Take Two (A psychological thriller) (2 page)

‘It’ll be a pleasure,’ said Tracey. ‘Would you like the Parisian courtesan, the subtle seductress or shall we go the full Madonna?’

CHAPTER 3

Carolyn’s driver was waiting for her in reception, sitting on a sofa as he tapped away on his iPhone. He jumped to his feet as he saw her coming through the double doors from the studio and pocketed his phone.  ‘Early bath, Miss Castle?’ he asked.

‘Camera problems so Seb has to stay after school but I get to go home early,’ she said.

‘It’s an ill wind,’ he said, opening the main door for her. His name was Billy McMullen and he’d been her driver for the past three years. He picked her up each morning, drove her to the studio and took her home each evening. If there was any location shooting to be done, it was Billy who drove her in his Mercedes S-Class. He was a former soldier who had driven tanks in Iraq before leaving the Army and setting up his own minicab company in South London. The recession had sent his fledgling business into a tailspin and he’d joined the production company as a driver.  Carolyn had immediately liked the former soldier’s gruff no-nonsense approach to the job and, in particular, his knack of knowing when she wanted to talk and when she wanted to sit in silence. It was a skill none of her three former husbands had ever acquired.

They walked together to the car and Billy opened the rear door for her. ‘Can we stop at an off licence? Then I want to go to Eddie’s place,’ she said as she climbed in.

‘Not a problem, Miss Castle,’ Billy said, closing the door.  He was an excellent driver; nothing seemed to faze him.  If a bus pulled up short in front of them, he just braked and smiled. If a courier cut him up, Billy just grinned.  Carolyn had asked him once how he’d become such an unflustered driver and Billy had just shrugged and said that once you’d driven down a road that you knew was littered with IEDs - Improvised Explosive Devices – whatever happened on a London street was a walk in the park. ‘I’m just grateful no one is trying to shoot me,’ he said. ‘But there are some parts of South London that are a bit dicey these days.’

Carolyn took her iPad from her bag and passed the time on Twitter. She had more than a quarter of a million followers and she Tweeted at least half a dozen times a day, and always posted at least twice on her Facebook page.  She knew her livelihood depended on her fan base and that time spent interacting with her fans was as important as the time she spent in front of the camera.

After half an hour Billy pulled up outside a Nicolas off-licence not far from Eddie’s apartment. ‘Shall I pop in for you, Miss Castle?’ he asked, looking at her in the rear-view mirror.

‘Thanks, darling, but with my luck you’d get a ticket,’ she said. ‘I’ll only be five minutes.’ She let herself out of the car and hurried across the pavement and into the shop. There was a cooler full of white wine and champagne and she studied the labels. Eddie was a big fan of Cristal and Pol Roget but they had neither so she had to settle for a bottle of non-vintage Bollinger. She preferred red wine but was happy enough to share a bottle of champagne with him. As she took it out of the cooler, she realised an old couple were watching her, the woman in a cheap cloth coat and wool hat and clutching a leather handbag to her chest, the man in a tweed overcoat and a long striped scarf. ‘It’s you, isn’t it?’ said the woman. She tugged at her husband’s arm. ‘It’s her. Off the telly.’

Her husband was in his late seventies with a liver-spotted bald head and the look of a turtle that was about to withdraw into its shell. ‘What telly?’ he said,

‘The telly.’ She nodded at Carolyn. ‘You’re that Diana Bourne, off that show.’

Carolyn smiled. ‘Yes, I am,’ she said.

‘I love that show,’ said the woman. She nudged her husband. ‘We love that show.’

‘How lovely,’ said Carolyn.

‘What’s it called? Rag and Bone?’

‘Rags To Riches,’ said Carolyn, trying to get by the couple to the cash register.

‘That’s it,’ said the woman. ‘We love it. Wouldn’t miss it. So much better than that EastEnders. What is it with EastEnders? There’s always someone dying or fighting or shouting. But we love your show.’

‘Thank you so much,’ said Carolyn.

‘Could I have your autograph?’ asked the woman. ‘My daughter loves the show and she won’t believe I’ve seen you if I don’t have your autograph.’

‘Of course,’ said Carolyn. She looked at the old woman expectantly. ‘Do you have a piece of paper or something? And a pen?’

The old woman shook her head. ‘No dear. Sorry.’

