Death by Indulgence Page 11

  ‘Don’t forget cufflinks,’ she reminded him, curtly.

  ‘Thanks.’ He gave a sideways glance. She sat on the corner of the double bed following him with her eyes as he moved between the wardrobes, the chest of drawers, and the leather holdall open on the vast underused bed.

  ‘I need an answer by the first week of the New Year,’ he said, his voice commanding. ‘There’s a theatre slot the following week reserved for you. Nigel Macklin will perform the adjustment. I can’t make you do this, but if you don’t, then we are pretty much over, Lydia.’ He stood at the end of the bed. ‘Do you want your selfishness to be the cause of a divorce? For your children to be deprived of the stability of a fine home and education? Honestly?’

  There was something in the way she held her chin high that was niggling at Marcus. Why was she continuing to oppose him? She hadn’t even denied her treachery when he had confronted her about her secret gastric band the day before, in fact Lydia had been dismissive.

  That same pattern continued today.

  ‘I start my new job on the third of January. I won’t be needing the adjustment to my gastric band.’

  Marcus stalled. Where was her usual timidity?

  ‘A job? What job? I never said you could get a job.’ His jaw extended towards her. ‘You haven’t been employed for years, what would you know about working for a living?’

  ‘What do you care?’ Lydia slid to her feet. ‘And I’ve set up my own bank account, by the way. The money I earn will be mine and I won’t have to request any from you in future. Sorry, I meant to say beg. I can’t exchange sex for money anymore, can I? I’m too thin to earn my keep from you.’

  Marcus was confounded. She wasn’t raising her voice; she wasn’t spitting vicious words and accusations at him. Lydia was merely stating the facts.

  ‘Actually,’ she said with a lilt, ‘divorce sounds preferable to me. I can book my tummy tuck with Charles Broughton with the proceeds.’

  A derisory laugh emanated from Marcus, his disdain at the mention of Charles Broughton only served to increase his anger. ‘Divorce. You wouldn’t know where to start. You can’t live without me. I manage your life for you, Lydia. I always have done. This… betrayal… this wicked betrayal has to end now. You will have the gastric band removed, you will go back to being the woman that turns me on and you will do as I say.’ There was a cold hard knot forming in his gut. Bitter gall burned there. ‘On what grounds are you divorcing me anyway? Thought of that, have you? “Oh, Your Worship, I’d like a divorce please. My husband makes me live in a fabulous house with my two lovely children from a previously doomed relationship - who go to costly public schools. I have an allowance and can go shopping and meet the girls for coffee every day if I want to. It’s such a fucking terrible existence that I can’t take any more, Your Worship”.’

  Marcus strode over to the doorway, preventing Lydia from leaving. He pulled her roughly back into the bedroom before closing the door. ‘I married you for who you used to be and you will either return to being that woman or you can leave.’

  Still Lydia didn’t resist, she chose to remain impassive as she replied, ‘That suits me fine. I’m not the person I once was, Marcus. It’s taken me a while to find my strength but don’t take me for an idiot. You have systematically abused me for years and you used me like a sex facility. I fulfilled your needs at the expense of my own freedom. I used to be your necessary but embarrassing secret in a society that will not forgive you for the way you treat women. How stupid I was to think that doing your bidding would ensure a happy marriage. No more, Marcus. No more. When the children get back we are going to stay at my parents.’

  ‘What?’ He grabbed her by her shoulders and shook her, hard. ‘I decide. Not you.’

  She stared. Daring him. ‘Okay then. Come with us. We leave this afternoon and we’re staying until New Year’s Day.’ A steely glare convinced him that she was not making idle threats. ‘There’s a dilemma for you.’ She threw down her challenge. ‘If you are serious about maintaining this pathetic marriage to protect yourself, then you will sacrifice your night at the club to put on a pretence of happy families. The price for your decision will be that we stay married in name but not in the bedroom. You get to keep your money and your precious reputation. What do you say to that proposition?’

  ‘And if I don’t agree?’ Marcus asked.

  ‘Then I tell all and you are ruined.’

