Richer Ground (2 page)

“It's okay, forget it. You didn't know.” He turned to look at his sister for a moment and she smiled at him, sweetly.

“Please go and sit down, I'll bring the drinks over in a minute,” she backtracked.

“No, I'll take them now. I'm up. And the reason I was calling you over was to ask if you'd like a lift home later, that's all.”

“Oh, I see. Well okay, that's very nice of you. It's only a mile away, but I'd appreciate it. I don't like walking home on my own at midnight.”

“Chester Road isn't it?”

“Yes... how d'ya know?”

“It was just a guess, I've seen you walking along it a few times.”

“You live nearby?”

“The Chase.”

Well he would, wouldn't he...? Millionaires row...

“Bad neighbourhood that... Wouldn't go there after dark.”

He suddenly laughed again and she smiled at him, going into flirt mode. The ice had begun to melt a little. In fact it was gushing like the big thaw, east and west.

She changed into her jeans, t-shirt, and converse trainers and took down her hair. Grabbing her jacket from the peg she left the bar. He was waiting in the foyer. Alone.

“Where's your sister?”

“My father picked Debra up, just a minute ago. She lives a few miles away in the opposite direction to us.”

At least she didn't have to squash in the back of his Porsche. It would have ruined the whole experience somewhat.

He led her out to his car and she slid inside its smart dark interior. He switched the engine on and she sighed with delight. The lovely thrumming sound vibrated through her. Then he turned some music on, quietly in the background. This was getting better and better. She watched him sneakily as he switched on the lights and they finally set off. His smooth gear changes and his bad habit, one-handed steering, were doing things to her. 

“Spend a lot of time at the club, do you?” she asked politely.

“A fair amount. I play golf, use the gym, the pool, the restaurant, and the bar.”

“I haven't seen you before.”

“I've been in South Africa for a couple of weeks.”

“On holiday?”

“No, it was work. I'm a diamond grader. Colours are my speciality.”

“How d'ya get into that?” she asked, intrigued.

“The old boy network. My father's friends, basically. They have connections in De Beers.”

Well at least he's honest and isn't saying he earned it...

“Oh what a wasted effort, you mean you didn't need the diamond degree after all?” Her hackles were raised. She hated this unfairness in life. Inequality among the classes.  Her single parent mother didn't have a bean or a job at the moment either. She had had to struggle to make ends meet for years, cleaning and waitressing. And Alista couldn't find work anywhere while she was studying at Exeter. She'd lived on beans on toast for weeks at a time. Their unpleasant and unfortunate experiences in life were something she was sure Richer knew nothing about.

“I do have a relevant degree, in fact...” he added, pointedly, as if that made everything okay.

“I'm sure you do and so do I. Anyway, my job's much better than yours, it's far more skilled and has a lot of career potential.” she snapped.

“I'm getting some bad vibes flowing my way.” He turned to look at her and she glared and pursed her lips in annoyance.

“Oh really? I wonder why?”

He stopped the car and undid his seat belt. Before she had time to think about what was happening, or to utter a single word of protest, he took her face in his hands and started kissing her, hard.

Oh shit...

Everything flared to life below her waistline. He wound his fingers in her hair as his tongue probed inside her mouth. Heat flew around her like an unstoppable tidal wave. But she sat dead still, taking it all in.

He pulled away suddenly and sat back, looking deeply into her eyes.

“What the fuck was that?” she asked with the best cold look she could manage.

“It was my way of occupying your mouth in a more positive manner.”

“If you don't like the things I say, you shouldn't have offered me a lift. I didn't realise I had to sit in silence.”

“Are you ever quiet? I bet you talk in your sleep!”

“What's the matter with talking? It's how the world communicates, you know. Well, apart from texting and email. And that's finger talking anyway... Besides, I'm a straight talker. I say what I feel. Sometimes people don't like the truth but that's their problem.”

“I'm going to have to do it again...”

“I can hardly wait. More tongue this time, though. And maybe you can feel some other parts of me while you're at it. Actually just go the whole hog and have sex with me, that should shut me up.”

