“Esme’s friend?”
“I’m all for slumming it, but this is going on a little too long. That girl has some grip over Esme, no doubt draining her bank account in the process.”
“She’s harmless.”
“Yeah,” Felix said, pulling out his packet of smokes. “Used to be the play thing of one of the drug dealers around town.”
Father seemed to consider his words. Nice bit of undermining that. Chances were the girl would be gone by evening and their little family get-together would be just family tomorrow night. In that case, he might for once not mind attending, smiling with the peace of seeing the little slut off.
“And what will you be doing with your day, Felix?”
Savour victory, he wanted to say. “Quentin asked me to drop in on some of his dot com investments.” It was true. Quentin had asked him to keep an eye on his portfolio while he was off in the Far East playing developer.
The man opposite him sat with a straight back as he always did. Neatly he folded his cloth napkin and placed it on the table. “I am off to London today. The case is progressing.”
“Mother mentioned something about it.”
Dominic’s hand froze slightly as he stroked down the napkin. “And what did she say?”
“That perhaps things would not go your way on this one.”
“Things always go my way in the end, but yes, they are being difficult. It is going to be a… convoluted process.”
His father was trying to tell him something. As far as Felix knew, nothing ever got in Dominic’s way. The world ordered itself around Dominic’s requirements, including everyone in this house, until Felix had decided he didn’t give a fuck. Dominic had worn his rebellion with indifference, no doubt believing he was discouraging it by ignoring it. Felix had felt the pull to please his father, but had remained firm, refusing to bow down.
“They are going to try to detain me,” Dominic finally said.
“What do you mean detain?” Felix said, suddenly realising what his father termed as convoluted might be more substantial.
“For a while until the appeals process works out these expected setbacks.”
This could only mean that his father was on some level doing something illegal. At some point, greed had gotten too strong, or had their business always had illegal components? On one hand, Felix wasn’t surprised, on the other, he was furious. His father spending time in prison would spread like wildfire in every circle he knew. Being above the law was perfectly acceptable—being caught was inexcusable.
“You should have been a great deal smarter than this,” Felix accused, rising from his chair. His father had always been untouchable—real frailties undermined the whole construct of their lives. And that whore of a girl was here to witness it all, although she was probably too stupid to realise it. “You have to get rid of that girl. Esme doesn’t listen and that girl is using her.”
He walked off, feeling adrenalin course through his blood. His father, the man who made no mistakes, only brilliant moves, had in some way fucked up royally. This was the reason mother was deserting them, distancing herself from the man going down, and it affected all of them.
Chapter 26
The boat finally glided into its berth at Porto Banus and Rosalie shifted impatiently, waiting for the crew to complete the mooring procedure. She smiled tightly as Alexi stood close; Malin with her arm wrapped around his waist.
“It’s been absolutely lovely,” Rosalie said.
“Yes, thanks so much for inviting us. Quite a unique experience, and your yacht is magnificent,” Paul said, squeezing his bag between his feet. “Are you sticking around or are you off somewhere?”
“I have to go to Moscow,” Alexi said. “The plane is waiting.”
“Great,” Rosalie said, smiling. The staff were now placing the gangway that crossed from the swimming ledge to the jetty itself. A path to freedom. Rosalie grabbed her bag. “Again, thanks so much. It’s been absolutely marvellous.”
Taking the handrail, she stepped down around the curving staircase and stepped over the gangway which groaned under the strain. Paul followed behind her. Once on the jetty, she waved enthusiastically and she and Paul walked towards the street, where hopefully they had some way of finding Paul’s car.
“I’ve never been so glad to see the end of a holiday.”
“That was absolutely ghastly,” Paul said. “I’m so sorry. I thought it would be lovely, but it was like we were prisoners, marched around, on and off the boat.”
“Fed caviar,” Rosalie said with mock horror.
“And what was that dreadful painting he dragged back?”
“Something he found in a gallery. Something about young modernist talent.”
“I thought men like him bought Rembrandts and Modiglianis to hide away in some bank vault for no one to ever see again.”
“Apparently his art purchases extend towards the speculative side as well.”
“Let’s never go on holiday with people who can’t carry a conversation.”
“I thought you liked Malin.”
“There is a certain aesthetic appeal, but it was like talking to a fence.”
“God, are we the worst snobs ever?” Rosalie said with a grimace.
“Probably, but you have to have some standards. And the boat; it was tressed up like some Russian drug lord’s floating palace. I’m sure they stripped the Versace design stores in the process. I felt blinded by the shininess most mornings. Where is my car?” Paul looked around for someone in a uniform to tell them.
“It would have been more relaxing staying in a rustic pensione, instead of always running for the boat. The Amalfi coastline was spectacular from sea though, wasn’t it?”
Paul grumbled his acceptance of the statement when his car came driving around the corner. “Well, live and learn,” he said lightly. “If you accept rides from billionaires, you have to put up with them and their maniacal schedules. An experience one does not have to repeat. Let’s go home,” he said, taking the keys off the valet, handing over a few euros and a smile of gratitude.
