“You just carry matchbooks with your room number written on them?” I shook my head.
“No. It’s not like that. I saw you in the store and I asked the lady for a pen.”
“Whatever, Nick, I have to go.” I was about to walk away when I once again noticed his shirt. “Are you—have you been drinking?”
He nodded.
“And fighting? There’s blood on your shirt.”
He glanced down as if realizing for the first time how disheveled he was. A cold look came over his face and he covered the stain with his hand. “That bitch Betty kicked me out of the flat last night. She thought I was hitting on her friend at that stupid fundraiser. Hey, that reminds me. Why didn’t you come?”
I narrowed my eyes and he looked away sheepishly, which told me everything I needed to know. “So that’s why I got an invitation, so you could corner me. And then when I didn’t show, you went out and picked a fight with some other drunk, or did Betty try and slap some sense into you?”
“Who cares, I was tired of that skinny little piece of ass anyway.”
“Same old Nick,” I said, turning and crossing the street.
“No, wait, I didn’t mean it like that. I’ve changed,” he whined.
“Gigi always said, ‘A leopard doesn’t change its spots.’” Falling in step with a crowd of women, I picked up the pace.
“Stop. Have a coffee with me, I’ll tell you what happened. Sophia, I need to talk to you.” His voice faded as I turned the corner onto Shrewsbury Road and rushed in the direction of the O’Kelley residence to escape him.
TWENTY
T here was no sign of Nick but I flicked my gaze around anyway before ducking, breathless, into the O’Kelley residence. Rage smoldered inside me. I despised him for turning me into the sort of woman who would run away. It was infuriating knowing that after everything he put me through, he was still free to roam and stalk at will. The foyer was empty so I paced, trying to eliminate my nervous energy before seeing the rest of the family and heading to the shower.
“Sophia, is everything all right?”
“Liam,” I said, and moved quickly to kiss him on the cheek. “What are you doing here?”
“I was just droppin’ Móraí off. She’s in the loo. Come in and sit down. I’ll not bite.”
Mindlessly, I followed him into the sitting room. It was furnished in a cold yet fashionable style, the sort of white and gray decor that you couldn’t really fault or admire.
“Ye look like ye’re in need of a stiff drink.”
He walked to the bar and poured a splash of amber liquid into two glasses.
“I really shouldn’t, Liam.”
“Nonsense, ye’ll need it. Trust me.”
He downed his in one gulp while I sipped mine slowly. The whiskey burned my throat and warmed my stomach.
“So, are ye goin’ to tell me why ye were after pacin’ the hall like a caged beast?”
“It was nothing, really, just nerves.”
“Got it, say no more.” He winked, refilling his glass. “I’ve spent my share of time around that flock of birds. Lord knows they eat their young, but ye’ll have Móraí to defend ye.”
I took another sip and cringed. I’d never been big on straight whiskey, no matter how much it cost.
Móraí cleared her throat from the doorway. “Sophia, ye’re here. Now where are the others? John? Lucille?” she called out in a sing-song voice.
I tugged at the high neckline of the lace dress Móraí’s stylist had set out for me.
“They’re still ignorin’ us, I see. Glad to see someone had the manners to keep ye company.”
“Er, yes,” I said.
“Ye look lovely.”
I nodded, looking down. I hadn’t had much of a choice but I liked it all the same. The short hemline of the tight winter-white lace dress showed off my legs, but the sleeves were full and the neckline was high. A thin red ribbon encircled my waist.
“I’m not overdressed, am I?”
“Heavens, no! Ye look elegant, but not overstated. And those pumps. Well done. How smart ye look. I hope ye’re soon-to-be mother-in-law looks half as tasteful.”
I looked around awkwardly, wondering where Lucille was. This was her house, after all. Móraí was always dropping such negative comments about her daughter-in-law. I made a mental note to ask Cullen what had caused the rift.
