Peter James - Love You Dead

Right now she felt no sunshine in her heart.

Months wasted.

As the effects of the champagne began to kick in, she gradually began to cheer up a little. ‘Never look back, girl. Only forward!’ she said aloud, drained the second glass, then emptied the remainder of the bottle into it and drained that, too. She flushed the cigarette butt down the toilet and rinsed out the glass, then sat on the edge of the bed. Walt Klein was history. She was now totally focusing on her next target, Rowley Carmichael.

She liked the name Carmichael a lot. She could already visualize her signature. Jodie Carmichael. Much classier than Jodie Klein would have looked.

And she liked everything else about Rowley Carmichael a lot, too. Most of all his listing, at equal number 225, on the most recent Sunday Times Rich List.

She took an apple from the bowl of fruit on the table, cut it in half with the knife provided, and bit into it, hungrily. Then, chewing, she opened the lid of her laptop, and smiled as she saw that another email from Rowley had come in.

Several months ago she had spotted his online advertisement:

Mature widower. Seeks companion with love of fine art, opera, theatre, fine dining, wine, travel, adventure for companionship — and maybe more...

Even though she had been engaged to Walt Klein, Jodie had responded using her maiden name. She was registered, under different names, with several online dating agencies for wealthy singles. She had, electronically, kissed a lot of proverbial frogs. But it was that one on Rich and Single that had caught her attention, a couple of months back. She liked the ‘and maybe more...’ To her trained eye, it had a subtext of a certain element of desperation.

Desperation was good.

She’d read it through a couple of times more, then pinged a carefully constructed email back, accompanied by a demure photograph, taken after she’d skilfully applied make-up, attached to the profile she had just created for herself:

Beautiful, raven-haired widow of a certain age seeks mature male with cultured tastes in arts, food and travel for friendship and perhaps a future.

Rowley Carmichael had replied less than an hour later.

Since then, in preparation for Walt’s eventual demise, she had secretly and very carefully been reeling Rowley Carmichael in. Now he was ready. And she was free! She never kept all her eggs in the same basket; although Walt appeared vastly wealthy she’d always had a plan B, and that was to get rid of him as quickly as possible and move on.

She yawned. It was just after 4 p.m. and it would soon be growing dark outside. She was increasingly feeling the effects of jet lag — and the champagne. At the same time she didn’t want to waste an evening in New York — you never knew what might happen. Maybe she’d meet someone for a one-night stand. Right now, she didn’t much care who, so long as he was good-looking and not a slobbering geriatric like Walt. This was a city of singles bars famed for one-night stands. That’s what she fancied right now. A one-night stand with a hunk, who would screw her brains out for a few hours. God, she’d not had decent sex for — a year. More than a year.

And the good news was that one of the city’s hottest singles bars was right here, downstairs in this hotel.

She set her alarm for 6 p.m., lay back on the bed and crashed out.

Shortly before 7 p.m., showered and wearing the most revealing outfit she had with her — a short black dress and black leather ankle boots — Jodie perched on a red chair at the long, darkly lit bar and ordered a Manhattan. She was slender and beautiful, with all the confidence to go with it. She had styled her dark hair in ringlets and was classily — if just a tiny bit too revealingly — dressed.

But her best asset of all had always been her eyes. They were wide, cobalt blue and crystal clear. You-can-trust-me eyes. Come-to-bed eyes.

Dangerous eyes.

She sipped her drink slowly, pacing herself. But sooner than she had anticipated, all that was left of it was the maraschino cherry at the bottom. Already she was feeling a warm glow from the alcohol. As she raised a hand to signal one of the bartenders, she became aware of a figure beside her, a man easing himself onto the next chair.

‘Allow me to buy you another?’ he asked in a richly charming voice that was part American, part mittel-European and part very drunk.

She shot him a glance. He was in his late thirties or early forties, with Latino good looks beneath short, black tousled hair and beautiful, almost impossibly white teeth. He wore a black jacket over a white shirt, with a gold chain round his neck. And he looked wasted, either on drugs or booze.

‘Sure,’ she said, smiling back. ‘A Manhattan, straight up, with two cherries.’

He ordered two, then turned back to her. ‘My name’s Romeo,’ he said.

‘Juliet!’ she replied, thinking on her feet.

‘You are kidding?’

‘Nope!’

His eyes widened in a smile. Large, hazelnut irises. With very dilated pupils, she noticed. He was definitely off his face on something.

‘ But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon! ’ he said, theatrically.

‘ Who is already sick and pale with grief! ’ she replied.

‘You know it?’ he said with astonishment. ‘You know Shakespeare?’

‘Of course!’

‘Well, I am impressed. Romeo meets Juliet in a bar! How often is that going to happen?’

‘Meant to be!’ she replied, locking eyes with his. ‘So what’s your full name?’

‘Romeo Munteanu.’

Their drinks arrived and he raised his glass. ‘ That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. ’

‘ Be not her maid, since she is envious. ’ Jodie tilted her head. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘I think anyone would be envious of us at this moment. The two most beautiful people in all of New York seated in a bar together.’

‘So you’re a modest man, are you, Romeo?’

‘Truth before modesty!’ He clinked his glass against hers and they drank. ‘So what brings you to this city?’

‘Family business,’ she said. ‘You?’

‘Business, too.’

‘What business are you in?’

‘Oh, you know, import — export. That kind of thing.’

She picked up on his evasive tone. ‘Sounds interesting. Where are you from?’

‘Romania — Bucharest. Have you been there?’

Locking eyes with his again she said, provocatively, ‘Not yet.’

Their drinks slipped down easily and quickly and he ordered a second round.

‘So do you work for a Romanian company?’ she asked.

‘International,’ he said. ‘International company. I travel constantly. I like to travel.’

‘Me too.’

He lifted one cherry out of his glass by the stalk, held it up in the air and moved it towards her mouth with a quizzical look.

She closed her lips around it, pulled it clear of the stalk and chewed it, tasting the sweetness of the marinated fruit and the tang of the bourbon and Martini Rosso.

Twenty minutes later, as he drained his third Manhattan — and Jodie hers, too — he said, suddenly, ‘Do you do coke?’

She nodded, feeling reckless from the drink now. ‘Uh-huh.’

‘I’ve got the best stuff ever — like — I mean — the best , you know? Up in my room.’ He nodded at the ceiling. ‘That is — if you’re brave enough to come to a stranger’s room?’

‘Fortune favours the brave, right?’

‘Does that come from Shakespeare, too?’

She smiled. ‘ Fortune and men’s eyes .’