Scandalous Lies: An addictive, sexy beach read

by Nigel May

  ‘Where is Tanya, by the way?’

  Georgia and her father were sitting in the front room in the Bellamy family home that Georgia had grown up in and which Devon now shared with Tanya. ‘She’s shopping. Doubtless buying some more clothes, draping herself needlessly in the latest fashions despite having fifty similar items in various hues already. Pointless exercise.’

  Georgia had never seen her father so vexed. And especially when it came to fashion. Devon had always prided himself on being a very stylish individual, housing a wardrobe with designs from Antony Price, Ralph Lauren and Tom Ford through to Armani and Paul Smith. And he loved those around him to be equally as stylish. One look inside his wardrobes would reveal suits lined up in order from black tie through to white linen, cufflinks neatly placed in symmetrical rows and shoes in collections of tan, black, brown. All expensive, all impeccable. He knew fashion as well as he did science and surely there weren’t that many people who could say the same. Brains like Professor Brian Cox or Stephen Hawking were hardly famed for their love of Oswald Boateng were they?

  ‘Something’s wrong, Dad. You never slate Tanya’s fashion sense, even if some of it is a little dubious in my humble opinion,’ snipped Georgia. ‘Has the Russian diamond lost her sparkle?’

  The look on Devon’s face made it clear that she had both hit a nerve and that her father didn’t want to talk. But it was obvious that something was troubling him. For a few moments there was an awkward silence.

  Georgia had never hidden the fact that Tanya was not exactly her favourite woman on earth. The two of them had always been civil but not exactly seen eye to eye. It was no surprise. Georgia had never really got over the death of her own mother, Sophia, and there was a part of her that harboured a canker of dislike for Tanya and what she potentially represented. In Georgia’s mind she couldn’t help but feel that Tanya was an unworthy, and somewhat ungrateful, replacement for the hole left in her father’s heart when Sophia had died. Everything about her father’s marriage to Tanya had whispered ‘gold digger’ to Georgia. The whole way that Devon’s second wife had entered into her father’s life had irked Georgia greatly. She couldn’t help but compare her to her own mother and that was fatal.

  It had all been so quick. Sophia had only been a few short years gone and suddenly there it was. The announcement. Georgia, still in her early twenties and trying to find her own way in the world as a woman, summoned to the family home to meet Devon’s new bride, the daughter of a Russian oligarch. Tanya, a woman who at twenty-three, was virtually the same age as Georgia herself, give or take a few months.

  Her father’s new wife. That she could accept. But her new mother? That would never happen. Something sat uneasily and acceptance had never come. There was a mutual mistrust. On what grounds, Georgia didn’t know. But something seemed as duplicitous as a wartime spy. It was a seed of doubt that had never germinated, but had never died either.

  ‘I should go. I have an early start in the morning back on the TV and I need an early night.’

  Georgia rose to leave. She had been at her father’s for over an hour and they had discussed the loss of Foster, Mitzi’s continued disappearance and Georgia’s recent visit to India, but it was clear that for now, Devon had reached his fill on talking.

  He remained seated and silent, staring out of the window as Georgia kissed him on either cheek. She followed his gaze. ‘The garden looks amazing by the way, very neat and tidy, just how you like it. Someone’s working wonders on it. I’ll let myself out.’

  It was the garden that Devon was staring at. It was looking good. Aaron was working wonders, he had to admit. The boxed-off borders and right-angled plots were just as he’d hoped. If only that was where it ended.

  His suspicions had been confirmed. He’d been holding off payment, enjoying the piece of control he felt he had over the gardener. Aaron needed money and that had to come from Devon, which made him the one with the power; the devil who held all the cards – the flexible, cash-laden ones. Yes, he could fire Aaron, but where was the fun in that? Not paying him and making him dangle on a thread like some meathead marionette was much more of a power trip. Firing the bastard would be too easy. Thinking he could fuck Tanya and get away with it. Devon would prove him wrong.

