Scandalous Lies: An addictive, sexy beach read

by Nigel May

  Sophia and Nicolas. Tanya and Aaron. Sophia and Tanya. People who had tainted Devon’s life, made him doubt everything he believed in. The equation of love. That one and one make two for a lifetime. For always and forever. He’d learned that wasn’t true. The hard way.

  Devon stood up and moved back towards the sound system. The music didn’t suit his mood. He was dealing with an issue that needed the perfect soundtrack and Beethoven was not his man. He picked another CD from the pile stacked next to the player and stared at the cover. Scheherazade by Rimsky-Korsakov. It was perfect. He slid it into the machine.

  As the music began, Devon considered the similarities between the tale of Scheherazade and his own state of misfortune. The story said that every day the Persian king, Shahryar, would marry a new virgin, and send the previous day's wife off to be beheaded. This behaviour was due to the king’s anger that his very first wife had been unfaithful to him. He could trust no-one and tainted all women with the same loose morals. He had killed a thousand women by the time he was introduced to Scheherazade, the daughter of a high ranking vizier.

  Scheherazade was prepared to spend one night with the king and assumed that she would die the next day like all of the women before her. During their night together she started to tell a story, a tale that captivated the king’s imagination. As dawn broke the story was unfinished and the king spared her life to allow her to finish on the second night. When she did, she then began to tell him another rich story that transfixed the king. Every day he spared her from beheading. After a thousand and one nights he decided that he should spare her life and make her his true queen. He had fallen in love.

  Tanya was Devon’s Scheherazade. His love for her controlled so much. But now it appeared that she wanted to share her stories with another and that was something that Devon couldn’t allow. To lose control was not an option. He could fire the gardener, force him to leave. But what would that gain? If Tanya wanted to see him then she could do so behind Devon’s back easily. There were a million London hotels where the lovers could fuck. He needed to be in control and she belonged to him. Devon loved her, of that there was no doubt, but to stop history repeating itself it needed to be love on his terms, ones that would allow him to quash his inner paralysing doubts and fears. He needed her in his life, and if she left him then others would know that he had failed again; failed to satisfy, to keep hold of what was once his. Lost control. And besides, she needed him more than anyone knew. He knew his wife better than anyone.

  But no, what was the saying? Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. His revenge would be one of torment. That suited the twisted nature of his mind. He would toy with her. If he kept Aaron close, under the watchful eye of the cameras he’d had installed at their home, then he could see what he was doing. He needed him close. He needed him within range. Just in case. Tanya had been warned. Would she risk breaking his heart again? She knew what she had to lose.

  Devon rubbed his fingers across the outline of the small gun nestled in his pocket. It was one of a handful he had dotted around the house. He had the ammunition too. It wasn’t loaded now but just the sheer fact he had it about his person made him feel stronger, more powerful. It made him feel like the king. It would take seconds to load, to aim, to fire. He knew that, he’d used it before. Devon cast his mind back to the last time …

  Devon had been working late at his laboratories. The hours had flown by and it was 3am before Devon even contemplated returning home. He could feel his eyes beginning to drop, the toll of a nineteen-hour day finally enveloping him. Maybe a few hours’ sleep would rejuvenate his brainwaves.

  The journey home would take him forty minutes, he could be in bed by 4am and up again at 7am to return to the office.

  What was the point? He might as well bed down at his workplace. He’d used the couch in his office on many an occasion and his wife was used to him stopping out until all hours in the name of scientific glory. All he needed to do was clear it with security.

  He phoned the desk. There was no answer. That was not a surprise, maybe the guard was doing his rounds. Devon would go and let him know.

  What greeted him at the security desk was not what he had expected. The guard on duty was laying on the floor behind his desk, a small puddle of dark red blood pooling from his head. Devon checked for a pulse. He wasn’t dead but whoever had hit him had obviously meant to cause some serious damage.

  Devon’s heart began to race. The laboratory had been targeted before. It was the reason Devon had his gun. Nothing and nobody would come between him and his work. He removed it from the cabinet in his office and waited for the police to arrive.

