The Perfect Life

by Valerie Keogh

  When the lift opened, she was taken aback by the noise and the crowd. She eased around groups of people until she reached the door she’d come through earlier. It seemed an awful long way to the neon exit sign that flashed ahead of her. Sliding her hand along the wall, she started to walk, feeling the floor sway under her feet. She was so very tired.

  In the car park, she stood a moment looking across the brightly-lit but deserted space feeling suddenly anxious. It was safe, of course, there’d be security men. She hadn’t convinced herself, but she also couldn’t stand in the doorway all night. She wanted to get home, get into bed and sleep forever. Halfway to her car, she got the distinct impression she was no longer alone. Stop and look around or run like hell. She didn’t do either, afraid to look around, too weak to run. Instead, she kept walking, one shaky foot in front of the other.

  She almost gasped with relief when she saw her car, pulling out her keys and rushing towards it. When she saw the yellow wheel clamp that said her car wasn’t going anywhere, her squeal of anguish echoed around the car park. There were instructions as to what to do, phone numbers to ring, fines to pay. Ignoring the lot, she walked away, and exited the car park onto the street. She was in luck, a taxi pulled in and four noisy and already inebriated passengers climbed out. Despite the taxi driver’s complaint that he had a fare to pick up, she jumped in. ‘I’ll give you a fifty-pound tip,’ she said, giving him her address and resting her head back. ‘You might have to wake me when we get there, I’m wiped out.’

  She fell into a sound sleep, woken by a rough hand shaking her with more force than she thought necessary. ‘Okay, I’m awake, for goodness sake you don’t need to be so brutal.’ Glaring at the driver, she rubbed her arm.

  ‘I’ve been trying to wake you for about two minutes,’ he said calmly.

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ she said, taking a deep breath. ‘I have to go inside to get your money.’

  To her surprise, he got out and followed her to the front door. ‘No disrespect, miss,’ he said with a rueful smile, ‘but I’ve learned not to trust people too much.’

  She needed to trust him; her head was spinning so much she couldn’t get the key in the door. Inside, he gave her back the key and she slid her hand along the wall to the living room.

  Her bag was where she’d left it. ‘Help yourself,’ she muttered, pointing towards it.

  With an audible tut, he picked it up, took out her purse and opened it. ‘The fare is twenty-five plus the fifty tip.’ He showed her three twenties and a ten. ‘We’ll leave it at seventy, okay?’

  She didn’t care if he took every penny as long as he went away.

  ‘Do you see?’ he persisted, holding the notes up.

  ‘Yes, yes, fine.’

  Pocketing the cash, he looked at her with concern in his eyes. ‘You sure you’ll be all right?’

  She opened her eyes wide and attempted a smile that she knew came out askew. ‘I’m exhausted,’ she said, ‘shut the door after you, please.’

  He took the hint and left.

  Hearing the front door shut, she closed her eyes and groaned. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so wretched. She’d overdone it. With difficulty, she swung her legs up onto the sofa and slid her shoulders down, pulling the cushion under her head.

  And then, everything went dark.

  29

  It was the light shining through the windows that woke Molly the next morning. Opening her eyes briefly, she thought she was going to die. Every single part of her body ached. Her mouth was dry, her breath rancid. Even her eyeballs hurt.

  Very slowly, she moved her legs to the floor and used the arm of the chair to pull herself upright. Immediately, her head spun. It was a few minutes before she was able to move to the kitchen where she filled a glass of water and drank it slowly, filling it and taking it back to the sofa.

  She lay down again, pulled a blanket over herself and shut her eyes, opening them with a groan when she remembered her car. Her mobile was in her pocket, she pulled it out. It was only five. Jack wouldn’t have surfaced yet. She sent him a text. Car clamped in hotel car park. Got taxi home. Sort it out.

  He’d have a thumping headache, and it was the last thing he’d want to do, but she never doubted that he would do it anyway. He’d be feeling guilty, so would be pleased to be doing something for her and would never think of it as being his fault in the first place.

