by Geneva Lee
“I guess I should be flattered,” I said for Eliza’s benefit as I passed back her phone.
“She’s probably a bitch,” Eliza said. “What do you want to bet?”
I waved the cash I was still holding. “How about fifty pounds?”
“Nice try, Kate,” she said with a laugh. “Tell you what? Let’s stop at Tesco and buy ourselves the cheapest champagne we can find. We can drown our lowly sorrows and take selfies drinking out of plastic cups.”
I couldn’t help smiling at that. Tomorrow was Sunday, and the pub would be closed. We might as well have a little fun. I suspected Kerrigan Belmond would agree.
Fifty pounds bought us three bottles of cheap wine and a week’s worth of cheap groceries. The groceries lasted until the following morning; the wine did not. I woke the next morning to a pounding headache and sun streaking through the blackout curtains I’d failed to close in my drunken haze. It took a minute for me to process that the pounding wasn’t just in my head. I heard Eliza yell something, her voice muffled by the walls between us. I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and checked the time, groaning when I saw it was only a quarter to nine. Meanwhile, the pounding continued. I had no idea what wanker showed up to beat down a door on a Sunday morning, but I knew they either had a poor sense of timing or a keen sense of torture. Untangling my legs from the sheets, I pushed myself up a bit too fast, which earned me a brain-splitting slice of pain behind my eyes.
“I’m coming,” I yelled to the unwanted guest at the door.
This had better be good.
Chapter Three
As soon as my fingers closed over the lock, I hesitated. Whoever was pounding this loudly was both pissed and strong. After a moment, I turned the lock but not the chain. I opened the door as far as the chain would allow and peeked outside. Two dark eyes stared back at me, glaring through the crack.
“Can I help you?” I asked, coating the words with as much rudeness as possible.
He cleared his throat with obvious annoyance. “Do you work at the Hare & Hound?”
“I’m sorry. What is this about?” I asked. If he was going to answer my question with a question, I would do the same. I had no idea what had brought him to my door, but he was in no posi
tion to act like he was the frustrated one. The stranger stepped back, allowing me to get a better look at him. He was dressed in an expensive suit, the kind men bought on the High Street in one of London’s ritzier neighborhoods. The kind that was far too expensive for him to be a police officer coming round to ask questions. His salt and pepper hair, coupled with the lines creasing his forehead and eyes, only made him look more distinguished. He didn’t belong in Bexby. He didn’t even belong in this postcode. So, why was he here nearly breaking down the door to my flat?
“I’m looking for a woman who works at that pub,” he said flatly, craning his head to get a better look at me through the chained door. He slid his hand into his breast pocket, and I fought the urge to slam the door in his face. Maybe I was wrong. Perhaps he was a police officer with good taste, and he was simply reaching for his badge. He drew out a phone, and I relaxed. “This woman.”
He held the phone screen out so I could see it. It was a picture of me from the pub. I looked flustered, and the angle was terrible. It was the photo the jerks had snapped of me yesterday without asking permission.
“Why do you want to talk to her?” I asked, hoping he couldn’t see much of me through the opening. My heart began to race, and I wished Eliza had answered the door. She would have known how to handle a strange man showing up on our doorstep.
“I need her help,” he said curtly.
A brilliant idea occurred to me. Something told me I needed to get him out of here and fast. I needed to distract him long enough to figure out what to do. Eliza had an ex-boyfriend who might provide some backup muscle. I just needed to get rid of the stranger long enough to call him. “Maybe you should try the pub.”
“The pub is closed today, and I need to return to London as soon as possible. If you know this woman, I would be very grateful for any information. In fact, allow me to show you how much.” His hand reached into his pocket again and drew out a billfold. A moment later, three crisp 100-pound notes were in his hand. “Do you know her?”
“Just a moment,” I stammered. Closing the door, I leaned against it and tried to breathe. It was a remarkably stupid idea to open the door to a man, no matter what he was offering. He was probably a murderer who sought out women who lived in shabby flats, knowing they’d open the door for the right price. The smart thing would be to lock the door, call the police, and hope he went away.
I didn’t move from the spot.
But three hundred pounds meant I wouldn’t have to take Eliza’s handout again this month. I could do my part. I could even buy some groceries or set some aside in case my shitty waitressing skills kept me from earning enough for next month’s bills. If he left, I’d regret it. Good fortune didn’t usually find itself on my doorstep, and it might not bother calling again if I slammed the door on it now.
I straightened and drew my robe more tightly around my waist. There was no time to check the mirror, and after a night of drinking, I couldn’t imagine the state I would be in. I slid the chain free with my index finger and opened the door.
The man had turned away as though he was about to leave, but he spun toward me now. His mouth was opened but whatever he was going to say died on his lips.
“How?” he breathed before shaking his head. “I’m sorry. You look like…”
“I’m Kate,” I interrupted him. “That picture is of me.”
I didn’t know what else to say or what to expect. A few moments passed in stony silence as he stared at me as though trying to process these two facts. Finally, he held out the money. “I’d like to talk to you, Kate. May I come in?”
