The Passenger by Daniel Hurst (ready to read books .TXT) 📗

be going if I want to catch my train,’ I tell him, finishing my drink and placing the glass down on the small table beside the sofa.

‘What’s the rush? Have another. There’s plenty more where that came from,’ he says, standing up and making his way back over to his bar.

‘No, honestly. I’m fine, thank you,’ I say, and I stand up and go to put on my coat.

‘I suppose you’ll be wanting your money, then,’ he says rather despondently, but after the slight shift in atmosphere in this flat over the last minute or so, I’m not even bothered about that. I just want to get going before this gets any more awkward.

‘Look. Don’t worry about the money. Spend it on somebody you really like. I’ll just get going.’

I start putting on my coat, but Charles waves his hand dismissively at me as he finishes his drink.

‘No, no. A deal’s a deal,’ he says, and he places his empty whiskey glass down on the bar before heading for the large floor-to-ceiling cupboard beside the enormous flatscreen TV.

He touches the surface of the cupboard, which unlocks it instantly, and Charles pulls it open to reveal several shelves hidden inside the piece of furniture. There are leatherbound books, several large awards, which I presume are from his theatre days, and even a photo of him with a famous Hollywood A-lister. But it’s the item on the middle shelf that catches my eye the most.

He has a safe too.

And it’s much bigger than mine.

‘Seriously, don’t worry about it,’ I say, heading for the door as Charles turns his back to me.

‘I always pay my debts,’ he says, and I see him place his thumb over the keypad on the front of the safe, which results in a loud clicking sound before the door pops open.

That’s when I see the tall piles of cash stacked inside.

There must be tens of thousands of pounds in there.

I guess I’m not the only one who doesn’t trust the banks.

I watch as he removes a bundle of notes from the safe and counts out what he owes me before he makes his way over to where I stand.

My eyes are on the money as he approaches, but I can tell that his eyes are firmly on me.

‘Here you go. Thank you for spending time with me. I hope it wasn’t too painful for you,’ he says as he hands me the money.

‘Charles, don’t be like that,’ I say as the notes are thrust into my hand. I knew I wasn’t going to feel great about taking extra money from him, but I didn’t think I would feel this bad. But just before he lets go of the cash into my hand, he pulls it back.

‘You know, there’s plenty more money to be made if you want it,’ he tells me, nodding his head in the direction of the open safe behind him.

My eyes drift to the piles of money over his slouched shoulders.

‘All you have to do is make an old man happy,’ he says, reaching out and running his hand along the tips of my blonde hair.

I wonder if he knows it is a wig. Would he hate the fact that I’m really a brunette? But I have bigger things to worry about right now.

‘I just want to go,’ I say, stepping back a little in the direction of the door.

‘But I want you to stay,’ Charles replies, and he suddenly grabs my wrist to prevent me from moving away any further.

I’m startled not just by the action but the strength he possesses as he holds on to me. He’s certainly much stronger than he looks, and suddenly his frail frame doesn’t seem quite so fragile anymore.

I pull away, but Charles refuses to loosen his grip, and now I’m really worried.

‘What are you doing?’ I ask him, and it’s impossible to disguise the amount of fear in my voice as I speak.

‘I’m giving you what you want,’ comes the chilling reply as he pulls me towards him again so that my face is now only inches away from his.

Suddenly there is no sign of the friendly, docile, and grieving man I have been around for the last several weeks in the wine bars, restaurants and theatres of the West End. Instead, Charles just looks like all of the other men I have known in my life.

Selfish, angry, and desperate.

I try to free my wrist from his grip again, but it’s no good. He is stronger than me, even at his age.

‘Why are you fighting?’ he asks me in a terrifyingly calm tone. ‘Just spend the night with me, and I’ll give you all the money you need. Isn’t that what you want?’

‘I don’t want it,’ I say defiantly, and the fear of what might happen if I don’t get out of this situation allows me to summon up enough strength to be able to push the old man away from me.

Charles stumbles backwards, and the money he was holding falls to the floor. But I don’t look down at the cash scattered all around my feet now. I’m too busy heading for the door.

But it’s locked.

‘Open this door!’ I cry out, desperately fumbling with the catch and turning the handle.

Then I hear something click. I’ve managed to unlock it.

But before I can open it and run, I feel Charles’s hands on my shoulders, dragging me back into the apartment.

‘You’re not going anywhere,’ he says behind me, and I do my best to hang onto the door handle, but I lose my grip, and now I’m falling backwards onto the carpet.

The two of us land on the pound notes scattered across the floor, and we wrestle as I try to get up while Charles tries to keep me down. In the tussle, he grabs a handful of my hair, and my wig comes clean off, leaving him temporarily surprised but giving me the opportunity to get back to my feet and run for the door again.

I reach