Once I Was A Soldier Read online

  Both women were smiling broadly, which in turn was mirrored by the two assistants in the shop, which Jane, on one of her unexpected visits, remarked on as she drifted past on her way to her office—Nice to see, ladies. Smiling faces are happy faces and happy faces make closed purses open and spend money!

  “No wonder you ran away from smelly factories,” Samantha remarked. “What woman wouldn't! A party you say, just try keeping the Rodgers away. I'm dying to see all the furniture you brought with you, plus what came out of the Harrods lorry that was unloading for an hour or more.” Melissa was wondering if charm was a prerequisite to being a resident of the area, but she never reached a conclusion on that matter as Samantha continued. “I can bring some of the others who live around us without you having to go knocking! We have quite a collection of the famous living in the square, you know.”

  “No one notorious, I hope,” Melissa replied with that uncommon smile fixed to her face.

  “Mick Jagger with Marianne Faithful used to live next to me, but they have moved out now. Apart from him there are a few questionable occupants still around. Questionable in the nicest possible way of course,” and again her face shone brightly with laughter, but this time she remarked about it.

  “You are damaging all my good work, young lady. The beauty treatment I'm having to take away the laughter lines around my eyes will be ruined if I keep going at this rate.” She tried to keep a straight face, but failed. “Shall I spread the word of your party to all, regardless of good and wholesome reputation? I'll throw in some of the less reputable as well. That could lead to a fun night.”

  By this time any attempt by Melissa at remaining taciturn or reticent in reply had fallen before Samantha's jovial appeal and cordial approach as she offered no resistance to her newfound friend's volunteered help. She welcomed it with widespread arms.

  “I was thinking of about fifty guests. Would that sound right to you?” she asked.

  “Sounds idyllic to me, dear girl. I'll pop in later to discuss the list if you want. We could have a grand old natter about Yorkshire at the same time! I bought some Yorkshire tea once. Very nice it was too. What time would be convenient?”

  “Shall we say three pm? I'll get my housekeeper to serve some of these delicious cakes your eyes keep falling on, Samantha.”

  “Not too many! You obviously have no need to watch what you eat, but us oldies with an ever-widening waistline, certainly do!”

  “Incidentally, Samantha? Is there a local gym I could use? One where it's good to be seen? I need to get around in meeting all the right people.”

  “Not just the 'right' ones, surely not! Mix in some wrong 'uns too, adds to the enjoyment. There's the one that Princess Diana uses in Chelsea Harbour. It's called Waterside, I think. Anyone who's anyone goes there apparently, but be careful of those musclebound hunks I'm told you can find plastered around the walls. I doubt they will be after you for lessons on that piano I saw delivered.”

  “My, you are an observant one, Samantha,” Melissa replied, thoroughly enjoying being spoken of and noticed.

  “No! The right word to use is nosey, but I have to be. My husband is the Conservative Member of Parliament for Putney. It pays to watch carefully where you tread in his business and I like to steer him away from stepping in any dogs' poo, if you get my drift.”

  “I do indeed, but as I very much doubt that there are many dogs in this part of London that would dare poo on the pavement you must have plenty of spare time. Why don't the two of us go to this Waterside gym together one day, Samantha? I would welcome your company.”

  “You don't want me, my dear. Nor would they! I'd make a poor advertisement for their facilities if seen walking out the door.” Both ladies burst into laughter and at the same time the girls behind the serving counter did so too. Jane shifted in her office chair and smiled ever so slightly.

  * * *

  A little after three pm that day Samantha Rodgers became the first visitor to Number 12 as she was cordially welcomed into Melissa's plush, well-appointed residence and entertained in the first-floor sitting room. The ground floor one, Melissa explained, was still being furnished. She was given a tour of the house, enthusiastically remarking on her host's taste in decor and in particular the size of Melissa's bed.

  “My, that's a huge area going to waste if you're occupying it alone, my dear. Or, have I missed something and you have already snared a beau to share your sheets?”

