Bella Frances - Redeemed By Her Innocence

Martin stood with his back to the fireplace of flowers. The top of his greying head was visible in the ornate mirror. His face was cast in a sickly pallor, and he frowned and clasped his fingers. He was clearly agitated.

‘I’m not trying to prove or disprove anything. My back’s against the wall. All I know is that Maria had some investments. She was involved in something just before she died. I think it was illegal.’

Nikos nodded. No shocks so far...

‘I see. Do we have any clue as to what it was?’

He noticed Martin wringing his hands again.

‘Not exactly. She never confided in me—apart from the garbled message she left the night she died. And I think that’s what the police are following up too.’

Nikos turned away. The night she died...almost the worst night of his life.

He’d turned up at his villa in Greece and found his wife topless in the hot tub with his old man. The night her drug-taking and his old man’s drug-selling had combined in one fatal party. The night Nikos had walked away and never looked back, not even when she ran screaming after him.

No, he didn’t ever want to think about that night again, but it didn’t seem he had any choice.

‘That stuff about the drugs?’ he said quietly. ‘We both know she bought them from my dad.’

‘I think it’s more than that. I think he’s the one behind the other investments. At least, that’s what he’s telling me...’

Nikos looked up sharply.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve had some communication from him.’

Suddenly Martin’s sickly pallor and wringing hands made sense. Communicating with Arthur was never pleasant and Nikos had studiously avoided it for nearly twenty years. He blocked calls, emails, and every security guard knew his father’s face on sight. He’d left Australia to get away from him, and he was damned if he was going to let him into his life in any way, shape or form ever again.

‘OK. Out with it. What does he want?’

Martin cleared his throat.

‘He wants forty million dollars. He says that that night they both went fifty-fifty on some investment she’d bought into in Cayman. He transferred five million dollars and then she... Well, you know what happened.’

‘You don’t really believe that, do you?’

Martin turned and leaned his hands on the fireplace.

‘I don’t know what to believe. He says he gave her the money and the company has quadrupled in value. He says she invested it—and he works it out to be forty million that he says he’s owed.’

‘Owed?’

‘By you as her beneficiary. And if you won’t pay up—me.’

‘He’s insane. Did you tell him that she left nothing? Zero? That there is no estate—only trails of debt that lead in a hundred different directions. All I have is what I built myself and, trust me, I don’t have a spare forty million lying around. I’d have noticed if I did. What evidence does he have for any of this?’

Martin shrugged.

‘That’s all I know. But I’m guessing you’ll find out one way or another.’

Nikos laughed mirthlessly.

‘I wouldn’t give him forty cents, never mind forty million dollars. After what he did?’

He’d had enough of all this. He walked to the door, was there in three strides.

‘Is that all you’ve got to say?’ said Martin, still hooked around the fireplace.

Nikos turned. ‘What else is there? He’s a lowlife blackmailing piece of scum and if he thinks this is going to result in anything other than me hating him even more, he’s mistaken.’

He opened the door and then closed it again.

‘And I suggest you get yourself some better company to keep, Martin.’

He pulled the door closed and stood in the plush silent hallway, his heart thundering in his ears and his body primed for fight. He had to get a hold of himself or he’d rip someone’s head off. He had to throw everything he had at it. But the fact that it was his old man who had stoked it all to life wasn’t wasted on him. Everything he touched turned poisonous. Every goddamned time.

There would be some grain of truth in that cock-and-bull story because it was too crazy for there not to be. But he wasn’t leaving it up to chance. He was going to go back to the villa and go through the vault. The one place he’d avoided for years might be the one place he’d find what he was looking for.

He speed-dialled his accountant.

‘Mark,’ he said, ‘as soon as you get this I want you to check out every transfer that went into or out of Maria’s accounts around the time she died. I’m looking for an investment in a company registered in the Cayman Islands. It’s probably something that she’ll have buried so it might be hard to find. That’s all I have for now but I think this could be what’s behind the investigation and the letters from Martin Lopez’s solicitors.’

He clicked off the phone as a waiter walked past with a tray of drinks. Parties were still kicking off but he was in no mood to party. What he needed now was silence. And sleep.

He was jet-lagged and pumped with adrenalin, and there wasn’t enough whisky in the whole place to knock him under. He needed to stand in a hot shower and hit the sack.

He pushed open the door of his suite, stepping out of his trousers, removing his jacket, heaving at his tie and unbuttoning his shirt with fingers that even now still shook with rage.

In the shower he stood, water from all angles pummelling his back and legs and head. He had to cool it. Be cool. Rein it in, Nikos. Calm it.

He thought of his mother lying in her bed in the nursing home. He thought of her sweet smile in the photograph of them at the beach, and then he thought of the blank, unseeing eyes that had looked at him the day before.

Every step he took was for her. To make her proud, to make all her own suffering worthwhile. He wasn’t going to go under because of his father. He wasn’t going to let Arthur ruin his reputation or his fortune. He was going to fight back.

He turned off the jets of water and dried himself. There was a noise outside. He opened the bathroom door a crack and listened. Someone was battering on the door. Martin?

He walked through the room, kicking up his suit trousers and catching them in his right hand as he opened the door with his left.

But it wasn’t Martin. It was the blonde in the blue dress.

‘Hi,’ he said, confused. Then he slapped his forehead. ‘Damn. Sorry. You’ve been waiting in the bar to see me. I said I’d send for you.’

Her eyes opened like starbursts, falling from his face to his chest and the towel knotted at his hips.

‘Sorry, I was taking a shower.’

She stared at her feet, then down the hall, then at her feet. ‘I am so sorry. I really did not mean to disturb you. It was getting so late... I’ll go back and wait downstairs.’

‘What time is it?’ he said, trying to bury his impatience. This he could do without.

‘Um...’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know. My phone ran out of power.’

‘And I clearly don’t have a watch on,’ he said with a cynical chuckle.

She blushed furiously. She was very, very pretty when she blushed. She was very pretty, full stop. He could be in the mood to spend some time with her. That would be better than whisky at taking the edge off, for sure.

‘Come in. I’ll get some clothes on. We can chat now.’

He threw the door back and walked inside, tossing the trousers over a chair in the passing.

‘If you don’t mind, I’d rather not.’

He turned around, couldn’t hide his surprise, but she was staring at her feet, her hands clasped in front of her.

‘Much as I want to have a meeting with you, it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to come in while you’re undressed.’