Deception

Chapter One

Mr and Mrs Pudovskin, an elderly Russian couple, were sitting on their front porch, Mr Pudovskin with a pipe in his mouth and a bottle of vodka in one hand. The Pudovskins had lived at number 259 Chailey Street for between 40 and 60 years, depending on who you chose to believe. They themselves were unsure, but one thing was certain - they had lived there for the majority of their lives. They had dropped out of high school and married at the age of 16 and 17, and had since enjoyed a long and happy, though occasionally strained, relationship. Mr Pudovskin's father had been a multi-billionaire oil tycoon, and had paid for his sons' wedding, and even bought them this house in the suburbs of Lake Havasu City, Arizona. They had lived here comfortably since, living off the billions left over when Mr Pudovskin's father was shot dead in the streets of Moscow, leaving his vast wealth to his only son, a young adult of 21 years at that time.

They were sat on the porch waiting for their new neighbours - their neighbour of 13 years had moved to England to live with his daughter, and his house had been recently sold for around $920,000. It was rumoured that the new owner had paid in cash, immediately leading to speculation of how he came to possess such a large sum of money. These ranged from a bank robber, to drug dealer, to contract killer, but the Pudovskins, rational as always, wanted to meet him before passing judgement, although they waited with a slight air of anxiety.

It was around three in the afternoon when the crunch of tyres on gravel and the revving of an engine jerked the Pudovskins from their slumber - they had nodded off in the heat of the day, a sweltering 50 degrees Celsius. They squinted down the driveway as their eyed adjusted to the sudden light, and as their vision returned, a red Ferrari turned into the neighbouring driveway, slowly crawling up to the house. It stopped perfectly alongside the Pudovskin's car, a vintage, well maintained Volkswagen Beetle, on the other side of the hedge, and both doors opened simultaneously.

Closest to the hedge, emerging from the driver's side, was a tall young man who looked no older than twenty-four, donning a grey suit, unbuttoned, and a baby pink shirt with the top two buttons undone. He had messy brown hair, a pair of silver rimmed Gucci shades resting on his head. A black diamond encrusted Armani watch was visible as he moved to remove his blazer, shirt sleeves rolled up to show off muscular forearms. His shirt was tight, showing the outline of perfectly formed biceps and of a toned body. His eyes were a light blue, captivating, beautiful, like everything else about him.

There was a clicking sound as a woman walked around the side to stand next to the man, and Mr Pudovskin's jaw dropped, forming an elongated 'O' shape, his eyes blinking rapidly, breathing stopped, his heart rate increasing. He had gone bright red, but either did not notice, or didn't care. This was the most beautiful woman he had seen in his entire life. He eyed her from head to toe and back again, in his mind removing the figure-hugging, revealing red dress that she wore. She had curly blonde hair, with red heart shaped earrings. Her skin was blemish-free and tanned, with a golden glow about her, grey eyes, her nose perfect, her lips full and red, her curvy body lashing at the elderly man's senses in a way his wife had never been able to. Her legs were smooth, and she wore six inch heels, bright red like her dress. She smiled at the man as she took his hand, revealing straight, brilliant white teeth, and Mr Pudovskin couldn't take his eyes off her despite the obvious annoyance it caused his wife. He wanted her there and then.

The young couple approached the older couple, arm in arm, the way they walked making it clear they had been brought up in wealthy, middle-class families. As they approached the hedge, the Pudovskins both noticed that the woman's smile did not reach her eyes, which had a cold, calculating look in them. The man did not seem to notice this.

The man extended his hand to Mr Pudovskin, and shook it with a firm grip. "Gerard Winstanley," he said, the left side of his lip curling upwards into a lopsided smile. "This is Alisha Lauer, we've just moved from Los Angeles. Pleasure to meet you." He put his arm around Alisha's waist, briefly stroking her backside, as they turned around and walked towards the house.