March 12th
Ive always prided myself on being a straighttalker, but the past week has proven just how deftly I can spin a lie. Yesterday, while Margaret was nursing a cold cup of tea in our leather armchair, I paced the drawingroom, adjusting my hairline perfectly as I tried to make my case sound convincing.
Margaret, how many times can we keep tinkering with the same old ideas? I said, my voice a little sharper than I intended. Listen, this is a proper opportunity. Simon Clarke is offering us a chance to get in on a development at the groundfloor stage. In a year the flats will double in value. We put in £5million and walk away with £10million.
She sipped silently, eyes drifting to the window. Andrew, that £5million is everything I have left as a safety net for the business, she replied. If anything goes wrong I wont be able to pay the staff or buy the fabrics we need. You know the school uniform season is coming, then the Christmas parties
I rolled my eyes. Come on, love, youre a savvy businesswoman, not a seamstress stuck in the past. This sort of chance only knocks once. Simons my best mate; he wouldnt steer us into rubbish. Hes actually putting his own money in.
Margaret sighed. I could see the love she still held for methe way she used to admire my quick smile, the way shed once told me I made her feel younger at fortyfive, while I was only thirtyseven. Shed built her own fashion empire from scratch after her first husband abandoned her with a teenage son and a mountain of debt. When I entered her life, she thought I might finally let her relax.
In the beginning, I was the charming, carefree sales manager at Whitaker Construction, bringing home hot meals, surprise flowers, weekend trips to the coast. It was enough for her, until my projects grew more aggressive. First it was buying a flashy car to match the status of a business ladys husband. Then I pushed cryptocurrency, and now this construction scheme.
She begged for time. Give me a day to check the paperwork, maybe talk to my solicitor.
I laughed. Which solicitor? Old Arthur Pembroke, the one who still thinks banks are a relic and keeps money under the mattress? Margaret, this needs to be swift. Tomorrow is the last day we can lock in this price. Simons already holding the slot for us.
I knelt beside her, taking her hands. My palm was warm, my pulse steady. Trust me, love. Im doing this for us. So you can stop working around the clock and actually enjoy life. Well build a house, travel, whatever you want. For our future.
She looked into my hazel eyes, hoping I was being sincere. Alright, she whispered. Ill go to the bank in the morning and arrange the transfer.
The next day, Margaret went to the banknot to pull out cash, but to verify the accounts. Her intuition, the one that once warned her against a shady supplier, kept whispering dont rush.
Her day turned chaotic. The main sewing machine broke, the tax inspector dropped by unannounced, and by evening her head felt like it was being hammered. She decided to cut the day short, hoping for a hot bath and some peace.
On her way home she noticed a black SUV parked outside the block. Probably a neighbour, she thought, sliding into her car.
Inside the flat, muffled voices and clinking glasses drifted from the living room. Odd, Andrew didnt mention any guests, she mused, tugging off her shoes and tiptoeing down the hallway. The door to the lounge was ajar.
A hoarse laugh erupted. Well, look who finally showed up! Did Simon manage to rope her in after all?
I recognized the voiceSimonslaughing rough and loud. My own voice answered with a smug tone Id never used with Margaret. I told you, the right approach is all about a bit of flattery, a few compliments, and a little kneelingthen the clients yours. Shell transfer the money tomorrow.
Margaret pressed her back against the wall, her throat tightening. Ten million? Simon asked.
Ten. Shell clear everything. Silly old bird thinks were building some posh development. Simon chuckled. Shell sign a loan agreement for a shell company and trust us like were saints. Shes head over heels for you, Andrew. Andrew, Andrew
The sound of liquid being poured filled the room. To your acting chops! Simon toasted. Doesnt it feel a bit dirty, cheating on a decent woman?
I snorted. Look at her hands, her neckno amount of cream will hide the truth. I picture her as I lie in bed each night, thinking of Sophie. Shell be packing her suitcases as soon as the cash lands. Ill tell Margaret Im off to a site and vanish.
Margarets body went limp, the cold seeping into her bones as the words sank in. Every promise Id made, every kiss, now felt like a hot nail driven into her brain. For three years shed lived in a fantasy, believing love could survive any storm. It was all just a longterm investment with a final liquidation.
She wanted to smash the tables, scream, shatter my smug grin. But years of running a business, dealing with crooks in the 90s and bureaucrats in the 2000s, had forged steel in her spine. A tantrum would only give me ammunition; she was no pushover.
Taking slow, measured breaths, Margaret rose, grabbed her shoes and slipped out as quietly as shed entered. She called the lift, descended, and sat in her car, hands trembling yet mind startlingly clear.
