Chapter 20

 

April looked at herself in the cracked full-length mirror. Her chain store Debenhams dress was flattering and clung in all the right places. The animal print suited her; it somehow made her eyes seem a deeper shade of green than they actually were.

She’d given into Dylan’s request for dinner the third time he’d asked. He’d been like a man on a mission since the first time she’d turned him down. She knew he would be. Nobody said no to Dylan Rider. There wasn’t anything she didn’t know about him. Even though the police had issued her with a complete resume on him, she’d also done her own research and read anything that had ever been written about him. By the time she’d finished, she knew more about him than his own mother.

He’d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth and had a privileged upbringing. He attended the best schools, and initially when he left university, he’d gone into banking and was doing relatively well until his brother Victor had relinquished overseeing the gallery, and he’d been the natural successor.

Seemingly, the Rider gallery had thrived when Dylan took the helm. His charm and good looks made him a natural with potential customers. Newspapers used the analogy of selling ice to Eskimos. Artists wanted their work exhibited at the prestigious Carson Rider gallery. It seemed to be the in place for paintings to be seen, and had a reputation for attracting the big buyers in the art world.

 

April ran the brush through her thick short hair and then applied some gel with her fingers. The intention was to lift her soft fringe and for a more sophisticated evening look. Even though her hair was short, she could achieve many different looks. Men like Dylan Rider’s preference would be women with long flowing hair, she knew that. But she also knew that very few women could wear their hair as she did and still look good. It wasn’t vanity, she didn’t buy into that, but she was a realist and learnt over the years, she had something men desired.

She stared back at herself. Her long elegant neck and sharp facial features showed the short hair off to perfection. She flattened a few stray hairs behind her ears so that she could expose her tiny ear lobes and added some small inexpensive earrings which enhanced her appearance, but she didn’t really need them.

Even a no-nonsense police officer liked to dress up and look girlie, so she’d applied a moderate amount of make-up. Large smoky green eyes stared back at her, which were down to a makeup palate which made them seem bigger than they actually were, and she applied layers of mascara to complete the look. It was her green eyes that separated her from other women. Green was the rarest of colours, and they become more green, grey or blue dependant on her mood, surroundings and what she was wearing.

 

She thought about her life away from work. It had been such a long time since she’d been in her beautiful home. How she longed to open the door of her house and shut the world out as she closed it behind her. To kick her shoes off, strip off her clothes and have a long soak in the enormous bath she’d had put in. And then pour herself a glass of red and relax in her conservatory, listening to some classical music. The whole image was heart-warming, and a far cry from her run-down bedsit.

Her kitten-heeled shoes completed the look. The dress reached above her knee and her legs look slender and toned with a dusting of fake-tan.

The sooner she got the job done, the better. Dylan Rider was interested, overly interested really. She wasn’t stupid, she knew he was only after one thing, and however receptive she was towards him, that didn’t involve telling her where the Portillo was.

But her ace card was the knowledge he needed to move it from the UK soon.

And her job was to link him to it.

The whole charade depended on it.

 

She’d followed Dylan into the dining room of his house. The table looked stunning with a silver-coloured runner and expensive placemats. The various array of crystal glasses were no doubt for a multitude of different wines. Men like Dylan Rider didn’t do casual.

“Please take a seat. Can I get you a glass of white or red? We’re having lamb, so I’m having red.”

“Then I will too if you’ve opened the bottle. No sense in opening two.”

“You’re sure? You can have white if you prefer,” he grinned, “I think I can stretch to two bottles.” His eyes crinkled at the edges. He was so handsome, too bloody handsome. No wonder the tabloids chased him trying to find out who his latest conquest was. Invariably it was a model of some description. Always stunningly beautiful, but then he seemed to surround himself by beauty.

“Excuse me for a moment,” he said and left the room.

She gazed around the huge dining room that would easily seat twenty people comfortably.

Everything about Dylan Rider was classy. Even his house was elegant and tastefully decorated. The walls had a collection of stunning pictures on them, most contemporary, but there were some older prints.

She thought about the tabloid newspapers. What would they make of Dylan Rider entertaining a jailbird?

“Here you are,” he interrupted her train of thought and handed her a drink.

