The Gamble (D'Arth Series Book 3)

  The Gamble

  D’Arth Series Book 3

  By Camille Oster

  Copyright 2014 Camille Oster

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the work of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Acknowledgements:

  To Karen for her invaluable help.

  Camille Oster – Author

  www.camilleoster.com

  http://www.facebook.com/pages/Camille-Oster/489718877729579

  @Camille_Oster

  Camille.osternz@gmail.com

  * * *

  Chapter 1:

  * * *

  Stepping off the plane, Marco D'Arth felt the cold air seep through the sides of the airport gate walkway. As tired as he was, he couldn't hide his excitement as he walked through Heathrow—a complex bigger than he’d imagined. The teeming mass of people moving in every direction, while he tried to follow the yellow signs to the baggage claim and then beyond to the express train. He'd packed lightly, figuring he would buy most of what he needed once he had a flat, and he was glad that he hadn’t overdone it as he stood waiting for the train, watching a family balancing too many bags on a straining trolley.

  As the train pulled away, he read all the advertisement along the inside of the tube car, which were different and unfamiliar, concerning products and services he'd never heard of. The sky was clear and blue outside as they travelled by endless suburbs filled with Victorian brick houses and small cars. It looked cold even though the sun was shining.

  He studied the people on the train, mostly buried in the phones, catching up on their social stuff after arriving from wherever they'd come from. One was obviously a skier, having come off the slopes of some European mountain, maybe Scandinavian. It was all so foreign.

  Inside the massive train hall, Gavin was waiting by the Tesco as he’d said he would. "Mate," he said and gave Marco a half handshake half embrace. "You made it. It's fucking freezing. Come on," Gavin said, indicating to a set of stairs descending below ground. "You got a tube pass?"

  "Not yet.”

  Detouring to a machine in the wall, he got himself a week's pass, before they headed down the stairs. The tube had a slight metallic smell and he could hear trains whining as they arrived and departed in other parts of the station.

  "How was your flight? Which way did you go?"

  "Bangkok.”

  "Awesome. We went for a month last year. I don't remember a good chunk of it, but I'm not complaining," Gavin said with a sly smile.

  Marco caught all manner of English accents as they walked along, his carry-bag over his shoulder—non-English accents too. The platform had filled with people, waiting patiently for the next train, which had standing room only, but they’d managed to squeeze in. The blackness of sub-terrain London was the only thing to see, and even with that, Marco had sensory overload—maybe it was the jetlag. Gavin indicated their stop and they stepped out, moving with the mass of people to an escalator, up to the bright winter sunshine outside, into a suburb called Angel. Cute girls in tight jeans and military style jackets walked past, heading into the tube station with phones to their ears. He was in London. Marco smiled to himself, feeling excitement rise again.

  "When are you starting work?" Gavin asked.

  "A couple of days.”

  After a brisk walk down twisting streets, Gavin unlocked an obscured door which opened to a set of stairs. A door on the second floor let them into a bright flat with white walls and wooden floors in what had at one time been a warehouse. "It's not much, but it's a good size flat—for London. Drop your stuff there. It's literally the couch for you, but don't worry, it's comfortable enough. There's a pub down the road. You ready for a beer?"

  "Always.”

  Sorting out his bank account was a pain in the arse, as was dealing with the estate agent who seemed intent on showing him the most disgusting flats London had to offer, some of which Marco wondered were even suited for human habitation. He wasn't that fussy, but even he had his limits. In the end, a friend of a friend had a spare room come up in a flat in Islington.

  The first day of work was a blur of names and faces. He was shown to a small desk in a nice modern space encased in a much older building. Marco wore the vest and fitted dark pants he'd just bought in one of the cool shops down Oxford Street. He looked good and he was excited about starting work.

  From his desk, large windows looked out on a hotel across the road, where the uniformed doormen wore white gloves and bowler hats, and a Rolls Royce was parked out front. Marco wondered if some of the British traditions that seemed ridiculously old and out of place were actually real or whether it was put on for the tourists.

