Chapter 40
CHRISTIAN
The unique atmosphere of my favorite restaurant is usually a cause for celebration, or at least anticipation of a great night ahead. Excellent food, delicious wines, maybe the company of a beautiful woman—or two.
Tonight is different.
I’m not a man who suffers from anxiety, but as the ma?tre d’ leads me to my usual table I find myself continually twisting the ring on my right hand. I’m far more powerful than the man I’m here to meet, even if he is the Secretary of State in charge of, among other things, health and safety. When I’m far from blameless, and mine and my family’s reputation is on the line, though, it changes the dynamic.
Fortunately, I have an ace up my sleeve—one I’m not afraid to play if I have to.
Thomas Bartholomew, an old Etonian in his fifties with a long family history in politics and a penchant for Scottish whisky, as evidenced by his ruddy cheeks, rises to greet me. I shake his hand, unfasten the button on my suit jacket, and sit down.
“I ordered the wine, old boy.” He guffaws, motioning to the server to pour me a glass. “Chateau Lafite. I heard it’s a favorite of yours.”
‘Old boy’ is a phrase that makes me want to cut off my ears and put my brain through a cheese grater. It’s steeped in patriarchy and rampant in certain upper-class parts of British society. If I could, I’d cut out the tongue of any man who uses it. I clench my jaw and remind myself that it’s better for me if I can keep this meeting on friendly terms.
I shake out my napkin and place it in my lap. “Chateau Lafite. Good choice, and one I’m sure you made knowing I’m picking up the bill.”
Thomas’s eyes flare then narrow as he tries to figure out if I’m joking. I’m not, but I allow one corner of my mouth to lift anyway. He lets out another belly laugh, unconcerned that he’s drawing attention to himself—and me.
“Good one, old boy. Almost had me going there for a minute.”
He opens the menu, poring over it. I leave mine closed and take a sip of the wine. He’s right, it is one of my favorites. As it should be for the price.
“I heard the steak is good here.” He snaps the menu shut and motions to the server. “Two steaks.”
The server cuts his gaze to me. “Mr. De Vil.”
I hand over my menu. “I’ll have my usual please, Evan.”
“Of course, Mr. De Vil.” He takes Bartholomew’s menu and sweeps away to place our order.
“Not a fan of steak?”
“Not a fan of having my choices made for me,” I deadpan.
The man sitting opposite me falters for a second, then emits another of those annoying as fuck laughs.
“So, old boy, what can I do for you?”
I take a deep breath and grip my wine glass extra hard, anchoring my hand to the crystal goblet instead of around the neck of the man on the other side of the table. Chill. This is the right approach. Until it isn’t.
“Hartley isn’t being as cooperative as I would like.”
Daniel Hartley is head of the Health and Safety Executive. Bartholomew is his boss, hence this meeting. Ever since Nexus collapsed, Hartley has been a thorn in my fucking balls. A jobsworth who plays things by the book, he’s too low in the pecking order to understand how the real world works.
Shame for him that the book he’s reading from is an illusion.
“I see.” Bartholomew grazes a hand over his smooth chin. “Terrible business. That poor family. Two children, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” Pangs of conscience press down on my chest. I keep that shit locked up tightly and my gaze steady.
“Terrible,” he repeats, shaking his head, pretending to give a shit about two young adults he doesn’t even know. “The preliminary report is… not good news, Christian.”
Understatement of the fucking century.
“No.”
He sips his wine, blue eyes locked on mine over the rim of the glass. “What would you have me do?”
“Bury it.”
“Hmm.” He leans back to allow the server to set down his steak.
“Thank you, Evan.” I do the same, breathing in the delicious smell of the duck.
I wait for Evan to depart, then turn my attention back to Bartholomew. The man is as easy to read as a billboard in Piccadilly Circus. He’s going to drag this out. Oh, he’ll surrender, but I’d rather he did it without me having to use my trump card. It’s good business to have as many of those in the deck as possible.
“You’re asking for a lot, Christian. Two people died.”
“I’m aware.”
“There are protocols, procedures, other departments to answer to.”
I draw in a deep breath and pick up my knife and fork. Slicing off a piece of duck, I let the succulent meat melt on my tongue. Delicious.
“You’ll figure it out.”
“I’m not sure I can, Christian. This is above my pay grade.”
So, this is how he’s playing it. Fine. One less card in the deck won’t kill me.
I set down my cutlery, prop my elbows on the crisp, white tablecloth, and rest my chin on my hands. “That’s a real shame.”
“I’d like to help. You know I would. I’m not stupid. I know how the world works, but some things are too big to hide.”
“And some things are too big to stay hidden, isn’t that right, Thomas?”