The Bali trip, Sophie, the shell company, she thought, looking out the window at the city that now felt like a hunting ground for vultures.
She drove not to a friends house or a crying corner but straight to the office. In the safe she found her passport, the companys articles of incorporation and the sealproof that she still owned everything.
Two hours later she returned, arms laden with takeaway food and a bottle of fine whisky. She burst through the front door, keys clattering, and shouted, Andrew! Im home! Her voice trembled with triumph.
I appeared in the lounge, forced a strained smile, and tried to play it off. Margaret! Youre early. We were just about to have a little celebration with Simon.
She entered, beaming, and greeted Simon with a practiced cheerfulness. Simon, wonderful to see you! Lets eat!
Simon, a portly man with darting eyes, bowed. Mrs. Whitaker, a pleasure. Im glad youre on board. Big money favors the decisive.
She set down a tray of pies and turned to me, planting a soft kiss on my cheek. Youre my clever one, she purred, pulling me into a hug. Ive arranged the cash, so tomorrow well have everything we need. No more skirting around the gold.
Simons eyes sparkled. Cash is king! Thats the proper way.
The evening blurred into a haze of toasts, whisky, and forced laughter. I watched Margaret sip, her cheeks flushed, as I realized how blind Id been to the false cheer in her smile. Love may be blind, but betrayal is a sharp optometrist.
When Simon staggered out, humming a tune, I wrapped my arms around Margaret. Sleep? I whispered.
She nodded, Yes, love. Ill tidy up first.
Lying beside the woman who had almost been my downfall, I couldnt close my eyes. Her steady breathing reminded me that the point of all this had been reached the moment she chose honesty over my deceit. I was already a man without a future with her.
The next morning I tried to rouse her with a kiss. Rise, future millionaire! The moneys waiting.
She answered, Ive got the passport ready. We headed to the bank, I babbling about houses wed build, she nodding, eyes on the window.
The banks private suite handed us five hundred thousand pounds in five thick bundles. I stared, transfixed, my hands twitching toward the pile.
The manager asked, Shall we process the release?
Yes, Margaret said crisply, signing the paperwork. The cash slid into her bag.
Lets roll to Simons office, I urged, eager to close the deal.
She stopped at the car, a strange smile forming. Andrew, I have a surprise for you.
She opened the boot and placed a large, battered suitcase on the ground. Whats this? Are we heading to Bali now?
Her laughter was cold. You think Im the one going? I know about Sophie, about the shell company, about the loan you tried to slip past me. I heard every word, every insult you threw at me as old bird. Ive already blocked his cards, seized his suit, his car, his cheap suits. The money in that bag is the firms, not yours to touch.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I felt like a fish flopping on the shore.
She continued, Ive recorded your conversation, sent it to Arthur Pembroke, the old solicitor you thought was useless. Theres a camera in the lounge I installed to watch the housekeeper, and it caught you both.
My world collapsed. The mask of the loving husband fell, revealing a terrified, petty swindler.
Please, Margaret, dont I begged. I love you, I was misguided! Dont throw me out!
She shook her head. Go to Sophie. Maybe shell take you in. Without money, youre nothing.
She got into the car, locked the doors, and drove away, leaving me standing on the forecourt with the suitcase in one hand and emptiness in the other.
As I watched the taillights fade, tears fell down my face. The pain was sharp, but alongside it rose a strange relief. I had finally shaken off a parasite, saved my business, and preserved my integritythough it came at a high personal cost.
The bag of cash sat beside me. Nothing, I thought, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, Ill reinvest it in proper equipment. Maybe those Japanese machines Ive dreamed of. Ill take a holiday on my ownperhaps Italy, where men actually respect a womans worth, not just her purse.
That evening I sat at the kitchen table with my son, James, now a grown man with a firm handshake. He said, Mum, Ill deal with him. I replied, Leave him be, son. Hes had his just deserts. We have everything we need.
I poured tea, nibbled a slice of cake from my own little patisserie I opened a year ago, and for the first time in days tasted something sweet without bitterness.
My phone buzzed with a message from meAndrew, lets talk, Ill explain everything. I blocked it. Then I added Simon to the ignore list.
Life went on. I now know that being alone and strong beats sharing a life with someone who keeps a hidden hand in your pocket. Love will return, but this time Ill check the passport, the credit score, and every promise.
Lesson learned: greed can dress itself in affection, but it rots from the inside. True wealth is earned honestly, and trust without verification is a doorway for fraud.