She took it from him, allowing her fingers to touch his for a second. “Thank you.”

He sat down opposite and lifted his own glass. “Now then, what shall we drink to?” His brown eyes glistened, “How about, new friends?”

“Sounds good to me.” She lifted her glass, “New friends,” they both said in unison.

She savoured a sip of wine. “This is nice.”

“Glad you like it. I think it’s got a fruity body, and doesn’t leave a bitter after taste.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t. Not that I’m an expert on wine. I have no idea really what I’m drinking, but I do know when I don’t like a wine. This one’s lovely.”

“Good, because we’ve got plenty to get through,” he nodded towards the kitchen, “I’ve got another one opened and breathing.”

“Not for me I hope, wine goes straight to my head. I’d be flat out if I had too much.”

His eyes glinted with playfulness, “Maybe that’s my intention.”

“Then you’re going to be disappointed as it isn’t mine,” she told him firmly but with a cheeky smile.

A tap on the dining room door made her turn her head. A young girl gently opened the door.

“Are you ready to start, Mr Rider?”

“Yes please, Zian.”

The girl nodded and closed the door behind her.

“Zian is the little gem that caters for me when I have guests. She’s a fantastic cook. I’ve asked her to do my favourite starter, salt beef hash cake with a quail egg and rhubarb ketchup. It’s to die for. You’ll see exactly what I mean when you try it.”

“Sounds wonderful. Does she have her own business?”

“Yes. It’s called Love at First Bite, an online company run by her and her sister. They prepare meals in clients’ homes, and they do corporate functions. I use her for anything at the gallery. It’s a relatively new company they’ve set up, and as far as I can see, they’re doing brilliantly.”

The door opened and Zian came in carrying two dishes which she placed in front of them.

“Thank you,” Dylan acknowledged, “I was just telling Gemma about your business and how well you’re doing.”

Zian smiled affectionately at him and then looked at April, “A lot of that’s down to Mr Rider. He has put plenty of business our way.”

“That’s because your food it too gorgeous not too,” he looked at April, “which you’re going to find out any minute now.”

Zian nodded, “Hopefully yes. I’ll leave you to it then. Bon appetite.”

 

Dylan hadn’t been wrong. The starter was amazing. April savoured every mouthful.

“I told you,” he said, “she’s such a fantastic cook.”

“You’re telling me. Delicious doesn’t come close to describing it.”

“You’ll run out of adjectives before long. Everything tastes as good as this, you’ll see.”

As he took a sip of his wine, her eyes were drawn to his Adam’s apple protruding as he swallowed. He was really hot, and smelled so good. His spicy, citrusy aftershave played havoc with her senses, and she felt her pussy twitch as his tongue licked the surplus wine off his lips.

He put his glass down, “Now, tell me more about yourself.”

“I’d rather not,” she scrunched her nose up, “I’m sure your life is much more interesting than mine. You tell me about yourself, I’d enjoy that.”

“Okay, but you’re not getting away that easily. How about we take turns and I’ll start.”

He began to describe his life in detail from junior school to the present time. Nothing he said she didn’t know from his file, but she made encouraging noises and smiled in all the right places. If only he knew. She could have told him all of that.

During the conversation, they’d eaten the braised lamb breast. Every mouthful was a gourmet delight. It wasn’t saturated in a rich sauce hiding the flavour of the meat, just a simple jus and the accompaniment of fresh garden vegetables, were perfect. Whichever way Zian had cooked the lamb, she’d done an amazing job. It was delicious.

Zian came in to clear their plates and Dylan asked for a bit of a breather before they had dessert.

He leant back against his chair. “Right, your turn now.”

“I’m not sure I can follow that. Mine’s a bit mundane, I’m afraid.”

“Go on, I like mundane.”

“Okay then,” she placed her wine down, “don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She started on the fictitious personal life she knew off by heart. She spoke about her school life then her parents emigrating to New Zealand, and her father’s heart attack and eventual death at forty-five. She lied about being an only child and her uneventful life of school, college and finally work. She spoke jovially about it all, until the time came to inject some sadness into her voice.

