Marbella Cool

by Oster, Camille

  The heat closed around his chest, compressing him like a vice. Fuck, his mind screamed and he blinked furiously.

  “Sorry, mate,” Lachlan said, turning his attention to Cory.

  “It’s nothing,” Cory said, sure his voice was shaky. “We had a thing, but long gone.” Why was he reacting like this? He’d certainly been tapping other tail since, but it felt like a sucker-punch in the gut. He truly was gutted.

  Maybe all this time, he’d expected her to be there when he called, expected her to wait. Not consciously, because that was illogical, but on some level he had. As he’d told her, he hadn’t been ready and that was true. A thing with Trish was a full on relationship and he wasn’t ready—but she hadn’t waited. Instead, she’d moved on with one of those prats, her head twisted around by nice cars and sprawling mansions. It was all bullshit, but she’d fallen for it. He hated her for that.

  “I’m going for a piss,” Cory said and got up. It felt like everything was closing in on him and he needed a moment to pull himself together. Leaning his hand on the wall, the white tiles were cool under his hand as he relieved himself into the urinal. He truly was gutted.

  He had no illusions about girls, that they weren’t supposed to hook up with anyone, but on some level he’d wanted to mean more to her than some guy she moved on from. They’d had a thing, something they both returned to—well, he’d returned, unable to escape it, but now she’d gone elsewhere and it fucking hurt.

  There was no denying that logically his reaction was incomprehensible, but when it came to Trish, logic didn’t apply—their thing was deeper, and scary enough that he’d sought to escape it. It had been that to her, too, but she wasn’t waiting anymore. Wasn’t it worth waiting for? He knew full well it sounded like a double standard and ravingly unreasonable considering his own behaviour, but his heart just couldn’t accept her being with another guy.

  Chapter 31

  Esme had met a guy and they were having their first thing just the two of them, going to a restaurant. Shania could tell Esme had great hopes for this guy, thinking he could finally be the one Esme had been waiting for. In Shania’s mind, Esme was building him up for failure, assuming he was this awesome guy when he was just a guy, with flaws and warts. No, finally she had met a flawless guy, someone who knew exactly what to say and when, who was supportive, but only when she wanted him to be. The perfect guy. Why did girls do that? What chance did this guy have competing against sheer perfection? Shania had tried to tell Esme, but Esme still insisted that the perfect guy had finally come along.

  Tierry had never been the perfect guy, but he’d turned out to be too flawed—uncaringly flawed, the ‘I’m going to dump you in a world of trouble, without warning and just leave you there to sink or swim.’ It still hurt. She hoped this guy Esme was seeing was better than that—not that it mattered as he was never going to be the perfect boyfriend Esme wanted.

  Maybe it was time to move on, just hop on a bus and see where it took her. Staying here had never been the intention beyond a couple of days so she could get her head in order. She hadn’t banked on liking Esme as much as she did. Esme was aching for contact, for understanding and apparently Shania gave that to her—a friend and confidant without the competition.

  It was another beautiful day in paradise. On the surface everything looked perfect, but it was all a veneer. Underneath were isolated and miserable people, who had everything in the world, anything they could want, but not always the things they needed.

  Shania ducked her head under the water of the pool and swam. It was sheer freedom here under the water. The sound and feel of it reminded her of her childhood. She liked diving deep and feeling the pressure in her ears.

  No one ever swam in this pool as far as she could tell. She was making more use of it than anyone. No doubt it was happy to for once be used for purpose.

  The worst of the blazing sun had gone, but its heat was still trapped in the tiles around the pool as Shania pulled herself out of the water and lay down on a lounge chair to pick up a random book she’d found. Water ran in rivulets down her body. She was getting insanely tanned, the neon orange of her bikini in stark contrast. She was going to let the sun dry her, then maybe have some food.

  Instead of getting into the book, she pulled her knees in and wrapped her arms around them, looking around at the lush gardens and manicured lawns. The ocean beyond, looking bright blue. Everything was lush here, even though the landscape was naturally quite dry, like home.

  Growing up, she’d used to think this was the life—a huge, gorgeous house, a full wardrobe and sparkling cars, but the people here enjoyed nothing of it. Felix was perpetually chasing oblivion, Esme was desperately looking for love, but refused to accept a realistic version of it. Their friends were all fretting over their place in the pecking order—no one sat by the pool and enjoyed the sunshine. Maybe Shania did because she didn’t belong here—was essentially on vacation. Dark thoughts encroached.

  She didn’t like leaving the house. Danger lurked outside. Esme insisted on going to lunch and parties, all in places were the predators were unlikely to be. It was the perfect hiding place, the other side of Marbella, which only ever crossed with the seedy side through people like Tierry. She wondered where he was and if he even felt bad for what he’d done. Would she be capable of screwing someone over like that? She couldn’t imagine herself doing it.

  It got hot and Shania grabbed her book and her towel, and headed into the cool shade inside the house. It was still. Esme was unlikely to come home that night, Shania guessed. Esme tended to go all out when she set her mind on something, throwing caution to the wind. Felix didn’t even pay attention to the wind. He still hated having her there, his eyes boring into her when she appeared, but then he wasn’t around that often. Esme told her to ignore him.

