He couldn’t wait to get his hands on it. He had burned his boats with Vicky and the club and could never go back. He knew Vicky wouldn’t report what they had done to her to the police. She would be too frightened of the scandal and what it could do to her precious father. God, he wished they hadn’t done it though. He didn’t care about Vicky much but he did care about the club. Building up a lucrative business from scratch had been the most enjoyable process of his life and could have made him extremely wealthy … and he badly missed the thrill of being the centre of attraction.
Why had he been so reckless? All his hopes for an exciting future were finished if Delia didn’t play ball and give him what she had promised. He just itched to know what was inside that envelope. If it was news of the money and she did hand over what she owed him, all his problems would be solved and he could get out of here, fast. He would have enough security to be able to obtain a generous bank loan and could go back to London, not to Kensington, but somewhere upmarket, perhaps Knightsbridge, Bloomsbury, Mayfair even, and set up another club. Most of his old patrons would flock to him if they knew he was starting up somewhere new. He could guarantee it … and this time he wouldn’t have partners. He would run it all himself … be in total charge without a nagging wife to stand in his way. It would probably ruin Alex and Vicky but he didn’t care. Barrie licked his lips, thinking of all the women he really could go to bed with if he was free. He hadn’t dared while Vicky had been looking over his shoulder but it would be entirely different now. Even though he had told Vicky he didn’t want a divorce, he could see the advantages of being freed up from relying on the dratted Canleigh family … he just needed the sodding money!
He stared hard at the envelope and then at Delia, who was blowing smoke rings up to the ceiling. Would she honour her promise? A tremor of fear ran through his body. If she didn’t, he was sunk. Totally and utterly and had no idea what he would do. He hardly had a penny of his own. Even though Vicky had been happy to spend a considerable amount of her legacy from her grandmother on the club, on their marriage she was given advice from Rathbones and her bank manager not to have a joint bank account. He was told to set up a separate account for himself, into which Vicky paid him an allowance every month, along with his share of the profits from the club. He had been happy with that, flashing the money around carelessly, buying suits from Savile Row, and the brand-new Jag, crazily assuming his finances were secure for the rest of his life. How brainless he had been, not setting something aside for a rainy day. He stared outside. It was certainly that now … in more ways than one. He couldn’t even dip into the business account any longer, having left his bankcard and chequebook in the flat when he and Delia had left in a hurry and anyway, Vicky would probably freeze that pretty quickly. So now he was virtually penniless with only a couple of thousand pounds in his bank account and his future was totally dependent on what Delia might offer.
He looked across at her, lighting up yet another cigarette. God, he could hardly see across the room for the smoke. He wanted to open the window to let in some fresh air but if he did the pouring rain would come in too. He moved over to the bed and took a long swig from the champagne bottle which stood beside that tantalising envelope. She put out a hand and run a finger lightly down his arm.
“Don’t,” snapped Barrie. They had indulged in rampant sexual activity for most of the day, only stopping to eat and pour more of the Krug down their throats. He looked blearily at the mass of empty bottles flung carelessly on the floor. Had they really consumed so much since they had been here? It was a wonder they hadn’t died of alcoholic poisoning.
Even so, he took another swig, spluttering and choking as the liquid ran down his throat too quickly. Delia laughed. “Steady, boy, steady. There’s plenty more where that came from. Daddy darling has a vast cellar. It can keep us occupied for weeks … months even.”
She sat up, took a hard, long puff of her cigarette, and blew the smoke in his face. He grimaced and turned away. He was so fed up with her antics. He had to end this, now.
“Delia,” he beseeched her tiredly. “Will you please open your letter from the solicitors? I can’t take much more of this. I need to know if it’s the money.”
“Do you now … and what will you do if it is? Will you clear off? Leave me to my own devices?” she needled, wishing he would go anyway. She didn’t need him any longer and would be glad to get rid of him as he was nothing but a liability and she was beginning to wonder exactly how she was going to recover from what they had done. Her father would never want to know her, not when Hardy told him she was here, fornicating with Barrie … and after Vicky told him what had happened at the flat … and that was if he, for a second, believed she hadn’t had something to do with Richard’s death. He would be completely