‘Let’s see if the sales lady has one,’ Carolyn said and smiled. She managed to squeeze by the couple and went over to the cash register. The woman behind the counter  was in her late twenties with dyed blonde hair, dressed all in black.  Carolyn asked for a pen and then scribbled her Diana Bourne signature on the back of a leaflet advertising Australian wine. She handed it to the old woman and waved away her thanks, then paid for the champagne. The cashier held out her hand with the change. Her eyes widened in recognition.  ‘You’re . . .  Carolyn Bourne,’ she said. She had an East European accent. Polish, perhaps.

‘Last time I checked, yes,’ said Carolyn. She motioned with her hand, asking for the change. She couldn’t be bothered correcting the girl, it was just too much effort to explain that her name was Castle and that Bourne was the character she played.

The cashier took back the change as if she had forgotten she had it in her hand.  ‘It must be great to be a movie star,’ she said.

‘Well. I’m not really a movie star, it’s just television.’

‘But you’re famous.’

‘Believe me, it’s actually very hard work.’

‘My boyfriend loves you,’ said the shop assistant. ‘He says you’re his favourite Milf.’

‘Milf?’

‘That’s what he says but he won’t say what a Milf is. Can you tell me, what is a Milf?’

Carolyn laughed. She knew exactly what a Milf was but didn’t think she should be the one to tell the girl what her boyfriend meant. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘Will you talk to him, please?’

Carolyn looked at her watch pointedly but the girl was already reaching for her mobile.  She held the phone to her ear, nodding and smiling at Carolyn. Carolyn said a silent prayer that the boyfriend wouldn’t answer but he did. ‘Mark, you’ll never guess who’s in my shop,’ she said. She grinned. ‘No, you won’t guess. Here, you talk to her.’ She handed over the phone.

 Carolyn smiled and took it. ‘Hi,’ she said, ‘This is Carolyn Castle.’

‘No way.’ He was from Liverpool and sounded as if he was a few years younger than the girl behind the counter.

‘It’s definitely me,’ said Carolyn. ‘I just popped in to your girlfriend’s shop to buy some wine and she mentioned you enjoyed the show.’

‘You’ve made my day, you really have,’ he said. ‘Can I tell you something, Carolyn?’

‘Of course.’

‘Your husband. Watch him. He’s getting a bit too pally with that Fiona. I don’t trust her.’

Carolyn laughed. ‘Thanks for the tip, Mark.’

‘I’m serious, Carolyn. There’s something not right there.’

Still laughing, Carolyn handed the phone back to the girl and retrieved her change. She was still laughing as she walked out of the shop and climbed into the back of the Mercedes.

CHAPTER 4

Billy brought the car to a halt outside the mansion block where Eddie had his flat. She saw Eddie’s black 5-Series BMW parked in the street. ‘Do you want me to wait for you, Miss Castle?’ asked Billy.  When he’d first starting driving her, Carolyn had asked him to call her by her first name but he’d insisted it was company policy not to.

‘No, that’s okay, Billy,’ she said. ‘I’ll probably stay over, but I’ll send you a text either way.’

‘It’s an early call tomorrow,’ said Billy. ‘Seven o’clock in make-up, they said.’

‘I’ll be ready for you, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,’ she said. ‘Have you got anything planned?’

‘Thought I’d take the missus out for a movie and a pizza,’ said Billy. ‘Once she gets over the shock of me getting home this early.’

Carolyn climbed out of the Mercedes and waved goodbye to Billy as she let herself into the block. Eddie had given her a set of keys two months into their relationship and she’d reciprocated by giving him the keys to her house in Notting Hill Gate. There was an old lift that rattled up and down between the floors but Carolyn never liked using it. Eddie’s flat was on the third floor so she walked up the stairs. The common parts of the building were expensively decorated, funded by a sky-high service charge. The carpet was a deep red and there were brass-framed watercolours on the walls and small brass lanterns hanging from the ceiling. She walked slowly up the stairs as she fumbled in her bag for the keys. She reached the third floor and tucked the bottle of champagne under her left arm as she opened the front door, quietly because she wanted to surprise Eddie. She kicked off her shoes and shrugged off her coat, dropped her bag onto a side table and then padded along the hallway to the sitting room. She could hear the television and expected to find Eddie sprawled on his sofa watching Sky Sport, but the living room was empty. There were two glasses on the coffee table, ice cubes melting in them. Carolyn frowned as she stared at the glasses. She tried to swallow but her mouth had gone suddenly dry. There was only one bedroom in the flat, at the end of the hallway. She turned and walked back into the hall, the champagne bottle swinging slowly in her left hand.

