The Con

by L M Bee

  The house and gardens looked immaculate, but there were no visible signs of life as far as she could see. She was freaking out inside about trespassing, trembling deep inside her rib cage, but adamant she wasn’t going to wimp out. Sophia stepped tentatively onto the edge of the flagstones round the pool, adrenaline pumping like crazy and nervously glancing round all the time; certain a place like this would have security. She was primed to jump out of her skin if a ferocious dog or burly security guard leapt out of the shadows, most of the fear in her own head but it wouldn’t take much to shock the hell out of her right now.

  Looking around, there was no sign of anyone, and she noticed the door of the pool house half open. Tiptoeing up to it and bravely popping her head round, she called out, “Hello, is anyone here? Bonjour, il y a quelqu’un?”

  Silence. Then just as she was about to turn and go, she heard a muffled cough coming from the little room at the back. Trying again, and this time raising her voice so the person with the cough could hear better:

  “Hello, is anyone there?”

  A young man stepped out of the room. Stark naked, holding a tiny white hand towel in front of his groin. Standing still as a statue, expression like a rabbit in headlights, scared witless.

  Chapter 16

  Guilt was written all over his face. Obviously doing something he shouldn't be.

  Then Sophia noticed his clothes, dropped in a pile on the floor. Dusty blue overalls and work boots, not far from two empty bottles of beer on the bar.

  Realising she’d caught him in flagrante tickled her sense of humour. He was only young, probably not even twenty, and butt naked except for the tiny white towel shielding his manhood. Sophia had to try really hard to not to giggle, until she remembered that actually she was the one breaking the law.

  Thinking on her feet and hedging her bets that this young man was probably entertaining one of the housemaids, Sophia made an on the spot decision. She would pretend she was visiting from the Paris office, to carry out a check on behalf of the owner. Yes, that would fit in with the young stud’s expression of being caught red-handed and clearly fearful for his job. Gulping back her nerves, and putting her nose in the air, Sophia adopted her best managerial tone of voice. In English, because it was easier to sound more assertive, and articulating loud and clear.

  “I’m here on behalf of the Paris office to check the itinerary of the pool house.” Bang.

  The young man’s face went white with fear. An urgent rustling sound could be heard coming from the little room at the back. The door suddenly opened wider, and a small dark girl appeared with a cherubic Latin face. Hair tousled, flushed in the face, her uniform flung back on in a hurry. Distinctly braver than her boyfriend, frantically trying to tidy her appearance, she spoke confidently in perfect English.

  “Good evening, Madame, how can we assist you please?”

  “Have you got a copy of the pool house itinerary to hand?”

  “No I don’t think so, but if you call Monsieur Bisset’s assistant, Cecile, she can email one to you.”

  The young man fidgeted nervously, not half as ballsy as his girlfriend.

  “That won’t be necessary, thank you, I’ll come back another time with my own copy. Oh and by the way, do you happen to recall any visitors in the last week or so?”

  “Definitely no visitors, the house is closed. As you must know, Madame Bisset is unwell, the family are staying in Paris. We have been instructed to keep everything clean and tidy and ready for them to arrive at a moment’s notice.”

  “Yes, but the house was used on Tuesday by a Mr Harrison, wasn’t it?”

  “Sorry, but I think you are mistaken. Nobody is allowed to stay here without the family. It has always been that way, no visitors without the family, that’s the rule.”

  “Are you absolutely certain?”

  “Yes, Madame.”

  “Sorry to be so insistent, but one of the office staff heard that a visitor called Mr Harrison was here on Tuesday afternoon. Apparently he enjoyed a swim in the pool, before taking a drive along the coast road in an old-fashioned sports car.”

  The young man coughed before interrupting, his comprehension of English suddenly better than he’d made out, or maybe coitus interruptus had briefly affected his brain.

  “Excuse me,” he interjected, “there was a break-in here on Tuesday. Someone broke into the pool house. The police were immediately alerted, and have been round to take photographs and fingerprints.”

