***
The mansion had once been the home to a prosperous family who had made their money in the sugar fields of the Caribbean, and, consequently, on the broken backs of slaves imported to work under harsh conditions. When owning such a place became an economic burden the mansion went through various incarnations before ending up almost derelict and in the hands of a local developer.
High hoardings on which were displayed speculative images of what was to come, hid the site from public view. These boards showed beautiful people, swathed in fluffy white robes and slippers, heads wrapped in thick white towels sitting by pools sipping health drinks or laying on sun beds, their toned and already tanned bodies used to entice the locals into believing that, for a hefty price, this too could be theirs.
A blue BMW pulled up in the makeshift carpark next to a black Porsche 911. The owner of the latter got out and waited as Liam exited.
“Tony, sorry I'm late,” said Liam, extending a hand in greeting before going on to qualify his tardiness with: “Traffic. You know how it is.”
Tony wasn’t used to be kept waiting but he was gracious enough to accept the half-hearted apology and with a north New Jersey accent said: “No problem.”
As they walk towards the site, Liam begins his ‘elevator pitch’ to Tony who listens politely.
“So, here we have it, the site of the next Sanctuary Spa. We're on the right side of the M25 so I'm thinking of expanding the client base away from the usual ladies pamper weekends and more towards London and into the corporate hospitality industry; you know, team-building weekends, business launches. They come here, get the works, do the business go home relaxed and better off, spiritually, and financially one hopes! I'm also thinking of offering discount to the larger organizations, we all know how hard these business people work, eh? Bosses send 'em up here, they have a weekend of being totally cosseted and bam, they hit the office on Monday, ready to go.”
“I hear the other place isn't doing so well.”
This shouldn’t have as back-footed Liam. Tony was a businessman, naturally, he was going to bone up on the offer.
“It's just temporary. We've been re-organizing the business. These things have a knock-on effect. It'll pick up.”
Liam hoped that sounded as convincing aloud as it had done in his head.
They entered the grand entrance hall and Tony took in the slowly reinstated splendour then looked at Liam.
“You know what you should do? What I'd do? I'd forget this baronial, colonial whatever shit you're aiming for here. Rip it out. Get rid of it.”
Liam was shocked. “I can't do that,” he spluttered. “I've just…I mean…this is like ten grands worth of panelling going in here.”
“And yesterday's news.”
“I can't just chuck that kind of money in the skip!”
Tony put a large arm around Liam’s shoulders and began guiding him away from the hall.
“Come on Liam, spas are yesterday's news. Team building, forget it, old hat. If you want to get the city boys in here and give 'em something they want which is booze and girls. Lots of girls. Beautiful girls. The bottom's falling outta of this crap. Lap dancing's where it's at. Half a dozen, no, a dozen girls, a 25% cut of everything they make. All you got to do is give 'em a place to shake their tits and put a hefty mark-up on the booze.”
Liam stood in stunned silence. Tony looked at him, weighed him up, and mentally calculated if he’d made a massive error of judgement with this one. He was a born go-getter and he wasn’t about to risk his cash on someone he thought might baulk at the first hurdle.
“You ever been to one of those joints?”
Liam shook his head.
“Not ever?” Tony nodded slowly. “Let me tell you, I've got six in London, one in Manchester, one in Liverpool, three in San Francisco, four in LA and three in New York.”
Liam smiled, but it was tight, unnatural, and unsure. He felt as if he were about to be boxed into a corner with absolutely no escape.
“Sounds like you have it all covered.”
Tony prodded him in the chest. “Yeah, but I don't have a mansion. Come on; let's go talk business at my place.”
***
Jules moved about her designer kitchen in a whirl of home roasting coffee beans, chopping, slicing, dicing, and sweating off vegetables. She mixed, tasted and finally she was done.
Whatever Evie thought of her, as she stood in the kitchen, sipping on a glass of wine, she did feel a sense of satisfaction with her world. It wasn’t perfect, far from it, but at moments like this, when she had the house to herself, she felt at peace.
