Martinis and Memories Read online

  Martinis and Memories

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  Cocktail Recipe: Bel's Intense Espresso Martini

  The Martini Club

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  ‘Really, Miss Hailstone, it’s a very decent offer.’

  I looked up at the slick-haired suit trying to talk business. If only I’d had a cigarette, that would have been perfect. A dimly lit room, blowing smoke into his face. It was a shame I’d quit years ago.

  The Suit sat across from me in the back office of the Martini Club, looking out of place. God, he’d walked in with such swagger. Well, I’d knock that out of him soon enough.

  ‘It’s Ms.’

  The banker tutted with impatience, ‘A thousand apologies, Ms Hailstone. But—’

  I interrupted, ‘What was your name again?’

  A twitch of annoyance. Good. I traced my fingertips over my desk, the shards of gold within the black granite catching the light. Everything was perfectly organized, right down to the crystal skull paperweight and the ceremonial dagger letter opener. I watched him as I flittered my fingers along it, before moving on to the paperwork he’d brought with him. Making ‘important’ men nervous was honestly one of my favourite pastimes.

  ‘Stewart.’

  ‘Right, Stewart. A thousand apologies.’ I smirked, standing up. He stood up too, almost automatically. Poor little sheep. But I wasn’t taking prisoners.

  ‘The thing is, Stewart, this place is my home. And nothing, absolutely nothing, is going to make me sell it. I’m sorry, darling, but there really is no question. So thank you for coming and everything, but I’d really appreciate it if you fucked the fuck off, all right?’

  I gave him my smoothest smile, and kept it there as he stormed out. I didn’t stop smiling until the bastard was down the hall and I heard him push through the double doors into the dining room, where one of the girls would make sure he didn’t hang around.

  I’d been fending off his type for months now. Trying to come up with new, exciting ways to tell them to sod off was, frankly, exhausting. And the bills piled up, and the banking needed doing, and still they came.

  I took a brief moment to lean against the wall. I was tired. I had fought tooth and nail for this place, built it up, seen the possibility in the decrepit cesspit the building had been before I arrived. Such a huge space, infinite potential. And it had sold poorly filmed porn with ridiculous titles to old men in long coats.

  But I made it into this. The Martini Club.

  I pushed the double doors through to the main room, feeling them swing heavily behind me. Every door allowed for a dramatic entrance, I’d designed them that way. I loved to push them and stride in, Arabella Hailstone, club owner, belle extraordinaire.

  I traced my fingertips over the marbled bar top, assessed the state of the drinks behind the bar. I loved it when it was like this – empty. The lights were on, and the sound echoed, and the girls would come and practise whilst Jacques did stock take and I did the accounts.

  But even when we were open, it was quieter than it should have been, and those accounts were starting to take less and less time to do. Rates were going up, and Londoners weren’t spending any more. Either everyone was getting uncomfortably prudish, or no one had any money.

  I hadn’t mentioned the issues to the staff, but it was clear enough to see, especially the ones who have been here with me from almost the beginning. The applause, whilst enthusiastic, comes from a few dedicated stalwarts, and I feel like I have to give them a round of free drinks and lavish attention on them, to keep them coming back.

  On those days I feel a little like a whore. But sometimes, it seems, that’s what business is.

  * * *

  ‘Bel?’ The new bar girl, Aria, blinked at me. She was a little bit scared of me, which they all are at the beginning. I liked it. Just a little. Made me feel powerful.

  ‘Yes, darling?’

  ‘There’s another man in the lobby, saying he wants to speak to you.’ She tried for a smile, and I noticed her lipstick was off, and her eyeliner was smudged on one side. I’d better get one of the other girls to give her a hand on the presentation side. But for now, she was decent enough behind the bar, though God knew how long I’d be able to keep her.

  ‘Another suit, darling?’

  Did they have some sort of alarm, these scummy corporate types? Was my building sending off a twat signal to every dickhead in the area who thought he could offer me below value for my business, and I’d fall to my knees in gratitude?

  ‘Not a suit. Seemed official though. Asked for the owner, and gave your name.’

  ‘All right, I’ll see to him. I’ll be back in five minutes – make a Martini for me, darling. I need to check your cocktail skills are up to scratch.’

  I tried to hide a smile at the deer-in-headlights response. Savvy was like that at the beginning too, so meek and proper. She shrugged that off soon enough. You see enough people shake their boobs about onstage each night, you start to take life a little less seriously. And Aria was too tightly wound for my club.

  That said, right now, so was I.

  I could see the man’s outline through the slices of rose-tinted glass in the door. At least he’d waited outside. So many of them had barged in like they already owned the place. If this carried on, I could see myself, dressed in my finest black lace, holding a shotgun, facing the door. A burlesque Annie Oakley determined to defend her land.

  And that was probably why I never made it as a burlesque performer – my concepts were always off.

  He stood facing away from me, and beyond the fact that he wasn’t wearing a suit jacket, just a white shirt, creased across the back, and black trousers, I couldn’t tell anything about him. He didn’t seem like a corporate type. His dark brown hair was oddly short, and just before he turned around, I realized that I should have recognized him from the way he held himself.

