The Affair_A gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist

by Sheryl Browne

  Sixty-Seven

  PAUL RADLEY

  Listening to Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2, which he preferred to the more popular third, Paul popped an olive into his mouth, rolling it around on his tongue and washing it down with a sip of cabernet sauvignon. He hadn’t enjoyed what he’d just had to do to Sophie – it wasn’t what he’d planned for her – but she’d left him with no choice.

  He had been a touch disappointed with young Sophie, he had to admit. Their relationship had started so promisingly. He’d hoped she’d love him as readily as her mother had, but that didn’t look like it would ever happen. Paul could see that now. He traced a drip of wine from the side of his glass with his finger, sucked it off and then scowled as he noticed another drop bleeding onto his natural wood worktop. Tugging a leaf from the kitchen roll, he moistened it at the tap and rubbed at the wine, and then, immensely irritated when he realised he would possibly have to have the surface stripped and resealed, banged his wine down, separating stem from glass, which made the situation ten times worse.

  Temper, Paul, he cautioned himself. She would be here soon. Focussing on the calming music, he reached into his pocket, retrieving the lock of caramel-coloured hair he carried there, the smell of which – a woman’s scent, with undertones of vanilla and innocence – he found soothed him.

  Pressing it close to his face, he inhaled the sweet fragrance of her, and then glanced over at his ringing phone. Alicia. He’d guessed it might be. Paul breathed a deep sigh of satisfaction – and rejected the call. Good things come to those who wait, my sweetest.

  He would bide his time. Soon she would be desperate enough to see him.

  He’d been furious with her at first, but his anger had abated a little. He realised why she’d resisted his efforts to stay in touch, of course. She’d needed a father for her child, and who better than Justin Cole, who’d clearly been emotionally dependent on her, but also earned enough money to be someone she could depend on financially.

  Yes, Paul could understand it, to a degree. It was clear she didn’t want to hurt her husband now either; he was possibly still mentally unstable. That was admirable. A good quality in a woman. She shouldn’t have deceived him though. He was Sophie’s natural father. That was no way to treat a man she’d shared such intimacy with, was it?

  Sixty-Eight

  JUSTIN

  Taking another dose of fentanyl to take the edge off the nagging pain in his chest, Justin surveyed the apartment block from the opposite side of the road. He had no idea how he was going to get past the security guard. Ringing buzzers at random wasn’t going to do it. The block was a new build, largely uninhabited. Fuck. Dragging his hand over his neck, he debated whether to try to bribe the guy. No. Too risky. He had no idea where this was going to end, but he definitely didn’t want the man remembering he’d been here.

  He’d considered the underground car park and had gone down there to take a look. He’d noticed there were two four-by-fours parked amongst a few other cars. Justin had tried not to let his mind go back to the day his son had been taken away, but it had anyway. Instantly transported back there, he’d felt the impact all over again, like a low blow to his stomach, and heard the cacophony of noise: horns blaring; people shouting; petrol spilling; sirens plaintively wailing.

  Alicia. Screaming.

  Sophie, her voice high-pitched, hysterical.

  Luke… silent.

  Not the car park, Justin had decided, his jaw tightening, his heart rate escalating, his mind refocussing. He had no chance of getting in without the security code.

  Deciding his only real option was to go through the front entrance, he googled several local pizza parlours. Calling each of them, he ordered, prayed and waited. He needed to be in and out of there before Alicia turned up. He didn’t want her involved in any of what he was about to do. And he would do whatever was necessary to get his daughter back. Once he’d established where she was, his inclination wasn’t to leave the bastard capable of walking away.

  Grabbing his overcoat from the boot, Justin fed his arms into it, pulled the collar high and then blew out a sigh of relief as two pizza delivery guys arrived in close succession, followed two minutes later by a third. It was now or never. There was no other way. He had no elaborate plan – he just needed to get to the lift, hopefully without providing a facial image on the CCTV. Pulling in a breath, he offered up another prayer as he sailed through the doors, the security guard being somewhat distracted.