  “How did the thieves manage to break in if you were all working here?” quizzed Sophia.

  The girl responded quickly, “We have the day off on Tuesdays,” glancing at her young man for verification. “We both went into town for the day, and when we got back we found the pool house door had been forced open. Nothing broken or missing, just wet towels and an empty bottle of wine. The police were here earlier this afternoon to take statements from us – we were just tidying up behind them.”

  The young man had warmed up now, far keener to be of assistance.

  “Madame, you mentioned an old-fashioned sports car. The Bisset family have one, part of their private collection, stored here in the stable yard – it was stolen on Tuesday. The police suspect that whoever broke into the pool house also disabled the security camera in the stable yard and stole the car. Would you like to inspect the garage?”

  “No that won’t be necessary, thank you, my instructions were to check the pool house inventory. I’ll print off my own copy and come back again another day. However, I’ll leave you my number.” Picking up a pen from beside the phone and writing her mobile number clearly on the notepad.

  “My name is Mary Pembroke. Please let me know if there’s any further news from the police about the break-in. Thank you.”

  Sophia smiled at them both, and moved towards the door, standing on the threshold about to step out when she couldn’t resist turning round to add a cheeky little parting comment. “Sorry to interrupt you!” she smirked.

  The young man lowered his head in shame, counting his lucky stars to have been helpful instead of being fired. The pretty young girl blushed, stifling her giggles, looking eager to pick up where they had left off.

  Chapter 17

  Deep in thought, Sophia walked slowly back along the dusty footpath, evaluating the information and beginning to wish she hadn’t started her investigations. Every bit of fruitful digging was just making the situation worse.

  So Oliver Harrison didn’t live at that big house. In fact he had nothing to do with it whatsoever; it belonged to the restaurateur’s friend of forty years Monsieur Bisset.

  How the hell was she going to break this to Mary? Obviously smitten, and flying off the handle at the faintest whiff of negativity towards her new man – this enlightening piece of information wouldn’t go down too well, that’s for sure.

  Almost at the end of the footpath, Sophia could see the timber beach shack up ahead. Determined to get to the bottom of this, the restaurant now in her sights, she took a deep breath and pushed her shoulders back. In for a penny in for a pound, she said to herself, striding boldly up to the front of the restaurant. She planted herself near the door, in a perfect position to catch the owner’s eye. He quickly noticed Sophia, but ignored her, busy attending to occupied tables. No problem, smiled Sophia, perfectly happy to wait.

  Eventually he hovered near her, an unfriendly expression on his face as though there was a bad smell under his nose. His voice sounded clipped and irritable, “Mademoiselle, can I help? Did you forget something?”

  “Yes, I want to apologise for doubting that your friend owns that big house,” she gave him her nicest smile, “and to ask you a serious question please.”

  “What’s your question?” he barked, bristling with hostility, but nothing was going to deter Sophia now she had the bit between her teeth.

  Standing tall and looking him straight in the eye, she asked politely but firmly, “If you don’t know Oliver Harrison, then why did you apparently greet h
im like a regular when he came here for lunch on Tuesday?”

  “Tuesday?” he muttered, scowling and holding the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger as though it helped him to think. “Ah yes, I remember him now. Tall man, lives locally he said, very polite. Stopped by here early that morning, said he wanted to impress his guest at lunchtime and asked if they could have the table with the best view. Of course I was happy to oblige, and said I looked forward to seeing them both later.”

  “But, apparently you greeted him like a regular … “

  Looking down his nose with absolute disdain, his voice riddled with contempt, “Mademoiselle, this is the Riviera. Surely you’ve heard the expression, cash is king? The man pressed a 50 euro note into my hand, and asked if I could greet him like a regular to impress his guest!”

