Beautiful Liar (14 page)

That thought hit me like a punch. For a moment, I couldn't catch my breath. And then I remembered—she was away on a school trip until Tuesday. I just needed to have this all sorted out by then—which I would. I should have taken Sergei's demand more seriously. I wouldn't underestimate him again.

“Nina?” I jumped as Alex said my name. I'd forgotten he was there. All I could think about was the threat of physical violence, visible throughout my room. I looked over at him now, wondering what he was making of it all. He lifted an eyebrow. “Are you all right?”

“Not really.”

He started to move around, righting furniture as he went and searching through my belongings. I had no idea what he was up to until he pulled out a backpack and tossed it over to me.

“Here,” he said, as I caught it. “Grab what you can and let's go.”

I looked down at the bag, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you can come and stay with me.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Why wouldn't you?” He gave a pointed glance around the room. “You can't exactly stay here, can you? It's not safe.”

“I'll be fine. This is nothing.” Even as I said the words, I knew I didn't believe them. “It's just a—”

“Threat? Yes, I can see that.” He shook his head in exasperation. “Seriously? You'd prefer to stay here than come back to my flat for the night? What the hell do you think I'm going to do to you?”

“Nothing!” I felt myself redden at the implication. “I just wouldn't feel very comfortable, that's all.”

He took a step forward, his blue eyes deadly serious. “Then let me put it another way—I'm not leaving you here alone for whatever madman you pissed off to decide to come back for you. So start packing or come as you are.”

I hesitated for just a second. His tone didn't invite any argument, but that wasn't my only reason for giving in. Part of me didn't want to stay here alone. Sergei had been kind enough to leave a Stanley knife on top of my demolished bed. That's what he'd used to carve up my mattress, and I couldn't help wondering what it could do to my face.

Alex must have taken my silence for reluctance because he said, “If it makes you feel more comfortable, think of it as me protecting my investment.”

He held out the bag to me, and this time I took it.

* * *

Half an hour later, Alex drove his Porsche into the underground car park beneath his luxury apartment block in Knightsbridge. He nodded at the security guard as we passed his booth and pulled up in his designated space.

Because it was early in the morning, no one was around. He got out of the car without a word, grabbed my bag from the boot, and started to stroll towards the lifts at the other end of the basement.

Alex had a key-card to operate the lift. When the doors pulled open, he gestured with his hand. “After you.”

We went through to the open-plan living space. It was just as impressive as I remembered—and easier to appreciate without the crowd that had been at the party. Floor-to-ceiling windows dominated the room, with a view across London. I walked over, inextricably drawn to them, and pressed my hand against the glass, liking the cold feel against my skin. Lights sparkled below, like pinpricks in a blanket of darkness.

“This place is unbelievable,” I breathed.

I turned to face Alex. He was standing in the huge, state-of-the-art kitchen, the kind where the cupboards and drawers have no handles, and the electrics are touch-button. There was a central island with bar stools on one side.

I watched as Alex pulled out a bottle of whisky and fixed
himself a drink. He looked around in a detached way.

“It's a good investment.” He held up the bottle. “Drink?”

I shook my head. “I'm fine.”

“So clean-living,” he said mockingly. He drank the contents of the tumbler down, and poured more—I presumed just to prove he wasn't going to be shamed into not drinking by my abstinence.

Whisky in hand, he walked over to the seating area, and collapsed onto a plush cream couch, gesturing to me to do the same. He took a drink, and fixed me with a stare. “So, are you finally going to tell me what this is all about? Why you need the money from these poker nights?”

I looked at him for a long moment. Because of what he'd seen and how he'd taken me in, it felt like I owed him the truth.

He listened impassively as I told him about my mother and April, and why I'd come to work for his father, only interjecting to ask the odd question or clarify a detail here and there.

Once I'd finished explaining about Sergei, he said, “So how much do you need?”

“Six thousand to clear the debt.”