  He’d seen it with his own eyes. Tanya running naked from the studio the night before, entering his office and taking a wad of cash from the safe. Bagging it and inserting it inside herself and then returning to the studio. She’d not seen her husband. Why would she have? He had been deliberately hidden. Silent as he watched her. That’s why he’d returned home early from work. He’d suspected it; known it would happen when he’d first seen them together in the bar in Chelsea. He’d recognised the signs. The idle flirtation, the sashay as she walked. History repeating itself. Wife number two, betrayal number two. The order of things breaking down once again. Control slipping from him. Aaron might not be the first and he probably wouldn’t be the last, but nobody had what he had with Tanya. No-one had his power. Devon would never be second best again. And besides, his love for Tanya was unique. This time it couldn’t go wrong. He had control.

  He’d watched from afar as Aaron worked his wife, the bobbing of his head between Tanya’s legs. Why wasn’t he enough for her? Why had she strayed? And what was he going to do about it? Their sex life together had been wonderful. Adventurous and exciting. Dangerous, on occasion. Maybe a touch sporadic of late but he wouldn’t lose another wife to another man. He’d do what he needed to do. Start planning. Work out the best solution for the experiment at hand. Betrayal. Once bitten twice shy. But never ignored.

  Twenty-Five

  ‘EVIE MERCHANT INVITES YOU TO A BLACK-TIE CHARITY PARTY…’

  The invitation was on ice white card, edged with gold leaf. The typeface bold, clear and unfussy. It was designer without being showy, an understated sense of grandeur without the brash, flashy nature that often attached itself to Hollywood success.

  It contained just the facts. The London venue, one of the capital’s finest. Food would be a buffet from around the world. Entertainment would be provided by legendary names. Dancing until carriages at 2am. The reason? To raise as much money as possible for Evie’s chosen charities. The date would be in just a few short weeks, timed perfectly so that Evie had wrapped on her latest movie and to make sure it didn’t clash with any major awards ceremonies. The dress code was to be black-tie Hollywood, guests were to dress to impress.

  It suited Evie perfectly and, as she had always preferred, she was handling the sending out of the invitations herself. She could have left it to agents and publicists but where was the personal touch in that? It felt right for her to do it herself. Why wouldn’t she? In a world where she was given a needless assistant for virtually every simple task, it was a pleasure to actually use her own brain to do something creative. And besides, Evie wanted to make sure that she was the one cherry picking her guests.

  Because behind the party invitation was another purpose. To raise money and to keep the awareness heightened for the search for Mitzi Bidgood. A girl with so much to live for, yet seemingly her life hung in the balance. Since Foster’s death there had still been no news and as hope faded, so it seemed did news coverage and public interest. If Evie could do something, anything to keep Mitzi’s spirit alive then she was determined to do so. She had been thinking about it ever since her meeting with Victoria. Remembering the nights out she had spent with Mitzi. They had been fun, carefree times. So, Mitzi hadn’t been one of her direct, closest friends. So both she and Victoria had lost contact with Mitzi. So what? Isn’t that sometimes what happened in life? But if Evie could use her celebrity for something good instead of just another day of walking a red carpet and smiling inanely at a camera answering questions from some stick-thin fashionista about what heels she was wearing then it would be worth it. In a world where shallow was de rigeur maybe this event could be something tangible that would keep public interest high. Plus she felt in her heart that this is what she
should do. Sitting in her London home, Evie placed one of the invitations in an envelope and sealed the flap. She was just about to handwrite the front – another necessary personal touch – when her telephone rang.

  She picked it up.

  ‘Hello, is that Evie?’

  ‘Yes, who’s speaking?

  ‘It’s Scott, Victoria’s husband. Listen, I’m afraid there’s been an accident. Victoria’s in hospital. She’s been asking for you.’

  Evie listened as Scott relayed the details. She could feel herself tearing up. Another young woman with so much to live for and yet once again, a life hung in the balance.

  Hanging up the phone, she grabbed her coat and headed to the door, leaving the envelope unwritten.