  Sometime today, when they both felt better, they’d sit down and discuss the gambling. Stuart was an insufferable prig; he’d probably exaggerated everything to make himself sound more important. She’d sit down with Jack and find out exactly what was going on. The decision made, it helped her relax and within minutes, despite the aches and pains, she fell asleep again.

  When she next woke, the first thing she noticed was that her head didn’t ache. It was a relief, because she was beginning to wonder if the doctors in the hospital had missed something. It wasn’t unheard of. Sitting up, she was glad to find the dizziness too, had gone. Her ribs still ached; her bruises were still a lovely shade of green but all in all she felt much better.

  She’d feel even better after a shower. It was almost nine. There were no messages, but she didn’t really expect one from Jack. He’d arrange to have the car released and drive it home. ‘Oh, hell!’ she groaned. He’d have to come home first. Since he rarely drove, he refused to weigh down his key ring with a cumbersome car key. The spare was in a bedroom drawer.

  A brief thought that she could bring it to the hotel was brushed away without hesitation. She’d done too much running around yesterday. Today, she wasn’t leaving the house, and going upstairs was as far as she was moving.

  After her shower, intent on a day at home, she slipped on a pair of pyjamas and tied her wet hair up in a loose knot. She thought it might be a good idea to have a pot of coffee ready for when Jack eventually arrived home and went down to put on the kettle.

  She wasn’t hungry but she needed to eat. Taking a bowl of cereal and a mug of coffee over to the table by the window, she sat and ate as she looked out at the garden. It was raining, the window streaked with rivulets of water. Perfect staying-at-home weather. She might even catch up with programmes she’d recorded and books she’d planned to read.

  At ten thirty, Jack still hadn’t made an appearance and she was beginning to worry. She’d parked her car in front of maintenance doors, the hotel might need access. They might decide to have her car towed; that would be a nightmare and cost a fortune.

  Picking up her mobile, she rang Jack’s number. It went straight to answerphone. Of course, if he were in the car park, there may be no signal. She sent him a text, ring me, and waited, tapping the phone against her chin.

  When he hadn’t rung by eleven, she stood and paced the room, wondering what she should do. She’d almost decided to go to the hotel when the house phone rang. It was such an unusual occurrence that she stared at it for a moment. Then she smiled. Of course, Jack probably hadn’t charged his mobile.

  ‘Jack?’ she said, picking up the phone.

  ‘Hello?’

  It was a female voice. Frowning, Molly said, ‘I’m sorry, can I help you?’

  ‘This is Harriet Summers, I’m the manager of the Hyde Hotel. I’m hoping to speak to Jack Chatwell.’

  Join the queue, Molly wanted to say. ‘I’m sorry, he’s not here. May I take a message?’

  There was silence for a moment before the manager said quietly, ‘Is that Mrs Chatwell?’

  ‘Yes, Molly Chatwell.’

  ‘Mrs Chatwell, I’m in a difficult situation. Your husband wrote a cheque to cover his…’ There was a long hesitation before she continued. ‘… expenses. Unfortunately, it was returned. When we tried to use the credit card number he left to secure his room, it was rejected. Mr Chatwell is a good customer, we are obviously keen to get this error sorted without any problem, or delay, but we’ve been unable to contact him.’

  ‘He’s not in his room?’ Molly said, trying to think, but f
inding it a struggle to make sense of anything.

  ‘He was seen leaving his room before 6am, Mrs Chatwell. He hasn’t been seen since.’ There was silence for a few seconds, then in a firmer tone, the manager said, ‘In light of the returned cheque and the declined credit card, we’ve been left with no alternative. Your husband’s belongings have been packed up and are awaiting collection in our luggage room. If you would come and collect these, and settle your husband’s account, we would consider the matter closed and not involve anyone else.’

  Molly took a deep breath before saying as calmly as she could. ‘I can settle the account now with my credit card.’

  ‘I’m afraid we will need you to attend in person, Mrs Chatwell, to sign for his belongings.’

  ‘Fine,’ she said, letting her frustration show in the one blunt word. She thought about the car. ‘My car is in your car park; my husband was supposed to arrange for the clamp to be removed. I don’t suppose you know if that’s been done.’