  "A Saudi Princess stays there," his desk neighbour, Charlotte, said. "Agatha Christie stayed there a few times, too.” Charlotte was English and wore a tight burgundy pencil skirt with a matching jacket. Nice body. He couldn't quite make out her accent, but she said her family was from Heresfordshire, which according to her was a nice area. She had framed picture of a horse on her desk. "So, you're a Kiwi just off the plane?" she'd asked, turning to assess him without hiding it. "Do you ride?"

  "Sorry?"

  "Do you ride?" she repeated like he was thick. "Horses.”

  "God no.”

  "Shame.”

  Marco shook his head before turning on his computer, wondering how different the British were. Riding—who did that? And who asked that right off the bat?

  "How'd you know I’ve just arrived?"

  "You have that healthy glow about you that only you Antipodeans seem to manage. Corn fed and raised in sunshine; surf and sand and all that.”

  Looking out the window, Marco guessed they were a bit spoilt back home with the weather and outdoor lifestyle. The fine weather of the day he'd arrived had given away to grey drizzle since.

  "You're taking over from Henry Ralling," Charlotte continued. "He's been promoted to New York. Good position. I was green with envy, but he had a way of charming the bosses, you know," Charlotte said, her voice upbeat and a little nasal. "You've worked in advertising before, haven't you?"

  "Yes," Marco answered, noting her accusatory tone.

  "Good—because everyone needs to pull their weight around here, and if you want to get ahead, you need to find some way to shine.”

  "What do you do to shine?"

  "My grandmother is neighbours with Mr. Jamieson," she said brightly. "I've known him all my life.”

  "Oh," Marco said, sorting through the file system on his computer. He guessed nepotism was alive and well here.

  At lunch, Charlotte introduced him to the Pret-A-Manger down the road, where they sat at the window bar, looking out onto the sidewalk and the street. "You're not going to be one of those tiresome people who brings their own lunch, are you?"

  "I'm not normally.”

  "I just have to get away from the office, or I am likely to kill someone before the end of the day. Where are you living?"

  "Islington.”

  She shrugged. "It's an okay neighbourhood.” Marco wasn't sure he was supposed to be glad that it met with her approval. "So how long are you planning on staying?"

  It was Marco’s time to shrug, having no idea. "Couple of years, maybe.”

  Charlotte went on to tell him about her family and how much she hated living in London. Too many people. She picked at her salad with halloumi cheese and roast beef. She also told him about her bastard ex-boyfriend and how he'd treated her like crap until she couldn't take it anymore.

  The tube rid
e home felt a little like a war zone; people stepping everywhere and he had to shift as people pushed in and out. Everyone was on their phone or tablet, checking in on their online world, or reading. The whine of the tube was loud as, even though amongst the mass of people in the train compartment, not a single person spoke until the stop was called out over the speaker and Marco had to step around people to squeeze out.

  He lived with two Aussie guys and a Kiwi girl, a nurse working for the NHS. The girl was a bit of a bitch, but the guys were alright. His room was tiny with a single bed, but clean and decently enough decorated. It was a basement flat and his window was right at ground level, facing a service road and parked cars. Little shutters kept his privacy at night. It cost a ridiculous amount of money, but everything did in London. He'd been told that he needed to stop converting everything back to New Zealand dollars because living here wouldn't make sense as long as he did.

  He only stayed at home long enough to shower, before heading off down the road to Angel where he was meeting everyone at the Knighted Rogue, a pub that was apparently their regular. It was inviting with large Victorian windows and bright, hanging flowerpots. London put effort into their pubs and this one had been established in 1796, or so it said above the door. Marco couldn't even grapple with the idea that he was entering a pub that was over two hundred years old—practically older than his country.

  Spotting Gavin at a table full of people, he walked over and Gavin greeted him with a nod. "Marco. You found us.”

  "When it comes to beer, I am rarely led astray.”

  There were familiar faces around the table and he nodded his greeting. He knew Gavin from school, and another, Dion, that had played in his soccer tournament—an alright player actually. A couple from the North Shore, and Robbie, who he'd known since primary school. "Anyone need another drink?"