  ‘I’ve told you, there’s no one here by any of those names.’ The guy splayed his arms in despair as he addressed the disgruntled deliverymen. ‘You must have the wrong building.’

  Shaking his head as one of the men insisted he hadn’t, the guy sighed, picked up his phone, then cried, ‘Oh, for…!’ He banged the phone down again as another pizza bearer appeared.

  ‘Radley, fifteenth floor.’ Keeping his head down, Justin grabbed his chance, pointing his thumb towards the lift as he passed by behind them.

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’ The guy waved Justin on, now looking considerably frustrated, as he picked up his phone again.

  Sixty-Nine

  PAUL RADLEY

  Paul was sizzling the bacon in preparation for his speciality – creamy courgette and bacon pasta – when his phone pinged. Setting the pan aside, he picked it up and checked the incoming text. It was from Alicia, as he’d expected.

  How could she resist? His mouth curving into a smile, Paul went back to his culinary task. Patience was definitely a virtue, he decided. And he’d been very patient. Almost seventeen long years he’d been patient, living and working in a climate that didn’t suit him. Not that that was Alicia’s fault. Having sex with undesirable women rather than be unfaithful to her – that, he considered, was Alicia’s fault. The last one had been particularly undesirable, making impossible demands on his time, imagining they were in a relationship. God forbid; the woman was a complete slut, leaving her underwear and feminine things – personal things no man would want to be aware of – all over the place.

  He was back permanently now though. The wait would be worth it. Alicia would realise it. Now he was here in the flesh, she would recall – as he had every time he’d set eyes on her when he’d visited the UK; as he did frustratingly every night – how fulfilling their lovemaking had been.

  Soon she would be here, where she should be: by his side, sharing the life they were meant to be living together, preparing meals together, experiencing the joys of making love to the soft strains of Rachmaninoff or Wagner in the background. She would be a good wife to him, keeping his house clean and lovingly pressing his shirts while he worked to put food on their table. Paul paused to ponder where they might live. In the country, possibly? A little cottage in Wales, perhaps – somewhere remote and cosy.

  ‘Pass the wine, darling. I’ve let it breathe.’ He smiled tenderly at the image of her he frequently conjured up to keep him company in the kitchen. An image so tangible sometimes, he could see the tiny fleck in her mesmerising cornflower blue eyes: a small imperfection, which he’d graciously overlooked.

  ‘To us,’ he said, raising his glass in a toast and then taking a large glug of his wine, before turning to the preparation of the rest of his ingredients. He did hope she wasn’t as faddish as young Sophie with her food. He knitted his brow as it occurred to him they hadn’t had time to appreciate the delights of fine cuisine together.

  Ah well, she’d just have to learn, wouldn’t she? She’d soon realise how things worked. Nodding to himself, Paul chopped at the garlic with vigour. He really couldn’t abide faddishness of any sort.

  Seventy

  JUSTIN

  His mouth dry, sweat tickling his forehead, Justin willed the lift to arrive. Sighing with relief when it did, he stepped in and kept his head down until the doors slid closed. Hitting the button for the right level, he wondered what the hell he was going to do next. Radley was hardly likely to open the door if he knew it was him.

  Steeling himself as t
he lift doors swished open, Justin scanned the corridor. Empty. So what now? Pose as a workman? The building was still being worked on. A power supply employee? None of the above, he decided. Without a high-visibility jacket, which he might have thought of if he’d had more time to prepare, he wasn’t likely to pull that off. A buildings’ inspector?

  Would Radley have a security camera or just a basic intercom system? Justin had no idea. If it was the latter, then his plan might work. All he needed was to get Radley to open the door enough to ask for ID. That would be enough. It had to work. Justin hadn’t known who his assailant was that night outside the pub. He’d assumed, when it had been established his wallet was intact, that it had been some kind of revenge attack by the aggressive bastard who’d been abusing his girlfriend. But the possibility that it was Radley had crossed his mind. Didn’t he have every reason to seek revenge after his attack on him? Justin hadn’t thought him capable of it then. Now, though, after learning the animal was a rapist, someone who used blackmail to wield his power over the woman he’d raped, a piece of scum who would lure or kidnap her daughter to coerce her further, he believed him to be capable of anything. The man obviously had money enough to hire people to do his dirty work for him, if he was too cowardly to carry it out himself.