  ‘Ah,’ the manager said, ‘did you park it in front of the maintenance door?’

  Molly wanted to say she was desperate, that she’d been injured, that she was, in fact, fast approaching the end of her tether. She settled for, ‘Yes, I’m afraid I did.’

  The manager sounded genuinely sympathetic. ‘Unfortunately, it was necessary to have your car towed. The maintenance team needed access to that doorway.’

  ‘Of course, I understand,’ Molly said, squeezing her eyes shut. ‘I’ll have to sort that out later.’ Once more, she was left with no choice. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

  ‘Thank you, it makes it so much easier; we don’t like to involve the police unless we have to.’

  Molly gave an uncertain laugh. ‘The police! For non-payment of a hotel bill. Surely that’s a bit excessive. What are we talking about, a few hundred?’

  ‘Ah, I’m sorry, Mrs Chatwell, you don’t seem to understand. It isn’t only the hotel room, it’s also his casino debts.’

  Molly felt her heart skip a beat. ‘How much?’

  ‘Just under seven.’

  ‘That’s not too bad,’ she said, relieved it wasn’t more. When there was silence from the other end, she knew she’d made a mistake. There was a definite tremor in her voice when she asked, ‘You mean seven thousand?’

  ‘Six thousand, nine-hundred and twenty. Perhaps you can understand now why we were concerned.’

  Yes, Molly could. It was a colossal amount of money. ‘Yes. Yes. But it’s not a problem. I’ll be there in about an hour and we can get this sorted.’ She hung up, put the handset back on its stand and collapsed into the chair behind. Seven thousand pounds! She held a hand to her forehead. The headache had returned.

  Picking up her mobile, she tried Jack’s number again but, once more, it went straight to answerphone. With a frustrated shake of her head, she stood and went upstairs to dress.

  Casual clothes would have been easier, but she had fences to build. Looking smart and professional would give her more leverage. She pulled on black trousers, a white silk shirt and her black Armani three-quarter length coat and slipped her feet into black kitten heels. Her hair was still damp. Instead of spending time drying it, she brushed it out and pinned it up in a smarter French pleat.

  With her make-up applied, she looked a little less like she was a vampire’s latest victim. Before she left, she checked her mobile. No message from Jack. There were messages from Remi and Freya that she read and quickly answered, also messages from Amelia and Petra, both asking if she was okay. She sent a yes, fine, don’t worry in reply to each.

  She felt a quiver of guilt for having been suspicious of Amelia, for jumping to such a terribly wrong conclusion. What a fool she had been.

  A final text to Jack asking him to ring her, and she left the house for South Kensington station. It was only a short distance on the Circle line to Paddington station and no more than five minutes’ walk to the hotel from there. Less than an hour after speaking to the manager, Molly was entering the Hyde Hotel.

  She stepped up to the reception desk with her chin held high. ‘The manager is expecting me,’ she said in response to the receptionist’s pleasant may I help you. ‘Molly Chatwell.’

  ‘Please, take a seat, Ms Chatwell and I’ll tell her you’re here.’

  In contrast to the evening before, the lobby was quiet with only a few people sitting in seats reading papers or drinking coffee. With the garish neon lights switched off, the décor was pleasant without being outstanding. There were empty seats near the window, Molly walked over, kitten heels click-clacking on the tiled floor.

  It was impossible to sit still and she jumped to her feet when she saw a tall, smartly-dressed woman crossing towards her, a hand extending as she drew close. ‘Harriet Summers.’

  ‘Molly Chatwell.’

  ‘I’m so sorry you’re having to go through this,’ Harriet said. She held Molly’s hand a moment longer.

  The sympathy brought tears that Molly quickly brushed away. ‘Thank you for giving me the opportunity to sort it out,’ she said, ‘my husband will appreciate it too. He’s going through a difficult patch.’ She met the manager’s eyes, saw the steel behind the kindness and knew she’d seen it all before.