  Returning to the table, he sat down and joined the conversation, which currently was on the attractions and curiosities of Sardinia. As the conversation flowed along from one topic to another, Marco realised that this was the most relaxed he'd felt since he'd arrived. He knew these people and he knew the rules of this group—he understood what they said and the meaning behind it. He'd been doubting that understanding a few times at work, where people would stare at him blankly at times when he said something. While everything he'd experienced over the last week and a bit had been eye-opening and fascinating, he hadn't felt comfortable. It was nice to just sit back for a while and relax with people he knew—and a beer or three.

  "Alex," Gavin called as a girl joined the group, putting her purse on the table and kissing Gavin briefly on the lips. Marco guessed they were familiar with each other. Her shiny brown hair was up in a pony-tail and pink gloss stained her lips. "What do you want?"

  "Just a white.” Gavin got up and went to the bar for her, leaving her to sit down in the empty chair next to Gavin. Marco hadn't realised Gavin had been saving that chair for someone. He hadn't even mentioned there was a girl in the picture—one wearing a shiny charcoal suit. Definitely an office type—and a Kiwi. "You must be Marco," she said and smiled, pulling a box out of her purse and popping a mint in her mouth. "Gavin said you were coming. How was your travel? "

  "Good," he said, feeling a little disconcerted that Gavin had been discussing him with this girl. "You from Auckland?”

  "Yeah. North shore.”

  An attentive Gavin returned with a glass of wine, talking quietly to her for a bit. "We're going for a bite. You up for a curry?"

  "Sure," Marco said, noting the girl watching him inquisitively; her large green eyes seeming to study everything about him. Marco immediately resented her and her inquisitiveness, for being part of the picture. When he'd imagined coming here, he'd imagined being with the boys—drinking, partying and having a good time—not being sanitised by mixed company.

  * * *

  Chapter 2:

  * * *

  Oxford Street was chaos on the weekend as Alex made her way into Topshop, having made this shopping date with Rachel earlier in the week, leaving the boys at home to watch the rugby match from back home early in the morning. Alex could do a bit of rugby when something big was on, but she wasn't prepared to spend her mornings watching an average game—not when there was London to be had.

  Walking around the shop with its bright lights and pounding music, she spotted a nice top—canary yellow which was hard to match, but it went really well with her hair and would give a pop of colour under a dark suit.

  "So what do you think of Marco? Did you know him back home?" Rachel asked.

  "I can't recall ever meeting him. He's alright, I suppose.”

  "I think I met him once, but it could have been someone else. I was pretty drunk at the time. He's gorgeous.”

  Alex lifted the hanger up to her shoulders so she could check out how the top would look on her in the full-length mirror covering a column, but decided she wasn't that enthused about it. She frowned slightly at Rachel's comment. Admittedly, Marco was gorgeous, but she didn't like hearing people gushing over him.

  "Doesn't he work at Jamieson and Poole?"

  "So I hear," Alex confirmed non-committaly.

  "Won't that makes him the competition and all?"

  "Something like that, I guess.” Alex had been surprised to hear where Marco worked, and that he'd worked in advertising back in New Zealand, while it had only been something she'd fallen into through the initial efforts of a temp agency. Now she was in advertising and she quite liked the high intensity industry, with the acknowledgement that all the guys that worked in advertising were arseholes.

  "Gavin's known him for ages, hasn't he? Not as cute as Mark, mind you."

  At times, Rachel could be annoying, with her never-ending obsession with this blond kid from Dunedin who wanted nothing to do with her, to her incessant questions. "They've been friends for a long time—since school. I think he quite resents me being there; I just get that feeling sometimes.”

  "Nonsense. You're awesome and I'm sure he's just in awe of you.”

  "You're sweet, Rachel—but so deluded," Alex laughed. "You ready for a coffee? Nothing's really grabbing me today.”

  "Sure," Rachel said and headed for the counter with a garment bundled in her hands. "Just let me get this.”