  Chapter 18

  Exhausted from an endless day of drinking and dancing, Mary had collapsed into bed and gone out like a light. She woke the next morning, with a thick head and sore feet, to the hotel phone ringing on the bedside table. Eyes closed, still half asleep, she stretched across the table fumbling for the receiver.

  “Hello,” she croaked, about to drop off to sleep again.

  “Good morning, beautiful! How are you today? Missing you already.”

  Mary giggled, snuggling into the pillows with a big grin on her face, and tucked the receiver against her ear.

  “Is that the very handsome man that’s going to propose to me on Christmas Day?”

  “It certainly is, and since we’re going to be husband and wife, I thought you might like a little trip to Monaco today to see where I work.”

  “Ooh yes please, how exciting!”

  “Good. There’s a car waiting downstairs for you, it’ll bring you here to the little airfield that Chuck and I are taking over. Get here as soon as you can, the helicopter’s ready and waiting for us.”

  “Okay,” squealed Mary, throwing off the duvet.

  “Thought we could breakfast on the rooftop of The Fairmont Monte Carlo, and then spend the morning relaxing in the sun, before dropping into my office. Cinderella, I promise you’ll be back at your hotel in time to meet Sophia when she returns from work.”

  Mary groaned.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, sounding deflated. “Don’t you like my plan?”

  “Sophia and I haven’t spoken since our argument.”

  “What’s her problem?”

  “You. She says she doesn’t trust you.”

  “Darling, don’t worry your pretty little head about it, she’s probably just under pressure at work or something, or jealous of your happiness, women get like that, particularly with old friends. No point wasting time thinking about her issues, entirely her own problem. Now let’s go and have a fabulous day together.” He concluded by blowing kisses down the phone.

  “Oh, Ollie, you always make me feel so much better, thank you.”

  “Now you need to get out of bed, my darling, get into that car and meet me at the airfield as soon as you can.”

  “Okay, I’ll be quick, love you.” She blew kisses back to him.

  Leaping out of bed, Mary threw on one of her new summer dresses. Running barefoot into the bathroom, she splashed water on her face and hastily brushed her teeth. Grabbing her bag, new iPhone and shoes, she rushed out into the corridor and repeatedly tapped the call button for the lift, hurriedly tying the ribbons of her espadrilles whilst travelling down to the ground floor, intending to brush her hair and apply some make-up in the car. Then she realised that in the rush, she’d stupidly left her brush and make-up sitting on the bed. Oh well, hey ho, she thought, channelling the natural look today – and hastily donned her large black sunglasses.

  As she was dashing through the foyer, the bespectacled male concierge called out, “Bonjour Madame Pembroke, your daughter called to say your mobile is always going to voicemail, and a car is waiting for you outside.”

  “Thank you,” Mary called back in a hurry, spinning through the revolving doors like a whirling dervish, straight into the waiting black Mercedes for a short drive to the airfield.

  Approaching along the acres of flat tarmac runway, she could see Oliver waiting for her long before the car pulled up outside the airfield offices. The moment Mary stepped out of the car he enveloped her in his arms and kissed her adoringly, before guiding her towards the bright blue helicopter with rotors whirring waiting to take off.

  As the helicopter lifted up, giving a bird’s eye view of the airfield, Mary felt well and truly swept off her feet.

  “Is this yours?” she gushed.

  “No, mine’s having its annual overhaul, back next week.”

  “So who owns this one?”

  “The Fairmont Monte Carlo. They insist on giving me VIP treatment – been a regular so many years I feel like I own the place!”

  “Golly, how impressive!”

  “They’ve even asked if they can rename the bend on the Formula One circuit after my property empire – I’m thinking about it, haven’t decided yet.”

  “Goodness, what an honour!” cooed Mary, totally in awe of her handsome and successful entrepreneur.

  As the helicopter landed on the roof of The Fairmont, overlooking some of the most expensive super-yachts in the world, Mary felt like a real celebrity. Men in boiler-suits and ear-defenders appeared to semaphore them from the helipad to the rooftop entrance of the hotel.