I stepped back, prayed he wasn’t concealing an ax in his tailored suit jacket, and waved him inside. He stepped through the door, his eyes searching the flat as though he was looking for something. They stopped on the small table in the front room cluttered with empty wine bottles. Then landed on the ashtray full of Eliza’s cigarette stubs. Other than that the place was very tidy, owing in no small part to our lack of worldly goods. The flat had been spartan when I moved in, and I hadn’t brought more than a bag of clothes with me. Since then, we’d picked up a few cast-off pieces of furniture, accumulated a stack of newspapers, and not much else.
I spotted Eliza’s bra peeking out from behind a pillow on the sofa, and I scrambled over to grab it. “Please have a seat,” I said, sinking down and shoving it deep into the cushions.
He took an armchair we’d found in the second-hand shop around the corner, his fingers grazing over its worn arms. A look of distaste curled his upper lip, but he said nothing.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” I offered.
“Don’t go to the trouble,” he said, somehow making it sound both polite and condescending at once. “I came to speak to you.”
“Why?” I asked. I was nobody. He was sitting in the very proof of that fact now.
“That photograph I showed you,” he began, hesitating for a moment before continuing, “to be honest, I’d hoped to find someone else here.”
“Kerrigan?” I asked and his eyes widened.
“Yes…”
“That’s what the ass who took that photo of me, without permission I might add, called me.”
“Then, you haven’t seen her?” Disappointment colored the question. When I shook my head, his shoulders slumped like branches sagging under their own weight. “I suppose I had hoped you might be…”
“Her?” I couldn’t contain my surprise. “No, and I told that guy yesterday that.” Had he really come all the way from London to see if I’d been lying? “I looked up Kerrigan last night. I doubt you’re going to find her anywhere this...humble.” It was the nicest way I could put it. It would have been more accurate to say that I doubted she would lower herself to even step
ping one pedicured foot into West Bexby let alone take a cheap flat over a hair salon.
“You must forgive me. I’m just rather desperate to find her.”
“Did you lose her?” I thought of the recent photos I’d seen on Kerrigan’s social media accounts. Most of them included snow and Christmas decorations. It was late summer now, which meant she hadn’t posted recently. No doubt her hundreds of thousands of followers were disappointed. Maybe one had finally tracked her down. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know her or where she is.”
“Neither do I,” he admitted.
“Maybe that’s what she wants.”
“One would assume so since she ran away.”
“Ran away?” I repeated.
“Yes. Around the holidays. Her stepmother and I assumed she wanted a break from all the parties. She left a note saying as much, but she hasn’t returned,” he said.
My mouth fell open as I realized who he was and why he was here. Instantly, I felt horrible for giving him so much attitude. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know she was missing, Mr...”
“Tod. Tod Belmond. Not missing exactly,” he said. “We’ve had word. She’s just left out some important details about when she plans to return home. I apologize. This probably all sounds very unusual.”
Unusual was not the word I would use to describe it. Did rich people just do this? Check in and out of their lives on a whim? And over what? Growing bored going to tiresome parties? “I’m sorry that I couldn’t help you.”
“Actually, you might be able to, Miss…?”
“Kate is fine,” I said.
“We believe Kerrigan might have cold feet, and I’m concerned that by the time she faces her fears, she may have done irreparable damage to her future,” he started.
I nodded, trying to keep my eyes from rolling. There was nothing I could do about them. It sounded to me as though his daughter was a bit of a spoiled brat. “Why would she have cold feet?”
“We have an arrangement—it’s very common among families in our circle,” he explained, choosing his words with obvious care. It hardly mattered. I could translate the meaning he was trying to skirt so delicately. Whatever the arrangement was, it was common between filthy rich people. People like him and his daughter. Not me. “Kerrigan is practically engaged to Spencer Byrd.”
He paused as if expecting a response. Finally, I shrugged. “Good for them?”
“The Byrds hold a hereditary peerage and Spencer will be Duke of Wellesley when his grandfather passes. Our family and the Byrds have been planning this marriage since before Kerrigan was born,” he informed me.
My mouth gaped open. “Seriously? An arranged marriage?”
“People like us do not marry without purpose. We must see to our estates and duties.”
“You mean, keep rich people rich without actually doing anything?” I suddenly understood why Kerrigan had run away. Being forced to marry someone purely to uphold some agreement, made with no regard to my feelings, would make me want to run, too.
“If that is how you like to think of it.” His smile was tight and forced. In the entire time he’d been here, he hadn’t relaxed in the slightest. Maybe he was worried being poor would rub off on him.
“Regardless, I find myself in a predicament. The Byrds wish to announce the engagement, but my daughter refuses to come home. Arrangements need to be made. Introductions—”
“Introductions?” I interrupted him. “Do you mean she hasn’t met the man you’re marrying her off to yet?”
“Kerrigan is familiar with the Byrd family. Of course, she’s met Spencer before, but it was years ago. They attended different universities, and haven’t met since.”