Two deep grooves develop between his bushy eyebrows. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“No?” I dab my mouth with my napkin, then set it beside my plate. “I met a lovely woman earlier today. Charming. Also very talkative with the right… encouragement.”
Beads of sweat instantly form on the forehead of the man who thought he’d been so clever. He swallows, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing. He says nothing, as I expected him to. He’s still unsure if I know anything at all or if I’m bluffing. Unfortunately for him, I know the whole sordid tale.
“And the boy. Spitting image of his father. Five is such a lovely age, isn’t it? Their personality really comes into its own.” I scrape a palm over my stubble. “Five, plus nine months of pregnancy would make sweet Amy… barely legal when you stuck your pudgy little dick into her. What did you do, Thomas? Promise her you’d leave your wife for her if she just gave up the sugar?” I tut. “What will Daphne say when she finds out?”
He’s whiter than a fresh coating of snow. His mouth opens and shuts three times, yet he doesn’t say a word.
“And the Prime Minister… he won the election on a principled manifesto. He can’t allow any scandal to derail his chances of a second term in office. You’d have to fall on your sword. The long history of a political family in tatters, and for what? Because you wouldn’t do a favor for a friend.”
I shave off another piece of duck and chew it thoughtfully while my threat sinks in. Swallowing, I level him with a stare. “What’s it to be, Thomas? A healthy donation to your retirement fund, or a life left in tatters?”
He pauses, then hits me with a triumphant smile. “If you can get Amy to talk, I can get her to shut the fuck up.”
What was it Forrest Gump said? Stupid is as stupid does. How true.
“Ah, but you’d have to find her. How you could leave your own flesh and blood living on the poverty line is a mystery to me. Luckily for Amy, she won’t have to work two jobs just to put food on the table. I’ll make sure she’s well taken care of.”
Spittle forms at the corners of his mouth and a vein pops in his forehead. “You can’t do this.”
I scoop up a forkful of truffle mashed potatoes. “Too bad, old boy. I already have. Bury the fucking report, or I will bury you.”
* * *
Grace
Body language is a bit of a hobby of mine. I’m no expert, but even an amateur like me can tell that the conversation the two men sitting across the restaurant from me are having isn’t a friendly one. There’s a clear hierarchy in place, and the older guy is on the losing side.
I mean, it’s not all that surprising. When you deal with the Devil, it’s almost impossible not to come away with agonizing scorch marks even time can’t heal.
Ask me how I know.
My chest hurts and I rub it. Not that it helps, but doing something makes me feel as if I have some control over my life.
My brother was against me coming here today. He thinks it’s too risky, especially given our plans, but I had to come. Call it a test of sorts. If he recognizes me, we’ll have to pivot, but he won’t. It’s amazing what a nose job and a reshaped chin can do to a person’s face. Add to that the veil I kept in place at my parents’ funeral, and the high probability the man responsible for their deaths wouldn’t care enough to check out my scant social media presence and see what I looked like, and we’re home free.
Still, I want to test the theory.
I sip my tap water and stall the server for the second time. Eating here is a luxury I can’t afford. All the money we have has gone into developing a backstory for me that even the De Vils, with all their power and influence, won’t see through. That, and keeping a house we almost lost until a distant relative stepped in and saved the day.
Hate fills my heart as I level my gaze at Christian De Vil. I’d give anything to sit close enough to eavesdrop on their conversation, but this isn’t the kind of place where normal folk get to choose their table. It’s a “get what you’re given,” unless you’re one of the establishment. It took my brother’s superior IT skills just to get me a table without having to give a year’s notice.
He’s a genius, my brother. There’s hardly a computer system in existence that he can’t break into if the mood takes him. Without him I’d never have been able to reinvent myself, creating a life that will fit right in with the elite.
That’s not to say he’s happy with what I have to do. He isn’t. But sometimes personal suffering is the price we pay to get to the truth.
Christian De Vil knows what happened to my parents, and I intend to uncover his lies and expose him for the murderer he is.
Time to test my theory.
I knock over my tumbler of water. It smashes to the floor, and shards of glass fan out over several feet. I leap to my feet, muttering apologies as my server dashes over to clean up the mess. Several diners glance my way, including one Christian De Vil. I look right at him and he… he looks through me.
I quash a smile that threatens to split my face in two. Job done.
I wait for the server to retreat, then gather up my things and stand. But as I make my way to the exit, I can’t help glancing once more at the man I intend to ruin.
Enjoy your charmed life, Christian. It’s all about to come crashing down.
Thank you so much for reading The Devil’s Torment. I’m completely in love with Nicholas De Vil. Some characters hit harder than others, and he will forever be my boo! I hope you love him, too.