  It was no more than thirty seconds later that he heard a crash from his laboratory. Somebody was there. In his workspace.

  He tiptoed as quietly as he could from his office towards the lab. Even in the dim light of the early hours he could see a figure, head to toe in black.

  Devon could feel his heartbeat thumping within his chest. He would not let this man spoil months of work. Unable to focus fully in the half-light Devon didn’t see the table leg as he kicked it, causing it to scrape across the shiny surface of the lab floor. The intruder turned in his direction. He was wearing a balaclava and held a gun in his hand.

  He pointed the gun in Devon’s direction. Was he going to fire? Devon would never know as he squeezed the trigger on his own gun and watched as the man crumpled to the floor. Devon had killed him. Taken a life. It was like a scientific equation. Something bad equals punishment. Nobody would stop his work.

  You kill once, it’s much easier to do it again. Devon listened to the final moments of Scheherazade and smiled as he pressed the eject button on his sound system. He placed the CD back in its case, put it back in the pile and walked out of the studio. His fingers were still tracing the outline of the gun in his pocket. Yes, he had all the answers, Tanya would learn that.

  Forty-Nine

  ‘Are you sure this is the van, Georgia?’

  ‘There’s no doubt about it. Look, the registration is exactly the same as the one on Mitzi’s Twitter feed.’ Georgia held up the photo on her phone to Charlie to prove her point. ‘We’ve found her.’

  ‘No, Georgia, we’ve found the van. Mitzi may not be with it.’

  Nothing could wipe the hopeful smile off Georgia’s face, though. She marched round to the door of the camper van and started to bang on the door. There was no reply. She continued to knock until her knuckles hurt. It was only when Charlie took her balled fist in his own hand and moved it away from the door that she stopped.

  ‘There is nobody inside, Georgia. Maybe they’re in the hotel. Let’s go and see if Mitzi has checked in.’

  Georgia’s mind was racing. Mitzi had to be in Tijuana. The girl in Hell’s Canyon had mentioned it, and now the appearance of the camper van … it was as if fate was guiding Georgia. But doubts were forming in her mind like black heavy clouds on her weather map.

  ‘But why would she be here, Charlie? Driving this van? If she were alive then surely she would go to the police, let people know she was okay?’

  ‘And if she did have anything to do with Foster’s death, then surely she would try to erase any kind of link? She’d have ditched the van as soon as she could. If she wanted to disappear then that would have been the sensible thing to do.’

  ‘So you think she’s dead?’ It was the first time Charlie had asked directly.

  Georgia couldn’t say the words. ‘I don’t think she’s a murderer.’

  ‘Then we need to find out who’s driving that camper van.’

  Aaron watched the lights of London shining brightly through the rain-streaked windows of his tube journey from the airport. Less than twenty-four hours ago he had been nuts-deep in a Los Angeles beauty in a five star hotel and now here he was, tired and tetchy and regretting being back in the UK.

  What was there here for him? Sure there was Tanya, but that could never amount to anything, could it? She’d made that pretty clear in
her conversation to him on the phone. If she chose to stay with her psycho of a husband then that was her fault. It was just a pity that Devon was the one paying him right now. Not that he had, so far; the money had come from Tanya. ‘Thank God for joint bank accounts,’ mused Aaron.

  No, he would have to suffer the gardening job no matter how awkward the dynamics of the situation might be. Money was obviously going to be tight for a while, which is why he had chosen to ride the grimy delights of the Piccadilly Line back from the airport instead of getting a cab. Now he was back on UK turf he was having to reach into his own pocket and maybe he should start to look after the pennies.

  Nova’s mode of transportation could not have been more of a contrast to the chewing-gum-covered, fast-food-bag-strewn ride that Aaron was experiencing on the outskirts of London.