  He turned and grinned at me. Same cocky grin. Same scar through his eyebrow, and that dimple below his bottom lip from when he’d had a piercing. Hands in his pockets and shoulders in a perpetual shrug, like he didn’t have a care in the world.

  This was not okay. This could ruin everything.

  Fuck.

  ‘Euan… what are you doing here?’ I tried to make my voice strong, not let him know I was surprised. Not let him know I had dreaded this moment from the minute I ran, all those years ago.

  I couldn’t think of an excuse, of a reason, of some way out of all of this. He was here, in my business, in my world.

  Just when you thought London was sprawling enough to lose yourself in, your past popped up to see you.

  ‘What am I doing here?’ Euan laughed, shaking his head. ‘That’s nice, Bel, really nice. What, a man can’t come to see his wife?’

  * * *

  ‘Leave,’ I said, marching back into the bar and letting the door fall, not caring if it hit him. He followed me though, as I knew he would. Dogged as always.

  He could not be here. He could ruin everything. That was his way, rolling in
like a cannonball, leaving only destruction.

  There was a reason I’d had to leave in the middle of the night in the first place. A reason I’d changed my name. It hadn’t been an accident, clouding the Martini Club’s ownership in mystery, making sure I was barely recognisable as the girl who came to the capital all those years ago.

  Even these days, most people just thought I was the manager, and that was a blessing.

  ‘Aria, darling, could you go and polish the silverware?’ I caught her eye, and she jumped. I knew my voice was too sharp, but she just nodded, pushing the Martini across the bar before she left.

  Better to sound sharp than tremulous. My heart was galloping and I was angry at myself for not having a plan in place. I had to have known he’d find me eventually. I just thought that after ten years, he probably had better things to do.

  I took a sip from Aria’s Martini, focusing on keeping my hands from trembling. I had to at least look like I was in control, like I didn’t care. Like I wasn’t dreading him asking that one question that would bring my past rattling back to the forefront. I had a new life now, and I had to protect it.

  The drink was a little on the sharp side, but not bad. The balance was off though. I’d have to have a chat with her, get Jacques to do some more training. I took a few more sips, feeling the alcohol go straight to my head and down to my fingertips.

  So, what to do about the wayward ex-husband?

  I settled onto one of the bar stools with a sigh. Euan approached carefully, and slipped into the seat next to me.

  ‘Looking good, babe.’

  I exhaled, not looking at him.

  God, all that effort I put into my appearance, being part of the MC brand, and he caught me in a black top, ripped jeans and my hair tied up in a 50s red bandana. I looked too much like the Bel he used to know. It was unfair. I might as well have been naked. I didn’t have my glitter and make-up and clothing to hide behind. I hated him for that.

  Euan had aged, at least. That was some comfort. I knew I had too, that was life, but I was sure I’d only improved. When Euan knew me, I was tall and coltish, starving myself on coffee and cigarettes, trying to make it as a model. I was always tired, always working, always turned away. Never pretty enough. And now I was interesting, and more importantly, I was the boss, which trumped pretty.

  Euan turned to face me, swivelling in the chair. I could see him assessing me from the corner of my eye. He waited for me to make eye contact.

  ‘So… a guest comes to your door and you don’t offer him a drink? And you were always such the hostess.’

  I sighed, getting up and slipping behind the bar. Was probably better to have the block of marble between us anyway.

  ‘What are you drinking?’

  His eyes scanned the bar, up to the top shelf.

  ‘Macallan.’

  I snorted. ‘Nice try.’ I poured him a Jack Daniel’s, and he sniffed in response. ‘You complain, I’ll add Coke to it.’

  He ruffled his hair, the merest hint of sheepishness. I wasn’t buying it.

  Euan lifted his glass in a toast. ‘To my darling wife, who I have missed all these years. How happy I am to be reunited with you.’

  ‘Oh fuck off.’ I sipped at the Martini again. I needed to slow down. ‘Let’s cut to the chase – how did you find me, and what do you want?’

  ‘Charming!’ He sipped at his drink. ‘Can you believe it was a complete accident? I mean, here’s me, pining for my lady love, wondering why she left, heartbroken and scarred by her disappearance, and here she was, the whole time…’

  ‘Euan…’ I held my hand up, needing to cut through the bullshit.

  ‘… with a new name no less! Very exotic.’

  I exhaled roughly. Don’t explain yourself, the man’s a tosser. He’s always been a tosser, he doesn’t deserve—

  ‘It’s a burlesque bar, darling, I needed an appropriate name.’

  His lips quirked again at my tone. I had carefully created this persona over the years; I didn’t need him coming in and wrecking it all for me.

  ‘Ah, poor old Annabelle White from Eastbourne wasn’t good enough? I’m hurt.’ He placed a hand over his heart, the other still clasping his drink.

  ‘I never took your surname.’

  Euan laughed at that, downed the rest of the drink. ‘Stone then, little old Bel Stone, suddenly transformed into…’ His eyes slid up and down, slowly. ‘… this.’

  ‘This is who I am now.’

  ‘Arabella?’ He snorted. ‘Come on, sweetheart. You hated them, you hated those posh bitches who got everything they wanted. We used to watch the kids from the private school riding their ponies at the weekend. That’s not you.’

