Chapters 5-6 End Game

Chapter 5 Blissful Ignorance

Darren J. Hunter looked at the calendar on the desk in his posh, spacious city office and grinned rather sheepishly. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten today, the most important day of his life again. After all it was only the 33rd time running he’d forgotten it. As usual his faithful, ever reliable secretary Madeline had saved the day. He had sent her out, as soon as the shopping centre opened. She never minded getting paid for this type of work. Her number one passion was after all shopping. She would get on well with his wife Laurel, if they ever met he thought. Laurel was always complaining she needed a new this or a new that. No doubt Laurel would return from her latest shopping trip, having emptied the joint account.

Madeline had returned triumphantly several hours later, laden with shopping bags. She really had lived up to her surname (Starr.)

“There you go, Mr Hunter sir.

She had thrown his wallet back onto the desk. He had picked it up to put into his jacket pocket. Pausing slightly, he weighed it in his hand. It was considerably lighter than it had been before he’d set out for work that morning.

“Go on a spending spree, did we?” he asked.

“Only the best for you sir. We don’t want your wife to think you forgot your wedding anniversary now do we?” Madeline had trilled, fluttering her eyelashes, somewhat flirtatiously.

Darren had sighed and removed his eyes from where they had been, staring at Madeline’s figure, taking in her short length skirt and nearly non-existent top. No, he was a happily married man.  She was young enough to be his daughter God's sake. He glanced at the framed family photograph on his desk. Taken on a camping trip the summer before.

“Will there be anything else?” his secretary had asked.

“No that will be all thank you Madeline” Darren had replied. She had left the room. Now as the early evening drew in, he sighed and got up from his desk, stretching as he did so. Several of his joints creaked. Old age. Still tonight he would prove that older or not, he was still a stud. There was plenty of lead in the old pencil yet.

Today had been quite a productive day, all things considered. He tidied up his desk, grabbed his jacket, picked up the bags at his feet, pausing only to grab the flowers, standing in a vase of water. He paused on his way out to call goodnight to his business partner, who as usual was working late, that man had no life. Despite having a wife and 6 children. His wife was often heard to complain he was married to his desk. Darren sighed as the man returned his farewell greeting. He made no attempt to reach for his own jacket.

Several of his female employees called goodbyes in honeyed tones, giggling girlishly when he responded. Darren supposed he was still quite handsome in a Richard Gere kind of way. Hugh Grant and Colin Firth hadn't scrubbed up badly either. But Darren saw himself more as a Hugh Laurie type. Unassuming, unwilling to see himself as a hunk.

Once in his dark Blue Porsche with personalised number plates, he forgot about them. Laurel would have laughed at the "schoolgirls" anyway. He pulled spectacularly into his driveway minutes later, gravel spurting under the tyres. He let himself into the house.

It was strangely silent. No kids, that was good. The twins had eagerly agreed to his suggestion that they stay with friends this evening. Of course he was well aware that the £50 each he had given them had helped.  They had told him they didn't particularly relish the thought of walking in on "the oldies getting it on."

His wife was obviously still having coffee with her old friend. That was good. His plan was working out well. He went into the spacious, black, marble work-topped kitchen and hunted for his wife’s favourite glass vase, an inheritance gift from her mother, who had died three years previously."Stubborn old battleaxe" he thought.

He filled the vase, arranged the flowers and put them on the window sill. Madeline had chosen well, lilies and roses were Laurel’s favourites. He walked into the living room and set the table, candle in the middle, ready to be lit when she returned. Now Darren was a good cook and the meal was ready right on time. He laid the steak out on the plates. Now all he needed was the special lady herself and everything would be complete.

Chapter 6 Waiting Game

But 7:00 ticked by, 8:00, still no sign.9:00 ticked closer. He grabbed his mobile phone, from the sideboard and dialled the familiar number. He waited, muttering to himself “Come on, pick up.” The phone rang out several times, before cutting through to voicemail. He left her a message, trying to sound calm and unconcerned, but all the time his brain was in overdrive.

This wasn’t like her. If Laurel specified a time for anything, she was where she said she’d be on the dot. Was she OK? Had something happened? A car accident maybe? Mugged on her way home? Was she lying in some dark car park somewhere? Stabbed, bleeding out? No Adrian was on duty tonight, he would have phoned by now. Was she hurt? Was she having an affair?

No, that at least was ridiculous. They trusted each other implicitly. He took several deep breaths. He was overreacting. Marina often had problems and would go off into long stories, expecting sympathy. Laurel would try desperately to offer the support she needed, frequently rolling her lovely emerald eyes at the strange things her friend had done. She’d been held up by something Marina was saying, feeling it rude to leave, that’s all. She would arrive home soon, full of apologies, that she had ruined his surprise dinner.  With this comforting thought, he stretched out on the sofa and fell asleep.

He woke sometime later and rubbed his eyes. It was dark outside. He fumbled for the button that lighted up the face of his watch. 3:00 in the morning. It was strange, he hadn’t woken up when Laurel came in. She must have crept past him very quietly, not wishing to disturb him. Oh well, now he was awake he could go up to bed. He eased himself off the sofa, his stiff joints creaking slightly. He walked into the hallway and up the black, metal, elaborately decorated spiral staircase to the upper level. He padded quietly down the corridor and slipped quiet as a mouse into the master bedroom. He got into the king-size bed. But here he got a shock. The bed was cold and empty, his outstretched arm touching nothing but empty pillow.

He could feel the panic beginning to take over and no amount of breathing exercises were going to help him now. His counsellor had no idea whatsoever. He needed to do something. His wife had always said he didn't do enough laundry. Well now was as good a time as any. He went to the laundry basket and began sorting out the dirty washing. Suddenly he paused. Surely Laurel had been wearing those clothes earlier. He was observant enough to notice what she was wearing. In his eye line was the very ripped pair of tights, nestled snugly in the bin. They hadn't been there this morning. So by deduction she must have been home, changed and gone out again, but where?

He ran a hand through his hair. He grabbed his mobile and dialled her number yet again. The mocking robotic voice started in his ear, a minute or so later.