Lovers and Liars: An addictive sexy beach read

by Nigel May

  It was just after 4 a.m. when Sutton finally gave up the ghost and decided to climb out of bed and make a green tea to try and ease her growing tiredness and annoyance. Plus, her mind was racing with everything that had happened since her arrival in Toronto. She wasn’t sure just how much longer she could cope with trying to be the pin holding the Rivers clan together. What she wouldn’t give just to wave a magical olive branch of peace and happiness, bring the whole family together and then hit the nearest runway in a private jet to spend two weeks somewhere five-star, luxurious and so far off the radar that phone reception, Wi-Fi, Twitter, Facebook and any other form of modern-age communication were a total no go. A secluded, sexual sanctuary with a man to play with. Maybe she would suggest something to Julian when she saw him later. Surely Sheridan could give him some time off. Better to do it now than before the major run-up to the boxing match in Barbados.

  Sheridan was still chuntering away in his semi-sleep as she drained the final drops of her green tea. Why was he so restless? It was unlike him. Normally he slept like a coffined Dracula, never rising until he was perfectly rested, but something was obviously irking him. Maybe she should wake him. She looked at the clock on the bedside table: 4.25 a.m. No, let him rest, she thought. Countless times she’d elbowed him in the night to shut him up but each time he had half-opened an eye, apologised and then plunged back into whatever was going on inside his head, starting to fidget again.

  Sutton pulled the tie of her cashmere night-robe around her and walked back over to the dressing table. A photo of Sutton, Heather, Nikki and Pasinetta stared up at her. She picked up the small silver frame. Sutton took it everywhere with her. It was her favourite shot of the girls, who must have been about seven and ten at the time, flanked either side by their mother and great-grandmother. It had been taken on a happy day out shopping in New York decades earlier and had always been an image that she adored. The girls wore smiles wider than the Hudson River, Heather’s smile particularly sweet as she was missing one of her teeth, and Pasinetta was pulling a funny face that showed the diehard young-at-heart spirit that Sutton loved about her grandmother. Despite everything that had happened in her life, Pasinetta never lost her bonhomie and joie de vivre. She had lost her own daughter, watched her being lowered into the ground, lost six feet under forever, yet still her spirit hadn’t been broken.

  Sutton couldn’t even imagine how that felt. The thought of losing Heather or Nikki was too much to bear. For a moment a dark cloud of sadness passed over her thoughts as she cast her mind back to Max’s funeral and how it must have felt for his parents to watch their son being buried, and then it moved back to her own mother, Pasinetta’s daughter, Tilisha. Taken so young at the hands of another; so cruel and senseless. She felt an arrow of misery scratch at her heart as she thought of how proud her mother would have been to see the life that she lived now: one of riches and travel, of beauty and glamour. It was a life of luxury that Tilisha would have grabbed with both beautifully manicured hands.

  Sutton placed the frame back on the dressing table, making a decision that she would fly straight to New York from Toronto to see Pasinetta. It had been far too long and despite her grandmother’s constant effervescence about life, Sutton knew that she wasn’t getting any younger. She should make the most of every day that her grandmother still trod the earth.

  Sutton smiled as she looked at the photo and then stared at her own reflection in the dressing-table mirror. ‘None of us are getting any younger, are we?’ It was another reason she loved the photo of herself, Pasinetta and the girls. She looked so young in it – a moment in time where she would never age. And to Sutton that was a heavenly notion.

  Suddenly she was pulled from her thoughts by Sheridan sitting bolt upright in bed and screaming at the top of his lungs – one of those screams where words are said yet they all seem to roll into one long multi-syllabic word. She raised her eyebrows in shock, at least as much as her skin would allow, at both the volume and also in amazement at what she thought he had just said.

  ‘Would you care to explain what that means?’ she asked, staring directly at her husband.

  ‘What?’ Sheridan was wide-eyed, his face damp with sweat and for a man who had spent the last few hours in bed he looked anything but rested.

  ‘“I didn’t mean to do it, Heather.” That’s what you just said, or rather shouted. “I didn’t mean to do it, Heather.” You’ve been yapping away in your sleep all night long. So much for my beauty sleep.’

  A look of horror streaked itself across Sheridan’s face. A trickle of sweat twisted its way down his forehead and came to rest on one of his eyebrows.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ His words were full of pity and uncharacteristically soft.