“And then I fell in love. I’d been feeling vulnerable after my parents emigrated to New Zealand, and it’s the old story about a charismatic older man coming into my life and literally sweeping me off my feet.”

“Were you together long?”

“Too long, really. He was an accountant at the firm I worked for and he took me under his wing, so to speak. I was on a training scheme which would have eventually meant if I passed all the exams, I’d be a qualified accountant.”

“Go on,” he encouraged, sipping his wine.

She put a pained expression on her face, as if she was struggling to tell the rest.

“Not much to tell really. Only that I was very much in love and would have done anything for him. In fact, I did, and that’s why I ended up where I am right now.” She took a huge gulp of wine for effect. “Do you think we can talk about something else? It’s all a bit doom and gloom from now on with what happened next.”

“Of course we can . . .” he was about to add more as the door opened and Henry appeared.

Dylan glared at him. “We’re just having dinner,” which she sensed was a covert way of saying, get lost.

He didn’t apologise for interrupting as you would have expected.

“Did Uncle Vic get you?” Henry asked.

Dylan shook his head. “No, I haven’t spoken to him.”

“He rang the house phone, said he wanted you to ring him back.”

“It can’t have been urgent otherwise he’d have rung my mobile. I’ll call him later.”

Henry looked awkward. He clearly wasn’t picking up the social clue of his dad wanting rid of him. He stood in the same place, holding onto the door handle with a blank expression which April recognised because she’d been there so many times in her teens. He was lonely.

She cleared her throat. “Have you been anywhere nice this evening?”

He shook his head, again not picking up on the social clue of replying.

Dylan interjected, “You’ll not find out where hot-wheels goes to. I got him a car for the purpose of trying to find a job, and granted, he does leave the house each day on the pretext of job hunting, but doesn’t seem to come up with one.”

Since she’d first met Henry, she’d researched so much on Autism, and it had fascinated her. It appeared everyday life was a significant challenge for those affected. Now she had a better understanding, she could appreciate his odd behaviour and had an unexpected urge to support him.

“I don’t suppose there are that many jobs about for young men without experience?” she said sympathetically.

“Exactly my point,” Dylan cut in. “There aren’t any jobs about for seventeen-year-olds without qualifications, unless you want to be a trainee manager at Burger King or McDonald’s,” he added sarcastically. “It’s for that very reason I’m trying to get him to consider college.”

Dylan glared at his son, “Anyway, we’re just about to have dessert.”

He couldn’t have been any clearer he wanted rid of him.

“Why don’t you join us?” April invited, knowing that would be the last thing Dylan would want.

She doubted Henry was expecting the invitation, and his father certainly wouldn’t be. But Dylan was quick to make an effort. More likely because he desired getting her into bed, so wanted to portray he was a good father.

“Yes, why don’t you? Zian will have made plenty.”

She willed Henry to come and sit down with them. She now knew those affected with autism don’t always pick up on social clues. To anyone else, it would have been obvious his dad didn’t want him there. And most males of his age wouldn’t want to be anywhere near their dad entertaining a woman either. But Henry came over and dragged out the chair next to her. Even the action of taking his seat was clumsy. His whole persona was awkward.

Zian opened the door and came in carrying a huge plate which she placed on the table.

April widened her eyes, “Another one of your favourites?” she asked Dylan.

He grinned, “They’re all my favourites. But this treacle and hazelnut tart has the edge.”

“Shall I leave it for you to help yourself?” Zian asked.

Dylan nodded, “Yes that’s fine, thank you. Could you bring another plate and spoon for Henry, please?”

April glanced at the cake slice. “Would you like me to?”

Dylan’s nod encouraged her. She sliced a large piece and handed it to Henry, and cut a similar sized portion for Dylan.

Zian returned with an extra plate which she used for a small portion for herself. She declined the cream Dylan offered, but watched him and Henry pour a generous amount on theirs.

The challenge now was engaging with Henry. Although she couldn’t imagine he’d know anything about his father’s activities, he might prove useful, so it was essential she kept that option open.

She took a sip of dessert wine to clear her palate and looked directly at Henry.

“We’ve spent the evening talking about ourselves, and I’ve just been telling your dad all about my life which must have been pretty boring for him to have to listen to. So, how about you? Tell me a bit about yourself.”