  “That's an ancient expression; a beau!”

  “It is, isn't it. I was trying to hide my shame in suggesting that your chauffeur may be doubling up on his job! He's quite a hunk! If I was your age I'd bed him in seconds,” she announced unashamedly.

  “Well, I haven't, nor am going to,” she replied humourlessly, which drew a look of disappointment from her new friend's face. She fashioned a warm smile in order to reassure her friend.

  “I have interests elsewhere, and although I have yet to invite him here I do know what to expect if I did!”

  “You are a sly thing, aren't you, and quick on the draw. Will I be seeing him at this shindig we're to arrange?”

  “You will indeed, but perhaps you already know him. He has business interests not far from here.”

  They were descending the stairs when the conversation took on a more solemn tone, one that a woman less self-absorbed than Melissa would have handled completely differently.

  “Not only sly, but convenient with choice! Rich and a Chelsea resident! Well, the two go together really, don't they? I thought it must be someone from your home town or at least from the north.”

  “I just took advantage of the opportunity. His name's Richard Stanhope. He's a partner of David Linley, the Queen's nephew, at David's furniture establishment in Ebury Street. I started at the top, as it were.” She smiled at her guest as though she wore the cat's whiskers above her top lip. The smile wasn't returned.

  “Is that what he said, was it; partner of Linley's? Did he say that he had a place in Chelsea and did he mention an estate near Burgess Hill, in West Sussex?”

  The self-congratulatory smile disappeared instantly on hearing of her neighbour's knowledge. She feared what was to come. She had reason to.

  “Oh dear! Let's have that cup of tea while I educate you about the Stanhopes of this world. I'm afraid your bubble is about to burst, Melissa my dear,” earnestly Samantha replied.

  For some of us it's the things that are closest to our heart that become the most frightening to reveal. That's where the pain lies along with the mistakes that, wish as hard as we might, cannot be changed. In that palpable place, they cling together forming an abscess that constantly throbs but can't be silenced. The treatment for an abscess is simple; slice it open and drain the poison away. Is that the remedy for those hidden away shameful nightmares? To shout them out and face the consequences? Or, would it be better to let them fester until they burst as inevitably they must? If derision has a price to subdue then how much would you be willing to pay to suppress it? It wasn't long before Melissa was required to answer that monetary question.

  Chapter Four

  Samantha was scathing in her damnation of Richard Stanhope, but she tempered that denunciation with criticism of Melissa's promiscuity.

  “What were you thinking of, dear girl? One month in town and jumping into bed with a very casual acquaintance. I realise we've only just met, but I can't stand idly by and allow you to disgrace yourself so badly! He's a degenerate liar who sullies other people reputations by feigning to know them. He is not Linley's partner, and I know that for a fact.”

  “And how would you know?” Melissa defiantly asked, still clinging to hope.

  “Because it's part of my role as an aspiring Prime Minister's wife to know everything and everyone, my dear. David's wife, with Richard's wife, are both in my close circle of friends. Have you heard that saying about keeping your friends close but your enemies closer? Well, if you are lucky enough to know who your enemies are then you don't need to keep th
em close. Keep your friends very close, as it's the dagger held in their hands that will kill you! I know all there is to know about the people around here. Who is a friend and who is not. Richard Stanhope is a nobody, but his wife is a completely different animal entirely.

  “She is a direct descendent of the Moncreiffes, one of the richest families ever to venture south from Scotland as well as one of the oldest Scottish clans. They own acres upon acres of land up there. She, Julia by name, fell for Richard some fifteen years ago and then painfully found out what she'd taken on. She hasn't divorced him because of the scandal that would bring upon the family name. Besides, she hasn't been whiter than white in her own life. If the newspapers dug deep into her personal life, as they would if they sensed a story, then her name would be blackened more than his. It's a man's world we live in and nothing is likely to change that in the short term. The fact that whatever she has done came well after what he got up to, won't count for anything.

