Someone Else's Shoes(124)

“Nisha—” Sam protests. But Nisha stays her with a raised palm.

“I want to see the money arrive in that account. Oh, for God’s sake, Carl,” she says, when he hesitates. “I’m hardly about to run away now. I know Ari will have people at every entrance. I’m not stupid.”

“This is a bad idea,” Sam whispers urgently. “Nisha. Don’t do this.”

“Do it,” says Carl. They wait as the transaction is completed online. Sam reluctantly shows Nisha the figure in her bank account. Nisha motions to Jasmine, who is hovering nearby.

“Can you collect my things from the penthouse, please? And bring them to the front entrance?”

“Your belongings, madam. Certainly!” Jasmine says, and hurries off toward the elevators. Nisha waits until Jasmine is in the elevator. And then she holds out her hand for a pen.

“Okay, I’ll sign.”

“Nisha,” Sam grabs Nisha’s arm, “you don’t have to do this. You have the thing. You can get what’s owed to you!”

But Nisha shakes her off. She signs each document carefully, hands them back and waits as Alistair witnesses each one. He hands her a finished copy. Nisha takes it and folds it neatly, tucking it into her jacket. Then she lets out a long breath.

“So that’s it. All over. We’re signed and done.”

“We’re done,” says Carl.

She stands then, and holds out the bag with the shoes. She can see Carl does not want to hold a plastic bag—it is clearly beneath him—so he nods at Ari, who takes it from her and peers into it. Beside her Sam is staring at Nisha open-mouthed, her expression one of barely suppressed anguish.

Ari nods. Carl turns back to her. “Well, darling. You were as cheap at the end as you were at the beginning.”

“Nice, Carl,” says Nisha. She begins to make her way out from behind the table. She waits until she is a few feet away, then stops.

“Oh. I nearly forgot. I’ve just sent you something,” she says, with a small smile. “A little parting gift.”

Carl is standing, straightening his jacket. She waits as he looks down at his phone, hears the little ping that sounds its arrival.

“From now on we’re strangers. You leave us alone. If you or your goons come after me or Ray, or anything more happens to any of my friends, this will be uploaded onto the internet. Or maybe sent to the tabloid press. Whichever is more . . . appropriate. There are several copies, so don’t get any silly ideas.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just a little something for you two lovebirds to watch on your ride home,” she says. “Also? Charlotte? A word of advice: some women really can’t wear Yves Saint Laurent. You make it look like . . . What is it?” She turns to Sam and spits the words. “Oh, yes, Primark.”

And with that, Nisha strides across the foyer and into the watery winter sunshine, just catching his muffled yell of outrage as the main doors are opened in front of her.



* * *



? ? ?

Nisha is walking so fast that Sam has to jog to keep up with her. Her head is spinning, and the words come tumbling out of her now that they are away from the table.

“What the hell did you just do? You could have got a proper settlement out of him. You could have been set up for life. I gave you what you needed!”

“I don’t care,” Nisha says, striding away from the hotel. “I don’t want it. Where’s the RV?” She turns, distracted, looking toward the back entrance.

Sam pulls her round to face her. “But you had everything in place. Everything! You could have got him to agree to anything with that video.”

“And then I would have been just as disgusting a human being as he is. Where the hell is Jasmine?” Nisha lifts her head, scanning the entrance.

It takes a moment before they spot her emerging from the side entrance. She is pushing a huge brass suitcase trolley alongside Viktor, laden with all of Nisha’s clothes. When she sees them, she and Viktor change tack, pushing it toward them.

“Can you bring it to the RV?” Sam calls. “It’s only around the corner.”

“What is going on, babe?” Jasmine is slightly out of breath. She swings the strap of her handbag onto her shoulder as Nisha grabs the other corner of the trolley.

“I don’t understand,” Sam exclaims. But Nisha doesn’t appear to be paying attention. She is apparently focused only on getting to the camper-van, and doesn’t look back. Sam exchanges a glance with Jasmine, who shakes her head like she doesn’t get it either.

By the time they reach the van they are all out of breath. Viktor helps them load the clothes into the back, and gives Nisha a handshake when she hands him a ten-pound note. “Right,” she says, as they watch him pushing the empty trolley back toward the hotel. “Let’s go.”

Sam finally erupts. “You’re insane!” she yells. “You’ve spent all this time going on about how you have to have what you’re owed, making us believe it too. You go on and on about people standing up for themselves. And then, when it comes to it, you just—you just fold and give it away! Jesus, Nisha. You’ve made me feel like an absolute limp lettuce for weeks. Why should I have listened to a word you said?”

She climbs into the front. Jasmine takes the place between them on the bench seat and Nisha climbs in last, pulling the door shut behind her.