  ‘Tell all? Just what is it that you think you are going to tell?’ Dilemma was not a strong enough word. Marcus didn’t know if Lydia was putting on a brave show, trying to dupe him. What did she know? This was make or break time, shit or bust. He could have his professional reputation, his unenviable private life, his financial security and still feed his addiction, but only if he played along with Lydia.

  He had to at least give the impression that he was willing to relinquish control. There was far too much to lose. He allowed tears to well up. To his perplexed wife these were tears of shame and hurt, but in reality they were born of fury.

  The pitch and tone of her voice changed. It became higher and less assured.

  ‘What? What is it, Marcus? Don’t tell me you’re surprised. I’ve known for years that you prefer a woman with meat on her bones. That aside, I managed to convince myself that you loved me for my personality and that my size was irrelevant, but that was not the case. You fed me. You controlled me and you created Mrs Roly-Poly. Me. Fat me. For your pleasure. It took hours of counselling to work that out for myself. I thought you cared but you couldn’t give a shit about my health or my happiness. It was about you. But what you forget is, I have the girls to consider—’

  Marcus dramatically staggered to the edge of the bed, his knees collapsed as he dropped, twisting his backside onto the mattress holding his head in his hands.

  Another approach was called for in order for him to regain the upper hand.

  Counselling? Fucking counselling? So that was the impetus behind the change. How? How did she sneak around doing these underhand things behind his back without him knowing? And why? Who put her up to it?

  Lydia had out-foxed him, and for a few minutes she had called the shots, blackmailing him.

  His thoughts raced as he sought to find a strategy to manage the implosion of his world. Marcus needed a stronger, more meaningful emotional manipulation. He had been fooling himself that Lydia would continue to comply with his demands, now instead, she would have to be moulded by her own willingness for harmony. Mothering instincts were her weakness and one he could easily exploit.

  He sobbed into his upturned palms. ‘No, you’ve got it all wrong. I didn’t want anyone else to have you, so I took control. I’m a monster, Lydia. What have I become? This is killing me.’ He grabbed onto her waist as she went to him and she held his head against her stomach, gently stroking his hair.

  ‘I’ll call the club and cancel tonight,’ he gasped. ‘Let’s go to your parents’ for the weekend and try to patch up our differences. I’ll make a proper psychiatry appointment. Counselling won’t cut it, Lydia. I’m in much more trouble than that. What have I done to you? I’m so sorry.’

  She squeezed him to her, pity in her eyes. ‘Thank you, Marcus. You’ll see. It’ll be worth it. You just need to understand where this problem stems from. You don’t need to control me, just work with me to help you.’

  Marcus invented a snivel and sighed, eventually releasing her. ‘We should have talked about this properly instead of bickering and carrying on as if nothing was wrong. I do have a problem, Lydia, and admitting it to myself has been hard enough, but admitting it to you has been the most painful confession of all.’

  Speaking those words out loud was a matter of performance. He was regrouping, consolidating his position and reassessing the obstacles placed in his way by his errant wife. She was risking an unhappy ending.

  21

  That Same Evening

  Ella’s disappointment was genuine. Her carefully laid plans for the Wednesday after
Christmas had been undermined. ‘I’m so sorry to hear you can’t make it this week, Mr C. I do hope you feel better soon and that we see you as usual next Wednesday, in the New Year.’

  Everything had gone to pot.

  Marcus Carver was supposed to be at Buxham’s and she had been painstaking in her efforts to capture his tawdry secret life on film at the same time as providing evidence for Val about Harry Drysdale. She knew which rooms they were booked into and Leonora would already be on her way expecting to entertain Mr C as she had done seven days previously. Trudy had been booked for Mr D, so now, like it or not, there would be two fat ladies on table eighty-eight, both available for use by one Harry Drysdale. Ella had to find a way of getting to the room Harry would be using and setting up the tiny camera in the best possible place. If only she knew what that would be or the details of what went on behind closed doors at Buxham’s between Harry Drysdale and the ladies from the XL Agency.