  “He jumps into any attractive woman's knickers at the drop of a hat. That's his game. Sorry, but he's not that selective, from what I understand. The estate in Sussex and the house he no doubt took you to alongside the Thames, are not his at all.” She stopped briefly to examine Melissa's face that showed no guilt. Certain that her assumptions were correct, she nevertheless carried on.

  “They belong to Julia who at this moment in time is away for the winter, sailing in the Caribbean with a friend. Richard knows that. He takes advantage of her absences to indulge himself with unsuspecting sexual conquests. Sadly, I believe, Julia will just put up with it all. Richard knows David from their school days together, that's one of the ways he and Julia met. They both moved in the right circles. I'll admit that he's a charmer, Melissa, but what were you thinking of? But my dear girl, your secret is safe with me. I can assure of you of that!”

  I bet it is, Melissa thought sardonically, visualising Samantha's mind ticking away mulling over the names that she would label her on the telephone to her friends: hussy, tart, slut. She needed no telepathic powers to hear the truthful smear that would ruin the image she wanted once the outside world was made aware of her dissolute behaviour. Her entire future credibility was suspended in the silence! What was she to do? There were no readymade excuses or plausible reasons for what she had done other than naivety and vulnerability. Neither of those could she offer. It was the fact of being stupid and found out that hit her the hardest on the head. That gullible defect in her nature would leave a scar for all to see if she could not hide the truth from view. So, having no alternative, she took a giant plunge into an abyss, with her green eyes tightly closed.

  “I knew all of that, Samantha, and it made no difference when he told me. It makes no difference to how I feel about the man now you've told the story. He is in love with me. He told me that and what's more, I believe him! I know of his wife. I know most of what you're alluding to. Her family's heritage and her position and standing in society. The past is something that has to be let go of in order to move on.” Fortuitously it was at that moment she remembered Lord Edwin's words.

  “After all, it's our todays that make our future. I'm genuinely sorry for his wife. It must have been horrendous to endure such past wanton behaviour. But people do change if given the opportunity. I seem to be the one he wants to change for. I also know it's all in its infancy and there's the fact that I'm rich, but the money thing has been discussed.” She could see by her companion's expression slowly changing, her tactics were working.

  “We discussed the monetary agreement after he proposed whilst we were driving home early this morning. The party is to announce our engagement. It was Richard's idea. Said it would introduce me into the neighbourhood with a bang. Having now let the cat out of the bag, a few days ahead of when we were due to announce it, perhaps you could call his wife and let her know? It might quicken that divorce you want her to have. I have plenty of money so he won't have need of hers. Perhaps she might return to London next Saturday and come to the party. Will you invite her for me, Samantha? It would show that bygones are bygones.”

  The formidable masquerade costume that Melissa hid behind was worn for the whole of the afternoon's deliberations into suitable guests for the upcoming party, but Richard's name was not again mentioned whilst tea was taken and cakes consumed. When Samantha finally left Number 12 Melissa franticly searched for his phone number and when found, she called him.

  He sniggered in amusement when told that he was engaged to marry, however, the first question he put to Melissa was neither humorous nor facetious. It was as remorseless as was he.

  “And how much are you prepared to pay me in order that I keep that secret of yours? I never do anything that's cheap, Melissa. I will also want several sworn legal documents drawn up between the two of us detailing what's mine by rights! I think it's called a prenuptial agreement.”

  The divorce of the Stanhopes took a paltry six weeks to conclude, during which time Lord Edwin Belsize drafted the prenuptial document much to his distaste. His anger was heightened when Melissa insisted that a one-million-pound payment be made into Richard Stanhope's bank account on the day following the wedding. Edwin questioned her extensively on this, but she kept repeating that it was an investment, one which she had researched thoroughly. The truth was entirely different.