She heard the noises as she got closer to the door. Panting. Moaning. Grunting. She felt tears sting her eyes and she blinked them away. She reached out with her right hand but flinched as she heard laughter from inside the bedroom. A man and a girl. Carolyn’s heart was pounding and as she reached out again her hand trembled.  She seized the handle, turned it, and slowly pushed open the door. The hinges squeaked and Carolyn’s breath caught in her mouth. She heard grunting, and the slap of flesh against flesh. She pushed the door wide open and stepped into the room.

Eddie was on his knees with his back to her. The blonde girl was kneeling, her head on a pillow as Eddie pounded into her, his hands on her hips.

Tears ran down Carolyn’s face as she watched Eddie make love to her. She was moaning and groaning and calling out his name. Eddie was grunting in time with each thrust. He still had his socks on, Carolyn noticed. Black socks with a blue geometric pattern.

There was a large ornate, gilt-framed mirror above the bed and when Carolyn looked up at it she could see Eddie’s face. His eyes were closed and he was gritting his teeth as he pounded. His upper lip was drawn back into a snarl. It was a look she’d seen dozens of times, the face he made just before he came.

Carolyn took a step forward as the girl lifted up her head. Her face came into view in the mirror. She was in her twenties -- half Carolyn’s age. Her mouth was open and her face was bathed in sweat. She was young enough not to need much make-up, just a touch of mascara. Her cheekbones were as sharp as razors, not a blemish on her skin. She moaned his name again.

‘You bastard!’ Carolyn screamed. She threw the bottle of champagne at the mirror and hit it slap bang in the middle. Eddie flinched as the mirror shattered and the girl screamed as hundreds of shards of glass fell around her.  Tears ran down Carolyn’s face and she wiped them away with the back of her hand.

‘What the hell are you doing!’ shouted Eddie. He grabbed his white toweling robe. ‘You shouldn’t be here! What do you think you’re doing?’ He put on his robe and tied the belt with a flourish.  He pointed at the broken glass on the bed. ‘Look what you’ve done!’

‘What I’ve done?’ repeated Carolyn. ‘Who is she? Who the hell is she?’

The blonde woman was staring at the broken glass in horror. ‘You could have killed me!’ she shouted.

‘Chance’d be a fine thing,’ said Carolyn. ‘You shouldn’t have been here in the first place.’

‘You could have cut me!’ shouted the blonde. She turned to look at Eddie. ‘She’s crazy.’ She held up her right hand and stared at the palm. ‘Oh my God, I’m bleeding,’ she cried and dashed into the bathroom, slamming the door.

‘You’re not supposed to be back this early,’ Eddie said to Carolyn. ‘You said you were working late.’

‘Who is she?’ asked Carolyn, pointing at the bathroom door. ‘Who is that slut?’

‘She’s not a slut,’ said Eddie. ‘And no one said we were exclusive.’

‘What?  Exclusive? What the hell does that mean?’

‘You and I have our moments, but let’s face it, you work all the hours that God sends and when we do go out it’s all about you and your bloody show. Zoe has time for me.’

‘And she’s half my age. Is that it?’

‘Don’t be stupid. That’s not what’s it about.’

Carolyn folded her arms. ‘Then tell me what it is about, Eddie. I thought we had something.’

‘We did. But so do Zoe and I. It’s your own fault for coming around without phoning first.’

‘And if I had phoned, what then? You’d have got her out of bed, would you?’

Eddie shook his head. ‘I’d have told you not to come.’

‘One of your famous migraines?’ Her mouth dropped open and she covered it with her hand. ‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘You’ve done it before, haven’t you? All those times you had a headache, you were screwing her?’

‘Not just her, honey.’ He sighed. ‘Look, Carolyn, no one ever said we were exclusive.’

She took out his keys and waved them at him. ‘Then why do I have these? And why do you have the keys to my house?’

‘Because that’s what you wanted. It was your idea. And I did tell you, call first.’ He looked at his watch. ‘You should go.’

‘Go? What do you mean, go?’

Eddie gestured at the door. ‘Just go home, Carolyn. We can talk about this tomorrow.’

‘What? You want me to leave? Really?’

‘I think that’s best.’

Carolyn took a deep breath, trying to quell the rising sense of panic that was threatening to overwhelm her.  ‘Eddie, look, we can sort this out.’ She nodded at the bathroom door. ‘Tell her to go.’ She forced a smile and pointed at the unbroken bottle of champagne. ‘The bubbly’s still okay. We can drink it together.’