  Truthfully, she didn’t give a shit if Felix liked her or not. His lack of generosity was his gig as far as she was concerned. There was the pull to be embarrassed about her background and the fact that she had nothing, but that wasn’t something she could control. Felix didn’t have control in being born into this family either. None of it was his doing. She actually earned more money than he did, but he felt it was his right to look down on her. Luckily for her, she refused to take his shit on board.

  It was the biggest lesson she’d learnt in life, and it had come from an old guy she’d met at a laundromat, just a passing comment. You could choose not to take the shit people handed to you. It had sounded like utter bullshit at first, but the statement had stuck in her head and when she’d looked around her high school and the complex rat race in there, it had struck her that she could choose what to care about. She could choose not to be embarrassed by her mom and the fact that they had nothing. She could choose not to feel like a piece of shit. And she could choose not to accept that as her lot, hence the reason she had ended up in Marbella with not much of a plan—although now she was kind of stuck in the shit with Russian mobsters after her tail. That would likely make a good story one day.

  The barest noise was heard as she walked past what the people here called a study. Taking a step back, she peeked into the room and saw an arm covered by grey. It had to be Esme’s father, Dominic. Felix didn’t wear suits. “Hi, Mr. Dunbury,” she said and heard a shift inside.

  “Hello, Shania,” he said, turning his head slightly as she walked inside. “What have you been doing today? Where’s Esme?”

  “Esme is on a date,” she said, noting his eyes quickly take her form in. He was never crude, just the barest observation. She never really knew what his thoughts were. He was so closed off, it never showed. His words were always cordial, but the sentiment rarely showed on his face. “And I have been enjoying your pool.”

  “I see,” he said, turning away. Actually it was really unusual that he was there at all. Shania had barely seen him in all her time here.

  “It’s lovely. You should give it a chance.”

  “Maybe some other time.”

  �
��You have this lovely pool, but no one uses it.”

  Dominic considered her for a while and Shania wondered if she was bothering him. “I’m sorry, I’ll go,” she said. Maybe she was bothering him, the unwanted house guest. It tore her. Esme really wanted her there, but the others really wanted her gone.

  “No,” he said. “Excuse my manners; it’s been a trying day.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, now not quite knowing what to say. “I better go shower. I smell like chorine.”

  He nodded and took a swig of whiskey from a tumbler resting in his hand. Looking away out the window, he seemed to forget she was there. Quietly, she snuck out and softly padded upstairs to the guest bedroom she was using. She had a quick shower and dressed in a yellow dress she’d borrowed from Esme—or rather, Esme had pushed on her. It wasn’t a bad dress, cotton with small flowers sown into the hem in the same colour as the dress. It certainly made her tan glow.

  She returned downstairs, her hair wet, but not dripping. Other than a bit of chapstick, she’d left the makeup off. She wasn’t going anywhere tonight and she would only have to wipe it off again before long.

  “Would you mind if I join you for dinner?” she said, tentatively walking into the study again. “It seems it’s only the two us tonight.” He turned and stared at her, a slight frown across his brow like she was incomprehensible. Then he inhaled. “Yes, of course.”

  “Is everything alright, Mr. Dunbury?”

  “You can call me Dominic,” he said. “Otherwise, I feel like I’m at work.”

  “Sorry,” she said, feeling a little embarrassed. Whatever Dominic Dunbury was, he was a foreign creature to her. There hadn’t been any people like him around where she’d grown up. She didn’t know what to make of him, but he was always polite, but in the most reserved way.

  He was an older version of Felix, handsome with dark hair greying at the temples, strong features and a straight back. He held himself as if he was pure confidence, but then something seemed off with him.

  “Is Maria in the house?”

  Shania hadn’t seen Maria, who prepared the meals when anyone asked her. Maria and her husband had an apartment in the servant’s quarters close to the entrance of the property. Shania hadn’t been in any of those apartments, but they called there on the phone whenever they needed something. “No, I haven’t seen her. I’ll give her a call if you’d like.”

  “Please. We’ll dine in here, I think. If you don’t mind joining me.”

  “No, not at all.” It would be nice to have some company, and also to dine at home. Usually she and Esme were out having dinner somewhere, but not tonight.

  Shania walked to the phone and pushed the speed dial, ringing through to Maria’s apartment. “Hi, Maria, Mr. Dunbury is ready for dinner. Oh, okay, I’ll let him know.” She hung up. “She says twenty minutes.”

  “Do you want a drink?”

  “Sure, I’ll make one.” Shania walked over to where the bar was. There was a bar in this study. Rich people were so refined with their alcohol. It had a special place in the room and was dressed up with crystal and silver name tags. She poured herself some rum, then opened the little fridge underneath and grabbed a cold cola. It was proper coke. “We never had proper coke when I grew up. It was always the generic version.”

  “I didn’t know they had generic versions.”

  “They have generic versions of everything, and sometimes they’re even better. It seemed the wealthier you are, the less choice you have. There is only one brand that is the best, hence only really one option.”

  “Some would say that makes life easier.”