“
What
...?”

“That was another one of my jokes Mr Richer.” She got out of the car and raced off the few hundred yards remaining to her house. He drove up and pulled alongside her and opened the window as she jogged.

“Can I have your number, please?” he called out politely. She stopped outside her house and stooped down, looking in through the open window at him.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I'll tell you why not... I don't like you. You're a flash rich bastard.”

“I'll change your mind about that.”

“Don't bet on it. Anyway, you know where I live and where I work. My phone number's my only escape from you...” She ran up the path and inside the house.

Her mum was still up when she got in, watching a gardening program on TV. She was obsessed with plants and growing things. She'd inherited her mum’s love of it to a degree, and they both enjoyed going out to garden centres together and mooching about looking at the lovely plants, ornaments, and other things. Not that they ever bought much, not having the funds. One day, when she could afford it, she was going to give her mum a blank cheque to buy whatever she wanted.

Their house was immaculate. Super clean and tidy. Not a thing out of place. It was an ex-council house and mum owned it outright. She'd bought it on a short mortgage at a steep discount, dead cheap, when Ali was very young. The council offered them to tenants in a capital raising program they were running. Things were better then, pre recession. Everything was booming and mum had had a secretarial job in a local bank.

It was a nice place, for a council house. It wasn't on an estate, which was a big plus, and there were only four of them in a row. It was in a better part of town, in a good position, had three bedrooms and a large back garden. Ali had always been happy there. It had been the only home she'd ever known apart from her grotty university digs. The least said about that the better.

“Hello love... Good day?” her mum asked cheerily, turning towards her, sipping at her cup of tea. Her name was Claudine. She was still so beautiful and youthful at forty five. Her long dark hair was shiny and she kept herself slim and wore modern clothes. She was so proud of her mum.

She often wondered why she was alone. But perhaps she preferred it that way. She'd had two brief and unsuccessful relationships in her life. A long time ago. One resulted in Ali and the other in Radleigh, her older brother. Neither of them had any contact with their dads any more.

They both had unusual names. Her mum said a name really mattered. Why pick something ordinary? That's what her own mother Zita, Ali's nana, had told her, and she was passing it down the generations.

“It was so busy. I'm dead.” She flopped on the sofa next to her with a groan.

“Hard work's good for you Ali... It's food for the soul.” And then they both laughed. Mum was full of these little sayings.

“Is Rad in?” she asked.

“Not yet. He's at work and then going to town.”

Alista worried about him. She'd found out he was into something. Little pills and worse. It had started after his girlfriend of six months had dumped him. She didn't want to tell her mum, she knew she'd be so upset. So she'd kept it between the two of them. But she'd given him a real ear bashing about it. Radleigh worked in a bowling alley, in the office, since he'd left school at sixteen. He did all right, and was the assistant manager now, at twenty four. She didn't want him to blow it, because she'd seen what drugs did to people. They ruined minds, bodies, and lives. Fast. Much faster than drinking. One of her uni friends became a prostitute as a result of her habit. She got hooked on dope and then coke.

She hoped he was being sensible. She sent him a quick text, a subtle reminder. She did it a lot.

“Having a good time bro? Be good. :)”

And got a fast reply.

“Im always good :)”

“Really???”

“Don't do that stuff anymore. I was getting over Kirsty, thats all. Chill.”

“Luv ya.”

She got on well with her half brother, apart from that. They were close.

“Well, I'm off to bed,” she announced, taking her shoes off and dragging herself up.

“I'll be up soon,” her mum replied. “Night love.”

“Night Mum.” She dropped a kiss on her cheek and made her way upstairs and into her tidy room. She liked it that way. It was ordered and clean and beautiful. Unlike his, next door. Mum didn't go in his room, or hers. It was their private domain. Radleigh's room was a tip. Pizza boxes piled high in the corner. A mound of empty cans and rubbish everywhere. It smelled sweaty and God knows what else.