He didn't say anything. Instead, he got up, went to the wall and removed a picture to reveal a safe. I watched as he opened it. From where I stood, I could see the stacks of cash inside. He pulled out several bundles, carried them over to
the table and placed them in front of me.

“Here. It's all there.”

At first I didn't understand what he was saying. And then I realised: he wanted to settle my debt. I recoiled at the thought. “I can't take that from you.”

“Why not?”

“This is my debt. My problem. I'll find a way to pay it.”

He looked like he was going to argue with me, but then stopped himself. He could obviously see that I was deadly serious. “Fair enough. Well, if you really don't want to take the money, then think of it as an advance on your wages.”

I looked down at the cash and then back up at him, torn over what I should do for the best.

He could obviously see my indecision, because he said, “If you don't want to do this for yourself, then think of your sister. You're not going to be much good to her if you wind up in hospital—which I suspect is exactly what's going to happen if you don't pay that Sergei guy. And what's to stop him skipping you and heading straight to her once she's home?”

It was hard to argue with the logic of what he was saying. “All right,” I said. “If you don't mind giving me the money as an advance, then I'd love to take you up on your offer.”

“Good.” He nodded his approval. “So why don't you call this Sergei guy now? Tell him you have the money, and you'll meet him whenever he wants.”

Alex went upstairs while I made the call. Sergei didn't sound remotely surprised to hear from me. Sending round his thugs obviously had a way of making people pay up. He arranged to meet me in a couple of hours' time, in the same place as before, Le Grand Café.

When Alex came back in, I told him the details.

“And when are you meeting?” he wanted to know.

“Eight thirty.”

“Good. Then we'll leave here just before eight.”

He said it so decisively, as though it was the most natural thing in the world for him to accompany me.

“You don't have to come.” He'd been good to me so far, but I had no wish to drag him into this any further. “I know it looked bad tonight, but if Sergei knows I have his money, he won't hurt me or anything.”

“I'm still going with you.”

I was going to argue back, but seeing the determined jut of his chin I decided it would be easiest to give in—mostly because I was pretty certain it was all talk, and he wouldn't bother coming in the end. No doubt eight o'clock would roll around, and he'd still be in bed, and I'd end up going alone.

“If that's what you want.”

There was a silence, and then he said, “Just one last question—why didn't you let me lend you the money when I offered?”

He seemed genuinely curious. I thought about it for a moment, and then shrugged. “I don't like relying on other people for help.”

He stared at me for a long moment. “You know, Nina, I don't think I've ever met anyone quite like you before.” He looked at me with what seemed to be admiration. “Most girls I know, all they care about is what they look like or who they're going out with. And here you are, sacrificing everything for your family.”

I looked away, feeling embarrassed at the unexpected praise. “I just do what I have to do.”

He didn't say anything to that. The silence dragged on, so I flipped my eyes up and found him still staring at me. There was something in his gaze that I hadn't seen before, and I could feel my heart speeding up. My lips suddenly felt dry, and I wet them a little.

“I should get some sleep,” I said, suddenly anxious to be away from him.

I was worried he might argue back, but instead he gave a swift nod. “Of course.”

He swallowed down the last of his drink, then led me upstairs to where the bedrooms were situated. The room he showed me to was huge and expensively decorated—with a walk-in closet and an en suite bathroom that came equipped with huge, fluffy towels and Bulgari toiletries. It was a bit like being in a five-star hotel—or so I imagined.

Alex placed my scruffy bag on the huge king-sized bed, and came to stand in front of me. I was suddenly all too aware of the fact that we were alone in a bedroom.

“Is there anything else you need?”

I shook my head. “No. This is perfect.” The words seemed inadequate to describe what he'd done for me.

“I know it won't be easy, but try to get some sleep.”

“I will.” He was at the door, when I said, “And, Alex?”

He turned back. “Yes?”