  Allowing her skin to be kissed by the softest leather interior of her Rolls Royce Phantom Coupé – her favourite car from the collection she and Jacob had amassed – Nova stared out of the window and sighed. It was a sigh of deep, satisfactory jubilation and one that swirled around her with a warm comforting glow. Through the darkened windows she stared out at the streaks of lights flashing past the car as the Roller headed back to Bel-Air, skimming along the freeway with an elegant athleticism.

  It was a time to reflect. Nova loved her life and adored being in the spotlight but occasionally it was nice to just sit back and take stock of what she had and where she’d come from. To appreciate it all.

  She had so much to thank fate for, especially Jacob. The man who had made her a star. The man who had taken her into a whole new chapter of her life. All she felt was one hundred per cent pure love despite his peccadillos. He could be grumpy and harsh but she needed that, appreciating that it kept her grounded.

  They would stay at Jacob’s Kensington house on their next visit to London. It was one of her favourite cities on earth, and looking down at the invitation in her hands she knew that she would be there in a matter of weeks. At the request of Evie Merchant.

  How incredible was that? Evie had given Nova the invitation over the dinner the two stars had just shared at BOA Steakhouse on Sunset, a meal arranged for them by Charlie. Nova had loved Evie immediately and it seemed that the feeling was pretty much mutual. Despite a virtual two decade age gap, the women had thoroughly enjoyed their evening together discussing the fripperies of LA life. No subject had been off limits, with Nova more than happy to discuss everything from her own plastic surgery – ‘I’ve had a fair bit done but I’m hardly a Donatella, darling, am I?’ – through to her former years in West Hills and the details of Charlie’s conception.

  Fame suited Nova. She loved its trappings. The glamour, the beauty, the travel and the wealth. But none of that came close to the love she had for Charlie. She would give up all of the sparkly bangles, the diamond-covered dresses and the houses around the world with their ridiculous price tags just to have the one thing that she still deemed priceless – her beloved son.

  As her driver parked the Rolls Royce on the driveway of her Bel-Air home, Nova checked her phone to see if he had called from Tijuana. He hadn’t. A bolt of panic shot through her. All the glamour and riches in the world could never stop a mother from worrying.

  Georgia and Charlie’s search of the hotel had been fruitless. Charlie had tried the bars and restaurant, flashing Mitzi’s photo to see if anyone recognised her. Georgia had been busy at reception showing the same photo to see if Mitzi had checked in or passed through. She had also asked about the road vehicle parked outside. Neither the man nor the woman behind the reception knew anything about it, although they did suggest that it wouldn’t definitely belong to someone staying at the hotel as often the car park was used as an overflow for people going into the hotbed of Tijuana.

  As they regrouped in reception Charlie was convinced about what they should do.

  ‘We phone the police. We let them deal with the van and let them investigate.’ He could see tears of frustration forming at the edges of Georgia’s eyes as he spoke. ‘We’re getting nowhere.’ He placed his arm around Georgia and pulled her close. She let her head fall against his shoulder, enjoying the hug.

  ‘Well, even if we’re going nowhere, at least I’m going nowhere with you by my side.’ Georgia wiped a tear from her face as she looked up at Charlie. There was an air of acceptance about her. She knew Charlie was right.

  ‘Let’s phone them and see what they say. We’d better check the van is still there.’

  The couple walked outside and in the direction of where the van was still parked.

  It was then that Georgia saw her. The figure, in a black hoodie, covering what was obviously a head of rich blonde hair. She was wearing jeans and trainers. She looked athletic, even though her outfit was far from flattering. She was walking towards the van from another part of the car park. From the angle of her approach it was hard to gain a full view of her face but Georgia was certain. It was Mitzi.

  She called out. As she did so, the figure in the distance looked in their direction, reacting to her name.

  ‘My God, Charlie, she’s alive. It’s Mitzi …’ stammered Georgia.

  Georgia and Charlie started to run towards her, calling Mitzi’s name. She started to sprint towards the van.