Of course, she knew it couldn’t last. He would be home soon and the house would ring to the sound of his anger, offence, contempt and loathing but right now, she could handle it.
***
Andy stood at the hob and stirred the contents of the saucepan. Scattered on the work surface were the cores and skins of onions and pepper. A dirty chopping board and knife sat by the sink alongside a used measuring jug and a discarded packet of casserole mix.
He heard the front door open and her voice filtered through from the hall.
“I got a bloody stupid parking ticket.”
Andy could feel his inner self curling up into a ball, arming itself against the verbal onslaught.
Olivia entered the kitchen, her face wreathed in bitterness and anger and immediately she noted the mess and her face turned thunderous.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“Chilli,” replied Andy with a tone much bolder than he felt. “Thought, if I did it now it'd save a bit of time later.”
Olivia grabbed at the mess and began to throw things in the sink. “I was going to use that mince tomorrow.”
“We're going to the reunion there'll be food there.”
“Yeah and you seriously think that I'm eating anything that's had that bitch's hands on it?”
Andy tossed the spoon onto the work surface causing splatters of sauce to hit the tiles and canisters. “Do it yourself, or just bin it, I don’t care anymore.” He dropped the tea towel onto the floor and left her too it.
Olivia wasn’t finished with him by a long shot: “Oh, I forgot. Can't say anything about your precious Leanne, can we?”
“When are you going to give this up?”
“Never! You don’t get away with cheating on me.”
Andy rummaged around in the under stairs closet.
“We were fifteen!”
“And the rest.”
Andy pulled out his fishing box and rods. “I'm going fishing.” He pushed past her. “Alright with you?”
“No, I’ve made arrangements.”
“Then unmake them.”
He went back into the closet and pulled out a tent.
“I’ll see you in the morning. Maybe.”
And with that he grabbed his stuff and left her fuming in the doorway between the kitchen and hall.
Olivia let out a low growl of rage and snatched up the dirty dishcloth, hurling it after the long-gone Andy.
***
Ed alighted from the train and paused as he took in the kitsch hanging baskets that festooned the wrought iron of the platform pillars that held up the glass roof.
A few passengers joined the walk to the ticket barrier. The car-park beyond the chain -link fence was full to over-flowing.
In a couple of hours this platform would be a heaving mass of people jostling to get out and get home as quickly as possible.
Outside the station, Ed jumped into the first taxi.
“Churchill, please mate.”
As the taxi pulled out of the rank, he pressed a number into his phone and waited for an answer.
“It's Ed... Yeah, I'm just going to the hotel now. Are the lads at the airport? What's the delay? Okay, give me half an hour, I'll call you back and tell them if they cock this up they won't get another shot.”
He ended the call and stared out of the window as the town went by; the sam
e old street scene he remembered from when he left. Nothing changes.
***
Liam entered the club via an anonymous door that faced out onto the street but only had a small brass plate to identify it. He had pressed the buzzer, announced himself and the door had been opened. Inside was a small entrance hall with a flight of stairs. At the top, he could see some kind of reception desk. It was all very bland, very ordinary. Slowly, he climbed the stairs and went to the desk where he gave his name to the well-dressed young lady managing it.
“Liam, glad you could make it!”
Tony appeared out of nowhere, tipped the lady a wink and guided Liam through the heavily curtained door to the room beyond.
The club was heaving with clientele both male and female.
In various private booths, punters were enjoying personal dances. A single dancer occupied a central podium.
It was exactly what Liam had expected and yet, there was an air of exclusivity about it. The décor was expensive with deep-buttoned leather sofas in the booths. The clientele was city folk in well-tailored suits. Barely any were taking notice of the girls that moved about the room with trays of drinks.
