Chapter Fifty-Five Amelia’s Story
Chapter Fifty-Five
Amelia’s Story
Amelia had thought Lachlan was the one but when he rejected her, she realised he wasn’t worth the trouble.
He didn’t deserve her and she’d never allow herself to be so vulnerable ever again.
Amelia also hadn’t appreciated just how hard she would have to work in order to get her degree, and it was too much effort when there were so many idiots in the world she could shake down for money.
Her ultimate goal was to marry someone filthy rich, take them for everything in the divorce and be set up for life.
So she dropped out of university after the first year and moved back south to London.
Eric had died of cancer a few months earlier, which made no impression on Amelia, but she sensed an opportunity.
He had left the house to Ruth, who was now wracked with ill-health and virtually bedridden.
Amelia managed to cajole her into selling up and splitting the proceeds with false promises they’d buy a nice little bungalow and she’d become Ruth’s full-time carer. As soon as she had the money, Ruth was abandoned and Amelia didn’t give her another thought.
The money kept her afloat for a few years and she used some of it on an expensive nose job and designer clothes.
It was soon frittered away, so she had to find a job, ending up in a juice bar in an expensive gym where she honed her body for free on the state-of-the-art equipment.
There was no shortage of men to be used as meal tickets.
Amelia held her new nose, had loveless sex with them and was rewarded with expensive gifts.
Older clients seemed to enjoy taking her out for posh dinners and some even gave her an allowance.
Initially, she’d flatter their egos and pretend to enjoy their fumblings in bed, but all of these arrangements ended abruptly when Amelia would inevitably let her sweet-and-sexy mask slip.
She never managed to hook a permanent sugar daddy and, thirty years later, she was living a small life in a tiny, rented flat, telling herself resentfully that she deserved so much more.
She was also still working in a gym, but this one was in a seedy backstreet with dodgy deals being done and illegal steroids swallowed like sweeties.
It smelt of rubber, rancid sweat and despair.
For the past decade, Amelia had been using online dating under a fake profile as a way of scamming mostly older men out of as much money as possible. She was currently embroiled in a fake relationship with an elderly man who was on his own since his wife had died a year ago.
She spent hours online, reeling him in until he trusted her completely. She’d gone in for the kill a few days ago, pleading she needed help to get temporarily out of a financial jam, assuring him her funds were tied up and she would pay him back as soon as possible.
He’d already transferred ￡5,000 to her bank account and she was sure she could squeeze him for a hell of a lot more.
But today she’d received a message on their chat thread from his oldest son, who worked in IT, and, like his two younger sisters, didn’t pay the poor old soul much attention unless money was involved.
The five grand leaving his father’s online bank account had rung alarm bells and he’d phoned his father to find out what was going on. Now, he wanted to meet up with Amelia and she was scared he’d discover her scam.
The old man was just the latest in a long line of other faceless, nameless stooges she had conned out of their cash. She’d been getting away with it for years but the money she made slipped through her fingers and she had little to show for it.
Amelia went to work, frantically trying to think of a plan to escape justice. After her shift and a tough workout, she headed for the showers, when one of the regulars, an affable dullard with biceps bigger than his waist, called her over.
He was squinting at a copy of a magazine that he’d found in the tiny reception area. He let out an enormous guffaw and roared: “Hey, Amelia, come take a look at this. You’ve got a lookalike. Right here in this magazine. You could be twins if she wasn’t a blondie.”
She snatched the magazine from his meaty grasp. There in front of her was a photo of a woman who really did resemble Amelia, especially now she had her nose fixed and her body was so lean. She scanned the article, feeling a chill in her stomach that turned into pure cold rage.
It was a feature on a female painter who’d launched her own art gallery showcasing other artists’ work in Orkney and also just so happened to be incredibly beautiful, ethereal and photogenic.
The biggest image of all, taking up an entire page, was of a beaming Evie Muir.
