Beautiful Liar

by Tara Bond

  “What? Playing? Because I’m organising.” I raised a questioning eyebrow. “I host these things.”

  Ah, so that explained the suit.

  I glanced around the room. “And why the cloak-and-dagger routine?”

  “Because it’s not strictly on the up-and-up.”

  “It’s illegal? Why?” To my mind, who cared if a bunch of obnoxious wealthy people wanted to gamble money they could afford.

  “Because I take the rake.” He grinned at my obvious confusion. “So you’re not quite as streetwise as you’d like everyone to think.”

  “Or maybe I’ve just got better things to do with my money than fritter it away on some stupid game.”

  “Right.” He nodded with exaggerated patience. “That must be it.”

  I waited for him to explain, but he didn’t. I debated whether to let it go, rather than admit to being interested, but curiosity got the better of me. “So?” I said. “What’s the rake?”

  “It’s the commission I take for hosting the game. About two and a half per cent of the pot.”

  I looked at the piles of money on the table, and let out a low whistle. “I’m guessing that adds up.” I frowned then. “But what’s the point? Is your allowance from Daddy not big enough?”

  I saw his jaw tighten a fraction. I’d clearly hit on a nerve. His eyes flitted over to me. “I haven’t taken a penny from my father since I was eighteen. This is how I earn my living.” He nodded at the poker table. “For now.”

  I wasn’t sure if I was meant to be impressed, but I was determined not to be.

  “And he knows you hold these games here?”

  “Not exactly.” The ghost of a smile crossed his face. “That’s part of the fun.”

  There was a trace of bitterness in his voice, and it sounded like there was more to that story.

  Before I could pursue the topic any further, Tori came up to us. She didn’t look happy to see me.

  “What’s she doing here?” Her arms snaked proprietorially around Alex.

  “That’s what I’ve been wondering,” I said, trying not to bristle at the way she talked about me as though I wasn’t there. I still couldn’t quite make out their relationship. I’d seen Alex with a bunch of girls, so they certainly weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend. Yet it was clear Tori felt she had some right to him.

  But more importantly, I couldn’t figure out what Alex’s angle was. He surely didn’t want me to join the poker game—it wasn’t like I had anywhere near the money for that. And even though I was good, I wasn’t in the league of the people playing.

  “It’s very simple.” To his credit, he ignored Tori and directed his answer at me. “I’m in need of a dealer. Someone who knows the game but who’s also discreet and trustworthy.”

  I must have been staring blankly at him, because to my shame I still wasn’t getting what he was saying.

  “I invited you because I want you to come and work for me,” he explained with slow deliberation. “I want you to be a dealer at my poker nights.”

  * * *

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “You’ve already got a dealer, haven’t you? Why do you need me?”

  It was four hours later, the early hours of the morning, and the poker game was over. After dropping his bombshell, Alex had said he needed to get back to the game and asked me to wait around so we could talk once it was finished. I’d been in too much shock to object. He’d gone back to overseeing the game, and I’d been drawn into watching it, too. There was something fascinating about seeing those huge sums of money being won and lost.

  Alex and I sat opposite each other on the plush sofas in front of the roaring fire. Tori was still there—although thankfully far enough away not to be able to hear our conversation, draped over a beautifully upholstered ottoman as she tapped away on her iPhone.

  “Unfortunately I need a new dealer.” Alex regarded me with cool eyes. “Lai-King—the girl dealing tonight—is going back to Macao. I want you to take her place.”

  I chewed at the inside of my lip. I hated to admit it, but I was intrigued.

  “So what would that entail?”

  “I hold one of these nights every week or so. Sometimes more regularly, if there’s demand. It pays well—a thousand pounds a night, plus tips.” He grinned. “And, trust me, these guys are generous tippers.”

  He made it sound so tempting—which I presumed was deliberate. He knew I was desperate for money. I had to tear my thoughts away from the cash, and focus instead on more pragmatic details.

  “But you said it’s illegal. What if we get caught?”

  He sat back and laced his hands behind his head, his long legs stretching out in front of him. “That’s not going to happen.”

  “Really? And how can you be so sure?”

  “Because I’m very, very careful. The players are all personal contacts. The venue is always somewhere high-end”—he cast his eyes around the hotel room, as if to prove his point—“and the exact address is only revealed at the last minute. Trust me, I have all bases covered.” He paused, waited a beat, and then said, “So? Anything else you want to know?”

  I didn’t answer straight away. The truth was, I did have one more question—one that had been nagging at the back of my mind since I arrived. But I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to hear the answer.

  “Why me?” I said finally.

  He frowned a little. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean why are you offering this role to me, specifically? I get that I play cards well, and I suppose you think it will titillate your players to have a female dealer.” I remembered reading in an article somewhere that casinos were looking to employ more women. “But it’s more than that, isn’t it? I’m sure you could find plenty of other girls willing and able to do this job. So why are you asking me?”

  Alex leaned back on the sofa, his ice-blue eyes strangely mesmerising. “Because it means I get to spend more time with you, of course.”

  He spoke in that slightly mocking tone, which made it hard for me to work out how serious he was. But something about the way he was looking at me made me feel like he really meant it.

