Marbella Truth

by Shel Stone

  Marbella Truth

  Book 8 of the Marbella Series

  By Shel Stone

  Copyright ©2020 Shel Stone

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the work of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Shel Stone - Author

  www.instagram.com/shelstone_author/

  shelstone.author@gmail.com

  Chapter 1

  THE DRONING BEEPS OF the machines would be calming if it wasn’t for the baleful stares of the man lying in the austere, but functional hospital bed. No matter how much money one had, hospital beds didn’t come in more attractive forms.

  “You’re not in pain, are you, Father?” Ludwina asked, concern clear in her eyes.

  “No,” their father said tersely and silence returned his sharp gaze to the large room with beautiful parquetted flooring laid out in beautiful patterns. The white curtains flowed with the breeze coming off the sea beyond. It was certainly a beautiful setting for containing disease and old age.

  Tristan would give anything to be out in the sunshine right now, but their father was close to death, apparently.

  “And here you all are, sitting like vultures, waiting for me to die,” he said with shaky voice, his breaths seeming to utterly deflate him, the shadow of the fearsome man he had been. His sickness had stolen his strength, but it had only made him more bitter. A deep, unpleasant cough wracked his body.

  “That’s not true, Father,” Ludwina said and started to cry, to which their father snorted with disgust.

  Pleasing him was something they had all failed to do for various reasons, so in a sense, they had stopped listening and just gotten on with their lives. Tristan worked hard with his property development projects, while Persephone had her fashion line, and Ludwina—well, she did whatever it was she did.

  Was it terrible that he just wanted this over with? There was nothing that could be done, but their father fought for breath to the bitter end. He didn’t believe in giving the enemy an inch, and right now he was in the fight of his life. One he wouldn’t win, but he wasn’t giving ground to death.

  This had been coming for a while, but had still been a surprise when his nurse had called and told them that it was time for them to come. And they had all flown in. Himself from Munich, Persephone from Milan, and Ludwina from some Himalayan chanting retreat she’d been at. They hadn’t seen each other in person for a while. Not since the obligatory Christmas lunch that they spent together every year.

  They certainly hadn’t ignored their father, but they spent as much time with him as he suggested, which consisted of lunches when they happened to be in the same city. Tristan called him once every other week, in conversations that were often short and stilted, but he’d had it scheduled in his diary to call his father. What Persephone or Ludwina did, he had no idea.

  Ludwina was actually the one who stayed out of touch for any length of time. She would get upset about something, or go through ‘creative periods’ when nothing could interfere with the flow of her work. Honestly, Tristan understood his youngest sister less than probably every other person on the planet. As siblings, they had nothing in common, and they seemed to forever be at odds about everything. Ludwina generally felt he was shamefully commercialistic and shallow, and hence harmful to the delicate balance of the world.

  But now they were here and things were going to change. The patriarch of their family was dying, and as unpleasant as he was to them, Tristan wondered if he was also the glue of the family. After this, would they have anything other than their surnames in common?

  No, they had to. They had to make an effort. It would certainly be easier to make an effort. Beside the fact that he and Ludwina seemed to have entirely different views on life, there hadn’t really been any true discord. He and Persephone always got on alright. She understood how trying their father could be to deal with, and found it curious when people suggested how lucky they had been to have grown up with so much wealth.

  “This house has a state of the art vault,” their father said in his wheezing voice. “It contains some of the finest artwork in the world, including the Rembrandt, the Van Gogh and the Monet.” It had to be state of the art to protect those masterpieces. They would be worth an absolute fortune.

  None of them had any real idea what their father’s fortune was worth, only what Fortune speculated.

  “And that vault, and all its content, will belong to whomever holds the deed to this house.”

  “What do you mean?” Tristan asked.

  “I mean only one of you will inherit the vault.”

  Silence descended on the room.

  “That’s hardly fair,” Ludwina said, who was usually one hundred percent against talking about money. The currency of the small mind, she would say.

  “But I have not stipulated who the heir will be. The courts will have to decide.”

  “I don’t think you can do that,” Persephone said. Surely there were laws that divided the assets equally.

  Wracking coughs took him again. “I, my dear, can do anything I want,” he said with his grim smile.

  You can’t beat death, Tristan wanted to reply, but he held his tongue. This was just another way for him to build discord. It did make sense from his perspective, and his hyper competitiveness. He wanted one of them to take out their siblings. That was what made a good person in his view. Correction, not a good person, a powerful person. Father had never respected good people. Good was for losers. Real power was about doing what needed to be done.

  All these things they had heard growing up, and still he wasn’t done with his attempts to cause discord between them.

  “Right, then. The courts will have to decide.”

  Looking over, he saw Persephone giving him a shrug. She wasn’t surprised by this either. Father playing games with them wasn’t unusual, and it wasn’t surprising he did it now either. But they’d learned to negotiate an outcome behind his back that suited all of them and caused a hell of a lot less stress.

  “It could take years to go through the Spanish court system,” Tristan finally said and their father smiled.