  ‘For what? What have you done to Heather?’

  The hotel tycoon, a man so big and strong, burst into tears. Not just a minor sob, but uncontrollable tears that flowed freely down his cheeks as he stared at his wife. Automatically, Sutton rushed over to the bed and pulled him towards her, her immediate response as a woman, a wife and a mother being to comfort him in his distress. His tears soaked into her cashmere robe as he rested his head on her shoulder, his hair, drenched with sweat, pushed against her neck.

  For a few seconds he just cried, unable to do anything else. Then he lifted his face towards Sutton. It was a canvas of misery. ‘I’ve been having bad dreams for a while now but this has been the worst.’

  ‘About what? Freddy goddamned Krueger?’ snapped Sutton. ‘You look like shit! Now, what has this got to do with poor Heather?’

  The words began to fall from Sheridan’s mouth. Tumbling out as if they had been caged, bird-like within him, and now at last the door was open, ready for them to fly free. But these were not pretty words of chirpy love and happiness, these were words of prey, swooping onto Sutton and pecking at her heart and every emotion she possessed as she tried to take on board what her husband was telling her.

  Sutton pushed him away, her need to comfort repelled, as he confessed to her that he had been responsible for the crash in Crete. How he had been drinking before and how he had not been fit to drive that night on the Greek island. How he had been to blame for the death of Max Stoneham. How he had been the one who had caused the death of their youngest daughter’s childhood sweetheart and husband. How Sheridan had been the one who had unintentionally ripped Max from Heather forever. How he had bribed the police to keep it a dirty secret. As he spoke, he sobbed. Large tears that had been forming finally breaking through the dam of his own misery. They obviously held regret but all Sutton could see in them was the reflection of Sheridan’s guilt. As far as she was concerned he had as good as killed Max Stoneham and as a result broken his own daughter’s heart for good.

  Thoughts flooded into her mind: of how Heather had wept upon seeing Max’s dead body in the Greek hospital mortuary; how Sheridan had been distant to his daughter at Max’s funeral. Now it made sense. His own guilt had formed a wall between himself and Heather that he was unable to cross. She thought of the car crashing in Crete and how Max must have realised that his life was over. Automatically she thought of her own mother being ploughed down in the backstreets of New York by a man never brought to justice. What was the difference between him and Sheridan? Both had killed and destroyed as far as she was concerned. And both had gotten away with it: one through sheer luck and one by flashing the cash.

  ‘Please, don’t hate me. I hate myself enough as it is,’ begged Sheridan as he looked at his wife.

  Sutton moved away from the bed. ‘Hate you? I despise you! You’re abhorrent. How could you? You could have booked a cab, taken a chauffeur… Why did you drive? And to cover it up… What kind of man are you? Does Heather know?’

  ‘I can’t tell her…’ Sheridan’s words were whispered and desperate.

  ‘No, but I can. I need to be with my daughter. Now.’

  ‘Please…’ Sheridan merely said one word, unsure what to follow it with.

  ‘Please? Please? You
lost the right to ask please when you downed the drink that took you over the limit and killed your son-in-law and ruined your daughter’s life.’

  There was a knock at the door of the hotel suite. The sound of it stopped both Sutton and Sheridan saying anything more, confused as to who could be knocking at such an early hour. It was only just past 5 a.m.

  Sutton opened it. Kassidy Orpin stood on the other side. She was still in her nightclothes and it was clear she had come straight from her bed to the suite.

  ‘What the fuck do you want? Have you come to shag my husband?’ barked Sutton.

  Kassidy was taken aback by Sutton’s outburst. Did she know about her and Sheridan? Obviously she did. What should she say? Given the news she had come to deliver she decided ignorance was the best policy.

  ‘Can I come in? I have some news. It’s about Heather.’

  Mention of her daughter streaked a blanket of concern across Sutton’s face, especially given what she had just learnt from Sheridan. She ushered the assistant into the suite. Sheridan appeared from the bedroom wearing a dressing gown; Kassidy nodded in acknowledgement as he entered the room. She could tell from his face that he had been crying and he appeared remarkably nervy and not at all himself. She had obviously not picked the best moment to arrive.