  “Although more complex when it isn’t the brand you actually like.”

  “I’ve never really thought about it,” Dominic said and leaned his head back. “Are you a bit of a philosopher, Shania?”

  That was a statement she didn’t really know how to respond to. “Honestly, I don’t quite know what the job description is. Just an observation.”

  “I think that is the job description. Actually it is about arguing.”

  “Oh, I’m good at that,” she said with a smile.

  “It is an underappreciated skill. We had this girl in the firm, a student of philosophy. It was hard to win an argument against her.”

  “I can’t believe you can study how to argue.”

  “There are times when it’s crucial,” he said, growing more serious. He looked away again.

  Maria walked in, her black hair plaited down her back. She carried a tray with two plates on it, covered by silver warmers. With a tight smile, she was gone again.

  Shania took the warmer off her plate. Yay, salmon again. It looked good on the plate, but she wasn’t enthusiastic about it. Why did rich people always eat salmon?

  “You don’t approve?”

  “It’s a fine meal. I’m just not the greatest fan of salmon.”

  “Maria, can make something else.”

  “No, it’s fine,” Shania said. She took the fork and pressed down on the fish, which flaked nicely.

  “It’s no bother. Maria can make you something else.”

  “Apparently, if I eat this fifteen times, I will learn to like it. That is how we learn to like things, did you know?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Then when I leave here, I can cope with hanging with salmon-loving folk,” she said.

  “What are your plans when you leave here?”

  Shania shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m looking for an opportunity, I guess. I’m not sure what. Maybe I’ll look into this philosophy thing, become a killer arguer.”

  The cream sauce made it very rich, the capers made it salty, but the salmon had that heavy fish taste. It wasn’t gag worthy, but it was still unpleasant. There was no way she would ever learn to like it, but then she had managed to make friends with broccoli and that had seemed an impossible eventuality.

  “I am expecting a tough day tomorrow,” he said. Shania looked up at him. His focus was still on his food. “I’m going to prison.”

  She blinked. It was the last thing she had ever expected him to say. Dominic Dunbury and prison were so incomprehensible together it was absurd.

  “Only for a short time,” he continued. “Call it a political manoeuvre.”

  “What kind of manoeuvre includes prison?”

  “A political one. Politicians bowing to pressure. It won’t stick, but this unfortunate phase in the fight cannot be avoided.”

  Shania didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry to hear that.” Why was he sitting here alone when he was heading towards a horrible ordeal the next day? Shania knew enough to know that prison truly sucked. “Here?”

  “No, in the UK. I will fly there in the morning, then present myself.”

  Thoughts were racing through her mind. Prisons were horrible. “Thought about not going?” He was in Spain after all.

  He chuckled. “I’m not ready to become a fugitive. Besides it’s only for a few months. It won’t be so bad. I’ll actually be working, mostly, just physically detained for a while.”

  “Yeah, but prisons are …” she didn’t quite know how to finish that. Horrible was the only way she could describe it, from what she’d heard. Inhumane was another.

  “There is enough wealth in the equation to ensure I spend that time on a lovely farm in Wales.”

  “Oh. I guess that will make it a bit better.” Could money really buy anything? It seemed so, but then he was here on his own. “Do the others know?”

  “Yes, but I suppose they are a little angry with me. This will be embarrassing for them, unbearably mortifying is how my soon to be ex-wife explains it.”

  “You’re getting divorced?” Esme had said something about it in passing, but Shania hadn’t listened. Were they divorcing because of this, because this was embarrassing? Was that the reason Esme and Felix weren’t here, seeing their dad off the night before going off to prison. People died in prison. It might be a farm, but it was still prison and people i
n prison tended to hate people like Dominic Dunbury. The moment he opened his mouth, they would all know he wasn’t one of them. “I’m sorry.”

  “It has been a long time coming,” he said, placing his fork down. “I hope the food won’t be too bad.”

  It would probably be worse than he’d ever imagined, Shania thought. He’d be skin and bones by the time he came out. She replaced the covers on the plates and put them back on the tray. “Probably not a lot of salmon.” Getting up, she carried the plates away to the kitchen, leaving them in the middle of a spotless and characterless bench. When she had a kitchen of her own, she would prefer something a bit more homely to this ruthless, sparse design. It was probably worth more than the house she’d end up living in, but it was so cold, never used by anyone in this family.

  For a moment, she considered what to do, whether she should go upstairs and leave Mr. Dunbury to his problems, but she couldn’t leave him. Even if he would never show it, he must be scared, no matter what he said. No one deserved to face these things alone. For once, she really disliked one of Esme’s choices. With Felix, she wasn’t surprised. He was a cold, heartless bastard most of the time.

  “Another drink?” she asked as she returned to the study. Dominic was still sitting in his chair, leaning back. He looked so relaxed, but she could tell he was nervous. He’d be stupid not to be nervous.

  “I am sorry; I am poor company tonight.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  He smiled. “Thank you.”

  It twisted her heart being thanked just for being there. Sometimes these people were just fucked up. She felt so bad for him. He was such a strong man, so capable from what she could see, being brought down by a political manoeuvre, and everyone had left him.