“I don’t really see how I can help you.” It was hard to feel sorry for him given that he was basically willing to sell his daughter to some random man with little thought to her feelings. Still, he had to be at least a bit worried about her well-being.
“You’re wrong. You can help me,” he said to my surprise. “You look just like her…”
“So, I’ve heard,” I said slowly, a chilling sense of dread welling in my stomach.
Despite my body’s warning, I wasn’t prepared for what he said next. “I need you to pretend to be Kerrigan.”
“What?” I shook my head, feeling a little dazed by this revelation. “I don’t think I understand.”
Be Kerrigan? Like it was a role I could just drop into? He was mental. I stared at her father, noticing for the first time the purple bruising under his eyes, a sign he wasn’t sleeping well. He hid the truth behind an expensive suit and businessman manner, but it was there. He was worried. But I couldn’t decide if he was worried about his daughter or his plans?
“Kerrigan will return,” he said firmly. “It’s simply a matter of biding time until she does. You really do look exactly like her. It would be easy to fool anyone into believing you were her.”
I snorted at the thought. “I doubt that.”
I might look like Kerrigan but I didn’t know the first thing about her life. It wouldn’t take a genius to see through me.
“You will be coached,” he continued as if he knew what I was thinking. “We will arrange for you to have access to Kerrigan’s friends.”
“We?” Was there more than one insane person behind this idea?
“Myself and Kerrigan’s assistant. Kerrigan told him everything. He is the perfect person to guide you, and he is the soul of discretion.” His eyes pinched as if this last fact both impressed him and infuriated him.
“Her assistant?” I balked. Now I knew I was right. I was not the type of person to rely on an assistant. I wasn’t even qualified to be an assistant myself.
He ignored me again. “It will be quite easy to extend the wedding planning, given the grandeur expected for the event, for over a year, which will give my daughter enough time to come to her senses. In the meantime, you will live in our family home in London, attend social functions, and serve as Spencer’s companion in the upcoming social season.”
“Wait.” I held up a hand to stop him. This was an even crazier plot than I thought. “Mr. Belmond, are you telling me that you want me to pretend to be your daughter for an entire year?”
“If necessary. You will be compensated of course.”
“That’s never going to work,” I said, unable to hold back a peal of laughter. “I don’t know anything about your world or your family. People will see right through me. And what about Spencer? Don’t you think he’ll be a little upset if suddenly the real Kerrigan returns and he discovers he’s been lied to?”
“That’s why it’s important that he not discover that,” he said simply.
“I don’t know what makes you think I can con someone like him for that long, but —”
“As I said, you will be groomed to do exactly what Kerrigan would do and say what Kerrigan would say. It might sound overwhelming now, but I think you’ll find it worth your while.”
“And why is that?” I asked defiantly.
“Because in exchange for one year of your cooperation, I will pay you ten million pounds.”
Chapter Four
The room seemed to shrink around me, closing in like it was on the verge of collapsing. The offer rang in my ears, but I couldn’t seem to process what he said. I stared at him, waiting for him to laugh or tell me I was on camera. Across from me, Mr. Belmond waited patiently for me to respond and showed no sign that this was some type of trick.
“I’m sorry but did you say ten million pounds?”
“I believe it’s more than fair compensation for what I’m asking you to do. Of course, perhaps you enjoy your job at the pub and your life here.” He looked around the flat, his eyes sparking with naked disdain.
Why would he offer me so much when it was clear that he didn’t have to? Anyone could see that I barely scraped by on what I made. Ten million was an unfathomable amount to someone like me. He could have tempted me with much less. Unless...
“This is about more than
playing dress-up and going to some parties,” I guessed in a low voice. “You wouldn’t pay me ten million for that.”
“Astute observation,” he said, the disdain in his eyes shifting to flinty coldness. “While this marriage has been arranged, and is all but a done deal, no one can guarantee that Spencer won’t back out of the arrangement.”
Of course, poor Kerrigan was expected to do exactly as she was told, but the man could do as he wished. If he’d already agreed to the match, what might change his mind? Maybe he wouldn’t like her company or he had a girlfriend or… A terrible thought occurred to me. Even if the marriage would occur after my ploy ended, there would be expectations before that.
“And you need me to make sure he doesn’t,” I whispered.
“It seems you understand me perfectly,” he said, confirming my fear.
“You expect me to sleep with him?” I asked in a strangled voice. If that was the case, he was asking me to do more than simply play pretend. What he asked of me had a lot of other terms, none of which were particularly polite.
“That is at your discretion,” he said, but a current of desperation ran through his words. “I simply ask that you encourage an attachment and keep him happy. I need you to keep his interest.”
“I doubt that will be possible without—”
“As I said, it will be at your discretion to decide what needs to be done. I don’t need to know any particulars in that regard,” he said, turning slightly puce as if the thought of sex made him queasy. “I’m assuming you can handle those decisions for such generous compensation.”
I swallowed, but my throat felt like the desert. My tongue seemed stuck in my mouth as I tried to work up the courage to respond.