Henry swallowed a spoonful of his dessert. “I used to live with my mum, she died, and I now live here with,” he hesitated, “Dylan.”

His tone and his reluctance not to call his father, dad, was a clear message.

“I’m sorry to hear that, it’s so hard at your age . . . at any age really to lose your mum.” She felt his pain. Even though her mother was a drug addict and her parenting capabilities were zilch, she’d still felt so much hurt when she’d died. And anger. She was furious she’d left her and Chloe with nobody.

“My father died,” she lied, never having any idea who her father was, “granted I was much older than you, but it’s still raw even now. How long ago was it for you?”

“Before Christmas,” he looked down at his food, “I’m over it now.”

Are you? I doubt you’ll ever be over it.

Best to change the subject.

“So, if you’re not keen on going to college, what sort of job do you want to do?”

“Nothing,” Dylan threw in, “that’s the problem.”

She smiled sympathetically. His father had obviously forgotten what it was like to be seventeen.

“What would you like to do?” she asked softly.

“Right now? Go to my room.” Henry kicked his chair back and stood up, “If that’s okay?”

His father nodded. You didn’t need to be a family psychologist to see the tension between the two of them.

Henry didn’t nod to her as he left the table. He didn’t look back either. He just kept on walking.

She now knew that a trait of autism was being resolute once a decision had been made. So, Henry wanted to leave, and he’d done exactly that. Seemingly many autistic people preferred solitude, and hated socialising.

Dylan’s mouth thinned. “Sorry about that. He’s a significant challenge. I’m amazed he even sat down with us, he wouldn’t have done if I’d asked him to.”

“I feel sorry for him, he seems . . . I don’t know, tormented maybe. It’ll be hard for him losing his mother.”

“Yeah, but lots of kids lose a parent. They don’t get dragged into drugs though.”

“Is that what’s happened?”

“Unfortunately, yes. He’s clean now . . . as far as I know, that is. I’ve paid for him to have therapy. Christ knows how long it will last for though. He’s a moody little bugger.”

She nodded sympathetically. “I can see why you want to get him into some sort of further education.”

“Easier said than done, though,” he said coldly. “The colleges aren’t interested in anyone with a caution for supplying and taking drugs. If it hadn’t been for a good lawyer and plenty of money, he’d be in jail right now.”

“Oh dear, that is sad. Shame the colleges won’t give him a chance. I’m surprised at that. Tons of kids take drugs and have convictions. Surely they can’t ban everyone; the colleges would be empty.”

“I’m sure money would talk, but he doesn’t want to go. It’s me pushing it. To be honest, the whole thing is a struggle. I didn’t expect to be the soul parent of a seventeen-year-old at my age.”

“Did you have a lot of contact when his mother was alive?”

He sighed deeply, “I’m ashamed to say, no. Henry is the result of a brief marriage seventeen years ago. Alicia, his mother and I were young and having a good time. Neither of us was ready for parenthood.”

He continued as if he’d read her thoughts and felt the need to explain further.

“She was adamant she wanted the baby. My father felt it was a way to ingratiate her way into the family, but the marriage didn’t last long. I’ve paid of course over the years, and I have seen him, but there’s no special bond between us. I might be his genetic father, but that’s about as far as it goes.”

“But you took him in when his mother died?”

“Yes, and the jury is still out on whether that was the right thing to do.” He paused for a moment, she guessed he was contemplating whether to say any more. The wine must have relaxed him.

“He’s a troubled soul, spends far too much time messing about on computers. He’s a whizz at anything like that.”

“Maybe you could get him to study something related to IT then?”

“Doubt it. He’d know more than the teachers. You might well laugh, but I’m telling you, every time I hear about computer hacks like the one that breached the White House, or the recent NHS one, a wave of cold fear runs through me. I think it’s him.”

She widened her eyes, “He’s that good, is he?”

“He is.” He took a sip of his drink, “I believe he’s drawn towards IT as it’s solitary. You don’t need to interact,” he raised an eyebrow cynically, “I think it’s fair to say, social interaction is not his bag. My plan is to get him into work or something, then get him a flat somewhere. I’m sure that’ll be the best all round. He hates it here with me.”