  ‘What do you want, Kassidy? And why are you dressed like that?’ His words were brusque and somewhat condescending as he scanned her attire.

  Ignoring his rudeness Kassidy began to speak. ‘I’ve just had a phone call from the police in St Lucia. They must have found my number as a family contact. It’s about Heather.’

  ‘The police. Oh my God…’ Sutton raised her hand to her mouth in anticipatory horror of what she was about to learn. ‘Please tell me she’s not dead.’

  ‘No, no, she’s fine,’ said Kassidy, keen to appease Sutton’s worry. ‘Well, sort of. Doctors are with her.’

  ‘What the hell has happened?’ shouted Sheridan.

  ‘The police arrested her last night. She was at the station all night but now she’s being seen by medics. Heather abducted a baby girl from the beach in St Lucia. She’s not done any harm to the child and they’re both okay, but apparently she was convinced that the little girl was hers.’

  Sutton thought she was about to fall to the floor at what she was hearing. She steadied herself by holding onto a nearby armchair. ‘Oh my poor baby! Why on earth would she think that?’

  For a moment Kassidy weighed up in her own mind what she should say. Should she let her bosses know that she had been to St Lucia to see Heather, that she had guessed she was pregnant? Something told her that, for now, it should remain a secret. But she did need to tell them everything she knew. It was the right thing to do; they were Heather’s parents after all.

  Kassidy stared solely at Sutton as she spoke. She couldn’t bear to look at Sheridan as she knew the news she had to share would cripple him. She also worried about what her own face would read if she faced him.

  ‘I’m really sorry but Heather was convinced that the child was hers – it appears she’s become a little confused about what’s reality and what’s not.’

  ‘She’s gone mad, you mean?’ The words had left Sheridan’s lips before he even had a chance to think on them. Sutton looked at him, a bolt of hatred cutting him down.

  ‘No, I spoke to the doctors too. The police gave me the number. The doctors say she’s confused. What with all of the stress and grief she’s been dealing with she seems to have lost her grip slightly.’

  Sutton sat herself down, her legs unable to support her weight. She flashed another look of anger at Sheridan. It didn’t go unnoticed by Kassidy. Did she know about Sheridan’s role in Max’s death, the event that had started this chain of misery for Heather? Something told her she might.

  ‘Poor Heather, it’s all due to losing Max,’ stated Sutton, her voice quivering on the edge of tears.

  ‘I’m afraid there’s something else too.’ Kassidy took a sharp intake of breath before continuing. ‘Heather was pregnant. But she suffered a miscarriage after Max’s funeral, back in St Lucia. The doctors think that suffering that loss and the grief of losing Max combined have sent her over the edge.’

  She stole a quick glance at Sheridan to see how he was reacting to the news. Tears were flowing down his cheeks. Kassidy turned away before his gaze could meet hers.

  Sutton, her cheeks also wet with tears, stood upright and pulled the tie of the cashmere robe tight around her again. It was the act of a woman who was determined to stay in control.

  ‘Kassidy, order the jet to be ready for take-off. I need to go to St Lucia now,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, I will. And I’ll have a car to pick you both up from here as soon as possible to take you to the airport.’

  ‘No,’ said Sutton. ‘Mr Rivers will be staying here. I’ll be flying alone. In fact, no, you can come with me, Kassidy. I will need some help sorting things out – doctors, police and the like. It will be good to have someone there to deal with all of that while I look after my daughter. God knows somebody needs to!’ She shot a look at Sheridan, who was still sobbing in the corner, apparently shell-shocked at what he had heard. ‘Be ready to leave in half an hour, Kassidy.’

  Kassidy nodded and went to leave. As she opened the door to depart she heard the sound of a loud crack. It was the unmistakable sound of flesh on flesh. She glanced back quickly to see Sutton standing in front of Sheridan, her hand raised. Sheridan’s cheek was stained not just with tears but also a slight reddening from where his wife had slapped it.

  Kassidy was guessing both she and Sutton shared a few secrets about Sheridan Rivers. Quite how the tycoon and his wife had managed to stay together through the years was beyond her.