I took another sip of my whiskey and watched as Móraí stalked out of the room and yelled up at Lucile.
“If ye don’t hurry up,” Móraí said, “the brides goin’ to be married and it’s goin’ to be a moot point to throw her a shower.”
“Hold your horses!” Lucile yelled back. “It takes time to look this good.”
Móraí looked over at me. “There’s not enough time in the world.”
Liam poured himself another glass of whiskey.
“Are they always like this?”
“Like what?” Liam asked.
“The catty comments.”
“Oh, no, they’re usually much worse.”
Móraí walked into the room as if she’d heard her own name.
“I’m convinced she does this to torture me—ye know, they’re probably up there laughin’ and kissin’.”
“It could be worse,” I said. “They could be unhappy.”
Liam and Móraí both looked at me like I’d just said the craziest thing in the world.
“And that would be worse?” Móraí asked.
“I think the limo just pulled up,” Liam said, changing the subject.
“Of course. Let’s be on our way.”
I handed Liam my glass. The whiskey swished in the bottom as he took it.
“It's bad luck not to finish it, ye know.”
“I’ll take my chances,” I said and followed Móraí down the front steps. “Isn’t Lucille joining us?”
“No. I think not. John can drop the ‘Queen of Sheba’ off. He married her, so she’s his problem.”
TWENTY-ONE
T en minutes later I stood in the center of a crowded room. Everywhere I turned, women stood sipping drinks and cooing over wedding plans and gifts while spooning caviar from tiny crystal bowls.
“Thank you,” I said, as I accepted congratulations on my recent own engagement.
I needed to extract myself from Móraí, who kept introducing me to perfect strangers. The flock of women seemed happy for the guest of honor but a few seemed genuinely bitter to hear the bride-to-be’s cousin, Cullen O’Kelley was soon to be off the market.
“Champagne?”
I smiled at the formally-dressed waiter standing at my elbow. “Thanks,” I said, lifting a flute off his silver tray and watching the bubbles burst one by one.
“Why so glum?” Leslie asked, appearing suddenly at my elbow. My oldest friend did not rattle easily, but she looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable as she picked at a lock of auburn hair that had escaped her tight bun. She took a sip from her wineglass and grimaced. “This way,” she said, tugging me to the left. “I see a hiding spot near the bar.”
“I’m so relieved to have you around. I miss seeing that shiny happy face every day.” I hugged her as hard as her petite frame would allow.
Her whole face lit with pleasure “Me too. I don’t remember any of Cullen’s aunt’s names. Not to mention I can’t pronounce half of them.”
“When did you get here?”
“Not long ago. My hotel is just down the street. So, I guess we’ll be doing this all over again for you in a couple of months. That’s a lot of loot. Where does one put all that?”
“All what?” I asked, following her gaze to the gift table that took up half the room. I chuckled. “Oh, I’m sure Cullen’s grandmother will find the perfect place for everything.”
“Bit of a bossy one, eh?” Leslie said.
“She can be, but I think she has the best of intentions. Did you bring the book?”
“Of course. You owe me big time,” Leslie said, pulling me in again fo
r a hug.
“Oh, I know, and I’m sure you won’t let me forget it.”
She grinned.
“Where did you get that dress?” I said purring at the tight little polka-dot number she had on.
Before she could answer, my gaze slipped from her hem to one of the waiters about ten feet away. He vaguely resembled Nick, and it suddenly occurred to me that Nick could now just show up at any time he pleased.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“Is it Cullen’s family?” Les persisted.
“No, although they are a strange bunch … but no it’s not that.” I paused and lowered my voice. “I ran into Nick this morning.”
“What?” she gasped.
“Shhh!”
I watched as something uncomfortably close to worry settled across her face.
“Did he hurt you?” she asked, balling her hand up in a fist.
“No. That was the strangest part,” I admitted. “He was being nice. He wanted me to have coffee with him.”