“Be nice if you could get him into a college though. You don’t need me to tell you that education’s the key to ambition.”

“Yes, but he and I don’t even agree on what he should study. I’d like him to do his A levels and go to university . . . he wants to do art,” he widened his eyes, “which won’t pay the bills. That’s why I’ve suggested going for an apprenticeship, something like plumbing for example. I mean, where in London can you get a plumber these days?” he smiled, “he’d be in big demand and always have work. He’s good with his hands so I think he’d be suited to that.”

“What does he think about being a plumber?”

“Not much.”

“What about the art course, then? I’m surprised you’re against it when your occupation is art. Surely he could fit into your world very well?”

“He wants to paint, he thinks he can earn a living from that.”

“Is he any good?”

“Lord knows. I’ve never seen any of his work. I’ve told him though it’s unlikely he’ll make a living from that. You’d have to have an amazing talent to get paid for painting.”

“I wouldn’t rule it out. He could surprise you.”

There was a pause as if he was considering what she’d said.

She glanced at her watch. “Anyway, I really think I should be making a move now.”

“Surely not?” His gaze fixed on her face, “Can’t I tempt you with a nightcap?”

It was  tempting, but far too soon.

“No thank you. I think it’s time I made my way home.”

“But it’s early,” he cajoled.

“I know it is, but it’s still time for me to go. It’s been a lovely evening, thank you.”

He reached for her hand and she didn’t try to pull away. It felt nice.

“I’ve enjoyed your company tonight. Do you really have to rush off? I can get you a taxi in an hour or two.”

She maintained contact with his warm brown eyes, “Shall we cut to the chase. What am I really doing here?”

“I thought this was the chase,” he grinned, “a beautiful young woman and an eligible bachelor, enjoying dinner and getting to know one another. I was thinking it was time for us to make ourselves more comfortable. I was about to suggest it, actually.”

“I don’t think so.” Her eyes narrowed, “Look, Dylan, I need to level with you. I’m very flattered that you’ve invited me here for dinner. I didn’t want to accept, but you’re a man that’s hard to say no to. I’ve had a nice evening, and I am truly grateful. I’ve eaten more tonight than I normally do in a week. But as for anything else, I’m really not interested in what you have in mind.”

“And what do I have in mind?” he asked innocently.

“Seducing me?”

He pulled a pained face, “I’m more of a mutual beneficial man really as opposed to being a seducer,” he shrugged, “and I don’t understand what’s wrong with two people who are attracted to each other, enjoying each other’s company.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“You like men, don’t you?” he asked, as if it just dawned on him she might be gay.

“Yes, but not men that employ me.”

“I have to say, you’re over-thinking this,” he splayed his hands, “okay, cards on the table,” his eyes suddenly seemed very warm, “I’m not going to deny that right now I’d like to take you to bed. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”

“No, but I don’t want that.”

“But you’re here?”

“Yes, and I’m not entirely sure why. I admit I was curious, you are an attractive man, and if I’m being totally honest, tonight’s dinner has reinforced how attractive you are. But you already know that.”

“So? What’s the problem with getting to know each other? I’m not in a relationship if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It’s not that. I know you probably find this hard to believe, but I don’t actually want to have sex with you.”

“Why not? You said you’re not involved with anyone.”

“No, and that’s the way I intend to stay. Let me put my cards on the table.” She took a deep breath in, “Right now, I need to get my life back on track. I want to do my probation period and then hopefully move on and rebuild my life. It won’t be easy with a prison record, I know that, but I’m going to try. So the last thing I need right now is anything complicating that.”

“That isn’t my intention,” he said. “Look, maybe I can help you. If it’s a better job you want, and somewhere else to live, then I could be your man. I have tons of contacts.”

“And I’ve got to sleep with you for that, have I?”

The silence between them was awkward.

She stood up. “Could you ring me a taxi please?”

“Don’t go like this,” he asked, “just hear me out.”

She would hear him out.

It was all part of the game plan, after all.

His gaze was steady, “Please.”

She sat down again.

He studied her thoughtfully. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. Of course you don’t have to sleep with me for me to help you. I do genuinely like you, and I’m not denying that I’m attracted to you.” He gave such a sexy smile. “You’re on my mind a lot,” he widened his eyes, “too much really.”

