The Charmer

by Mandasue Heller

  Taking a shower, Maria towel-dried her hair and changed into fresh clothes, then ordered a chicken sandwich and a bottle of Budweiser from room service. Settling on the bed with the tray when it arrived, she sipped the beer and picked at the food as she went over the paperwork.

  Most of it concerned the house, and the rest related to various stocks and shares, and bonds, but it was all too complicated to get her head around right now. The money itself was being held in a special account set up by the solicitors as executors of the will. Nigel had told her that it would be released to her in cheque form once it had been to probate – whatever that meant.

  Maria didn’t have a clue about Probate, Land Registry, or Inheritance Tax, if truth were told. If she wasn’t so proud she could have asked the solicitor to explain. But she’d gone into the meeting acting all worldly-wise and intelligent, and hadn’t wanted him to see how ignorant she really was.

  Giving up on it now, she reached for the letter, which was in a sealed white envelope addressed to Miss M. A. Davidson-Price.

  Maria felt peculiar just looking at it; not only because it was from a woman who was now dead, but because of the addition of the name Davidson.

  That name meant less than nothing to her, and she resented having it forced on her like that. It was like waking up after a party to discover that somebody has tattooed you in your sleep. You didn’t ask for it, you don’t want it, but now that it’s there you can’t get rid of it without leaving a scar.

  She wished she was the kind of person who could shrug off the doubts and grab the prize with both hands – who wouldn’t love to get their hands on a house and money for nothing? But it just wasn’t in her. And, despite all the facts that Elsie Davidson had gathered about her, and her obvious belief that Maria was the niece she had never met, Maria still thought it was a mistake.

  But mistake or not, the letter was addressed to her, so she figured that she might as well see what it had to say. Who knew . . . She might succeed where the solicitors and the detective had failed, and find a clue about who the real heiress was.

  The letter was written in fine, spidery, old-lady hand, slanted classically to the right, with defined capitals and tight, elegant loops.

  It was dated February, and Elsie Davidson had died in March, so Maria guessed she’d probably known she was dying when she wrote it. Talk about getting the last word! She’d known that she could say whatever she liked, and nobody would ever be able to dispute it, because she’d be dead by the time it was read.

  Pouring herself another glass of beer, Maria settled back against the pillows to read the letter.

  Elsie claimed that her brother Derek had been courting Maria’s mum Maureen for a year when Maureen told him she was pregnant, and that he was the father. He immediately offered to marry her, braving the disapproval of his family who had warned him that she wasn’t quite as innocent as she made herself out to be. They weren’t happy about the age gap either, he being thirty-four, she just twenty. They thought that Maureen had got herself pregnant to trap Derek so that she could get her hands on the family money. But, instead of grovelling in gratitude for having hooked him, as they’d expected, Maureen not only turned him down, she added insult to injury by running away with another man – obviously a better financial prospect.

  Determined to be a part of his child’s life, Derek searched for Maureen, asking if anybody had seen her or heard from her – but no one admitted it if they had. When he suffered a fatal heart attack two years later – Maureen’s fault again, apparently, because she had caused the stress which had led to it – Elsie continued the search. But not for the same reasons, for she admitted that she’d had no interest in the child at that time, her sole aim being to find Maureen and make her suffer like Derek had. She, too, got nowhere.

  The breakthrough came when Elsie, alone and ageing and spending an increasing amount of time in bed with just the TV for company, saw a report of Maureen’s death on the local news. Her thoughts turned to Maria, who was not just Derek’s long-lost daughter now but Elsie’s only remaining relative – the only one to whom she could leave the house and money. Aware that the social services were unlikely to tell her anything because she had no proof that she was related to Maria, she hired the private detective to track her down and keep tabs on her.

  Concluding the letter, Elsie said that she hoped Maria would love The Grange as dearly as her father’s family had. And that she would use the money to build a secure life for herself and any future children. The Davidsons would live on through her now – in blood if not in name.