  When Harry strutted in to the restaurant, he seemed genuinely pleased to see Ella, and he already knew that his friend Mr C had cancelled at very short notice.

  ‘Family pressures. It’s the same every year for men like Mr C. I don’t have such unnecessary encumbrances and am therefore at liberty to enjoy the excesses of Christmas in whichever way I choose, Ella.’ Harry’s warm manner was a tonic, and assured her that he couldn’t have read anything contained in her handbag the previous week. He was simply too relaxed and engaging. She had misjudged him in that respect, perhaps. But even so, Ella was left wrestling with how she was going to spy on Harry as he indulged in dessert with either or both of the escort ladies at his disposal. How was she going to gather the photographs that Val needed?

  Leonora was waiting in the bar, and the other escort, Trudy, was heading from the ladies toilet in Ella’s direction. She looked stunning.

  With no possibility of capturing evidence on film of Marcus Carver’s exploits, Ella knew she had another shot at uncovering Harry’s guilty pleasures. It was a reprieve of sorts, but just how she was going to set about being invited to his room was eluding her. The competition was too great.

  Reception had sent a message that popped up on her terminal screen.

  Table No. 88 lady guest #2 ‘Trudy’ has arrived for Mr D.

  ‘Welcome back to Buxham’s.’ Ella greeted Trudy with a charming smile and personally escorted her to where Mr D was indulging in pre-dinner drinks with Leonora. Once there, Harry had caught Ella’s elbow and whispered, ‘Don’t tell her I said so, but she’s my favourite. I do so enjoy her company. Good. Merry Christmas to me and a most indulgent New Year.’ He raised his glass and winked.

  Ella’s job was to discover what he meant by that. What was involved in getting to know the two fat ladies on table eighty-eight and what was it that Val needed to find out about Harry Drysdale in particular? More frustrating was the uncertainty surrounding the late cancellation by Marcus Carver. Teresa had said he never missed a week. Never.

  The atmosphere in the kitchen had been tense all evening. Schubert was in a peculiarly sarcastic mood and, instead of swearing he chose to ridicule anyone who came within range.

  Ada had grown tired of his mercurial moods. ‘I think we may have to take him aside and force-feed him some of your quetiapine. He’s an insufferable wazzock tonight.’ Ada was correct; Ella caught a broadside the moment she appeared at the pass.

  ‘Ah, here she comes, like Mary-fucking-Poppins, she’s almost perfect in every way.’

  ‘What’s got your goat this evening, may I ask?’ Ella enquired. There was an odd feel to the conversation as if she had missed some vital information. Gossip perhaps.

  ‘Don’t act so sweet and innocent. I thought you were better than that.’

  Ella scoured the sweaty faces of the chefs and the kitchen porter for clues but they remained resolutely deadpan. Only Schubert spoke. Orders were coming in slowly and the pace was dramatically less frantic than on a usual Wednesday night service. The festive slump of the week between Christmas and New Year was as evident as Schubert’s contempt.

  ‘We have had a special request, as if you didn’t know, to provide a trolley of desserts. This you are to deliver personally to the room of a certain gentleman who reserves table number eighty-eight every week. We all know what he expects of you in return…’

  Ella must have appeared shocked, forcing Schubert to examine the facts with her. ‘You deny this?’

  ‘I don’t know anything about it,’ Ella replied, eyes wide. ‘Who made the request?’ Her beseeching eyes met Schubert’s, and he left the pass in the hands of his sous chef in order to meet her by the door to his office. ‘Come in, take a seat.’

  22

  Later That Evening

  ‘I will escort you,’ Schubert announced.

  ‘What?’

  ‘When you take the trolley to Mr D’s room, I will escort you. That way you are fulfilling his request but not placing yourself in a compromising position.’ Schubert placed a fatherly hand on Ella’s shoulder. That one simple gesture meant so much. He was trying to protect her, like her own father used to before she disgraced herself. ‘Now get back to the restaurant and don’t worry.’