“I just wanted to say thank you—for everything. I don't know what I'd have done without your help.”

“I'm sure you'd have sorted something out.”

With that, he left the room. I hurried over to close the door and, pressing my back up against it, I sank to the floor. The last thing I needed was to complicate my life by being attracted to Alex. A fun statistic about children of alcoholics—they were four times more likely to become alcoholics themselves, or end up married to one. I planned to be the exception to the rule. Alex might not be an alcoholic, but he was wild and unpredictable—everything I wanted to avoid. I hated looking after my mother, and I wasn't about to trade one codependent relationship for another.

So why did it feel like, as hard as I tried to push him away, he was still getting under my skin?

With that disconcerting thought, I went to bed.

I hadn't expected to be able to sleep. So when my alarm went off at seven thirty, I was surprised to find I'd dozed off. I suppose the events of the previous night had drained my energy.

I quickly got ready, wanting to leave lots of time to get to my appointment with Sergei. But when I got downstairs, to my surprise, Alex was already up and dressed, sitting at the kitchen island, drinking coffee.

He swivelled round as I entered. “Morning. How did you sleep?”

“Fine,” I answered automatically. I shook my head, trying to clear my confusion. “You're really coming with me?” I couldn't keep the surprise out of my voice.

He frowned, setting down his mug. “Didn't I say that I would?”

“I know you did. But—” I stopped, unsure how to
explain my thought process.

“But what?”

I walked over to where he sat, and slipped onto one of the stools. “I told you before that my mother's an alcoholic?” I accepted the mug of coffee he'd poured me, and took a sip before continuing. “Well, the thing about alcoholics is that they tend to be pretty self-absorbed.” I looked down into my mug as I spoke, unable to meet his eye. “She'd forget birthdays; wouldn't turn up for parents' evening at school . . . That kind of thing. And because of that . . . well, let's just say I stopped expecting people to keep their promises a long time ago. So even though you said you'd come today, I didn't believe that you really would.”

There was a silence after my confession. “Well,” Alex said presently. “I'm not your mother. And whatever you think of me, I don't make promises I'm not prepared to keep.”

I raised my eyes to meet his. “I can see that,” I said softly. The events of the past night had made me wonder if perhaps I had misjudged Alex. Beneath his rakish exterior maybe he was a good guy after all.

Our gaze held for a moment. Then he glanced at his watch.

“It's nearly eight.” He swallowed down the last of his coffee. “We should get going.”

The traffic was building up at that time in the morning, but we still made it across to East London before eight thirty.

My heartbeat seemed to double between getting out of the car and reaching Le Grand Café. I hesitated for just a moment as we got to the entrance. Alex put his hand on my shoulder. I looked up at him and he gave me a reassuring smile. Trying to look calmer than I felt, I pushed open the door.

The place was fairly empty at that hour of the morning. Sergei was there in his usual spot, with the Osipova brothers hovering nearby for backup. A couple of other tables were occupied, by the usual builders and lorry drivers, but no one gave us so much as a glance as we walked in.

I headed straight over to where Sergei sat. Alex followed behind me. We'd agreed in advance that I'd do the talking, and that Alex wouldn't get involved unless absolutely necessary. I just wanted to get it over with as soon as possible.

I kept conversation to a minimum, and simply handed over the envelope of cash to Sergei. He took his time counting it, but finally he put it away in the locked briefcase he carried with him. Then he turned his cold black eyes on me.

“I knew you'd find a way to get me the money, Nina. All you needed was a little persuasion.”

I clenched and unclenched my fists, my body stiff with tension. “That's it now, then? The debt's paid?”

“Of course, Nina. Of course.” He smiled a snakelike smile. “And may I just say, I look forward to doing business with you again.”

Alex stepped up, planting both hands on the table as he loomed over Sergei. “Let's be clear, there is no again,” he said quietly. “This ends now. You have your money. The debt is paid. You don't go near Nina or her family again. Understand?”