CHAPTER 51 - ARIANNA
CHAPTER
Arianna
S TILL STINGING FROM Papà’s rebuff and Red making out our relationship is something it’s not, I’m glad there’s no sign of him. I’m surprised I slept at all the way my mind was swirling. Like it still is.
It’s even more amazing that I slept, knowing he was next to me and so close.
Brushing my long dark hair, I leave it loose; add a coat of mascara and a dash of lip gloss. That will do. Jeans and a top complete my understated look. I wish to impress no one. Certainly not Red Bateman!
I walk over to the window and then back again, glaring at the breakfast tray brought up by one of Red’s faithful lackeys. The toast and selection of baked pastries, jam and butter are tempting, but I’m too stressed to contemplate eating. I’ve had some freshly squeezed orange juice, though.
But now what?
I listlessly wander back over to the window to look out onto the gray November day.
What am I supposed to do with myself?
As Red’s “wife”, I can’t be expected to remain in this room like an ornament! More to the point, I won’t . I have every right to go out and do what I wish. Red insisted I marry him, and now, thanks to his truce of lies, the threat of reprisal doesn’t exist, so there’s nothing to stop me.
He goes out when he wants, and therefore so shall I.
Wherever Red’s gone today, I have no idea - just that he’s not here. It’s a blessing because I don’t trust myself not to get sidetracked around him, and I don’t need my anger diluted. It’s the only thing keeping me sane now.
Pulling on my low heels, I grab my handbag. I accept I lost sight of my situation for a while by allowing this man to infiltrate my brain, but no more.
Sorry, Red, but you’ve screwed up . His acts yesterday have only reminded me how his underhanded manipulation serves his cause and that I’m a pawn for him to play with.
I purposely stride across the room towards the door. Like I promised myself not long ago, yes - I’d marry Red to save my family, but I’d ensure marriage to me was hard work.
And it’s about time I delivered on that.
I glance at the breakfast tray once more as I pass, wondering whether I should place it outside the door and then think better of it.
Red’s undoubtedly instructed his staff to spy on me, so they’ll let themselves in under the proviso of collecting trays or changing sheets, when in reality they’ll snoop around to collate information on me.
Let them. I don’t care.
Hang on, what’s that?
The headline of today’s newspaper folded on the tray next to the croissants catches my eye. Snatching it up, I scan the article.
My mouth drops open in shock.
Promising Reporter Identified as Hatchet Attack Victim
Following yesterday’s coverage of an unidentified man found in an alleyway, it is with great sadness that we report that the man who suffered the execution-style murder was one of our very own London Echo reporters.
Harry Taylor, (28), has worked for the Echo for five years and was set to become a top and sought-after journalist, thanks to his unique reporting style. His ability to ask questions that many wouldn’t, showed prowess for his craft.
Mr Taylor was formally identified late last night from dental records - sadly, the only means available due to the ferocity of the brutal attack .
Although known to many as a journalist who exposed things some would rather remain private, Harry Taylor wasn’t known to have any enemies.
I chew my lip. Harry Taylor? I know that name.
I carry on reading.
Mr Taylor was last spotted walking along the Lombard Road around 9:30 PM on 13th November, having previously attended a press conference at the Scorpio Lounge casino where Mr Bateman announced his surprise marriage.
Having suffered an extreme assault with what we can now confirm to be a hatchet, Mr Taylor’s body was discovered early the following morning by a member of the public. The dog walker is being treated for shock by professionals.
Police urge any other sightings or information concerning Mr Taylor’s whereabouts after 9:30 that evening to get in touch urgently.
At present, the perpetrator of this particularly horrific murder is unknown...
My hand flies to my mouth. Red. It was Red !
Red killed Harry Taylor? He killed a man on our wedding night?
I throw the newspaper to one side, unable to continue looking at it.
Oh my God! That’s where he went that night, saying he had something to take care of.
Chopping up a reporter with a hatchet!
Perspiration breaks on my brow, and I rush to the en-suite, the orange juice I drank leaving my body to spray into the toilet.