his every word, not long now before he could start reeling her in even closer.
Crescendoing to charity, his favourite narrative because it glorified his kind and generous nature, he took a rare moment to include Anna Lovushka in the conversation. “Remarkable isn’t it, that we’ve both set up charities for children with cancer,” he exclaimed, reaching for his champagne glass.
She nodded. “You must have read my mind! Maybe we should consider joining forces.” She left it hanging tantalisingly in the air as a mere suggestion.
Nothing could have spurred him on more. Unable to resist embellishing himself further, keen to make his best impression, he regaled her with stories of how he’d invested millions and millions of his own fortune into researching a cure for pancreatic cancer. Having told the lie so many times, he even believed it himself now. Completely unstoppable, he was determined to rise up through the ranks to reach the top, knowing he would do anything to succeed.
Pausing for a moment to privately take stock of his own achievements, he realised that he’d actually just reached the pinnacle of social climbing – infinite riches. He’d always been of the opinion that you couldn’t get much higher than that, except for royalty of course, but this was pretty damn close. Making himself comfortable again against the plump feather cushions, he congratulated himself for nestling so easily amongst the elite.
Sophia felt pleased with her progress so far. Whenever she could get a word in edgeways, she cleverly asked all the right questions to keep the momentum up, purposefully steering clear of any disapproval, knowing that a narcissist can’t bear to be criticised, and praising him enthusiastically for his overwhelming generosity to cancer research. Her voice was in perfect tune with her expression – animated with admiration and approval.
Using compliments as her weapon of choice, and leading him by the nose, she skilfully manoeuvred the conversation back to his holiday homes for children undergoing cancer treatment, piling on the praise for his brilliant concept, and how much she admired his truly inspirational example. Gushing about his genius, ahead of his time, she kicked herself that she might have carelessly taken a step too far with the false flattery; but he didn’t appear to notice, or seem suspicious of her effusiveness, so thankfully she’d got away with that one. Making a mental note to rein herself in, ever so slightly, before she over-egged the pudding, she allowed him to continue his tremendous appetite for compliments, astonishingly even nodding his head at times in agreement to her tributes.
After a quick assessment of the situation – clearly the more compliments the better – she deduced everything was going to plan and in line with the script. He was reacting perfectly, revelling in her copious accolades, frankly wallowing in them. Secretly Sophia was utterly appalled at the size of his ego; she’d never met anyone like this before, there was literally no limit to the amount of blatant sucking up he could bask in. What a prick, she thou
ght, but at least it’s all heading in the right direction for the sting. Kicking on, he beamed as she applauded his business acumen; no wonder America and China were so keenly discussing franchises.
Time to sow the first seed, she thought, questioning whether subtlety might be sufficient to get through his rhinoceros hide. Taking a deep breath, and wishing herself luck, Sophia continued in much the same vein to get to her next point. Delighted to have had this chance to meet him, and now that they’d got to know each other better, she was genuinely hoping that their charitable projects could maybe work together. She commended his holiday homes, a groundbreaking concept and one very close to her own heart, that would thrive working in conjunction with her own charity. LoveHeart would compliment his charity, and vice versa, and by working closely together they could create one of the greatest opportunities ever to help sick children and their families too.
“A stroke of luck!” she exclaimed. “If Fifi hadn’t jumped into the pool, we might never have met. Serendipity!”
Glancing through her false lashes, she tried to gauge whether or not the subtle hints had registered, or if his thick skin required more of a sledgehammer approach. It was hard to tell as he was now puce in the face, having barely stopped to draw breath, yet still capable of expounding even further on his favourite subject – himself.
Harry couldn’t believe his luck. It was music to his ears when Anna Lovushka rested her hand on his knee and proposed brightly, “We should merge.”
He didn’t give a shit about her sodding charity or merging projects, but since this was clearly the best vehicle to carry him towards the treasure he was eager to show a keen interest. His sole intention, after attaching himself like a limpet, was to extract fortunes from her fifty nearest and dearest, simply using her as an address book of wealthy contacts. If the penalty he had to pay was stomaching hours and hours of boring charity chat, so be it; anything to increase their bond and his chance of fleecing fortunes.