  I was suddenly aware of just how dry my mouth was. I picked up the glass of water in front of me and took a long swig. My mind was racing. Alex’s offer was tempting—more tempting than I cared to admit. But I was worried about where it would lead. The business side of things I could handle—it was just the personal stuff that scared me. I had enough problems sorting out my mother. I didn’t need to get involved with someone equally damaged.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t do it,” I said. “I know you said we won’t get caught, but I just can’t risk it. The last thing I need is a criminal record.”

  I thought I saw a look of disappointment cross his face, and I was worried that he was going to try to convince me further. But instead, all he said was, “That’s a shame.” His eyes flicked to the windows. Even through the blackout blinds, I could see the cold, harsh glare of the early-morning sun. “It’s light outside. You’ll be safe getting home.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet and tossed a handful of notes onto the table. “This should cover your cab fare and your time tonight.”

  That was the last thing I’d been expecting. “There’s no need for that—”

  “Please. Take it. I insist.”

  With that, he stood and went to join Tori. Once they were gone, I collected up the money and headed out into the ice-cold air. For some reason I couldn’t understand, I felt strangely empty. But I didn’t have time to dwell on that. I had far more important things to worry about—because at eight o’clock that morning I was due to meet with Sergei.

  * * *

  After my mother had told me about the loan she’d taken from Sergei, I’d called to inform him that I’d be the one paying him back. He’d arranged to meet me to discuss payment terms.

  So two hours after leaving the Manor Hotel I found myself standing outside Le Grand Café, the bizarrely
named greasy spoon situated by a busy crossroads on the Tower Bridge Road. It was one of several dingy workingmen’s caffs in the area that served as Sergei’s unofficial office. He always insisted on meeting in public—which was fine by me. I had no desire to be anywhere alone with him.

  I spotted him as soon as I walked in. He was already seated at his usual table in the corner, conveniently away from anyone else. From a distance, he didn’t look like an especially dangerous individual—he was in his early sixties, and not physically impressive. He was only a little taller than me, and slightly built; he wore a bad wig to cover his receding hairline. In his dark suit and white shirt, he could almost have passed for a legitimate businessman. But when you got closer, you could see that this was just a front for a hardened criminal—his face was like leather, criss-crossed with scars, and there was a coldness and cruelty in his eyes.

  Three of his enforcers sat at a nearby table. They were silent and watchful, showing off meaty arms that were thicker than my thighs. If their purpose was to intimidate, then they could consider it fulfilled.

  Sergei was halfway through a full fry-up as I slipped into the plastic seat opposite him.

  I waited for him to speak as he finished chewing down some black pudding.

  “You want something?” He didn’t look up at me as he asked this, just continued eating.

  “I’m fine.” Even though I was hungry, I knew there was no point ordering anything. Meetings with Sergei tended to rob me of my appetite. “I just wanted to talk terms for paying back my mum’s debt.”

  Finally he finished chewing. He threw his knife and fork onto his plate, slurped down some tea and then turned his attention to me.

  “Your mother’s debt,” he mused. “That’s right. Now, what is it she owes me? Eleven grand, isn’t it? And from what I remember, it was due to be repaid last week?”

  I gave a brief nod to confirm, trying to ignore the way my stomach was twisting into knots.

  His eyes narrowed as he studied me. “And I’m guessing by the look of you that you don’t have it.”

  “Not right now. But if you give me some time . . .” Unfortunately he was already shaking his head.

  I had no idea what I was going to do. I had no savings left after paying the rehab facility. I’d thought I might be able to reason with Sergei. But that didn’t seem to be the case.

  “Nina, Nina.” He said my name like a rebuke. “I can’t have you and your mother disrespecting me like this. You know that.”

  In that moment I remembered a story I’d heard about one of the young women who’d lived on our estate—a stripper, who went by the stage name Star. She was a beautiful girl—turned heads when she walked down the street—who’d borrowed money from Sergei to get breast implants, hoping it would boost her career. For a time, it had done just that—she’d begun to get work as a glamour model; talked about being the next Jordan. But she’d spent what she’d earned, and fell behind on her repayments to Sergei. One night she was attacked in a stairwell in Hayfield Court—her face carved up with a Stanley knife.

  After that, her career was over, and small children squealed in fright when she walked by. A year to the day after the attack, she was found dead of an overdose.

  Now, while I wasn’t one to fuss over my appearance, I certainly didn’t fancy having my face shredded.

  “I’ll get the money. I promise. I just need some time. Maybe if I could pay it in instalments—”

  “Instalments?” Sergei said this as though it was the most outrageous suggestion he’d ever heard. He stroked his chin, feigning deep thought. “I suppose that would be all right. What did you have in mind?”

  I did a quick mental calculation. With tips, I was making about five hundred pounds a week at Destination. Along with my own living expenses, and trying to slip April some money, I also needed to save up for a deposit on a flat.

  “Three hundred a week?”

  He thought for a moment. “Make it one and a half, and we have deal.”

  It took me a moment to understand what he was saying—that he wanted one thousand five hundred pounds from me each week.