“I could use a bath,” Rosalie admitted. Her eyes were weary from the sun, everything sparkling so brightly out at sea. What she really needed was some time alone. As guests, the constant need to be cordial had been trying and now she could use a few hours doing nothing—reading perhaps.
The streets of Marbella sped past and Rosalie sunk down into the seat. It had been awkward and strange spending time with Alexi. It was clear there was nothing left of the boy she used to know. He was now something else entirely and there was nothing there to nurture. He’d obviously found the life and success he’d been dreaming of, even back then, perhaps always intent on becoming what he was now.
Rosalie looked out the window. It was time to dismiss him from her thoughts. There was nothing there to salvage. She didn’t want to know him better, or to carry on some kind of friendship. He wasn’t her kind of person, and that was perfectly fine, but there was no need to drag this association out. “What shall we cook tonight?” she asked Paul.
“Perhaps a bit of simple pasta as we so seldom had any on this trip?”
“Sounds like a good plan,” she said and smiled. They were pulling into Paul’s carport. It felt like coming home. In this short amount of time, she had managed to make herself feel settled here. Perhaps it was better to keep staying with Paul, rather than finding her own place. “Are you going to work tomorrow?” It was Sunday, but Rosalie had a suspicion he felt disconnected after the holiday.
“I’ll go in for a few hours.”
Rosalie nodded. For herself, she thought she might go for a walk; maybe around one of the older parts of Marbella where the white buildings spoke of the heritage of this place. She could use a chance to walk in peace. And then she needed to settle down and do some work on her thesis.
Chapter 27
Unfolding the newspaper, Trish surveyed the picture of Cory with Mirabel. It wasn’t the first she’d seen and her mou
th tightened at the sight of his hand on her back. I’m so into you, Trish, I’m too scared of commitment ‘cause you’re a keeper. It was all utter bullshit.
“Have you heard from him?” Amber asked as they sat in the café down the street from their house.
“Nope,” she said. “And I don’t want to.”
“It could be perfectly innocent.”
Trish gave Hannah a warning with her eyes. “Nothing with Cory is innocent. It makes it come across that way. Nothing is ever his fault, women just throw themselves at him. They practically rape him if you hear him tell it. Whatever. He’s a lying arse and he’ll never change.” Trish rubbed her hands over her face. “I can’t believe I fell for it again. How utterly stupid can I get?”
Hannah crossed her arms, seeing no way of making this out in the best possible light.
“How are things going with Lachlan anyway?”
“He’s stringing me along. He’s like, come over and watch some movies, which we never do. Then he acts all shy when we’re in company. Nowhere near as bipolar as Cory, but still. Why can’t we meet some mature guys?”
“Because we’re hanging out with the wrong crowd. I don’t know, Hannah, maybe it’s time to move on.”
“Don’t say that. We have it good here, and Adelaide will come back sooner or later.”
Trish knew Hannah would react that way, but the thought had occurred to her the last day or so. Why was she sticking around for this? This stupid on and off again relationship with Cory—him never quite going the distance and calling her a girlfriend, acting all lovey to her face then sleeping with someone else as soon as her back was turned.
Looking out on the road, she could start to see the shimmer of heat coming off the black surface. She would miss this place if she left. She’d gotten used to the madness, the Spanish influences, the crazy rich people in their bright clothes and insane jewellery. She’d even miss Jesus a bit. Guys like him didn’t exist in Australia—they weren’t allowed by the different guy code down there. And where would she go? She wasn’t ready to return home. She could always do the ski season in Canada, trade in the sun and sand for winter and ice. In all honesty though, it wasn’t immediately appealing.
It also felt so final, but maybe that was what she needed, because this thing with Cory left open meant she always got sucked in whenever he called. It was her own weakness and she was deeply disappointed with herself. He was never going to change. Yes, he was into her, even she could agree on that, but as soon as something better, or newer, or less scary, whatever, came along, he was off. Rinse and repeat, they did it all over again.
With a groan, she rested her forehead on two fingers. If she wasn’t so weak, she could just move on. Last time she’d tried, Cory had just about gotten into a fight with the guy.
“It’s just all really fucked up, isn’t it?” she said.
“Maybe you just need to draw a line under Cory—permanently,” Amber said.
“Yeah, maybe,” Trish admitted. It was her own caving that made that strategy a bit tentative. It was her own weakness she needed to work on. He wasn’t going to change; she needed to face that. She sighed again.
“Maybe what we need is a good night out. Not here, maybe somewhere else. Berlin or something,” Amber said.
“That would be cool, wouldn’t it?”
“And German guys are hot. I think we should do it. Let’s talk to the others when we get back.”
Actually, maybe a night out was exactly what she needed, letting go of all this crap and just having a good time in a town where there was zero chance of Cory or any of the guys turning up.
It all came together remarkably quickly. They found some good flights and they had a weekend away; her, Amber, Hannah and Chrissy. Jesus wasn’t happy with the three of them being away, but it was a Formula One weekend, which meant the club would be quiet. Maybe Berlin would be quiet as well, but Trish didn’t care. A good time would be had if it killed her.
