The One You Really Want (40 page)

‘Yes.' Carmen nodded slowly. ‘I do.'

‘But how? How
can
you?'

‘I . . . I . . .'

‘She's loaded, mate. Got more money than the Bank of England.' Having realised that he'd put the cat well and truly amongst the pigeons, Joe said triumphantly, ‘But she never told you. Funny, that. Then again, that's what these rich bitches are like, isn't it? Tight as two coats of paint. Probably terrified you might ask her to lend you a fiver.'

‘And who was it,' Carmen shot back furiously, ‘who made me feel like that? My God, you've got a nerve—'

‘Is that true?' said Nick.

‘What?' Carmen felt like a cornered animal. Everyone was looking at her.

‘Is it true?'

‘Of course it isn't true!'

‘So why did you never tell me you were loaded?'

Oh
God
.

‘Because . . . because it's not relevant,' stammered Carmen.

Behind her, she heard Joe's snort of derision.

‘Because you didn't trust me?' Nick's expression was stony.

‘No!'

‘Then
why
?'

Floundering, Carmen babbled, ‘I just . . . I just couldn't . . .'

‘Fine.' Nick rose abruptly to his feet. ‘Thanks for that. Bye.'

The door slammed shut behind him and he was gone.

‘You
bastard
,' Carmen yelled at Joe.

‘Am I? What, for telling the truth?' Joe shrugged, then broke into a broad, satisfied grin. ‘Hey, I've just thought of something. If you'd lent me that twenty grand, I wouldn't still be working for this outfit.' Patting the company logo on his jacket he said, ‘And your guilty secret would have been safe, because I wouldn't have been the one sent round here today.'

He was despicable. And Nick had every right to be upset with her. Unable to stand any more, Carmen raced out of the flat. Outside, it had begun to pour with rain. She caught up with Nick at the end of the street, tugging hard at the sleeve of his already sodden sweater when he didn't turn round.

‘Nick, please, it isn't how it sounds. You have to listen to me.'

‘Do I? I think you'll find it's exactly how it sounds.' Nick regarded her grimly, pushing his dripping wet hair back from his face. ‘No wonder you've always kept so quiet about yourself. Where did the money come from?'

‘My husband. I was married to Spike Todd.' Carmen's teeth were chattering with cold and fear. ‘From Red Lizard,' she elaborated when Nick, whose favourite singers were Chas and Dave, looked blank. ‘They're a rock band.'

‘And now you aren't married any more. You divorced him,' said Nick, clearly none the wiser. ‘But the settlement bagged you a house in Fitzallen Square. Handy, that.'

‘I didn't divorce him. He died.' Part of Carmen marvelled that Nick genuinely didn't know. The other more shameful part wondered if the fact that she was a tragic young widow might work in her favour and earn her some much needed sympathy.

‘When?' Nick wasn't looking remotely sympathetic.

‘Three years ago.'

‘How?'

‘Drugs overdose.' Carmen blinked icy rain from her eyes. ‘He was an addict.'

‘Did you love him?'

‘With all my heart.'

‘How much is this house worth? The one in Fitzallen Square.'

He was interrogating her. Carmen knew how important it was to be honest now. ‘I don't know. Six million, something like that.'

‘Mortgage?'

‘No.'

‘And how much money d'you have besides that?'

‘I suppose . . . about the same again.' Carmen wondered if he'd expect her to produce bank statements. Maybe a tax return.

‘And to think how great I thought you were when you gave that guy his train fare down to Cornwall last week.' Nick sounded disgusted. ‘How stupid do you suppose that makes me feel?'

‘Nick, I—'

‘
Bloody
stupid, that's how much.' His mouth narrowed with anger. ‘So this whole thing between you and me - I suppose it's all been some kind of sick joke.'

‘No!' Horrified that he could even think that, Carmen took a step towards him but Nick moved smartly out of reach.

‘OK, I'll ask you again. Why didn't you tell me?'

‘I liked Joe. I trusted him.' Defiantly Carmen said, ‘But I was wrong. He was stringing me along from the word go. All he cared about was getting his hands on my money.'

‘And you thought I was the same.'

‘I
didn't
.' Despairingly, Carmen willed him to understand.