  ‘Come to my office. We’ll get everything taken care of.’ The manager led the way past the reception desk, veering towards a door on the right. Opening it, she indicated that Molly enter. ‘Can I get you some coffee or tea?’

  Molly shook her head. She wanted this done and to go home to where she hoped she’d find Jack waiting.

  The manager took her seat behind the desk and smiled at her. ‘Sit down, Mrs Chatwell, it will take a minute or two.’ She opened the folder before her and withdrew a sheet of paper, her eyes skimming over it before sliding it across the desk.

  Molly picked it up and read the details. The bedroom wasn’t hideously expensive considering how spacious it had been. However, Jack had knocked back a fair amount of alcohol and at London hotel prices, this mounted up. But it was the casino bill that had her eyes widening. Trying to maintain her professionally cool façade, she reached into her bag, withdrew her wallet and took out her credit card. She handed it and the invoice back across the table.

  ‘Thank you,’ Harriet Summers said before taking a credit card machine from her drawer. She slid the card in, tapped in the amount and handed the machine over.

  With an unsteady finger, Molly put in her PIN number and handed it back.

  ‘Thank you. Oh, and by the way,’ the manager said as they waited, ‘I took the liberty of finding out where your car was taken. It’s in the Wandsworth pound. They’re open until five.’ She took a notelet and passed it across. ‘That’s their number.’

  Molly took the slip of paper and put it into her bag. She’d worry about the car tomorrow. ‘That was kind of you, thank you.’

  Looking down at the credit card machine, the manager frowned. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, meeting Molly’s eyes, ‘this card has been declined.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous. I have a 10K credit limit.’ Molly saw the woman’s impassive face, took back the proffered card, and opened her wallet again. ‘Use this one, please.’

  There wasn’t a word spoken as the machine beeped, their eyes focused on it, waiting.

  The manager gazed at it for a moment before looking at Molly with a grim expression and a firm set to her mouth. ‘This has been declined too, I’m afraid.’

  Molly laughed in disbelief, the sound fading quickly as the implication hit her. There was a 10K credit limit on both. ‘Will you try five?’ she asked, keeping her voice steady but unable to meet the manager’s eye.

  A few minutes later, with both cards being declined yet again, she put them away and clasped her hands in her lap. ‘I know how bad this must look, but I promise I will get this sorted.’

  Harriet’s eyes were sympathetic, but her lips were firm. ‘As I’ve said, we try our best to avoid involving the police, Mrs Chatwell, but as I’m sure you can unde
rstand, no hotel can afford to absorb such losses. I do appreciate your predicament, however, and your efforts to settle this. I am willing to give you until midday tomorrow to find the funds. After that, I will have no option, but to bring in the police.’

  30

  Feeling like her world was collapsing around her, Molly managed to say, ‘I appreciate that, Ms Summers.’ Dizziness swept over her, pinpricks of darkness blurring her vision. ‘I think I’m going to faint,’ she muttered, and proved herself right by keeling over onto the floor.

  She wasn’t out long, coming to with the horrified manager kneeling beside her and gently tapping her cheek. ‘So sorry,’ Molly whispered, struggling to sit up. She was helped into the chair and handed a glass of water which she sipped gratefully.

  ‘You’ve had a terrible shock,’ Harriet said, sitting back into her chair. ‘Is there anyone I can ring for you?’

  Molly managed to drag up a smile. ‘I think the fewer people who know about this the better, don’t you?’

  ‘It will certainly make it easier to get your lives back on track,’ Harriet agreed. She opened her drawer and took out a leaflet. ‘This might be something worth looking into too.’

  Molly took it. Gamblers Anonymous. It was time to acknowledge the truth. She folded it, put it into her bag. ‘Thank you. Now, I’d better go.’

  ‘You sure you’ll be okay?’

  Molly stood and straightened her shoulders. ‘I’ll have to be,’ she said, then trying to look efficient, added, ‘There were belongings I had to collect.’

  The manager shook her head and stood. ‘No, that was a ruse to get you to come in; we find it’s safer than trying to deal with this kind of thing over the phone.’