  If the attack had been something to do with Radley, then Justin would have the element of surprise. He should still be in the hospital. But he wasn’t. He was here. Assuming Radley, who’d clearly been stalking Alicia, had continued to monitor her, thereby establishing they’d apparently split up, this was the last place he’d expect him to be. And if he didn’t have that element of surprise and couldn’t gain access through the open door, then he would just have to kick the fucking thing down.

  Hitting the buzzer, Justin braced himself and waited.

  Seventy-One

  PAUL RADLEY

  Alicia had arrived – a little bit late, but Paul would overlook that on the basis she’d had the good manners to text him and alert him to the fact that she would be. Clearly, their daughter had picked up her sloppy manners from her husband. Collecting up his homemade olive dressing, Paul placed it on the dining table alongside his Italian-inspired salad, and then, pleased with the table arrangement, went to greet his long-anticipated visitor.

  ‘Darling,’ he said, his warmest smile in place as he reached to open the door, ‘I—’

  ‘You bastard!’ someone rasped furiously on the other side of it.

  Sprawling backwards as the door was shoved violently into his face, Paul didn’t stop to wonder what had just hit him. He rolled over, attempting to scramble away from the terrifying intruder advancing towards him.

  Gulping hard, his bladder almost failing him, he pulled himself up onto all fours and then to his feet, almost losing his footing as he glanced frantically around for means of escape. He quickly realised his only exit was through the front door, but he stumbled away from there, where some madman, probably armed with a knife, was advancing towards him.

  Paul felt sweat saturate his armpits as he imagined what despicable crime this thug might be intent on, and then physically sick as he caught up with him at the patio window.

  ‘Take anything you want,’ he spluttered, spittle wetting his cheek as the side of his face was rammed forcefully against the glass. ‘Anything,’ he gasped desperately. ‘I won’t try to stop you, just… please don’t hurt me.’

  The person behind him, clearly some lowlife, thieving thug of the worst kind, said nothing.

  ‘I have money,’ Paul tried. ‘In my wallet. There’s at least two hundred in cash. My credit cards are there, too. I’ll give you the PIN—’

  Fuck! He trailed painfully off as his face was forced harder against the glass. He was going to smash his cheekbone, deform him for life, the mad son of a bitch.

  ‘What do you want?’ he said weakly, when his attacker didn’t answer. ‘If it’s electrical goods, I have phones and— Aaargh! Don’t, you’re hurting me!’ he screamed, finding his arm pulled back and jerked high up behind his back. ‘For God’s sake, just tell me what you want!’

  The man moved closer, his face right up next to his. ‘My daughter,’ he growled, close to his ear. ‘Where is she, you fucker?’

  Shit! ‘I don’t know!’ Paul gurgled, as Justin Cole clutched a handful of his shirt, tightening it at his throat and yanking him back. ‘I have no idea!’

  Cole didn’t answer. Hanging on to him so tight he almost choked him, he reached for the locking mechanism on the doors instead. ‘You might want to have a rethink,’ he suggested, pushing him bodily out onto the balcony.

  Oh God, no. Realising he was facing his worst fear, Paul struggled to turn away from the fifteen-floor drop, at the bottom of which was nothing but bone-crushing concrete. But Cole was on him, pressing his arm hard across his shoulders, pushing him towards certain death.

  ‘Where is she?’ he repeated, his tone now menacingly quiet.

  God, please help me. He couldn’t tell him. How could he? The mad bastard would bloody well kill him. ‘I don’t know,’ he whimpered, blinking hard as the ground loomed up towards him. ‘I swear to God I don’t.’

  He heard Cole draw in a ragged breath. Paul had no idea how he was breathing at all. Gulping hard, he waited. He wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t stand a chance of getting away with it. And then getting out of the building unnoticed, if he did. Would he?