  Secretly, Tristan wondered if it was evil of him to wish his father would just die. The man was enjoying this last bit of insult too much. “I might stretch my legs for a moment,” he said with a tight smile. So I don’t strangle the man.

  Chapter 2

  ESME SAT IN HER ROOM, the samples from her new décolletage cream on the desk in front of her, and she could smell the lovely scent of them whenever the breeze blew into the room.

  Tapping her pen to her teeth, she sighed. Work had taken over her life for a moment. After having misguidedly ignored her skincare line through what she now called her dark period, she was focusing on it exclusively. Mostly so she didn’t have to think about Darius and how things had gone so very wrong.

  In fact, she had no idea where he was, having unfollowed him on everything she could, and anyone he was associated with. She’d even disassociated with Samara, which was a little unfair as the woman wasn’t in any way responsible for Darius or his behaviour, but they hadn’t really been friends in the first place, and she just needed to cut that whole family loose.

  Some accused her of completely cocooning, and there may be some truth to that. She didn’t go out, she didn’t think about guys—she didn’t even drink. Shania was worried, but so far, Esme had resisted all attempts to drag her out, even the offered trip to Bangkok. And as opposed to others, she didn’t believe the best way to get over a guy was to get under another, especially not after being messed around as badly as she had b
een.

  No, what she needed was to launch this damned décolletage line. Glancing over, she looked over some of the glossy prints sent by the marketing firm she’d engaged for the launch promotion. They’d done some photos, which were really nice, but she wondered if they were just a little too edgy for her target market. It worked for her, but she wasn’t sure it worked for her customers. It was something she had to mull over.

  Looking out her window, she saw the sea beyond, bright blue and sparkling. It was a gorgeous day, but she hadn’t been outside in quite a while. She did have the doors open so the breeze came through occasionally. That was kind of outside, wasn’t it?

  Beside her, her phone rang and she looked over to see Aggie’s smiling face and not the agent for the bottlers in Vietnam as she expected. For a moment, she wondered if she would ignore it, but in the end, she picked up the phone and answered. “Aggie, so great to hear from you.”

  “Same. Where have you been? I’ve called you repeatedly.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry. I’m just so crazy busy at the moment,” she lied. More lying. With Darius, she’d started lying all the time, small lies that fed into big lies, that then fed into total delusions. “I’m launching a product, and I’ve been avoiding you.” Might as well start telling the truth, then maybe she wouldn’t feel like such a loser.

  “Bunnykins,” Aggie mused and just the tone of her voice was threatening Esme’s composure. This was the reason Esme had been ignoring her.

  “Just need to hide in my cave for a bit.”

  “Yeah, well, I might make things worse for you.”

  “How could you possibly?” Esme asked with a snort.

  “Inns is in town.”

  Esme’s expression melted from her face. How bloody typical. “Oh great, an ex hanging around.”

  “I just thought I’d let you know, so you don’t… you know, get stung with him.”

  In all honesty, Esme’s mind had ground to a halt. Dealing with Inns was just too much to think about. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll have a nice time. As he loves it here so much.” Yes, there was sarcasm there. Inns hated everything about Marbella—from the gaudy nouveau-riche, like her, to the tourists, even the sun. “Did he bring his girlfriend? What was her name?” Did she care about Inns’ girlfriend, or that she might be roaming the streets? Aggie seemed to think she was horrific.

  “Annabel, I think. I haven’t seen her, but she might be arriving later. I don’t know, and I honestly don’t care. You don’t care, do you?”

  “God, no,” Esme said with a handwave, even as no one could see it. “Inns… you know, whatever.” She didn’t even have the energy to form an opinion.

  “The miserable git can go hang himself. He’s usually good at it. Do you want to meet for lunch?” Aggie asked brightly.

  What could she say to make that a credible no?

  “You can’t avoid me forever and you really need to get out of your house. “

  Esme groaned because she knew Aggie was right.

  “We can talk about what to do for Felix’s birthday party,” Aggie pressed.

  “Nothing,” Esme said. “He’s even more boring that I am these days.”

  “We literally never see him around anymore. Oh, you’ll never guess who called me the other day.”

  Esme rolled her eyes, because of course she would never guess.

  “Ricky,” Aggie said.

  “That DJ guy?”

  “Yes. Says he’s coming back to Marbella for a while.”

  “I hadn’t even realized he’d gone.”

  “Apparently he’s been in Ibiza, living the DJ dream or something like that.”

  “Oh yeah,” Esme said, completely indifferent. Ricky was nice as such, but he was so dull. Definitely had looks that drew attention. Total fitness freak, and although she didn’t readily admit it, Aggie was drawn to the type. Although there had been a while when Aggie had hung out with him, but as far as Esme knew, nothing had ever happened there. It was hard to imagine them as friends. You couldn’t think of two more different people, but then Aggie enjoyed hanging with people she had nothing in common with. “That’s nice,” she said, but she honestly didn’t care. Although… there might not be anyone on the planet who would annoy Inns more.

