Beautiful Liar (11 page)

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.

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.

But even though I looked the part, I still felt nervous as I stepped out of the lift and walked along the corridor. When I'd called Alex to say I wanted to take him up on his offer, I'd expected there to be a practice run. But he'd told me that I'd be auditioning on the job—a baptism of fire, where I'd either sink or swim. The thought made my stomach churn, and as I stood outside the suite, I had to wipe my damp hands on my trousers before I knocked.

Alex opened the door to me. The hotel suite looked much the same as the one in the Manor Hotel—all understated luxury. None of the players had arrived yet. He'd told me to come early, so I could get acclimatised before the game began.

He looked me over, and nodded approvingly.

“Good choice,” he drawled. When I'd asked him what to wear, he'd said he'd leave it up to me, and even offered me cash to buy an outfit. I think he was shocked that I'd managed to come up with something decent on my own. His eyes moved down to where the top button of the shirt
struggled to close across my cleavage. “I just hope you don't distract the players.”

“I'm sure it won't be a problem.”

He moved over to the bar. “Drink?”

“Just water.”

“That's right,” he said, pouring me a glass, and adding ice and a slice. “Keep a clear head and you'll be fine.”

He handed me the glass and I was embarrassed to see that my hand was shaking. Part of me wanted to ask him questions about the evening—to get reassurance that everything was going to be all right. But before I could find the words, there was a knock at the door. The first player had arrived.

Over the next twenty minutes, all the guests congregated in the room. Alex gave me a rundown of who they all were as they came in: they included two businessmen, a well-known actor and a government minister. I'd seen Alex talking to a few of them at Destination. I guessed that was where he'd met them. It made more sense now: that was why he spent so much time there—it was his recruiting ground.

I stood to one side, watching as Alex interacted with them. He was the perfect host—confident and comfortable among all these heavy hitters.

By ten thirty everyone had arrived, and the game was due to begin.

As the players took their places at the table, I sat down
with them. I looked around at all these important people, and my mind went blank. As the dealer, I was meant to take control, but I'd never felt more out of my depth.

I felt like a fraud, and part of me wanted to run away. Why had I ever agreed to do this in the first place?

Because you need the money
, a little voice reminded me.
Otherwise Sergei will hurt you and go after April.

With that thought, I picked up the deck of cards, shuffled it, and started to deal.

Halfway through that first round, though, I managed to accidentally flip a card over, so a few of the players saw a flash of the jack of hearts. It wasn't the end of the world—it happened a lot—and I did what etiquette dictated and took the card out and placed it faceup in front of the player it should have been dealt to. Then, once all the cards were dealt, I would use it as the first burn card.

I continued dealing as though nothing had happened. But the incident must have made me jittery, because I managed to flash another card—the five of spades.

This time, I had to stop. There could only be one flashed card per deal. Now that more than one card had been exposed, the deal was considered a misdeal.

“S-sorry,” I stuttered, as I collected up the cards. I hated the nervousness in my voice, knowing that it made me seem weak. I wondered what on earth I should do—whether it would be best just to walk out now. I couldn't see a way to
come back from this.

But just as I was considering whether there was any chance of the floor opening up to swallow me, Alex came over and bent down to whisper in my ear. I was expecting him to tell me to leave, but instead he said, “Just take a deep breath and calm down. You can do this. There's no reason to be nervous.”

He squeezed my shoulder before moving off.

I wasn't sure what it was—maybe the unexpected kindness—but Alex's words had a surprisingly calming effect. I closed my eyes for a second, and did as he'd suggested—breathed in deeply, then slowly exhaled.

My eyes flipped open and I picked up the deck of cards.

“Right,” I said, with a confidence that surprised even me. “Let's try this again.”

After that, the rest of the game went off without a hitch. When we finished five hours later, the players all thanked me as they left.

“Here you go.” The winner pressed some cash into my hands. After he'd gone, I counted it—a three-hundred-pound tip. I couldn't believe it. Given the stakes they'd been playing for tonight, it meant nothing to him—but it was everything to me. Along with what Alex was paying me, and my wages from Destination, I'd be able to comfortably pay Sergei the first instalment this week.

After Alex had seen the players out, he came up to me. “Thanks
for tonight. You did a good job.”

“Oh, I don't know about that.” I felt flushed with exhilaration, my heart pounding fast. “I messed up at the beginning. When I fumbled the cards at first I was just about ready to run out, but then you came over and—”

“You did good,” he said, cutting off my tirade. “I was impressed.”

For a moment we stood like that, our eyes locked. I felt suddenly aware of how close he was to me—and confused by how this made me feel. He was everything I was meant to be staying away from, and yet here I was taking comfort from him. My heartbeat speeded up a little, and I wet my dry lips.

I was wondering what to say next when a slim brunette, who'd been watching the game, approached and draped herself over Alex, ruining the moment. “Come on, sweetie,” she pouted up at him, as though I wasn't there. “Aren't you ready to go yet? You know I need my beauty sleep.”

“Just give me a second to finish off with Nina and we'll get out of here.”

She gave a quick, disparaging flick of her eyes in my direction, and then she turned and stalked off, flopping down onto one of the nearby sofas. I watched her pull out a baby-pink phone and start to text someone.

“Here.” I turned at Alex's voice, just in time to see him reach into the leather sports bag he had with him and pull
out a wad of notes. The moment we had shared—whatever it meant—was now gone, and he was back to business.

He waited as I quickly counted the notes. One thousand pounds—exactly as he'd promised.

I looked up. Alex was still standing there.

“Do you think you'll need my help again?” He looked amused at my eagerness. I'd gone from swearing I'd never do something like this to wanting to do as much of it as I could. But that was because it would be the quickest way to clear my family's debt, as well as earn enough money to rent somewhere decent for us all to live.

“What happened to never doing anything illegal?” His tone was faintly mocking, but I refused to be shamed into backing down.

“I told you—I need the money.”

“Yes. You said that.” He studied me closely. “I'm just wondering what for.”

I looked round the room. I was tempted to tell him, but it just didn't feel like the right place. Not with that girl waiting for him. “Does it matter?” I said lightly. “Just—do you need me again?”