Nikolai.
The name flashes into my mind. Who is this man? Why does he want to hurt Nigel so much that he would take his wife for a month? At the thought of someone wanting to hurt Nigel a deep sense of protective instinct for Nigel kicks in.
I remember the day he proposed. He hired the whole Café du Paris and filled it with can-can dancers that he had flown in from Paris. One of the dancers came and called me up to the stage. I didn’t know what was going on. Blood was pounding in my ears. Then the curtain of dancers parted and I saw him get on one knee.
I thought I would die with happiness.
Yeah, it was showy, but I was young and that was the happiest day of my life. Until my wedding day arrived, that is. Nothing will ever top that. We were both so excited about the future. Not even my parents’ long faces could dim our happiness. How handsome he was standing in his blue morning suit.
When he turned to look at me, I almost fainted with happiness.
I stood in that small, sunlit church and promised for better or worse. Now Nigel is ill. An addiction is just as much a disease as cancer is.
I’ll stand by Nigel as long as he wants to change. Other women have stood by their husbands and won the battle against this disease. If this Russian thinks he will destroy what I have with Nigel, he can think again.
My phone rings, startling me out of my thoughts.
Chapter Eight
Star
“Wanna do breakfast?” Rosa, my best friend, asks. I’ve know her since we were in primary school, and she’s always taken it upon herself to look out for me. She doesn’t sound quite awake yet.
“Yes,” I say automatically.
“What’s up?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
“What makes you so sure something’s up?” I ask.
“Let’s call it tone.”
“I’ll tell you when I see you.”
“But you’re all right?”
“Yes.”
“Sure?” she insists.
“Sure.”
“Lucianos?”
“Okay.”
“Can you get there in twenty minutes?”
“I can get there in ten,” I tell her.
“See you in ten, then.”
As I park the car it starts pouring down with rain so I hold my bag over my head and run into the café. As I stand inside the doorway brushing my hands down my light jacket, I spot Rosa. You cannot miss her.
She is stick-thin with flaming red hair cut into a smooth bob. She is wearing scarlet lipstick and what looks like a lace trimmed camisole over a long-sleeved, fitting, dove-gray T-shirt. Must be the latest fashion, or what everybody will be wearing come autumn. Rosa works for a fashion magazine. She is one of those people who actually sits around a long glass table with a bunch of her colleagues and decides what will be the new look for the next season. A bangle glints on her arm. I walk up to her table.
“I like your top,” I say as I reach her.
“I threw a T-shirt under my nightie so it wouldn’t look like I just rolled out of some random dude’s bed,” she says as she stands and throws her skinny arms around me.
“Did you?” I ask.
“I should be so lucky,” she says close to my ear.
The familiar spicy-rose notes of her Serge Luten’s perfume fills my nostrils, and I don’t want to let go of her thin body. Just being in her warm, scented embrace makes me want to bawl my eyes out. This morning I’ve had all my dreams crushed. I could stay in her arms a lot longer, but she pulls away, and eyes me warily.
“Out with it. What’s eating you?”
With a sigh, I sink into the chair opposite hers. She reclines back, arms folded.
I hesitate.
“Spill the beans, Star,” she prompts with her usual no-nonsense attitude.
“It’s Nigel,” I blurt out.
“He’s cheating on you, isn’t he?” she snaps, leaning forward, her face livid.
“No. No it’s not that.”
She narrows her eyes, and looks ready to do battle on my behalf. “What’s the crooked asshole done then?”
This is going to be harder than I thought. I fidget with the buckle on my bag. “He’s in big trouble, Rosa.”
A waitress comes to take our orders, but Rosa waves her away impatiently. “What kind of big trouble?”
I take a deep breath. “He’s lost a lot of money.”
“How much?” she asks curiously.
I clear my throat. “Four hundred and fifty thousand pounds.”
She frowns. “That’s nothing. Don’t brokers routinely lose millions?”
“It’s not his clients’ money, Rosa. This is personal. He took a loan and he can’t pay it back.”
Her eyes bulge. “Christ,” she swears. “You mean he didn’t lose it at work. He actually owes it to someone?”
I nod miserably.
“Who the fuck would lend almost half-a-million to that useless husband of yours?”
“There’s no need to be rude about him,” I mumble.
She looks at me incredulously. “You’re still defending that piece of shit?”
I know I shouldn’t, but it’s become a habit. Whenever Rosa and my family insult him I instantly rush to his defense. Until this morning, I could do it without sounding like a fool. I look down at the table.
“Who does he owe the money to?” she asks again.
“I didn’t catch his last name. Nikolai something …”
“Nikolai? That’s a Russian name.”
I nod.
“So clueless Nigel owes some Russian guy four-hundred-and-fifty thousand pounds. Couldn’t have happened to a more worthless man,” she says heartlessly.
“It’s not funny, Rosa. Nigel is really scared.”
She looks at me without any compassion in her eyes. “Good. He should be. People get killed for much less.”
As soon as Rosa mentions being killed, the seriousness of the situation sets like a lump of concrete in my chest. I’ve been so angry, shocked, and hurt that I didn’t fully comprehend the situation: Nigel could have been killed last night. Goosebumps crawl over my body. I stare at Rosa with wide eyes.
“Why does Nigel owe the Russian?”
I clear my throat. “He lost the money gambling at his club.”
Her eyes widen. “Nigel’s a gambler?”
I nod.
She shakes her head in wonder. “He’s like one of those vicious vegans who will shake their fist at you and call you a murderer for eating an egg, and then get up in the middle of the night to secretly feast on veal chops.”
“He swears he only started gambling recently.”
“Justify his behavior all you want, Star. He’s a fucking fake.”
I press my fingers into my temples. “Stop with all the snarky comments and quips, please. I can’t handle it today, okay?”
She shrugs. “Quite frankly, I don’t know why you’re so cut up over this. Sure, half-a-million is a lot of money, but you guys have got five years worth of equity in your house. And Nigel does earn good money—”
“Nigel has re-mortgaged our house. There’s no equity in it,” I interrupt flatly.
This time her mouth drops open.
I swallow hard. “And he’s emptied our savings account.” I see the astonished fury building in her face and hurry on with the rest of my bad news. “He’s even sold the apartment in Spain. We have no assets left to liquidate.”
“I could cheerfully kill that bastard,” she spits.
“So there is no money to pay the debt, and this man threatened Nigel with violence last night if he does not settle it immediately.”
“Well, the solution to your problem is obvious. Just let the Russian beat the shit out of him,” she suggests callously.
“There is another way the debt can get written off.” I pause. I can barely let the words leave my mouth.
“Yeah? I’m all ears.”
“If … if … I go to him.”
Rosa’s eyebrows look like they could shoot completely off her face. “What the fuck? You can’t be serious,” she splutters.
I just stare at her dumbfounded face.
“Are you telling me that some Russian mobster is willing to write off a loan worth half-a-million in exchange for sex with you?”
“The deal is I have to stay with him for a month.”
She leans forward, her eyes glittering. “Do you know this man?”
“No.”
Her forehead furrows. “Does he even know what you look like?”
“No.”