She understood his meaning perfectly, he was a bloke. Their minds were generally linked to their trousers.

“So, how about if we try the being friends for now, and see where that takes us? It’s three months, isn’t it, that you have to stay at the gallery?”

“Yes. I’m going to try and get some money behind me and decide where to go from there.”

“Then there’s no reason why we can’t be friends while you’re here. You’ve already achieved a remarkable feat this evening.”

“What’s that?” she frowned.

“My son actually sitting down at the table with me; he wouldn’t have done that if you’d not been here.”

“That’s good then,” she smiled, “I’m pleased. I guess he’s used to me cleaning his room now?”

“Whatever. The main thing is, he seems to like you, and that doesn’t happen often I can assure you.”

For some reason it pleased her that she’d made an inroad with Henry. Why, she wasn’t sure. Maybe she felt an affinity as she’d lost her mother and knew the pain never really went away.

“Okay, what’s in it for you? Why do you want to be friends with me? You must have stacks of female friends?”

“Now that’s where you’re wrong. I have stacks of acquaintances, but not many true friends. And I don’t like people being down on their luck. That’s why I like to try and rehabilitate them by giving them employment at the gallery. So, if you’ll let me, I’d like to try and help you.”

What a load of bullshit.

“Okay,” she nodded, “that would be nice. But can we keep this friendship arrangement to ourselves? I would hate anyone to think I was sleeping with the boss to get a rung up the ladder.”

“Fine,” he agreed and raised an eyebrow, “does that mean there’s a possibility you might be sleeping with me?”

“Let’s just say might is the operative word and leave it at that, shall we?”

He placed his hand on his heart, “At least you have given me some hope.”

She couldn’t help a smile breaking out. He was far too charming.

“Right,” he took his phone from his shirt pocket, “give me your mobile number, and we can conduct our clandestine meetings via text.”

“Now you’re laughing at me.”

“No, I’m not,” he said, “far from it, actually. It’s refreshing to meet someone like you. So many women would have jumped into bed with me to see what was in it for them. It’s unusual to come across someone with principles.”

“Unusual for a jailbird, is that what you’re thinking?”

“I’m not sure what I’m thinking right now.” A vague expression passed across his face as if he was recalling something. It was only for a second, and then just as quickly, he was back with her.

“Right, come on, Cinderella, let’s get you that taxi home . . .” He stood up, and then hesitated.

“What?” she asked.

“I was just wondering if Henry would give you a lift. It would give him something to do, and you might be able to talk some sense into him. You know, a female perspective on education being the key to success and all that.”

“I’m happy for him to take me home,” she agreed, “but I don’t suppose he’ll take much notice of the cleaner. And I’m hardly a role model for an upstanding citizen, am I?”

“It’s worth a try. Maybe listening to how you’re struggling might at least give him the wake-up call he needs not to go down the drugs route again.”

“No harm in trying,” she agreed.

“Okay, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and ask him. He can only say no.”

She finished the last dregs of her wine while she waited. Things were going just as she wanted them to. The one thing she hadn’t banked on was how attractive she would find him. That was a complete bonus. As far as she was concerned, sex was no longer an option . . . it was a definite.

 

***

 

The front door of Rider’s house opened, and he checked his watch. They’d been almost three hours.

Three long hours he’d waited in his car. He had to get out and piss in the bushes at one stage he’d drank that much water.

He watched the son come out of the house first and April followed in front of Rider. She looked almost petite at the side of him. She was tall for a female, but not next to Rider.

His gut clenched as he watched him hold her jacket for her to slip her arms into.

He held onto her shoulders much longer than was necessary.

Fucking opportunist.

He wasn’t close enough to hear what was being said between them, but he watched Rider walk round to the passenger side and hold the door open for her.

He kissed her cheek and she smiled and said something to him.

Probably thanking him for dinner.

She’s playing a part, he reminded himself.

The car pulled away and Rider stood in the doorway and watched her go.

Bet he’s desperate to fuck her.

He opened the window to spit out the bile that was clogging his throat.

April Masters was far too good for the likes of Dylan Rider.