‘Right, so you thought I probably wasn't the same, but you weren't one hundred per cent sure,' said Nick.

‘Well . . . kind of. I suppose so.' It wasn't perfect, but she didn't know how else to explain the fear Joe had instilled in her.

‘You don't trust me. You think I'm a gold-digger.' Nick's fury was chilling.

‘Oh please, I don't think that! I was
going
to tell you,' Carmen pleaded.

‘No you weren't. You rented a flat in Battersea and let me help you decorate it.' His voice rising, Nick said, ‘Annie went out and bought you a matching set of mugs as a house-warming present because I told her you didn't have any that weren't chipped. And guess what?
She
doesn't have six million in the bank. My God,' he retorted, ‘I don't know how you can live with yourself.'

‘I'm sorry.' Carmen had felt bad about that too. ‘I'm sorry, but how could I have refused them?'

‘Oh, I don't know,' Nick flashed back. ‘Perhaps by telling her the truth? Confessing that you're a multimillionaire who doesn't actually need her lousy mugs? Explaining to her that when you aren't slumming it in a rented hovel in Battersea you live in a Chelsea mansion?' Something else occurred to him. ‘Who else lives there? Or is it just you on your own?'

‘Nancy,' said Carmen. ‘And Rose, Nancy's mother. And Rennie, Spike's brother.' Honesty was one thing, but she couldn't bring herself to tell Nick that Rennie had disguised himself as a homeless person and come along to the shelter in order to quietly check him out.

‘Nancy.' Nick's laugh was bitter. ‘Your friend Nancy. Jesus, how do you manage to keep track of your lies? You've really taken me for an idiot, haven't you? Well, thank God I found out, that's all I can say.'

‘
Wait
,' screamed Carmen as he began to stalk off. Chasing after him, half slipping on the wet pavement, she stumbled against his chest. ‘Don't go, please don't go! I love you . . . we can go back to Fitzallen Square now, I'll show you the house—'

‘Let go of me.' Less gently this time, Nick peeled her off him. ‘You've known me for over a year and you still couldn't trust me enough to tell me the truth. I don't want to see you again,' he said icily, ‘and I'm certainly not interested in your big fancy house.'

 

Leicester Square was awash with film fans undeterred by the grim weather. As Rennie and Karis made their way along the red carpet, flashbulbs popped and microphones were eagerly thrust out. Karis, who had begged Rennie to accompany her to the premiere, was having the time of her life posing for photographs in a hot-pink dress split to reveal skimpy silver knickers. Rennie, accosted by a journalist with a microphone, explained that yes, he was taking a few months off, no, he and Karis were just good friends and of course he was looking forward to seeing the film tonight, he wouldn't have missed it for the world.

Oh well, only two of those were lies. Karis was harmless enough but he wouldn't class her as a good friend. And the film was by all accounts a prize turkey. Still, at least he'd been telling the truth about taking time off.

‘Rennie, this way.' Rejoining him, Karis intertwined her fingers with his so they could be photographed together for a gossip magazine. For such a small girl, she had a startlingly large set of teeth.

‘Are you two an item?' another journalist asked hopefully.

‘Just good friends.' Karis dimpled suggestively as she said it, implying with the aid of less than subtle body language that away from the spotlight they were actually at it like rabbits. Rennie wondered what on earth he was doing, preparing to watch a film he knew he didn't want to see, in the company of a girl he didn't particularly want to be with. If he were at home now, he could be watching Robert Donat in
Goodbye, Mr Chips
. Now that was a true classic. Instead, he was stuck out here in the freezing cold, being asked inane questions by inane people, and afterwards he'd be mentally blackmailed into saying nice things about ninety-five minutes of unadulterated—

‘Switch it
off
,' hissed Karis.

‘We're not in church.' Taking out his phone, Rennie answered it more to annoy Karis than for any other reason. The caller number wasn't one he recognised.

‘Yes?'

‘Um . . . right, is that . . . er, Rennie?'

‘Who is this?' Rennie ignored Karis's frantic hand signals to end the call
this minute
.