  Maria was drained by the time she finished reading, and she didn’t believe a word of it. Or, rather, she didn’t want to, because that was like saying she believed that her mum had lied to her, deliberately denying her the chance to know who her father was. And she couldn’t accept that any more than she could accept that her mother was the heartless, unfaithful gold-digger Elsie had made her out to be.

  That didn’t tally with the woman Maria remembered – the quiet, pretty woman who had loved her and worked hard to build a good home for her, never letting a man come between them like the rest of the single mums on the estate who had let any old Tom, Dick or Harry move in, regardless of the cost to their kids.

  Her mum had always said that her father had died before she was born. But if that wasn’t true, then Maria couldn’t say she blamed her for not wanting to have anything to do with the Davidsons. She would have run a mile rather than live under the disapproving glare of people who obviously thought themselves superior to her, and who expected gratitude for doing the right thing. And she certainly wouldn’t subject her child to it.

  She found it a bit weird that it didn’t seem to have occurred to the Davidsons that Derek might not be the father. If Maureen had run away with another man, as Elsie claimed, wouldn’t it be logical to assume that she had been having an affair all along, and that the baby might be the other man’s?

  The Davidsons might have believed that their genes were so powerful that no other man’s sperm could possibly compete. Or it was a lie that Maureen had ever been unfaithful, and Elsie had said it out of spite for Maureen having had the audacity to turn Derek’s proposal down. Unable to find her to exact revenge in life, she’d plumped for the beyond-the-grave kind instead – planting seeds of doubt in Maria’s mind, hoping that they would poison her heart and obliterate her happy memories of her mother.

  Well, tough! It hadn’t worked. Maria loved her mother as much as ever – and despised Elsie as much as she undoubtedly would have if they’d met.

  ‘Cheers, Elsie,’ she sneered, raising her glass in a toast to the letter as if it were the woman herself. ‘I will take your house, but I’m not going to live there – and I will never call myself by your name. So say goodbye to your empire, ’cos it belongs to the Prices now!’

  Tossing the letter aside, she downed her drink and reached for the bottle. She felt a lot better now – as if she’d redressed some of the wrongs that had been done to her mother.

  There was no beer left.

  She contemplated ordering another bottle from room service, but decided against it. She wasn’t rich yet, and they probably charged double just for fetching it up on a tray. She’d just have to go and mix with the hoi polloi in the bar instead – which would have disgusted a lady like Elsie. But, oh, well . . .

  Stashing the papers in her case, Maria slid it under the bed and stretched to relieve the tension in her neck. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she grimaced. The past few days had certainly taken their toll on her complexion; she looked pale and drawn, and ten years older than she actually was.

  Reaching for her make-up bag, she did a quick repair job, then headed out to the bar.

  Joel Parry had been sitting in a corner booth for two solid hours with a shit-load of coke in his pocket, and he was pissed off big time. The Gallagher brothers had sent him to do a drop-off, but their guy hadn’t shown, and now he couldn’t reach them to ask what they wanted
him to do because they weren’t answering their phones.

  Fan-fucking-tastic!

  It was packed to the rafters in the bar, and loud as hell – everyone shouting to be heard above the booming 1970s soul-funk music being piped in from the nightclub in the basement below. Joel felt conspicuous with all the couples and groups around him. Smiley happy people, all dressed up for a Friday night out, and he was on his Jack – like the prick the Gallaghers obviously thought he was.

  Well, he’d give their guy another half-hour, then he was gone – and the brothers could kiss the gear goodbye.

  Until tomorrow morning.

  Much as he wanted to tell them to piss off and quit using him as an errand boy, there was no way he could afford to make enemies of them. He still needed them to give him lay-ons while he was building his money up again.

  If he ever found out who had mugged him, skinning him of all his money and gear and leaving him up to his eyeballs in debt, he would kill them. But at least the bastards had missed his face when they’d dragged him down that alley and kicked him from one end to the other like a football. His looks gave him the edge over the average dealer. Nobody ever questioned the smooth-talking handsome guy in the suit; they just took it for granted that his gear was clean and his prices fair. So, yeah, he might be skint, but he’d soon be back on top where he belonged.