“Look at this,” he said, with an expansive gesture to the room. “Who'd think it was only half three in the afternoon? It isn't just a place for ogling the girls; a lot of business gets done here, deals struck. We give 'em a place where they feel relaxed, the drink flows and voila, a few more millions change hands.”
He indicated to Liam to follow him to a VIP area and an empty booth. As if by magic a scantily-clad girl appeared with a champagne bucket and two glasses. Liam could feel the slow creep of a blush spreading outwards.
Tony didn’t seem to notice Liam’s quiet discomfort at his surroundings. He sat down and poured the drinks. “Okay, I'll tell you what I’m offering,” he said as he handed one glass to Liam. You sell me half that place, let me open it up as a club and you get half the action. You don't even have to break sweat on it. If you like what you see, and you will, you'll be turning a profit on your investment in no time. That's my advice to you, free of charge.”
Liam felt as if he couldn’t breathe. He’d worked really hard to get Tony interested in his business and now he could feel it slipping away from him. He was losing control and being pulled by the rip tide in a direction he wasn’t prepared to go. He’d banked on the money he’d get from Tony and he’d seriously misjudged.
“If you don't mind me saying, you seem a little tense.” Tony studied his companion. Despite what outward appearance might show, there was more to Tony than just being a shrewd businessman. Hell, he’d never have been as successful as he was if he didn’t possess the ability to read people and to understand exactly what they needed at the exact moment they needed it, even if they were largely unaware of it themselves.
Also, Tony wasn’t a charity giver. He wasn’t opening expensive bottles of champagne and offering him a cut of the business because he felt sorry for Liam; no, he was a strategist and Liam had something that Tony wanted. Tony wanted that mansion.
As soon as he’d pulled up in the car park he’d seen a vision of the future and it didn’t involve kale smoothies and hot stones.
“Maybe I should get one of the girls to come over.”
Tony raised his hand to beckon a nearby dancer.
“No!” Liam’s tone was a little off, a hint of a scared note about it. He paused briefly. “No, its fine, I'm fine. I've just got a lot to think about.”
Tony half-shrugged, no big deal and called off the girl who was already on her way over. From inside his jacket he pulled out a card wallet and selected a subtle black one.
“I know this great girl, very discreet.” He held out the card to Liam. “She’ll put you right.”
Liam studied the business card which contained only two lines of text in gold - the name Vonnie and a mobile number.
Tony checked his watch: “I gotta scoot, you okay here for a while? Sure you don't want a dance? It's on the house.”
Liam slipped the card into his jacket pocket. “No, I'm fine, I'm just going to drink up and then head home.”
Tony eased himself up out of his seat and took his coat from the back of the sofa. With the coat deftly thrown over his shoulders, Tony held out his hand.
“Call me in a couple of days with your answer. You'll be making the right move if you come in with me. I'll talk to you soon.”
Liam watched as Tony made his way through the club; he shook hands with punters, kissed waitresses on the cheek, he acknowledged those too far away with a raised hand and a mouthed ‘hi’. He was certainly the consummate professional.
He opened his wallet and tossed a note down on the table before getting up to leave. In contrast to the exit of the club owner, no one even noticed.
***
Damian had just entered the alarm code and was locking the door when he heard the van pull into the yard behind him.
Leanne pulled it to a smooth halt and smiled at her husband as she jumped out and went to the rear of the van.
“Hard day?” she asked as she pulled out a cardboard box crammed with peppers, red onions, celery, and heads of cauliflower. She opened the outhouse, which acted as a cool store but before she entered she looked at Damian.
“You okay?”
“I am now.” He waited whilst she put the box down before slipping his arms about her and pulling her close. “I love you.”
Leanne turned her face up to his. “I know and if you'd gone out with me in 3C instead of Caroline McKinley, there'd have been a whole lot more of it.”
Damian released her and turned to the van.
“I'm glad we didn't,” he said as he pulled another box of veg out.
Leanne landed him a playful punch.