“That bastard!” Leslie switched her stance as if ready to fight. “He probably just wanted to lure you somewhere.”
“Believe me, I feel the same way. I took no chances and got the hell away from him, but I guess I’m just a little thrown off.”
I’d handled the situation but I could still see him standing on the street, his expression perplexed—and hurt. That confused me the most.
Why did I always feel so guilty when it came to him? I hadn’t felt sorry for Nico or Velte. They were evil; Nick just came off as an asshole.
“Now that he’s here, he’s going to keep coming after me.”
“You need a plan. Maybe we can find out where he’s staying and break in and teach him a lesson,” Leslie said, a large grin spreading across her face.
“Very funny. I do know where he’s staying, actually. He gave me this.” I held up the small matchbook with his flat number written on it.”
“You better hope Cullen doesn’t find that on you. You’ll have a lot of questions to answer.”
“Funny. Let’s talk about it later. How long are you staying?”
“That depends. How long do you need me for?” Les replied, squeezing my hand.
“You know the answer to that,” I said, a smile spreading across my face. “You can help me prep for the wedding.”
Lucille rolled up just in time to catch the end of our conversation. “Did someone say wedding? I’m so excited to have this one in the family. Speaking of family, have you met Cullen’s great-aunt?”
Smiling politely, I shook my head no.
“Well, ye’re in for a treat. This is Aunt Esther, and these are her daughters.”
Lucille continued to chatter away, a cheerful litany of comical struggles to do with the kids growing up together. I listened with one ear, even though my attention was focused inward. In the distance, Móraí called out orders, muffled by the sounds of women’s laughter. The increased activity hinted that we were getting closer to lunch being served.
The crowd continued to grow and late-arriving guests bombarded me with well wishes to pass on to Cullen. I held my champagne close to my chest so it wouldn’t spill, juggling my last spoonful of beluga caviar at the same time.
“Did you see the news?” one of the ladies asked.
“No. What happened?” said another.
“The old hotel—some American socialite got killed. I can’t think of her name. You know who I mean though. She was just on the cover of The Irish Times for donating to that big fundraiser.”
A waiter walked by and I grabbed his arm, nearly upsetting his tray.
“Excuse me. Do you have a copy of the Irish Times?”
The man nodded and hurried to the front of the restaurant with me in tow. He rummaged behind a counter for a minute and handed it to me. I turned it over and, on the front page, there she was.
“Nick,” I whispered. My knees wobbled and I had to lean against the wall to stay upright. “How could he do this?”
My eyes scanned the black-and-white image of Betty Rockliff handing over a large cheque. I grabbed my cell phone and put her name into google. Betty Rockcliff, dead at twenty-six. She’d been murdered. Stabbed three times and thrown headfirst over the upstairs railing. No wonder Nick needed to talk. Just then the door slammed as one of the waitstaff came in smelling of smoke.
“Ye done with that?”
“What?” I asked, looking up.
“The paper?”
Slowly I realized what he was saying.
“Ye hear about the lass from down the street? Thrown from above and her naked—heard it’s a real mess over there.”
That could have been me. I could have been smeared across some polished floor—still could be. I ran for the ladies’ room. High-heeled footsteps and calls to slow down trailed after me, but I couldn’t wait for them; the tiny black fish eggs were ready to reappear.
I made it just in time.
“Sophia?” Leslie called a minute later. She looked at me sitting on the floor crying, and set a glass on the counter.
“Are you all right?”
I started to say “yes” but then decided there was no point in lying. “No.”
“I don’t blame you,” she said, and stepped up beside me. “I’m not sure I would be either.”
I looked up at her. “I can’t believe she’s dead.”
“Betty is not a great loss to the world. Ignore the damned article.” She took off her own sweater and, crouching, placed it around me. “You're like ice! For God's sake, Sophia. Get up off the floor. It’s disgusting down there. I brought you a nice strong scotch.”