  For now, though, he was Nobby No One – gofer to the fucking Gallaghers.

  Swallowing the last of his drink, Joel pushed his way to the bar and slammed the glass down on the counter. He felt like being mean to someone, and the spotty little dick of a barman was it.

  Looking around for his prey, he narrowed his eyes when he spotted a girl with long blonde hair sitting on a tall stool on the far side of the bar, staring into her glass as if she was oblivious to the din going on all around her.

  He scanned the people standing behind her, sure that her man must be somewhere near by. Only a fool would let such a stunningly gorgeous woman loose in a bar on a Friday night in Manchester – with so many predatory men on the prowl. Surprisingly, she seemed to be completely alone.

  Joel decided to take his chances with her. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do with what was left of his lousy night. And she was one hell of a looker.

  Forgetting all about the coke burning a hole in his pocket as his dick took control of his brain, he edged his way around the room. Lurching through a group of men who were too busy chatting about football to bother kicking off at him, he fell into her as if he’d been pushed.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said when she glanced up. ‘It’s a bit crowded in here tonight. Didn’t hurt you, did I?’

  ‘No, I’m okay,’ Maria murmured, peering around confusedly as if she’d just woken up. She was sure there hadn’t been this many people here when she came in. And why were they making so much noise? Didn’t they know there were people trying to sleep in the rooms above?

  ‘A man could die of thirst waiting for this idiot,’ Joel commented, blowing off wearily. ‘What do you reckon to my chances before last orders?’

  ‘Sorry?’ Maria frowned at him. ‘Are you talking to me?’

  ‘Hey, don’t worry about it.’ He gave her a slow smile. ‘I have that effect on people. No, I was just moaning about him.’ He nodded towards the barman who had miraculously reappeared and was frantically trying to keep up with customer demand on the other side of the bar. ‘I don’t suppose you’re ready for another?’ He cast a hopeful glance at her glass.

  ‘I, er . . . no.’ She shook her head, irritated by his presumption that she was looking for company. ‘Thanks, but I’m just going to finish this and go up to my room.’

  Eyes twinkling with amusement, Joel said, ‘Hey, don’t take this the wrong way, but that wasn’t a come-on. I just thought you’d stand a better chance of attracting his attention than me. He seems more interested in the girls than the guys.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ Maria dipped her face to hide a blush. Great! She’d made a total fool of herself in under a minute. That had to be a record.

  ‘Is it a deal, then?’

  ‘Sorry?’ Glancing up, Maria saw that he had his head tipped to the side, waiting for an answer to a question she hadn’t heard. The alcohol was obviously affecting her hearing. It was time to get out of there.

  ‘I said, is it a deal?’ he repeated, smiling amusedly. ‘You call the barman over – I buy the drinks.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ Maria murmured. ‘Well, no, not really. I mean, yes, I’ll call him, if you think it’ll make a difference. But I don’t want a drink. I think I’ve had more than enough already.’ This last bit was to herself, but Joel pounced on it.

  ‘They don’t sound like the words of a beautiful young woman having a fun night out.’ Resting his elbow on the bar, Joel gave her his sincerest I’m listening look. ‘Can I take it you’re not having fun?’

  Annoyed with herself, because she was obviously wearing her thoughts on her face for all the world to see, Maria said, ‘I’m just a bit tired, that’s all. And it’s too noisy in here.’ Flustered by the directness of his gaze as he peered into her eyes, she touched her forehead. ‘I’ve, er, had a terrible headache all day, and I don’t want to risk it coming back.’

  ‘So, it’s not the thought of having a drink with me that’s scaring you away, then?’ Joel said softly. ‘Good, because there’s no need to worry. I don’t bite. Hell, I don’t even bark – most of the time. Look . . . no leash.’ He pulled his collar aside to reveal his neck.

  ‘Okay, I believe you.’ Maria smiled.

  ‘That’s better.’ Joel rested his chin on his hand. ‘So, about the barman . . . are you going to call him over, or do I have to die of dehydration?’

  ‘I’ll try. But don’t blame me if he ignores me. He looks pretty busy.’