Uggghhh, disgusting.

She couldn't imagine Richer living like Radleigh did.

Her head hit the pillow and she sighed with pleasure at its fragrant, soft feathered luxury. She didn't want to, but she thought about Richer as she drifted off to sleep. She could still feel the touch of his lips on hers, vividly, and she brushed them with her finger.

He'd made her toes melt.

She quite liked him really, Mr Flashy. Despite what she'd said to his face.

Chapter 3

“Ah, there you are Alista… Do you have an hour to spare?” Mrs Simpson swanned up to the bar, in a cloud of Chanel, where she was cleaning, as usual. Ali was of the opinion that life was one big clean up job. Cleaning bodies, hair, floors, the bar, glasses, houses, windows, cars... She hoped heaven stayed clean without any work.

“Sure, if Tim doesn't mind?” She looked at the bar manager for confirmation.

“We can manage. It's all nearly done anyway. Greta and I will check the pumps. Off you go. Take as long as you like.” He gave her a big wink. He was a lovely manager. Very complimentary and cheerful. He could do with losing some weight though. He was fifty and in that danger zone. His waistline screamed of potential diabetes. When she got to know him better she might mention it, tactfully, somehow.

She followed Mrs Simpson to the golf clubhouse which was called Medusa's. It was open for light snacks, coffee and drinks, throughout the day, and catered to the golfers completing the Nine Holes of Hades...

Cheryl, a young mum who had been working there for a few years, was texting on her phone behind the counter. The room was empty apart from her.

Mrs Simpson made her way over to her.

“Cheryl dear, I'm glad I've caught you while you're not busy. Would you mind showing Alista the ropes for a while? She wants to get some more experience here.”

Cheryl gave Alista a look which clearly said 'you creep'.

“Okay Wendy. Will do,” she replied cheerfully, in a very common accent.

Ali raised her eyebrows at her chummy first name reply.

Mrs Simpson turned to go.

“Thank you Mrs Simpson,” Ali said respectfully and pointedly.

“Oh call me Wendy, Alista. We're one big happy family here,” she laughed, and tottered off on her sky high red patent heels, her black silk suit rustling as she walked.

“What's your game?” Cheryl wasted no time getting her point across.

“I want to find out what goes on in a place like this, that's all.”

“I need this job, I've got twins,” Cheryl added with a desperate look in her eye.

“Oh no... I'm happy in the bar. I don't want to take your job! Is that what you thought?”

Cheryl relaxed instantly.

“Kinda. And it suits me here. The hours are good.”

“How old are your twins?”

“Two and a half.”

“It must be hard work.”

“You're telling me. The little bastards run me ragged. I wish my husband was home more.”

“Where is he?”

“He works on a cruise ship. He plays piano in the bar.”

“That's hard on you both, I guess?”

“Yeah, I miss him. A lot.” To Alista's horror Cheryl's eyes began to fill up and she started to cry.

“Oh God... I'm sorry, did I set you off?” She was mortified. She gave her a tight hug around the shoulders and rubbed her arm.

“No… I'm just dog tired, and everything sets me off. The twins don't sleep very well and looking after them and the house and whatever drags me down at times. Make sure you marry a rich man, my girl. Don't struggle all your life if you can help it.” She walked off behind the counter to get a tissue and blew her nose noisily. She tossed her an apron. “There, put that on.”

Alista held it up. It was the same bright red one Cheryl was wearing, with a white Medusa head full of writhing snakes. Alista wasn't sure it was the best name for an eatery, but anyways. She swapped aprons and joined her behind the counter. In between stopping half a dozen times, for Cheryl to serve customers, she managed to learn how to use the coffee machine, make tea, use the fast heat induction oven, and various other bits and pieces.

Cheryl sent her off to clear and clean tables and finally she got to serve her first customer. He was an older gentleman, wearing a very traditional brightly coloured golf outfit which was highly amusing. She made and served him his espresso and a slice of Victoria sponge cake with a sweet smile. He grinned back from ear to ear and winked at her and then blew her a lusty kiss.

