Part Eight

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Chapter Eight

                “I’ve got another twenty four hours in London...the City that never sleeps...come on!”

Dylan sighed still not lifting his face from the bed, barely holding the handset; he’d had a late night and was in no hurry to head out. “I thought that was New York,” he offered with a groan.

Patrick wasn’t taking telling, “come on buddy, I enjoyed our golf last week, but we haven’t hit the town for ages. I’ll meet you at four, dinner on floor thirty of the Shard; I’ve heard it’s amazing there. Then there’s this party, Men and Health Magazine are having a party on a boat on the Thames. Women, free drink and glamour! How can you say no?”

Dylan groaned again, “I’m not in the mood Patrick.”

The other man sighed down the phone, “I don’t know anyone else in town, not anyone that can party like Dylan Wallace anyway. You were never one to turn down a good time...what’s changed? That little ex wife of yours?”

That made Dylan roll over, he took in the fact that he was in his bedroom, not the golf club hotel, but his apartment in London. He was still wearing his suit, and his tie, that was almost choking him as he woke in his post alcohol haze unable to remember getting there.

                “It’s nothing to do with her!” It’s EVERYTHING to do with her. “I just need some rest.”

Patrick laughed, “four pm. The Shard. BE there.”

As the phone went dead Dylan tossed it across the room, he tried to sit up, but his head was banging, the world spinning. He groaned, his last memory was hitting a bar in Soho after storming out of the hotel and getting out of his car in the City. Whisky...he’d started with single malts in a hotel bar and moved onto several other places.

And now? Now he had the hangover from hell. Did he feel better for it?

Do you hell? That damned internal vocal reminder refused to settle down. But it was right, he’d drunk to forget the chaos and destitution he’d caused Matilda, and none of that had gone away. Had he worn blinkers through those days? He’d wanted the best for her, the best for them, and he was so sure that one of his tip offs, one of his plans would come good. All she’d needed to do was wait, trust him. For six years he’d thought she’d given up on him, that she’d moved on to pastures new, wanting better, more...not being willing to wait, to see the future he saw. All the time he had been turning the screw, making things harder and harder, straining their relationship beyond belief and forcing her into a ridiculous situation.  

He remembered her mother being ill, taken into hospital, Sylvia Davies was a lovely woman, she’d always looked out for him, he had the extra portions of everything for Christmas lunch and she defended him whenever Matilda was critical of her husband. Those years as part of her family had been amazing...he’d not had that until he met her, his mother was a polygamous socialite who didn’t have a maternal bone in her body, holidays in his childhood had been to Cannes to shoulder rub with rich and famous men, he’d tagged along or been palmed off on the latest in a string of nannies. But time with the Davies family, coming home to a wife who’d made him dinner, waking up with a woman who loved him was a long time ago. Many years where his bitterness and hatred had escalated in rapid proportions.

Hong Kong had been his most confident tip off to date. He could remember his elation at the thought of finally getting his chance. Admittedly he’d not been as honest as he could have been to Matilda, but then she’d been jaded, snappy before that point. He’d called her, told her he was heading to Hong Kong; she’d been disappointed, but no more. Dylan sighed remembering how he’d got the remainder of the money that he needed for the trip, phone calls to a loan company, the money transferred directly to his contact and partner for the deal. He’d never thought that the debt would land on her.

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