  ‘And you look pretty gorgeous,’ Joel purred. ‘He’d have to be blind not to notice you.’

  Biting her lip when he gave her one of the sexiest smiles she’d ever seen, Maria raised an arm to call the barman over. He came almost immediately, an eager look on his sweat-shiny face.

  ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘You can get us two Silver Mines, my friend,’ Joel said, turning his head so that Maria couldn’t see his face and fixing the younger man with a back off stare that was completely at odds with the friendly smile on his lips. ‘I take it you know how to make them, don’t you –’ he peered at the other man’s name badge ‘– Rex?’

  Unnerved by the threat in Joel’s ice-blue eyes, Rex nodded. ‘Yeah, sure . . . Coming right up, sir.’

  Maria smiled questioningly when Joel turned back to her. ‘What just happened? I’m sure I said I didn’t want a drink.’

  ‘So you did,’ he conceded, winking at her. ‘But I figured if I went ahead and ordered, you’d be too polite to refuse. Surely you’ll share one drink with me? That’s not too much to ask, is it?’

  Laughing softly, Maria shook her head. ‘Okay, fine, I’ll stay for one. But then I’m going.’

  Grinning slyly, Joel took out his cigarettes and offered one to her – surreptitiously checking her ring finger when she leaned in closer for a light. It was bare. Great! Gorgeous and unmarried. All she needed to make her the perfect woman was money – and she must have some to be staying at a place like this.

  Their drinks came in long ice-misted glasses. Handing one to Maria, Joel watched her face as she tasted it.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘It’s lovely,’ she said, nodding her approval. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘No, thank you. I was worried I might have lost my touch.’

  ‘Sorry?’ Drawing her head back, Maria gave him a quizzical look.

  ‘Matching people to their perfect drinks,’ he explained, cupping his hands and shaking them. ‘Used to be a barman – once upon a long long time ago.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’ Maria took another sip of the darkly sweet drink. ‘Well, you’ve definitely got this right.’

  And she wasn’t lying. The drink was delic
ious: rich and smooth, and deceptively intoxicating. She could already feel it working its way through her body, creating a pleasant tingling sensation in her arms and legs. But then, she had already polished off a bottle of beer in her room, and a couple of rum and cokes down here.

  ‘Yeah, I was at the top of the game in my time,’ Joel told her, shrugging modestly. ‘I’ve moved on a bit since then, but there’s nothing quite like the atmosphere of a good bar in full swing. Lights, music, happy punters.’ Sighing wistfully, he pursed his lips. ‘Wouldn’t go back to it, though. It’s much better being your own boss – hours to suit, no one to answer to but yourself.’

  ‘Must be great,’ Maria agreed, her gaze falling to his mouth.

  His lips were a lovely shape – really sort of kissable. And he had lovely straight white teeth, and a lovely nose . . . Lovely everything, in fact, with dark-blond hair, twinkling blue eyes, and a great-looking body. And he didn’t seem remotely vain or arrogant, not like all the other good-looking guys she knew.

  ‘It’s Joel, by the way.’

  Snapping out of her trance at the sound of his voice, Maria felt the heat rise to her cheeks when she realised she’d been staring at him. Taking the hand he was holding out, she gasped when a tingle of electricity snaked up her arm.

  Careful, girl. You’re more tipsy than you think.

  ‘Maria,’ she told him breathlessly. ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’

  ‘Somewhere nice, I hope,’ Joel teased, holding on to her hand for several long moments. ‘You know, I get the feeling we’ve met before.’

  ‘Oh, I doubt it.’ Maria slid her hand free before he felt her racing pulse and guessed the effect he was having on her. ‘I don’t actually live in Manchester. I did, but I left when I was younger. So I really don’t think you could have seen me before.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ he conceded. ‘But I would like to see you again. What are you doing tomorrow?’

  ‘Going home.’ Smiling at his disappointed expression, she took another drink, then bit her lip and rested her cheek on her hand. ‘Out of interest,’ she said, emboldened by the alcohol. ‘Is this a come-on?’