  He wasn’t wrong. But this version of me just gave the illusion of wealth, and class. Both of those were secondary to what my real illusion was – power. My staff, my guests, they all thought I was incredibly powerful. There was nothing I couldn’t do.

  And the only reason they believed that is because I believed it.

  ‘Why the act, Bel?’

  ‘There’s no act, darling, you’re being dramatic. It’s a part. Everything’s a part.’ I splayed my fingers. ‘Here, I’m a business owner, with a team of performers coming in to rehearse, and a bartender who needs some practise.’ I downed the Martini without a wince. ‘The question is, what part are you playing today?’

  He puffed up his chest, sat up straight as I assessed him. His hair was too short, and he had a pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket, the same way his granddad used to. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to reveal tanned arms. Still doing manual labour, most likely. There was dirt under his fingernails. There was that summer he spent working with a tree surgeon on one of the big estates, and he’d come back each night smelling of soil and sunshine. Those were the happier times.

  ‘I’m not playing,’ Euan said. Ever the poker player, that bland grin not budging.

  I didn’t believe him. The way his eyes kept drifting around the room, taking in the huge Martini glass on the stage, the chandelier above the main booth. Everywhere he saw sparkle and I could almost see those cartoon dollar signs in his eyes. He thought he was onto a winner.

  As long as he didn’t ask me why I left, as long as he didn’t hang around to drag Annabelle Stone out of the past and into this life, he could think whatever he wanted. He might see money here, but it wasn’t true. He was always betting on the wrong horse.

  ‘So, here for a divorce, I suppose?’ I kept my voice light. ‘I suppose we could print out something from the Internet, couldn’t we? Keep it simple? Seeing as there’s no assets or anything?’

  I raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t even blink.

  ‘Always with the sharp greeting, Bel! No time for nostalgia?’ Euan adjusted his smile. It was still cat-like, but softer. Something reminiscent of those times he used to make me laugh. Even when we were poor and miserable and I was working myself half to death, he could make me laugh. It was probably why I stayed as long as I did.

  ‘I’m a busy lady, Euan. I don’t see the point in looking back.’

  ‘Sometimes that’s the only way you get answers,’ he replied, and my stomach tightened in fear. I wanted to run, the same way I did back then. Sneak out in the darkness as if I was never there.

  I shook my head, and Euan’s voice softened. ‘God, don’t look like that, love. I’m not here to punish you. I’m here to break bread, and wish you well. Kiss and make up?’ He grinned properly that time, and despite my coldness, something fluttered in my stomach. Bad boy with the heart of bronze. Or copper. Something you could sell at a profit.

  He made you so unhappy, you idiot. You’re not that person any more.

  ‘Or you’re scrabbling to get by, some dodgy deal has gone south, or you lost a bet and you’re looking for a warm bed and a chance to make some cash off someone else’s hard work,’ I said, meeting his eyes. ‘How about that for a story?’

  There was a flash of something there. Shock at being seen. Knowin
g someone works both ways. He’d made me feel vulnerable; I needed him to feel the same.

  ‘Come on, Bel, you think that of me?’ he said softly, fingertips tracing shapes on the bar top. ‘You’re not even a little pleased to see me, for old time’s sake?’

  I said nothing, wondering about that myself. Perhaps there was a tiny part of me. The part that remembered the feel of his callused hands against my back, and how he used to nuzzle into my neck. The way he would spin me round when we walked along the beach, and how he stood up for me whenever Mum would put me down.

  But things had changed.

  ‘You haven’t wondered about me, Bel? Not even the odd thought, when you kiss someone else on New Year’s Eve. On our anniversary?’ God, those wide blue eyes, so innocent. I could feel the fog unfurling. He always made me sloppy.

  ‘No,’ I said, looking away, ‘and like fuck you ever knew our anniversary. I’ve certainly forgotten.’

  He shook his head, a little smile as he pulled up his sleeve a little above his elbow. On Euan’s bicep was a set of Roman numerals. Whether they were our anniversary, I honestly didn’t know. Either way, he was a manipulative bastard. ‘I haven’t forgotten. Never will again.’

  I clenched my fists beneath the bar, trying to stop my face responding. He’s not here for you, don’t be stupid. It was never about you.

  He looked the same scruffy, good-time guy. The guy who you’d steal a bag of pick ’n’ mix from the shop with when you were a kid, the guy who’d give you a rush of adrenalin by doing something bad.

  The guy who’d let you work yourself to death whilst he did nothing, until you couldn’t do it any more. We’ve all got a breaking point, and it took a lot for me to reach mine.

  But I was worth more than Euan. I was back then, and I definitely was now.

  He splayed his hands and shrugged, like he was harmless. ‘Bel, sweetheart. I’m working on a site round the corner. I saw the sign in the street, looked up the opening hours, and there’s this article, about young female entrepreneurs in the city. Sisters Doing It For Themselves, or some shitty headline.’ He grinned at me again, so suddenly seventeen, sitting in the pub on the corner of Parson Street, telling me I was the brightest star no one had ever seen.