  Ella’s plans were unravelling. Lacking the usual number of club members because of the Christmas holidays, the place was quiet; too quiet, and Ella had no choice other than to allow Ada and Flora to go home early, leaving herself alone to clear the last few tables. She couldn’t leave the restaurant to access Harry’s room to place a camera, her absence would be glaringly apparent. She couldn’t get to her phone to alert Mal, and she would have to manage by herself.

  Her mind was racing, exploring possible solutions and madcap schemes to fulfil her brief, but she was becoming muddled and her behaviour reflected this. She was usually so ordered and organised. Stay in control by being controlled that was her personal mission statement. However, as the restaurant emptied, and the time ticked by, Ella rushed around, failing to complete tasks, distracting herself with her random thoughts because there was little else to take her away from her own dilemmas.

  Even table eighty-eight was less jovial than usual and Harry’s request for dessert to be served in his room came much sooner than Ella had anticipated. He waved her over with a smile.

  ‘Ella, both my lovely lady guests will be joining me for dessert in my room this evening. Chef has the order and I’ve asked if you would deliver the trolley personally. We’ll take our drinks with us, but could you make sure there is a jug of water on the trolley? It was missing last time.’

  ‘Of course.’ Ella stared into his eyes seeking a pointer as to his expectations on this occasion. Any level of planning for covert surveillance had been eradicated by Schubert’s insistence on escorting Ella to Harry’s room. She couldn’t hide a camera on the trolley; there would be no opportunity to do so.

  ‘But why me? Why do you wish me to deliver the trolley?’

  ‘I’d like to take your photo to send to Mr C, to make him jealous. I want him to think that you are joining us for the best part of our evening. He’ll be livid.’

  Leonora let slip a throaty chuckle, her eyes sparkling with amusement. ‘The competition,’ she said.

  Ella wasn’t sure what was meant. ‘The competition?’

  ‘You are my competition,’ Leonora explained. ‘Mr C would do anything to spend an evening with you. Since you started working here, I have become a poor substitute.’

  ‘Come along now Ella, you must know how gorgeous you are,’ Harry said. ‘Mr C and I have been competing for your affections and my little plan to present him with my drawing of you for his Christmas present has been horribly delayed. I was so looking forward to seeing his face. He’ll be beyond envious.’

  Ella looked from Harry to Leonora, and then to Trudy. The two ladies giggled and hugged each other. Trudy stopped laughing to give Ella reassurances. ‘Don’t look so perturbed, sweetie. We get paid huge wads of money to keep these gentlemen company but there’s no envy of each other involved. If you
want to join us, you could earn yourself a mint. Just saying…’ Trudy had a very slight lisp, although barely noticeable it added a childlike charm to her encouraging words.

  Taking a moment to compose herself, Ella stepped into the unknown. ‘I don’t know what to say because…’ she looked around to check privacy. ‘Because I don’t really know what it is that you provide, as a service, if you see what I mean?’

  Harry breathed her in. ‘Oh Ella. Bring that trolley and we shall show you.’

  Schubert could not be dissuaded. He followed her along the corridor to room fifteen and on arrival he stood like a panting Buddha. Wheezing noisily, he waited for the door to be answered, his chef’s hat leaning to one side, a clean apron tied about his ample waist. Ella could feel the heat from his body and the ruddy glowing complexion of his enormous jowls.

  When the door opened inwards, she watched as Harry’s face fell with disappointment, although he quickly recovered and invited Ella and Schubert to enter the large suite. Leonora and Trudy were seated at a round walnut veneered table, holding cut glass champagne flutes, chatting amicably. They greeted the arrival of the trolley with glee as it was wheeled towards them.

  ‘My favourite dessert, Charlotte Russe just like my grandmother used to make and, Trudy, look at the caramel sauce to go with these choux buns.’ Leonora dipped a fingertip into the jug containing the warm sweet liquid. Placing it on her tongue she hummed with rapture at the taste.

  ‘Chef, this looks amazing,’ Harry announced. ‘Thank you so much for taking the trouble to deliver these in person and thank you, Ella.’ Having surveyed the trolley Harry frowned. ‘Just one thing. The jug of water?’