It mentioned that Evie was the daughter of parents Duncan and Cara who had lived in Orkney.
Amelia knew those names instantly from her father’s scraps of letters.
Amelia had never had any desire to track down Cara.
At first, she worried Cara would want a share of her father’s money, but now that was all gone what was the point?
She didn’t want a weepy reunion with some old woman who lived in the arse end of nowhere and might want something from her.
So she shut that part of her life down and hadn’t thought about her for years.
But now this. It couldn’t possibly be coincidence. This woman had to be her father’s granddaughter. The fact the two of them looked so alike and Evie Muir’s mother was called Cara meant that her half-sister had given birth to a beautiful successful golden child.
Evie was dressed in an expensive cashmere cream jumper and matching wide-trousered leggings with a simple lilac and pink plaid scarf.
She wore a pair of silver and amethyst earrings.
Her blonde highlights glinted in her thick, wavy hair and she had a fresh-faced ‘no make-up’ glow that few can carry off, making her emerald eyes look enormous and full of life.
It was an image of sheer understated class.
She was photographed sitting in what looked like her own kitchen, on a comfortable wooden chair, smiling confidently, every inch the successful creative businesswoman who had made it to the top.
The article gushed about her talent and generosity in nurturing young talent and giving back to her community.
As she took it all in, the colour drained from Amelia’s face.
She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
If she was right, then this Evie was her sort-of niece.
The child her dad, James, had cried over in his dotage had produced this successful, confident woman, while she had bounced from a care home to the dysfunctional Ruth and Eric, and the rackety life of small-time conwoman.
Amelia gripped the magazine so firmly her knuckles went bone-white and her sharp nails cut into her palms. She was vaguely aware of someone yelling “Hey, you look as though you have seen a ghost. Are you OK?” She ignored him and walked out of the gym and up to her flat, where she paced up and down like a caged panther.
She was seething. Evie Muir was living the life she should have had, and she should be made to pay.
She paused, her busy brain whirring, and told herself that maybe it was a good time to pack up and leave here. Her scams were about to be discovered and her past might catch up with her.
Maybe a trip up to Orkney was what she needed. There would be fresh pickings there, especially as the magazine made out Evie was so successful, and maybe there was the possibility of even more rich relatives.
Amelia called Evie’s gallery, pretending to be an old American school friend of Evie’s mother, who had moved abroad many years ago but wanted to get in touch.
She was told by a well-meaning and eager-to-please young girl that Cara was in a care home on the mainland.
She wasn’t sure which but could take a message and get Evie to call her back and give her all the details.
Amelia told her not to worry and please don’t bother her daughter. She spent a whole morning calling round the nursing homes in Sutherland, claiming she had an order to send flowers to Mrs Cara Muir but wanted to confirm the postcode, and eventually tracked her down.
A week later, she was there in person. A blond wig, green contact lenses and a new outfit made her look just like Evie, at least enough to get past the weekend receptionist. She managed to quickly find Cara, sitting alone in her sunny room.
The confused old woman smiled at her visitor and asked her to sit down.
Amelia took a long, hard look at her faded half-sister.
She was tiny with a cloud of grey hair, a wistful smile and a faraway look in her eyes, but she looked clean and well cared for.
Amelia scoffed. So this sad old woman was the little girl her father had cried over.
It was absurd. She felt no sisterly bond or emotional pull towards Cara, she was just another addled-brained scrawny pensioner.
Amelia had found Cara on one of her good days and she was eager to talk.
From the old woman’s confused ramblings, Amelia learned all about Evie’s past, about Brodie’s death, Freya’s childhood and also that there was another sister named Liv, who was a bad lot.
If Evie could afford the fees for this place then she was obviously raking in the cash. Amelia sensed an opportunity.
A scheme was forming in her mind. She’d received another message from the stupid old man’s son in London, saying he knew she had ripped off his dad and was going to contact the police, so it was certainly a good time to head off.