  “Thought a champagne breakfast would be the perfect way to start the day,” crooned Oliver stroking her hand, after they’d been shown to the best table in the rooftop restaurant. “You make me feel on top of the world!” he joked.

  Mary blushed and giggled, she’d never been treated like this before. Her mornings normally started with a vodka headache, puffy eyes, and endless encouragement to get her children out of bed – not helicopters and champagne breakfasts.

  “Melanie at Nikki Beach has reserved the best daybed for us.”

  “Nikki Beach?”

  “World famous beach club, here on the roof of the hotel, you’ll love it. We can lounge by the pool all morning, soaking up the sun, before a light lunch and then drop into the office. How does that sound?”

  “Darling, sounds wonderful, but I haven’t brought any swimming things.”

  “Neither have I,” he laughed. “Here, take my American Express card and ask Melanie over there to help you. She can send someone down to the shops to bring back a selection of swimsuits for you to choose from. Oh and could you choose a pair of trunks for me too, size 36” waist, blue if possible. Robes and towels are in the changing rooms.”

  Mary disappeared off with Melanie and returned an hour later dressed in the latest scarlet swimsuit, with co-ordinating silk kaftan and bohemian jewellery, very South of France chic.

  Driving to work Sophia felt distinctly on edge and irritable, having barely slept a wink all night, tossing and turning because a new thought had uncomfortably lodged itself in her brain. Impossible to ignore, it had kept her awake staring at the ceiling, considering the conundrum from every conceivable angle but failing to come up with an answer.

  How did Oliver Harrison know on Tuesday morning, when he dropped in to see the restaurateur, that he would be taking Mary for lunch later at that day?

  Chapter 19

  Craning her neck to stare all the way up the high rise building, Mary couldn’t believe her eyes. Sleek and swish, on a par with something snazzy in Las Vegas, twenty-one floors clad in jet black mirrored panels.

  With just one solitary detail, a large gold H, over the entrance. A bold design statement that oozed luxury and success.

  “Crikey that’s impressive,” cooed Mary, her head spinning. Ollie was just one fabulous surprise after another, no end to his talents, wealth and lavish lifestyle.

  “Business is booming,” he bragged, “we’re looking to take on more staff.”

  As they crossed the white marble entrance hall to the bank of lifts, uniformed security respectfully nodded at the happy couple. Ol
lie pressed the button for his penthouse office suite, no floor number, just another solid gold H.

  “Welcome to my empire, darling,” he said, gently holding Mary’s chin up to kiss her as the doors sighed shut.

  Striding authoritatively along the vast corridor, he left Mary to follow behind ogling the impressive collection of photographic prints lining the walls. At the far end, he paused at the reception desk and turned to Mary.

  “Darling, I need to make an important conference call. Won’t be long, about twenty minutes, I’m going to leave you in the capable hands of the lovely Annabel here.”

  Annabel promptly stood up. “Good morning, Mr Harrison.”

  “Good morning, Annabel, please could you look after Mary for me and give her anything she wants.” Moving towards the entrance of his private office, a pair of extremely tall black lacquered doors with a single gold H in the centre of them, Oliver turned to blow Mary a kiss before disappearing inside.

  “Very pleased to meet you,” gushed Annabel. “We’ve all heard so much about you; honestly, we’ve never seen him happier.”

  “Oh how lovely, thank you,” replied Mary, bursting with pride.

  “Please make yourself comfortable,” said Annabel, waving one hand towards a large sofa. “Would you like tea or coffee?”

  “Coffee please, white two sugars.”

  Annabel adjusted her telephone headset. “Maria, could you prepare a pot of coffee for Mr Harrison’s guest, please.” Covering the microphone with her fingers, she whispered to Mary, “Would you like some biscuits too?”

  Mary smiled and nodded, giving a little thumbs up sign.

  “And put some of those biscuits on the tray, the ones you make exclusively for Mr Harrison.”