‘Right, well, I'm the landlord of the Queen's Head in Arnold Street. In Battersea.' Raising his voice to be heard above the babble of voices in the pub, the man said, ‘I managed to get your number from a girl called Carmen.'

‘And?' Faintly irritated, Rennie wondered what Carmen thought she was playing at, giving out his phone number to complete strangers. What was this bloke after, a signed photo?

‘Rennie, put that bloody thing away.' Karis gave him a pointy-elbowed nudge. ‘People are trying to
take our photograph
here.'

She said it as if it were on a par with splitting the atom.

‘. . . lot to drink. So, um, maybe you should come and get her.'

‘Hang on, I missed that.' Batting away Karis's hand, Rennie frowned. ‘Are you saying Carmen's there at the pub? Who's she got with her?'

‘No one. That's why I'm calling you.'

‘And she's been
drinking
?' Carmen had never been much of a drinker. Rennie wondered if this was a wind-up, someone's idea of a huge joke.

‘Enough to float a battleship. And she's been buying rounds for everyone in the pub.' The landlord said wryly, ‘I must be mad, I suppose, ringing you and asking you to take her away. But there you go. I reckon she needs to get home, sort herself out.'

‘Let me have a word with her.' The landlord may have managed to get hold of his phone number but Rennie still found it hard to believe that this was really Carmen he was talking about.

‘She won't come to the phone. She's up on the pool table right now, doing her Christina Aguilera impression.' He sighed. ‘Again.'

‘Carmen would never do that.'

‘Hang on. Listen.'

Rennie listened as the landlord angled the phone - presumably - in the direction of the pool table. His blood ran cold as he heard a voice that was unmistakably Carmen's bellowing out, ‘Because I'mmmm
beeeyooo-deefulll
. . .'

Shit.

‘Rennie, what are you
playing
at?' Losing patience, Karis grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and tried to drag him forwards. ‘The girl from
This Morning
is waiting to interview us! If we don't—'

‘I'll be right there,' said Rennie.

‘I should bloody well think so,' Karis huffed.

‘Thanks, mate,' said the landlord.

Rennie ended the call and said, ‘Right, I'm off.'

Karis stared at him as if he'd just slapped her round the face with a full nappy.

‘You're
what
?'

‘Leaving,' Rennie repeated. ‘Sorry, it's an emergency. Have to go.'

‘You mean,
now
?'

‘No, next November. Of course I mean now.'

‘But, but . . . we're at a premiere,' Karis wailed in disbelief. ‘The girl from
This Morning
wants to talk to you about your shoes!'

Rennie glanced down at his green suede lace-ups. ‘You can do it instead. Tell her they're size tens and quite similar to each other. I picked them up in a shopping mall in Baltimore. Forty dollars, bargain.'

‘But what about me?' squealed Karis, beginning to panic. ‘You're my partner! I can't go in and watch the film on my own!'

For a couple of seconds Rennie scanned the crowd of waving, cheering film fans lined up behind the metal barriers. Spotting a slightly gawky but presentable-looking young lad in his early twenties, he strode across and said cheerfully, ‘Hi. Want to see the film?'

Aghast, Karis watched as Rennie, along with a couple of security staff, helped a gangly youth over the barrier and brought him over to where she was standing.

‘This is Dave,' said Rennie, indicating that Karis should shake hands with the eager, bespectacled youth. ‘He takes size ten too, isn't that a coincidence? Bought his shoes at Marks and Spencer, Marble Arch. He'd love to watch the film with you.'

‘But . . . but . . .' Karis was gazing in horror at Dave's navy polyester jacket and perspiring upper lip.

‘Sweetheart, you'll have a great time. Dave, take good care of her.' Giving Karis a hasty kiss on the cheek, Rennie said, ‘Just think, this could be the start of a truly beautiful friendship.'

‘Not between you and me, you rotten bastard,' Karis bellowed after him as he hurried off.

Music was still blaring out as Rennie pushed his way into the Queen's Head in Battersea. Christina Aguilera had given way to Justin Timberlake on the karaoke machine. Over to the left, Carmen and a dreadlocked Wyclef Jean lookalike were arm in arm on top of the pool table, swaying recklessly from side to side as they sang along to ‘Cry Me A River'.