another ten to get across the road. We are late, it is gone eleven. Across from the Paris hotel, the Bellagio hotel is fronted by a massive lake. At night the lake comes alive with shooting fountains of water all lit up and ‘dancing’ to music piped through hidden speakers. The pavement is always crowded in front of the Bellagio and today is no exception.
There have to be in excess of two hundred people milling about and taking photos. I don't want to look for Joel but I know that Richard will be really angry if it seems that I am avoiding the meeting simply because he is with me.
As we zig-zag through the crowds, Richard searches the faces of every eligible man for signs of debaucherous thoughts. He is practically growling under his breath. I get a better line through the crowds and I’m around 10 feet ahead of him when I think I hear someone saying my name.
My heart rises to my throat and I really think I am about to see him . But instead, a few metres ahead of me, I see a stranger with an envelope in his hand. “Beth Britten!” he’s saying, just loud enough that I can hear.
“I’m Beth,” I say. The man smiles and hands me an envelope. He turns to leave but Richard has caught up. He pushes ahead of me and squares up to the guy. “Who the hell are you - and what have you been doing to my wife?”
He looks bemused. “Listen buddy, I’m just delivering show tickets to the lady,” says the man.
The man takes a stride as if to leave but Richard swings for him. The other guy is quicker. A fist lands Richard straight in the jaw. He hits back and they go for each other, howling like a couple of dogs. In seconds they are on the floor, pounding the crap out of each other.
I’m not proud of what I do next. I don't think - I just react. I turn on my heels and run; leaving Richard to what has become a full-on fight. I don't see Joel’s face in the crowd some 20 yards back but in my head, I know he is there.
I dart into the first casino entrance I come to and disappear into the labyrinth of slot machines - all vying for attention, beeping and calling like sinister lullabies - and finally reach the comparative calm of the ladies' rest room. As well as the cubicles there is a seating area with a red velvet couch and some over-stuffed armchairs. I sit down, under the gaze of three bejewelled old ladies who are congregated around the full length mirror, comparing their hideously garish kaftans.
Biting my lip, I open the envelope. Inside is a letter.
I take a deep breath and start to read.
Beth,
I’m writing this thinking what am I doing? If you are reading this, then neither of us is insane. This letter is proof in your hands.
I am so sorry. I thought I was imagining you - thinking I’d lost my mind to a demon or some kind of craziness. But after you told me your name and I saw you in the forest, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t NOT look to see what you were doing.
I watched you. I saw your wedding, the plane tickets. I came to Vegas to have proof, maybe see you from a distance. Last night - as soon as I realized what we were doing, I swear I tried to wake up.
I’m sorry.
When I asked you to meet me I don’t know what I was thinking. But I am writing this note in a hurry. I truly hope you can smooth things over with your husband and I am so sorry for spoiling your honeymoon. Maybe I am a coward but please understand, I have so much to lose. Expecting your man might ask what was in the envelope, I have included two tickets to a show at the Rio tonight. They were comps from my hotel, I won’t be needing them. It might wash as an excuse for your not-so secret meet. Or he might get to read this note, in which case, again I’m sorry.
After you get home, I want to know that you are OK. I am searching for the right way forward. I don’t know what it is yet.
Take care x
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The old ladies leave the rest room in a cloud
There have to be in excess of two hundred people milling about and taking photos. I don't want to look for Joel but I know that Richard will be really angry if it seems that I am avoiding the meeting simply because he is with me.
As we zig-zag through the crowds, Richard searches the faces of every eligible man for signs of debaucherous thoughts. He is practically growling under his breath. I get a better line through the crowds and I’m around 10 feet ahead of him when I think I hear someone saying my name.
My heart rises to my throat and I really think I am about to see him . But instead, a few metres ahead of me, I see a stranger with an envelope in his hand. “Beth Britten!” he’s saying, just loud enough that I can hear.
“I’m Beth,” I say. The man smiles and hands me an envelope. He turns to leave but Richard has caught up. He pushes ahead of me and squares up to the guy. “Who the hell are you - and what have you been doing to my wife?”
He looks bemused. “Listen buddy, I’m just delivering show tickets to the lady,” says the man.
The man takes a stride as if to leave but Richard swings for him. The other guy is quicker. A fist lands Richard straight in the jaw. He hits back and they go for each other, howling like a couple of dogs. In seconds they are on the floor, pounding the crap out of each other.
I’m not proud of what I do next. I don't think - I just react. I turn on my heels and run; leaving Richard to what has become a full-on fight. I don't see Joel’s face in the crowd some 20 yards back but in my head, I know he is there.
I dart into the first casino entrance I come to and disappear into the labyrinth of slot machines - all vying for attention, beeping and calling like sinister lullabies - and finally reach the comparative calm of the ladies' rest room. As well as the cubicles there is a seating area with a red velvet couch and some over-stuffed armchairs. I sit down, under the gaze of three bejewelled old ladies who are congregated around the full length mirror, comparing their hideously garish kaftans.
Biting my lip, I open the envelope. Inside is a letter.
I take a deep breath and start to read.
Beth,
I’m writing this thinking what am I doing? If you are reading this, then neither of us is insane. This letter is proof in your hands.
I am so sorry. I thought I was imagining you - thinking I’d lost my mind to a demon or some kind of craziness. But after you told me your name and I saw you in the forest, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t NOT look to see what you were doing.
I watched you. I saw your wedding, the plane tickets. I came to Vegas to have proof, maybe see you from a distance. Last night - as soon as I realized what we were doing, I swear I tried to wake up.
I’m sorry.
When I asked you to meet me I don’t know what I was thinking. But I am writing this note in a hurry. I truly hope you can smooth things over with your husband and I am so sorry for spoiling your honeymoon. Maybe I am a coward but please understand, I have so much to lose. Expecting your man might ask what was in the envelope, I have included two tickets to a show at the Rio tonight. They were comps from my hotel, I won’t be needing them. It might wash as an excuse for your not-so secret meet. Or he might get to read this note, in which case, again I’m sorry.
After you get home, I want to know that you are OK. I am searching for the right way forward. I don’t know what it is yet.
Take care x
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The old ladies leave the rest room in a cloud
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