  Returning home, Alex got a text from Gavin, saying he was down at the pub with the boys and she should join them. A feeling of awkwardness quickly filled her. Truth was, she didn't like Marco being around. She couldn't shake the feeling that he disapproved of her and her relationship with Gavin. Casting a glance at her overflowing laundry hamper, she decided she might meet up with them for a while later on, after spending some time at home, which really was starting to need her attention.

  Surfing the net while the washing machine ran a cycle, she checked in on Facebook and her friends back home; checked out some trips around Europe and downloaded some new songs to her phone. Her rolled-up yoga mat sat accusingly in the corner, but she couldn't be bothered right now.

  Succumbing to her worst instincts, she checked out Marco's profile on Facebook, where she found photos of his friends, including some old ones of Gavin, which made her smile. There were also photos of some girl he'd obviously left behind. He looked confident and cocky. He was also a soccer player, it seemed. A typical guy, she concluded. But enough about him; she decided to dismiss him from her thoughts. It was unfortunate that she wasn't hitting it off with Gavin's friend, but it wasn't the end of the world.

  "There you are. Where've you been?" Gavin asked as she joined them at the pub. A group of the boys was sitting around the table, beers in front of them, and Sarah, who was a fixture in their group, but no one really knew how she’d ended up being part of the group as she hadn't really known any of them back home.

  "Shopping,” she answered.

  "You see anyone?"

  "Only Rachel. Good game?"

  "It was alright.”

  "You remember Steve, that Australian guy Marco lives with?"

&
nbsp; "Vaguely," Alex said, taking a sip of her wine.

  "His mates are having a party tonight in a flat over in Sheppards Bush. Thought we'd go along.”

  Alex shrugged, not really excited about going all the way to Sheppards Bush. "I'm not hitting it hard tonight. I'm going for a run tomorrow morning, so I am going to be Cinderella—back home at midnight.”

  Gavin knew not to argue with her, but she could tell by his behaviour that he wasn't planning on going home early. Strictly she didn't mind, knowing that Saturday night was Gavin's time to cut loose.

  She smiled as she watched him, noting yet again how cute he was. She leaned over to kiss him and he almost blushed at the attention in front of his mates.

  If Marco had been childish, he would have rolled his eyes, noting how Gavin placed his hand on his girl's thigh. Whipped, was a word that entered his mind—which was also a childish thought, but he recognised his own behaviour from a few months ago when he'd had a girlfriend. He'd been with Caroline for about six months and it had been alright until she got clingy, wanting to stay over every night. In the end, they'd just fought a lot, until he'd had enough and ended it.

  Alex was kind of cool, but she was cramping their style. Being in a new city, Marco wanted to explore everything at once and he wanted his mates there with him.

  "I spotted some good flights to Seville," Alex said, forming a little cocoon between her and Gavin. "We could go later in the month.”

  "Seville? That could be cool.”

  "I loved Seville," Sarah, the sporty girl from Hamilton, said. "I went during the summer. It would be winter now, but still, definitely worth it.”

  "Marco," Gavin called. "You up for going to Seville for a weekend?"

  He felt Alex's firm green eyes on him. "Sure," he said, not entirely sure whether Alex's look was disapproving or not. She could do a poker face, it seemed. And she had no business being disapproving; he'd known Gavin much longer than her. Sure there were the rights and dues a girlfriend, but mates were mates. He wasn't usually this immature, but she seemed to bring out the worst in him. "Seville would be cool.” Maybe he needed to get a grip and make an effort with Alex. After all, the only thing he didn't like about her was her relationship with Gavin. Taking a swig of his beer, he admitted that if she'd been unattached, he'd be hitting on her by now. Her tight jeans and short leather jacket showed off a nice body and good taste. Alex was alright, he decided, and he needed to man up and accept that his friend had a girlfriend—one that might actually be marginally too cool for him. He actually wouldn't mind Gavin having a girlfriend at all if she'd been some dumb girl with a short skirt and ample cleavage, but Alex was intelligence meets city chic.