  Twenty-Six

  The alarm sounded at 2.45am as it did every working morning for Georgia. It was the first of six alarms pre-programmed onto her phone at regular snooze intervals just in case she nodded off. Something that this morning she would have been more than happy to do as she was dreaming about a rather sexual encounter with Adam Levine.

  ‘God damned you alarm, that was hot,’ she cursed, pressing the button on her phone to silence it. ‘And sorry Charlie, but there’s no such thing as cheating in your sub-conscious.’

  Not that Charlie was there with her. Despite working on the same programme, it was rare they would sleep together on a night before work. It would only take one of them to be restless or wake the other and they would both be looking like a Shar Pei come ‘lights camera action’.

  Georgia grabbed a coffee and jumped into the shower. This was always the moment that would suddenly spark her into action, the heat of the jets against her skin bringing her to life. Life pre Rise and Shine had meant getting home at this hour from some Soho nightspot, but with TV weather girl fame came responsibility and hideously early nights.

  Her phone sounded twice as Georgia slipped on an off-the-shoulder sweater and a pair of Levi’s jeans. No make-up or designer dress required as she would change at the studio. The first message was from her regular driver, Todd, confirming that he would be at hers to pick her up at 3.30am. The second was from Charlie.

  ‘You awake and ready for action? See you by the coffee machine. Mine’s an Americano.’

  She smiled. It was all part of their morning ritual. Before she liaised with the duty forecaster who worked with the Met Office or dialled into the morning weather conference, she would meet Charlie by the drinks machine. He would pay for her skinny latte and she would return the compliment with his Americano. They would sneak a coffee-tinged kiss, and then go their separate ways until the morning’s live show had finished at 9ish. If anyone thought the world of isobars and occluded fronts was glamorous then they needed to think again. Georgia loved her job but some days the sheer boredom of it enveloped her.

  Today was one of them. Her mind was far from able to concentrate on the job in hand. Luckily for her the weather was one of those easy days full of a little wind and light showers so she could coast through the forecasts with a painted on smile and a figure hugging contrast colour dress from Henry Holland.

  It was becoming clear to Georgia that she needed to have some time away from the studio. No matter where she looked now, all she could see were reminders of Mitzi. A feather in the street would remind her of a garment Mitzi once danced in, a tune on the radio would do the same. She had found herself thinking about her friend mid forecast that morning. At one point she could feel tears pricking the corners of her eyes as she was supposed to be bringing the news of the day’s weather to the nation.

  Foster’s funeral was taking place that day in Cornwall too. It was strictly a family affair. She hadn’t really known Foster that well, but sent flowers from both her and Charlie. They had enjoyed a few days and nights out as a foursome but normally it would just be her and Mitzi. Mitzi’s mother was invited to the funeral but given her frailty she had decided not to go. Travel in her condition was next to impossible. It was a confession that she’d shared with Georgia on the phone when they had spoken after Georgia had finished that morning’s broadcasts. There was a despair in Mitzi’s mother’s voice that cut into Georgia’s heart like a sabre. It was beyond sorrow. Mitzi’s mum was alone, frail and unable to do anything about it. ‘If I could, I would board a plane and fly to America and search under every last stone until I find my daughter and bring her home … dead or alive.’ She had barely been able to finish the sentence before bursting into tears. Georgia’s tears had come once she had hung up. The conversation had led her to make a decision, her mind was made up. She herself wasn’t frail, she could board a plane, she could try and do something … anything. She’d been thinking about it for days, but Mitzi’s mother had been the catalyst she needed to convince her about her next move. She needed to do something and she needed to do it now. It was a matter that she was keen to discuss with Charlie as soon as they met at her dressing room.

  ‘I’ve been to see the boss. I have some holidays still owed to me and I’m not concentrating on the job in hand. My mind is elsewhere. In a canyon in California to be exact. I’m going to take some time off. She’s said it’s okay.’

  It was no surprise to Charlie, in fact he’d been expecting it ever since the news about Foster. He wrapped his arms around her as he spoke, eager to share his opinion.