“Don't get mad. I'm just thinking that if we had, we mightn't be together and I'm glad we're together.” He put the box on the shelf with the other and locked the door.
“Me to,” said Leanne with a smile. “Come on, busy day tomorrow.”
***
Liam's car pulled up outside a large, semi-detached, four-storey house in the smart part of town.
The road was quiet and faced onto a sizeable square enclosed by ornate iron railings where the locals could sit during the summer on various benches dotted amongst the shrubbery. It wasn’t uncommon to see neighbours gathered for a picnic or barbeque, sipping Prosecco whilst their off spring chased about. Very few ‘outsiders’ ventured into the space. The air of exclusivity wafted out of every blade of grass and leaf.
It was all an illusion. Most of the houses had been converted into flats long ago. Liam could count on the fingers of one hand those that remained intact.
He got out of his car and jogged down the narrow, steep steps to the basement door.
The dimly lit hall was serviced by a small window at the foot of a set of stairs that now, officially led nowhere. When the house had been converted from a substantial Victorian family home, this had been the realm of the servants and those stairs led up the green door, beyond which was the dominion of the family. The door was long gone, sealed up, hidden behind dry wall.
Liam tossed is keys into a dish on the small table, scoped up the pile of serious looking envelopes and clicked the flashing light on his answering machine. He listened for a few seconds to someone reminding him that he had to pay an outstanding bill before he hit the delete button. He tossed the envelopes to one side and made his way into living room/kitchenette.
Life, he mused as he tugged loose his tie, was playing a serious game of fuck over with him.
***
Dinner was timed to perfection and sat, still hot, in lidded dishes upon a pristine table cloth, when Craig walked through the front door.
Without a ‘hello’ or a kiss, he went to the downstairs bathroom and washed up. This was Jules’ cue to begin serving up his dinner, which was placed before him, with impeccable timing just as his arse hit the seat of the dining chair.
He f
licked open the folded napkin and placed it across his lap. He poured himself a glass of wine and passed the bottle to Jules. Only once she had sat down to her meal did she speak. In this home, the feminist revolution had never happened.
“Have you had a good day?” Jules asked as she watched him shovel one fork full of food after another into his mouth as if he’d never had a decent meal in his life.
Craig chewed rapidly before replying, the half masticated remains of the dinner still visible.
“Do you know what I heard today? Dave Gilman, his wife's only gone and left him for another man. And you'll never guess what; he's a parcel delivery driver. I ask you?”
“Isn't Dave having an affair?” ventured Jules cautiously.
Craig half shrugged; a loose movement to be interpreted as an emphatic ‘Your point being?’
Jules lowered her eyes and nipped at the edges of her food with the fork.
“Turns out she's been squirreling money away, money he gives her for an allowance and done a bunk to Bournemouth.” Craig’s tone was scornful. “He works all the hours to provide a beautiful home and that's how she repays him. I'm telling you, she'll be lucky to see a penny when he divorces her.”
He washed down his food with a mouthful of wine, teasing out the bits that had stuck between his teeth.
Jules smiled weakly but her mouth had suddenly gone very dry. She picked up the pitcher of iced water and poured a glass. She could feel her hands shaking and she prayed he hadn’t noticed. She gave a furtive glance in his direction. He was busy scooping food into his mouth and swallowing it almost whole and scrolling through his iPad to notice her. She took a long slug of water and felt her heart rate soften and her head clear. She must be more careful in future.
***
Tony stood in a sumptuous white bathrobe - his hair damp from his shower - on the balcony of a chic apartment that overlooked the Thames. He gazed out over the lights from the opposite side of the bank as they glinted off the dark waters. The cool breeze had calmed down the heat of summer in the city. Below in the street, voices floated up to him; the noise of the city traffic muted by the converted wharfs and new builds. It had been a good day when he’d got in on the ground floor of this investment. Prices had rocketed and this little place was now worth at least three times what he’d paid for it.