A Chance Encounter by Rae Shaw (e manga reader TXT) 📗

reminded her of Manchester and another life.

Mark complimented her on her appearance. ‘Stop looking glum. You look fab.’ He straightened his collar. No tie tonight.

She didn't want to go to Razzles. Just the name of the club was off-putting – how retro was it going to be? Jackson Haynes wasn't a young man, and hardly likely to sponsor a rave. Was the club a front for some dodgy deals, or a vanity project? And then there was Mark's determination to scrambled up the career ladder to escape something he had done at Haydocks.

‘Mark, I'm not sure,’ she said.

He poured her a glass of wine. ‘Drink. Loosen up.’ He left the glass on the kitchen counter. She eyed it suspiciously.

He tapped her arm. ‘Before we go, I want to show you something.’ He led her to a door. ‘This is the spare room.’

It had a bed, but nothing else. What struck her was the space. Her bedsit could fit inside this one room. Stacked in the far corner were cardboard boxes with sealed lids.

‘I know you're trying to save. I'm suggesting you move in with me.’ He stood in front of the boxes.

‘What... live with you?’ She left her mouth hanging open. He had to be kidding; they hadn’t been under the same roof for years.

‘Temporarily, of course. But just think. I live closer to your work. You'll save on fares. Plus, I'm out, a lot.’

Meaning, he wasn’t keen on spending time with her, which she found equally unappealing. ‘I'll live with you? So, like, I'm going to cook and clean?’

‘No!’ He dragged her by her arm to another door. ‘En-suite. Your own. We'll have a rota for cleaning. Cooking, if you like.’

The bathroom was petite. However, it was clean. Spotless, in fact. He shut the door behind them.

She needed to save, and he probably worked long hours for Haynes. ‘I can't pay you much.’

Mark moved, and she saw the labels on the boxes: William Clewer. Appeal hearing. Mark wasn't stupid: he had set a trap for her, and it was good one. A tempting one.

They returned to the living area.

‘I'm trying to help you, Ellen.’ He wrung his hands together. ‘Give me what you can afford for rent.’

‘So I can save, just that?’

‘Yes. Go to university, whatever. Like I did.’

She hadn’t anticipated he carried that guilt so heavily.

‘Why, why now?’ She gave the apartment a fresh appraisal: modern, simple and a good location. She could never afford it on her own. And she would rather share. Better her brother than a strange girl, even a chirpy girl.

A sudden flare of exasperation swept over his face. ‘I want to get to know you.’

He was lying. He wanted something from her and she had a good idea what it was. Just because she had suffered living with their mother after he had left didn't make her a useful conduit for relaying the latest instalments of Mark's ineptness at managing the appeal. She and Deidre were utterly estranged and Mark knew it. In the end, she gave him the benefit of the doubt. He wasn't inept, merely useless at appearing sanguine.

‘I'm not sure.’ She sighed, adding in an indecisive eye roll to extend the ruse a little longer.

‘Think about it, Ellie.’

He used to call her that when he bribed her with sweets. Two lollipops for each time she lied to Deidre about his whereabouts. The rate was five for Dad. Deidre was easier to fool.

‘I have to give notice. The landlord's a crook—’

He smirked. ‘Aren't they all.’

‘And, I need my deposit back.’

‘There's no rush. As I say, I'm spending my time elsewhere.’ A hint. A bad one too. The place smelt of roses.

‘I have friends...’ Hardly any. She would miss Nicky.

‘Friends can visit. You're a grown woman.’

Yes, I am. She said nothing. She would tell him her answer another time.

‘Shall we go then?’

She was about to step into an exclusive, if possibly dated, night club. If she moved in Mark's circles, who knew what other fortunes might drop into her lap. He collected his jacket and had one last check in the mirror. Mark was more vain than she’d realised. On the way past the kitchen, she swallowed a mouthful of red wine to bolster her nerves.

Razzles turned out to be far from dated; the Mayfair venue featured all the trimmings of money with its velvet-clad decor, soft purple lighting, glazed floor, and seamless panelling. She immediately felt a buzz in the air, the energy of countless exhales mixed together. Unfortunately, the music was deafening and the bar ridiculously expensive. Mark bought the first round of drinks.

‘There's Jackson.’ He pointed to a tall man in a cordoned off area of the floor. An audience fanned out around him like a fast-flowing current avoiding a boulder. He wasn't alone; somebody, a brick-shaped man, filtered who got near.

Mark, his hand on her elbow, steered Ellen through the crowd, and they walked past the minder, who gave a curt nod to Mark.

A green-eyed, stunningly attractive woman hooked her arm through Mark's. ‘You came.’ Her pearl necklace was as white as her teeth.

‘Hi, Hettie. You're perky,’ Mark said. A liquid smile sped across his face, as if Mark was trying to harness all the charm of a James Bond star.

‘First time in months that I've been here. I'm going to have fun. Even a drink or two.’ She lifted a glass and it reflected her glossy lips.

Ellen was lost for a second in the magnetic appeal that came with celebrities. She’d seen this woman in a magazine, one of those with pictures and no substance. ‘Pleasure to meet you.’

‘Mark used to be my accountant. I miss him so much.’ She squeezed Mark's arm. ‘His replacement is so boring.’

Mark turned a shade of mellow pink.