The airport was busy and they stood in line, waiting to check in. Trish only had a backpack. Chrissy was the only one who insisted on checking in luggage. They were only going for two days, but she needed fourteen changes of clothes. Every possible mood had to be catered for.
Looking around she saw some guy who looked vaguely familiar. Maybe she had been in Marbella a long time if she started seeing people she recognised. He had dark hair and he seemed to spot her too for a moment before moving on. Turning her attention back, she willed the line to move, which it did at snail’s pace.
Once inside they found a bar and ordered some drinks. The flight would be three hours and they would make it into Berlin just around party time. Okay, this had been a brilliant idea.
“I know you,” a guy said beside her. Turning she saw the guy she’d spotted out in the check-in area. He had a ‘don’t give a fuck’ attitude, accent of a Brit and the clothes of someone who lived in Marbella, and not some tiny apartment or shared flat.
“Good for you,” she said and turned her back on him. If he was expecting to pick up some impressed girl at the airport, he’d better look elsewhere.
“Berlin, is it?”
He obviously wasn’t going away. “Party weekend.”
He smiled, a wicked, lopsided grin more like. “Nice.”
“Bye,” Trish said pointedly.
“You’re one of Adelaide’s friends.”
Surprised, she turned to him. “That must make you one of Quentin’s friends.”
“Felix,” he said, holding out his hand. Tentatively, she shook it.
“And where are you off to, Felix?”
“London.”
“Great. Have a good time.” She took a sip of her vodka cranberry and hoped he would go away.
“You’re a dancer at Shine. You know Shania, don’t you?”
“She’s not around anymore.”
“No, she’s lodged herself at my house.”
“Oh?” This was news. They’d all thought she’d left town.
“Like an infestation you can’t shake, apparently.”
Trish smiled, imagining this guy hooking up with her and then being unable to shake her.
“I sympathise,” Trish said tartly.
“What do you know about her?”
“Nothing, really. She stayed at my place for a while, then she just disappeared. Left a lot of her stuff and everything.”
“Probably because she decided to move up in the world.”
Trish looked him up and down. “If you say so. Oh, that’s our boarding. See ya,” she said, downing her drink and pickup up her backpack.
“Who’s that?” Chrissy asked.
“Just some prissy rich boy. A friend of Quentin’s.”
Chrissy turned around. “You should join us. We’re going to be at Chalet,” she said, smiling.
“What the hell did you do that for?” Trish said, pulling her arm. Chrissy shrugged.
“Doesn’t hurt being nice to Quentin’s friends, does it?”
“It doesn’t help either.” Trish had always suspected Chrissy had a thing for the rich boys, some hope they would notice her. She’d been supremely jealous when Adelaide had started seeing Quentin, and Trish suspected she’d dump Nathan pretty quick if one of the Porsche-driving rich boys looked her way.
Chapter 28
Somewhere above France, Felix decided that it might be an idea taking that girl up on her offer. He was going to London to party anyway, what harm would there be in changing his mind. Calling his father’s secretary, he had himself booked on the next flight to Berlin after he landed. Partially, he wanted to pump the girl for more information on Shania, and secondly he wanted to pump the girl, with her disapproval and ready dismissal. When it came down to it, girls with issues were hot, and usually crazy.
Landing, he was faced with a jumble of activity and he was soon waiting at another gate, waiting for first class boarding to be announced. Although it turned out to be business class as some of these intra-European routes only had business
class, some European hang-up on egalitarianism.
Taking his seat, he waited for the cattle in the back to be loaded. The flight to Berlin was short, a mere hop. If it sucked, he could always go back to London. The stewardess bent over, eagerly awaiting his drink order. “Of course, sir, a whiskey coming straight away.” She was attractive, blonde, with long legs, a wedding band on her finger, not that those provided deterrents to girls like her dropping her knickers.
Maybe he was overly jaded, he considered. Chasing girls who turned him down across a continent. There was something not right about that. His thoughts turned to Shania. No doubt she’d fall into bed with the merest hint. The thought turned his stomach.
He closed his eyes and when he opened them again, they were landing. The true value in flying business class or first class was in getting off first. Flying private was better, but father rarely let him use the private jet, in some vain notion of keeping him grounded.
A car was waiting for him and it took him straight to Chalet. It wasn’t exactly high society, a straight dance bar for drugged out plebs. They remembered him well enough though and let him skip the line, releasing him into a dark, hot place that smelled of sex and bodies. It had been a while since he’d spent time in a downright meat market. There was only one carcass on his mind tonight though—that friend of Adelaide’s. Maybe it was time to see what Quentin had gotten himself so caught up with.
It took time to find them, but he finally did. They had changed from their jeans and t-shirts into tight, clinging dresses. Long, muscular legs stretched into tawdry heels. It had been a while since he’d buried himself in the cheap and easy, too. The truth was that he both loved and hated it. He spotted the girl. Like the others, she wore a tight dress, showing off the lovely curve of her back and backside, swelling in plump perfection.
She looked disappointed when she saw him. “The greeting I always hoped for,” Felix said sarcastically.
“We came here to get away from arseholes like you.” They had to shout into each other’s ears to hear over the pounding music.
Marbella Cool Page 11