  ‘Do you want to go and stay with Mum and Jacob for a while? You need to try and be close to Mitzi, don’t you?’

  One word was sufficient. ‘Yes’

  ‘I have some interviews and stuff scheduled in for here over the next few days, but maybe I can arrange a few celeb drops in LA for next week and come join you. Failing that I’ll take the time off anyway. I need to be there for you, Georgia. I want to be. I loved Mitzi too.’

  Georgia could feel a sense of relief spread itself across her shoulders as she left her work studios that day. Nothing had changed, but just the mere thought that she would soon be heading to the same time zone where Mitzi had disappeared, where Mitzi may still be alive, gave her a shadow of hope.

  Eight hours later, having packed her case and been driven to the airport by Charlie, Georgia was sky high and heading towards Los Angeles. What to find or do, she had no idea.

  Twenty-Seven

  ‘The doctor says that if it hadn’t been for your heavy suitcase taking the brunt of the force from the car then you’d more than likely be six feet under right now.’

  It didn’t bear thinking about, but Victoria couldn’t help herself. What if the last image she’d seen had been her husband and twin six-year-olds having a storybook-happy time with the nanny? To think that such a painful scene could have been the image she’d have taken to her grave.

  ‘I guess I have to thank all of those Indian recipe books I’d bought and packed,’ smiled Victoria, attempting a minor laugh but restricted by the pain in her broken ribs. ‘Who ever thought curry could be so good for your health?’

  ‘I seriously thought you were dead when Scott rang me,’ said Evie, who had spent the last forty minutes seated at the bottom of Victoria’s hospital bed. ‘So, what happened?’

  Victoria recounted the story of what she’d seen to Evie. The sweep of shock and disappointment streaked across her friend’s face was easy to read. She may have been an actress for a living, able to convey the most complex of emotions with the slightest nuance but in real life, with friends, Evie was unable to hide her true feelings. It was clear to see.

  Victoria picked up on it.

  ‘So you think he’s cheating on me with the hired help?’ There was definitely bitterness in Victoria’s voice.

  ‘The fact that Scott chose not to come to India with you after you’d arranged it all is very suspicious. That and the day trip out together is a bit more than a coincidence, don’t you think?’

  Victoria did. ‘So what do I do to make it better?’

  ‘Hire a detective. Either you find out that he really loves you and that Chloe is merely tucking Lexi and Leo in at night, or if he is playing bedroom
Buckaroo with the nanny then you chuck her sorry backside out PDQ.’

  ‘A private eye? Has it come to this?’ lamented Victoria. But she knew she needed to find out the truth. Evie was right. Maybe it wasn’t just the aftermath of the car crash paining her right now. Maybe it was something much closer to home. She punched the sheets on her hospital bed as she weighed up the potential of Scott’s infidelity.

  Twenty-Eight

  Aaron gave a satisfied shudder as the last few heightened bursts of his orgasm left his cock. Tanya’s nails dug into his buttocks, pulling them towards her as he unleashed the final few moments of his seed.

  He pulled his manhood from within her and rolled over, to lie alongside her on the bed. Tanya, who had raised her legs and placed her feet either side of Aaron’s head during their sexual adventure to allow for deeper penetration, brought them down to a more gravity friendly position. Her body was covered in a delicious post-coital film of sweat.

  ‘Is this your bedroom?’ asked Aaron, his own body equally wet, the thick hair of his chest clumped together in dark, manly patches.

  ‘No, I only fuck my husband in our bed,’ said Tanya. ‘This is one of the many spare ones that I don’t think Devon ever comes into. I think the only time it’s used is if his daughter comes to stay.’

  It was the first time Aaron had been in the main house. Since he and Tanya had pretty much exhausted the places they could have sex in the garden – there were only so many times you could twist your body around the trunk of a tree or bend over a work bench and happily put up with splinters in the most intimate of places – they had taken their tryst inside to both the dry and the warm.

  ‘You not a fan of his daughter?’ There had been something about the way that Tanya had pronounced the words ‘his daughter’ that had voiced her dislike.