“Monty, you old goat...!” Cheryl giggled. “Put it back in your pants, will you?”

Alista blushed crimson and Cheryl was off in hysterics.

“Don't mind me. I'm an old flirt,” he said guffawing, shuffling away with his cup and plate and treating her to another wink over his shoulder as he left.

“The oldies are worse than the young 'uns 'ere. I tell 'ya,” Cheryl said with a sigh.

At that moment a tall young blond guy appeared through the door, haw-hawing in a real Hooray Henry manner. He dumped his golf bag by the door with a loud thump. She'd seen him in the bar last Saturday, with a gang of other Henrys and Henriettas... all braying with Champagne inebriated laughter and awash with crystal accents.  Alista sighed when she saw who was coming in behind him.

Bloody typical. Birds of a feather.

Having said that, Richer wasn't the braying type. He had a nice laugh and a sexy cultured voice. Nothing like this one.

“Ricky boy, what'll it be?” Hooray asked him as he looked at the cakes, running his tongue over his fat lips hungrily.

Richer placed his bag next to Hooray's and walked up to the counter. He finally spotted her, standing there, unsmiling.

“What's this? Been demoted already?” he sniggered.

Cheryl snorted and raised her head from behind the drinks fridge. “Do you mind? This is a top class coffee shop, I'll have you know!” she laughed, sidling up closer to him.

Alista smiled to herself. Cheryl was openly flirting with him. Blatantly flapping her eyelashes and licking her lips.

“Oh sorry, Cheryl, I didn't see you there... I was having a private joke with Alista, that's all. How's the boys?” he asked pleasantly.

“The usual pain in the arse. How's Debs?”

“Not so good.”

“Oh... sorry to hear about that. Hope things improve. It's a real shame.” Cheryl looked away, uncomfortably, and pretended to straighten the cups and saucers.

Richer's eyes found hers again.

“I'm doing a tour of duty,” she said, smoothing her Medusa apron self consciously. As she looked at him, a flicker of real interest began to build. “Anyway, what can I do for you, sir?” she asked, keeping her eyes fixed on his, unblinking.

“Shall we have our usual, Henners?” He turned to Hooray to ask.

She couldn't stop a bubble of a laugh escaping and she coughed to cover it up.

He was a real Hooray Henry then.

“No, I fancy being naughty today. I'll have the choccy cake and a large cappo, sweetie,” Hooray announced with a big cheesy grin in her direction.

“Why the hell not? And I'll have the same...” Richer agreed with a rather nice smile which she absorbed like a sponge.

She busied herself making the coffees while Cheryl served the cake and took the cash.

“Take a seat, I'll bring them over,” Alista offered.

She made a great effort of dusting the top with a pretty flower design in powdered chocolate.

She walked over and placed them in front of them with a graceful flourish.

“Thanks Alista.” Richer gave her an even more beautiful smile which dazzled her with its whiteness and her stomach flipped 360 degrees.

“Call me Ali,
Ricky boy..
.” she bent down and said sweetly in his ear and flounced off to her lowly position of assistant coffee maker.

She watched slyly as he blatantly stared in her direction while she worked.

He was damned interested in her.

And unfortunately, she was damned interested in him.

A few minutes later he came up to the counter.

“I'll have a refill please.” And she set about it. “Are you on bar duty after this?”

“Yeah, same shift today and tomorrow.”

“I'm drinking tonight and taking a cab back, so I can drop you off later.”

“No thanks. I'll walk. I can talk to myself all the way home without being snogged,” she replied, finishing his coffee off and putting it in front of him.

“Oh funny...”

“Not for me it wasn't”

“You liked it really, didn't you?” He leaned across the counter, speaking quietly.

“Oh yeah...! Did you notice how I responded so wildly and wouldn't let you go?”

“Ali, I know when a woman likes me kissing her. You lit up like a torch.”

“It was a hot flush of infection. I think I'm going down with something. A nasty new virus called the rich flu.”