  * * *

  “I will marry you, Melissa, to save you from being labelled a fool who's easily deceived, on one condition. On the day of the wedding you transfer one million pound to me.”

  “I will do that but I have a condition myself,” Melissa replied.

  “Go on! I'd love to hear your terms, as it seems to me that you haven't got much choice but to accept what I ask for without question.”

  “Oh, I'll accept them all right, but only if you stay with me at Number 12 for the night, in another room of course. In the morning, when we go off for our honeymoon, the money will be in your account by the time the banks open. You will then fly to somewhere completely different from me and we will never see each other again! That way the marriage will never be consummated and I can divorce you in time with that as the grounds!”

  “Gladly, and then you'll have to pay me more money. But only what's been agreed to in the drawn-up contract. I have some principles. Do we meet before the wedding?”

  “Of course, anything else would look very strange and completely out of place. You will stay over and I will stay at your place. We will act as a normal engaged couple would.”

  “Your staff would find out that we are not sleeping together. It might take them a week or two, but eventually they would. Have you thought of that?”

  She had not, and as much as she disliked it he was right. Her money could not buy his contrived celibacy. More choices with more consequences to be faced. It was Richard who offered a solution.

  “Perhaps you should become the virtuous prospective bride. Chastity at this time could inject some probity into our relationship, which would deny the rumour-mongers some ammunition.”

  “And how could I guarantee your chastity if I had no control over you?”

  “You couldn't, but the agreed million pounds will,” he responded dispassionately.

  * * *

  Five other parties were hosted by Melissa with Samantha compiling guest lists to rival any A-list that was ever drawn up, before the wedding at Chelsea Town Hall on the last Saturday in March in 1993 which was sparsely attended. That wasn't the case for the wedding breakfast. That was staged under canvas in Battersea Park where almost two hundred people saw what they were supposed to see; the new Mr and Mrs Stanhope laughingly dancing until that Saturday night almost passed into Sunday, clearly in love with each other. By the next evening Melissa was in Italy and Richard Stanhope was on his way to Singapore. She was now the poorer financially, and him smiling all the way to his next conquest!

  * * *

  Lord Edwin Belsize was one of those who cheeringly waved the newly married couple away from Battersea Park. He had a heavy regret-laden
heart on his way to his own home, sitting alongside Cynthia who drove.

  “Are you quite sure about that young girl not being quite right in the head, Edwin, only she seemed okay to me? If nothing else she has good taste in men! He is one handsome devil and no mistake.”

  “Let's hope you're right about her state of sanity and him not being a devil, my dear, but for some reason I don't expect those assertions to manifest themselves in my lifetime. I think she's quite mad and he's nothing more than an opportunist,” he replied, fatigued, brushing his lapels as a distraction.

  Chapter Five

  The London house in Chester Square was rented out for a year, with Lord Edwin Belsize overseeing the transaction whilst staying in constant contact with the villa that Melissa took over on the periphery of Rome for an equal length of time. All three members of staff from London accompanied her to Rome, and although language and the side of the road on which to drive were things to adjust to, neither presented an obstacle that could not be overcome. After she settled into her surroundings and had become accustomed to the Italian lifestyle, she made arrangements for her Rolls Royce to be delivered. It arrived by sea three and a bit months after she first moved into the Villa Martignano on the edge of the lake and park bearing the same name. And that was when I drove into Melissa Iverson's life.

  * * *

  I owned and personally operated a risk-management delivery service that answered the requests of the very rich and many of the most powerful people in the world. I managed the risks in overseeing that their precious possessions were delivered with the least amount of interference, or delay, to wherever they wished and they in turn serviced my bank account with large amounts of money that went straight into HM Government's coffers. I was what was known as a facilitator, and a very good one at that. But I had a department of British intelligence keeping that reputation intact. I was forty-four years of age, not that bad looking, built well, unmarried and in love with most of the women I had bedded. All in all, I would say that life had been very exciting in many ways and I intended to enjoy my future one day at a time.