The Dead Ex(71)

I hoped it was part of an act, especially as he’d said it again yesterday in front of Posh Perdita. But what if he’s genuinely lost interest? Supposing Tanya has lured him back?

This morning, though, in the Ladies, I heard some of the girls talking. ‘Boss is in a bad mood. Sounds like he’s had another bust-up with the wife, judging from his manner on the phone to her. I had to go into his office with something and caught the tail end of it.’

My heart skipped.

So it wasn’t totally unexpected when, shortly afterwards, he came into my office, where I was captioning some of my photographs. ‘Thought I’d see how you’re getting on,’ he said loudly, before shutting the door behind him. I carried on working. Within seconds I could feel his fingers massaging my shoulder blades from behind.

I stood up and opened the door. ‘Mind if we keep this open? It’s quite hot in here.’

The disappointment on his face was suitably gratifying.

‘I’m only being careful,’ I whispered, ‘like you said before.’

I watched him eyeing my legs under my short black skirt and a skinny-rib jumper that showed off my shape. I rather missed that nice cardigan that belonged to his daughter. But I got enough money for it to pay for two months’ worth of groceries.

‘Come to my place tonight,’ he whispered back. ‘Eight p.m. Don’t be late.’

Treat them mean. Keep them keen. It’s nine by the time I reach his smart block of flats near the London Eye.

‘You’re late again,’ he says through the intercom when I press the DG button on the security pad in the foyer.

‘I got lost.’

It might have been true. After all, I’ve only been here once before.

When I enter his apartment, he hands me a glass of champagne. ‘You’re lucky,’ he says curtly, still clearly irritated by my timing. ‘The monkfish could have been ruined.’

‘You’ve made me a meal?’ Perhaps this man has hidden depths after all.

‘Not exactly. I had it brought in. But I did do this myself.’ He gesticulates towards the beautifully laid table with its pink glasses and flashy gold-plated cutlery.

I am almost touched. ‘That’s really sweet. No one’s gone to this much trouble for me before.’

His anger seems to melt away. ‘Why not?’

We are on dangerous territory now. ‘They just haven’t.’

I need to stop him talking. So I unzip my dress at the back. It slides onto the floor. He moves behind me, cupping my breasts before running his hands further down. Then he steers me towards the bedroom. ‘What about the monkfish?’ I murmur.

‘Bugger the fish.’

‘And what about your wife?’

‘You didn’t bother asking me that last time.’

My final thought, before I let him throw me onto the bed, is that you never know where you are with David Goudman. In a way, that’s part of his charm. But with any luck, it will also be his downfall.

Just like my previous visit, I wake to an empty space beside me. Obviously this is the kind of man who doesn’t go in for morning cuddles.

HAD TO GO INTO THE OFFICE. HAVE A GOOD DAY. THE CLEANER WILL BE IN AT 9 AM. I’D APPRECIATE IT IF YOU LEFT BEFORE THEN.



I’m not surprised that he’s gone into the office, even though it’s a Saturday. David is a workaholic. Perfect. It’s now 8.30 a.m. I have precisely thirty minutes.

After opening various cupboards, I finally find the dishwasher – cleverly disguised so that it looks like part of the kitchen island – and put my plate in before washing my hands with the expensive shea butter soap by the sink.

Then I get down to business. If I don’t do it now, I might not have another chance. He’s clearly bored already.

I check the wardrobe again – just clothes. Then the modern-looking pale wooden desk in the corner by the sofa. I expect it to be locked, but it opens easily. There are a few bills, marked ‘paid’, but nothing else. I sit down briefly on a beige recliner chair and fiddle with the remote control. Instantly it begins to massage my back. Nice. If I wasn’t in a rush, I might stay put for a bit. Then I leaf through some heavy books on the glass shelves, just in case something is hidden inside. They’re not the kind I would read. In fact, they look like they’re for show. One bears the title Fifty Best Hotels in the World. It’s still in its plastic wrapping. At the other end of the room is a designer side table with about twelve different coloured pull-out drawers. Each one is empty.

Perhaps he’s cleverer than I’d thought.





37



Vicki

11 June 2018


Time goes slowly in prison. For inmates, that is. When I was in charge, there were never enough minutes in the day to get everything done. Now I try not to look at the clock because otherwise I might hit the walls with frustration as the seconds crawl by. All I have to do is sit and remember. And those thoughts scare me. I’m also terrified that someone is going to have a go at me because I used to be on the ‘other side’.

Every day when they unlock us, we have to walk down the stairs to the dining room. I grab the rails each time, my heart pounding at the drop below, palms sweating. Once I made the mistake of looking down and tripped on a step. One of the women reached for me and for a second I thought she was going to send me flying to the bottom.