  Chapter 3

  EXCITEMENT BIT IN RICKY’S GUT as he landed in Malaga. It felt right being back, but he couldn’t exactly say why. He’d missed Marbella since he’d left, even as his career had gone from strength to strength in Ibiza, including guest spots in the hottest clubs in the world. But at some point, things had ground to a halt—not with his career as such, more with him. His work had stopped feeding his soul and he didn’t know why, and for some reason, Marbella had called.

  It wasn’t as if his relationships here had been particularly deep or lasting, but the place was drawing him back more than any particular person. Maybe because he’d felt as if he’d been on the right track here, or had been himself in some way. Anyway, there was something here that he felt he had to get back to.

  Picking his bag off the carousel, he heaved the strap over his shoulder and walked out of the airport to the taxi queue. An apartment had been rented for him by the production company that employed him. They weren’t excited about his move back to Marbella, but they sorted him a season at Virtue, the outdoor club he’d worked at for a while.

  In the back of the taxi, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, a part of him still raging at himself for giving up his cushy position in Ibiza, and the higher pay. Fresh air and sun met him when he stepped out of the taxi in front of a nondescript apartment building. The apartments looked small, but they had balconies, which was something he really needed. He didn’t mind apartments, but he wanted somewhere he could sit in fresh air.

  The key was supposed to be in a box by the door and he pressed in the code he’d been given, to be pleased there actually was a key there. Making his way inside, he found his apartment, which had white walls and glossy beige tiles on the floor. It was a holiday apartment, functional, but completely without charm.

  Dumping the bags down, he walked over and pulled open the sliding door to the balcony. Before him stretched the housing development and then the sea beyond, in the distance. It would do, he acknowledged. Heat radiated up from the metal railing as he leaned on it. A nice, sunny day like most others here. At times, he couldn’t get over the fact that he wasn’t stuck in some dreary flat in London.

  Ambition had driven him here and he’d done well. Megan had helped, his then girlfriend. He’d been in awe of her—her confidence, the people she knew, her way of moving in the world, but ultimately it hadn’t worked out, or rather, he’d sabotaged it. He wasn’t entirely sure, but he suspected he’d been overwhelmed and intimidated in the end. Megan came from a different world from his. It was still a different world, the world of the rich. He’d been so amazed that he could cross into it, to hang with those people, and he could hang with those people, but at the heart of it, and no matter how long he spent there, he didn’t belong there.

  And now Megan was with Jesus, who was again his boss. Hopefully, if Jesus had a problem with him coming back, he wouldn’t have hired him. But Jesus wasn’t one for petty insecurities. It might be a Spanish thing, but the guy didn’t have insecurities, or didn’t show them if he did. Anyway, it wasn’t as if Ricky was here to win her back. At the core, they didn’t really gel. He wasn’t sure what Megan saw when she looked at him, but he was pretty sure it was something other than what he was.

  Then there had been Aggie, who at one point, had been his closest confidante. The first and probably only girl he’d ever counted as a friend, and he’d called her to tell her he was coming. If there was any semblance of a friendship anymore, he couldn’t really tell. It had been a while.

  Taking a deep breath, he walked back inside and saw the car keys on the breakfast bar. It had been leased for him and he could either keep it, or return it when he got his own. This wasn’t a town where you could get around without a car, and
Virtue wasn’t within walking distance.

  It was nice that he knew exactly where to go, and he drove to Virtue, which would be serving the afternoon crowd right then.

  The new hostess on the door looked him up and down. Not quite as mercenary as Blanca Beach, but this girl was ready to deny entry to anyone she deemed unsuitable to the atmosphere. She smiled. Seemed he passed the test.

  “I’m the new DJ,” he said, holding out his hand to her. “Ricky.”

  “Skye,” the girl said. Gorgeous with an accent, and he was fairly sure she wasn’t born with that name. If he were to guess, she was local or maybe Portuguese.

  “Lovely to meet you, Skye. Is Jesus in?”

  “He is here, but I don’t know where,” she said and smiled before turning her attention back to her podium.

  Her body was great and for a moment, Ricky wondered if there was potential there. The instinct to go for anything that appealed was still there, but he’d developed a resistance to not go for it just because it was there. Attraction was everywhere, and it didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t a call to arms.

  Putting the gorgeous hostess out of his mind, he walked into the main bar area. It had changed a bit. The massive photos of Megan weren’t there anymore. The decor had changed. A place like this couldn’t sit still on image. It constantly had to update. It’s what kept a club fresh. The people who came here on holiday once a year didn’t want to go back to the club they’d been to last year—they wanted something new. The perpetual chase for something was core to his work too.

  The music was more sedate, set for lounging and talking rather than the hard beats of the night. It was foreplay, basically.

  Looking around, he saw a familiar face, Trish, and walked over. He knew her, not really well, but enough to say hello. She was the girlfriend of the guy Ricky sometimes worked out with at the Athletics Club—a guy who was serious about his physique. Ricky counted himself in that club, and he kept himself tidy. “Hey, Trish,” he said.