  “No!” The word was out of my mouth before I could stop it. “There’s no way I can get all that.”

  “That’s what I want. One and a half grand a week, for the next eight weeks. No arguments.”

  I did a quick mental calculation.

  “But that’s twelve grand. You said we owed eleven—”

  “The extra thousand is for the inconvenience of making me wait.”

  I felt panic rising up in me. “I’ve no idea how to get that for you—”

  “This is not my problem.” He picked up his fork, his attention back on his plate. “You have the first lot ready this time next week. I send someone round to collect it from you.”

  He didn’t need to utter the “or else.”

  He began to shovel food into his mouth, signalling the end of our conversation.

  I got unsteadily to my feet. I was halfway to the door when Sergei called my name. I turned back, hoping that he might relent and let me pay back a smaller amount. But instead he said, “And don’t even think about running. I know where your sister goes to school. And if I can’t find you, I’ll go after her.”

  A chill passed through me. He’d just said the one thing guaranteed to get him his money. If he was planning to go after April, I’d do anything he asked. And he knew it.

  * * *

  I spent the rest of the day trying to think of a way to repay Sergei. Part of me had wondered about going to Duncan Noble and asking him for a loan. But I was worried that he would ask why I needed the money—and if I told him, who knew what he might do with that information. Most people would advise going to the police, but in my experience that would just make the situation worse. I had no proof that Sergei had threatened me, so they wouldn’t be able to hold him—which meant he’d be free to exact his vengeance on me, or worse still, my sister. And I couldn’t take the risk. Not when there was another solution open to me—however unpalatable that might be.

  So early that evening I did what I’d sworn not to—I called Alex and told him that I would take part in his poker games, after all.

  Chapter 10

  The week passed uneventfully. I met my sister at a coffee shop on Tuesday evening, as per the visitation rights dictated by the care order. April seemed well enough—Racquel appeared to have lost interest in bullying her—although she was still impatient to get back home. I’d told her that we wouldn’t be able to even consider applying to the courts until Mum got out of rehab, but I think she still kept hoping for some kind of loophole to turn up.

  The counsellor from the rehab centre called me with an update on my mum’s progress. She told me that it had been a tough week for my mum, but that she was doing her best to stay strong. I didn’t make much comment. I had no intention of getting my hopes up where my mother was concerned. Especially since she’d landed this Sergei mess on me. Right now, getting him his money was my top priority.

  That was on my mind the following Sunday evening when, just before ten, I set off for my first night as a dealer at Alex’s poker games. I had to keep reminding myself of why I’d agreed to this, otherwise I was liable to bolt.

  In the meantime, I’d gone on the Internet to try to find out a bit more about Alex. Mostly there were pictures of him falling out of nightclubs or partying in various glamorous locations around the world, always accompanied by some gorgeous girl. But there was one article that was more revealing. It was one of those gossipy tabloid pieces, written after Duncan Noble made some acquisition, but focusing more on him and his sons rather than the business. It was made up of hearsay and assumption, and extensively quoted “a source close to the family,” but the spirit of the piece made sense. It talked of a rift between Duncan and his youngest son, Alex, which went back years.

  Apparently Alex and Giles were half-brothers. Giles’s mother had been Duncan’s first wife, Anne, who by all accounts was a warm,
sweet woman who’d sadly died of ovarian cancer shortly after her son was born. Duncan had been devastated by the loss, and had still been grieving when he’d met a beautiful aspiring actress, called Eva. She’d been the life and soul of the party, a social butterfly. They’d had a whirlwind romance, and married within months, and Alex had been born a little while later.

  But by then Eva had already tired of domestic life. She’d taken no interest in her stepson, or her own child. Less than a year after Alex was born, she’d left Duncan for an impoverished artist. They’d been found dead of an overdose in his studio in Paris a few months later.

  So Giles’s mother was a saint, and Alex’s a sinner. It explained a lot.

  The article had gone on to say that Alex had grown into a playboy, who partied his way round the world and who had turned his back on the family business. And that this had led to a rift with his father, who favoured his more sensible, older son, Giles. From what I’d seen, this appeared to be pretty accurate.

  Even though the article hadn’t told me much more than I’d already guessed, it was good to get some context—because whether I liked it or not, for the moment the Noble family seemed to be a fixture in my life.

  I was thinking about this as I arrived at the designated location for the night’s poker game. It was another hotel owned by Duncan Noble—Alex had told me that he alternated between them, to reduce the risk of being caught.

  As I went up in the lift, I studied my reflection. I looked smarter than usual, and I just hoped my outfit was good enough. Having attended one of the poker games, I’d realised that my usual jeans and T-shirt weren’t going to cut it. I wasn’t one for skirts and dresses, so I’d tried to find something chic and sophisticated but also comfortable. I’d spent the previous day trawling thrift shops, and finally came up with a tuxedo-style black suit, which I paired with a white dress shirt. I slicked my short dark hair back from my face. I didn’t usually wear make-up, but just to soften the look a little I put on some mascara and black-cherry lipstick. The whole effect was almost 1920s androgynous. It was an older and more professional look—which was what I was going for.