  After a second, Cole relaxed, just fractionally, the arm he had locked across his back, to Paul’s huge relief. He hadn’t thought he would. He was bluffing. And Paul had called his bluff.

  ‘So now what are you going to do?’ he asked him, his voice shaky, despite his attempt at bravado. ‘Electrodes? Pull my fingernails—’

  He stopped, emitting something between a squeak and a scream as Cole’s arm snaked its way around his throat.

  ‘Shhh,’ he whispered, pressing a cold syringe to the side of his neck. ‘You wouldn’t want to attract any attention, would you, Radley? Because if you do, I may be forced to drop you after all, and that really would be very messy.’

  Paul’s eyes bulged as the man tightened his hold.

  ‘Do you believe in karma, Radley?’ he asked him, talking almost companionably, to Paul’s disbelief. ‘You should.’ He squeezed still tighter. ‘Because I’m going to hurt you. I’m going to do to you exactly what you did to my wife. I imagine you have one or two kitchen implements that might serve my purpose. Or something from the bathroom, maybe? It will hurt, but then pain turns you on, doesn’t it, you sick, sad bastard.’

  He let it hang, leaving Paul with a graphic image and his insides turning to liquid jelly.

  ‘If I find you’ve hurt my daughter, in any way,’ Cole growled, ‘the pain is going to be so, so much worse. Last time, you fucker, where is she?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Paul cried. ‘I swear—’ He stopped, terror gripping him as Cole pressed the syringe closer. ‘Don’t,’ he rasped, clamping his eyes shut.

  Cole didn’t answer, breathing slowly and heavily instead, like some lunatic psychopath.

  He was insane, Paul realised, knowing with certainty that if he did tell him, the chances of the madman not doing him permanent damage were nil. ‘What are you going to inject me with?’ he croaked, perspiration popping out on his forehead.

  ‘Just ketamine, Paul,’ Cole said matter-of-factly. ‘Nothing harmful. Just enough to render you incapable. You know, unable to speak, move or control your own body? Powerless, Paul. As in, unable to fight back. I take it you’re getting my drift here?’

  ‘Please, don’t…’ Paul’s voice came out a hoarse whisper.

  Cole, though, just tightened his grip.

  Seventy-Two

  ALICIA

  Waiting in the foyer for the security guard to ring up and announce her arrival, Alicia felt every hair on her body rise with repulsion. She was nauseated at even the thought of being near him, the look of calculated triumph she would see in his eyes, the cloying, too spicy, alcohol-soaked smell of
him. A cold knot of fear gripped her stomach, twisting her insides so tight she couldn’t breathe, as she imagined what he might have done to her daughter. That’s what was forcing her to stand there on legs she thought might fail her. That’s what was compelling her to go up to his apartment, to beg him, plead with him, do whatever she had to do to get him to let her go.

  ‘He’s still not answering,’ the man said, having tried him for a second time.

  ‘Did you see him go out?’ Alicia asked, feeling more desperate by the second. Was he playing some sick, twisted control game, she wondered, her fear for Sophie intensifying as she realised that was very probably what he was doing: teaching her a lesson for being sloppily unpunctual. Like a child amusing himself by pulling legs from a spider one by one, until it had no ability to run, he’d played games with her from day one. How had he enticed Sophie? What sordid game might he have lured her into? Had she gone willingly?

  The security guard frowned uncertainly. ‘Come to think of it, no. Mind you, there was a right kerfuffle here earlier. Umpteen bloody pizza delivery men trying to deliver pizzas to non-existent residents.’ He sighed despairingly. ‘Hold on a sec. I’ll see if his car’s still in the car park.’

  He turned to his monitors. ‘Useless twits,’ he muttered. ‘Call themselves security systems experts. If the circuit breakers don’t need replacing, there’s a bloody power outage. Could have done a better job myself.’ Finally, he banged one of the blank monitors, which flickered uncooperatively and then sparked into life, giving a visual of the car park. ‘Yup.’ The man squinted at it, apparently identifying Paul Radley’s car. ‘His car’s definitely here, at least.’