  51

  Three decades earlier…

  The New York backstreet Sheridan Rivers was walking down was not one of his usual haunts on his many business trips to the Big Apple. This was no flashy Wall Street office or an uptown drinking hole where you were bound to rub shoulders with someone who knew someone who once knew the likes of Jackie Onassis or Andy Warhol. This was not where the deals were done and contracts were signed. This was a street where walking with any kind of ease meant slaloming your designer leather Guccis between the trash that littered almost every sidewalk pavestone and trying to avoid the drunken stares of the boozed-up bums menacingly propping up every street corner, swigging from bottles of heaven knows what.

  But Sheridan didn’t mind; in fact he wouldn’t have chosen to be anywhere else on earth at that very moment and as he tossed a few dollars into the begging cup of another of life’s unlucky outcasts he stared up at the sun shining down from the bright blue blanket above him and smiled. He had come to this backstreet for a reason. And that reason’s name was Sutton.

  Sheridan could have picked anyone in the world to fall in love with. He was rich, deeply handsome and his business acumen was becoming increasingly renowned – it was his name that people said when they talked of upstarts and go-getters. He was that young urban professional, the yuppie who was causing ripples in the hotel world. He was slick, well respected, came from good stock and possessed a killer smile that could stun a cobra into submission from another time zone. It was his name that people mentioned when the phrases ‘have you heard about…’ or ‘why don’t you try…’ were bandied about in power lunches and board meetings around the world. He’d been seen with glamour models and foxy TV hosts on his arm at the latest film premieres and hanging out with young Monaco royalty at album launches and swanky W1 casinos.

  In one word, Sheridan Rivers was hot. As hot as the New York sun baking the pavement. He stood outside the tiny hairdressers, which was packed with at least half a dozen more people than it should have been, given its size and inability to cope with such demand. But it was a place he had visited a lot over the last six months. Maybe three or four times now. It was always busy, full of women yacking at fast-lane-on-the-highway speed about things that more often than not he didn’t have a clu
e about. His mind may have been razor sharp when it came to the business finances of the hotel world but ask him about the latest dealings on The Bold and the Beautiful, or what he thought of Doug E. Fresh and his beatboxing skills, and he was silenced into ignorance. His knowledge of US soaps and rappers of the day was beyond pitiful.

  ‘Well, look at you! Back in town, all suited, booted and judging from your fancy-shmancy threads, all ready to be looted in this part of the city! Have you come to see Sutton? She’s out the back on a break.’

  The voice belonged to Pasinetta, Sutton’s grandmother and the owner of the ramshackle salon. Sheridan liked her. He had done ever since the first time he’d been introduced to her by a nervous and quivering Sutton when he had initially come to take her on a date. Pasinetta took to him straight away, as he had to her. She was warm, genuine and obviously a woman who cared a great deal for her granddaughter.

  As did Sheridan. Some of his young-gun business mates didn’t understand why he wanted to date a backstreet teenager that he’d picked up in a burger bar. Why waste his time on a girl in another continent whose experience of chips was less casino roulette and more serving them with a slab of meat and a pickled gherkin?

  They didn’t see what Sheridan did in the young and beautiful Sutton. They didn’t see a tough, young girl who deserved more in life than she was currently being allowed. A young girl who would always be grateful to have Sheridan in her life, somebody to love, honour and obey him. But with the main emphasis definitely on obey. Not that Sheridan didn’t find her incredibly attractive, he did. He had from the moment they had met at Dirty Dick’s. There was an innocent flirtation in her face when she served his food that made him want to stay in contact. Her face seemed to light up when she looked at him. A beam of excitement fused with hope appeared to radiate from her eyes as she coyly tried to look him straight in the face. There was so much more to this young girl – that was all she was, after all, no more than seventeen when they first met and three years his junior – than someone who was to spend her life flipping burgers and serving them in some low-rent diner. There was a flicker of aspiration that Sheridan could spot. It was the same feeling that he himself had always possessed, but his aspirations shone brighter than a wicker man on the night of burning. Despite their completely different upbringings, despite living on opposite sides of the Atlantic and despite there being a universe-sized difference in their finances, he felt they both possessed the drive to do whatever it took to succeed in life. Sheridan had learnt that from his conversations with Sutton. Her life was certainly not the silver-spoon existence that he had grown up with, but despite everything she had experienced in her few short years on earth, she already held a toughness and a desire to succeed. Despite being so very different, in that one way they were perfectly matched.