She backed up and gave me a long, searching look and then held out a paper towel. I emerged from the bathroom stall, took it, turned on the water, and rinsed and blotted my mouth.
“It's not like you to fold, Sophia. You're a fighter, remember?” she said, handing me the scotch.
I took a deep gulp. “Nick did it. Nick killed her.” My voice was slightly hoarse.
I finished the glass and put it on the counter. “And now I’m next.”
“No, you’re not.”
I felt the tears well up and I nodded. “How do you know?”
“You’re a hell of a lot smarter than Betty Rockliff, for one thing. Not to mention you’ve got Cullen and his family to look out for you and you have me. Nick’s not getting anywhere near you ever again.”
She put her hand on my shoulder. “You’re a strong person, Sophia Marcil, and you can handle this.”
I nodded. She was using Gigi’s words on purpose to empower me and it was working. “We should get back out there in case anyone noticed us disappear. Last thing I need is Móraí asking questions.”
Leslie took my arm and led me back out into the open. I forced myself to smile. The normality of the action calmed me—not to mention the whiskey was beginning to warm my insides and steady my voice.
“Cullen’s away for a few more days. I know you’re all set up in that gorgeous penthouse, but would you stay at the house with me until he gets back?”
“Are you kidding? I would much rather be with you than in some fancy-schmancy albeit super-convenient, luxurious hotel.”
Móraí had noticed us and was now on the direct approach. Lunch was being served. I could see the extravagant spread of lobsters filling the tables.
“Act normal,” I whispered and lifted the champagne glass out of Leslie’s fingers, downing its contents in one gulp.
Leslie smiled. “Is drunk our normal? Hallelujah!” She turned and grabbed a champagne glass from a tray and downed it in the same manner. “I always got your back, babe.”
TWENTY-TWO
L ightning lit the sky, revealing the outline of tree limbs through the kitchen window. It was followed so closely by a crack of thunder, which shook the house, that I thought the storm must be directly overhead. Leslie cleaned off her plate and placed it in the dishwasher. “Wow, it's getting bad out there.”
“What do you have for snacks, anyway?”
“Not much. I need to go grocery shopping. Cullen likes pretzels so we’ve definitely got those.”
“Any chocolate?”
I laughed. “As if it would have survived this month if I’d known about it.”
Leslie went rummaging through one of the cabinets. “Let’s see, pretzels, brown sugar, here we go, sprinkles and an almost-full bag of chocolate chips.”
“What do you know. I never go in the baking cupboard.”
“Just in case someone pops out and forces you to bake?”
“Exactly.”
“If Cullen’s got butter squirreled away, we’ve got bark.”
“Bark?” I repeated.
“You know, like the Christmas peppermint bark that Gigi used to make.”
I opened the fridge and picked up the butter. “What do you need me to do with it?”
“Toss it in a saucepan, and turn the burner on low. In half an hour, we’ll have a delightful treat.”
“Half an hour. This is why I frequent bakeries. Instant satisfaction.”
Leslie glared at me, then turned back to the cookie sheet where she was spreading out pretzels on the foil. “Turn on the oven to four hundred. I can’t wait to watch that movie. I love scary movies on stormy nights.”
My stomach tightened. Another thunderclap rattled the house as if on cue and I shivered. “Was it even supposed to rain?”
Leslie smiled, “This is Dublin—it always rains, although when I lived here there wasn’t a lot of thunder. Besides Cullen will be back in the morning and you’ve got me to protect you.”
“Yeah, you’d put the fear of God into a burglar.” I laughed, draining my wine glass for emphasis while staring at her petite frame.
“Hey! I’m tough! Although I do plan to be pretty inebriated tonight, so scratch that.”
I rolled my eyes and grinned. “Why did I let you talk me into a thriller?”
“It’s not that scary. I promise.”
“Yeah, well, now with the storm, it will be.”
“It's just a little rain.”
Cruel Fortunes Omnibus: Volumes One to Four Page 33