  Fifty

  Victoria was finding it easy to hide her constant need for painkillers from Scott. She was well practiced with the anti-depressants. With Chloe keeping her in plentiful supply she was popping more pills than any doctor would recommend, but if that kept her pain at bay then that was exactly what she would do. Lost in a world of addiction.

  She had some hidden under her mattress, some camouflaged in her vitamins bottle, even some in the layered depths of her jewellery box underneath a mountain of gemstones she’d not seemed to have considered wearing for the longest time. It was simple to not let Scott know about her addiction, especially as they were virtually living separate lives. She wasn’t sure he’d care anyway. They had separate rooms, he seemed reluctant to even let the children be in the same room as her, and had had a one-night-fling that she suspected was so much more with the live-in nanny. Why would he?

  She wanted to make things right, to erase all the heartache and start again. Deep down she really did. She just wasn’t sure she knew how, or indeed if her brain and body would allow her to.

  It was the side effects which weren’t so easy to hide. She felt constantly sluggish and her mind wandered. Actually it didn’t just wander, it migrated time zones with its nomadic ways. She could be sitting at breakfast with Scott and the children and her mind would be contemplating shapes in the wood grain of the kitchen table or trying to pronounce every ingredient on the back of the packaging of her pumpernickel bread, as opposed to hearing what Leo and Lexi had to say. She could lose herself for hours in front of daytime TV watching endless back-to-back cookery shows featuring fat women and camp chefs or find herself engrossed in the whys and wherefores of makeovers performed by stubble-faced men in dungarees. And then there were the times that even though she was sitting in silence, her head was alive; thoughts ricocheting around her brain with a rapidity that would put the speediest of pinball machines to shame. Her eyes would twitch, her fingers fiddle, her brain snowball.

  Leo and Lexi had hardly come near her since she had scalded poor Leo’s foot. It had been bandaged ever since and Victoria had done her best to apologise for what had happened, but no amount of cuddles and promises of sponge fingers and trifle could regain their trust. Something had changed about their mother and even at their tender age they could feel that she was a ticking time bomb.

  It was only when Scott was at work that Victoria could approach Chloe about her needs.

  ‘I want some more painkillers and I want them now.’

  Chloe, summoned away from Lexi and Leo, who were back home from school and amusing themselves with dolls and action figures in the playroom upstairs, knew that she couldn’t argue, but the welfare of the children had to come first.

&nb
sp; ‘It’ll have to wait until Mr Palmer-Roberts comes home, as I need to care for the children.’ Chloe couldn’t wait for his return. Like most nights lately, she would watch his every move as he interacted with her and the children, his smile as he looked at her. She’d apply an extra slick of lip gloss or a deeper shade of eyeshadow to try and tempt him back into her arms. And it had worked. She could no longer count the times they had had sex on both hands. Maybe not always full sex but enough for her to know that he was interested. That there was hope for the future. Life post Victoria. Not that he’d said as much, but she could tell. He wanted her, she knew that.

  Victoria was having none of her excuses. ‘I am more than capable of looking after my children, so I suggest you go now, unless you want to find that you have no job to come back to.’

  ‘But your husband said …’

  ‘I don’t give a flying fuck what my husband says. Either you fetch me some pills or you’re history here. You hear me?’

  Despite her fears for the children, Chloe knew that she only had one choice if she wanted to keep her job and any hopes of potentially staying with Scott.

  As soon as Chloe had gone, Victoria headed up to the playroom to see her children. They both appeared to recoil slightly as she entered the room.

  Lexi was surrounded by her collection of dolls. A selection of plastic faces stared up at her from the floor, each of them framed in a sea of ringlets. Leo, his foot still bandaged, clutched an Action Man in his hands.

  Victoria sat down on the floor with her children. Even though she was low on painkillers, she had enough for another day or two but she had wanted some alone time with her offspring. Scott had been guarding them like a Bullmastiff ever since the bath incident and even though the pain in her side was still agonising between pills, the thought of her children not even wanting to be in the same room as her pained her more. It was why she had orchestrated the necessity for Chloe to disappear for an hour or two. She wanted the children to herself.