A Rich Man's Revenge

“Irrefutable proof.”

“Such as?”

“The kind supplied by a very reputable private investigator. Facts and figures. Taped conversations with her ex-flatmates in Melbourne, people she’s worked with, men she’s slept with. You’re welcome to hear them for yourself whenever you like. And to see the written report. Your wife is a fortune hunter, Charles. Make no bones about that. She openly admitted to her flatmates during her years in Melbourne that her aim in life was to marry money. You became her target after things with her previous marital candidate fell through and she made the move to Sydney.”

Charles tried to swallow the huge lump which had filled his throat but it was stuck there.

“He was her last boss,” Rico swept on mercilessly. “Jonathon Hall, a reasonably successful celebrity sports manager. Though not as rich as his lifestyle indicates, which is why he ended up marrying money himself. Apparently, Dominique was livid when he dumped her. She told one of her girlfriends that the next time she wouldn’t go for a guy with Hall’s looks and charm. She’d try for someone older who didn’t think he was God’s gift to women, someone who’d be oh, so grateful to have a girl like her even look at him twice.”

Charles wanted to cry out, to scream that none of this was true. Dominique loved him.

But Rico was ruthless in his exposé of his beautiful bride’s true nature. “Dominique isn’t even her real name. It’s something plain like Joan or Jane. I can’t remember which. She changed it to Dominique when she first came to Melbourne from Tasmania when she was nineteen. Which reminds me. Her parents weren’t both killed in a car accident, either, like she told you. Her mother died of cancer when Dominique was eighteen, but her father is still very much alive. Lives in a small town on the West Coast, works as a manager in one of the local mines. She’s a liar and a fake, Charles, in every way.”

The blood began to drain from Charles’s face. He vaguely saw horror in Rico’s eyes and realised he must look as shattered as he felt.

“Gee, Charles. Don’t go collapsing on me. Hey, man, I didn’t realise how much you loved her till this moment. I thought it was just infatuation. Man, you look terrible. What you need is a stiff drink. Come on, let’s go get you one.”

Charles let Rico propel him into a nearby bar, prop him up on one of the stools there and order him a brandy. He downed the drink in two quick gulps and let Rico order him another.

The brandy soon did its work and blood began slowly seeping back into his brain, his inner despair momentarily overlaid by a confused curiosity. He swivelled on the stool to face Rico once more.

“When did you find out all this?” he asked shakily. “Not before the wedding, surely.”

“No. I hired the PI whilst you were on your honeymoon. The full report only came in yesterday.”

“But why, Rico? Why would it even occur to you to do such a thing?”

“One of the flatmates Dominique confided in is a cousin of mine. Claudia. She’d gone to Melbourne a couple of years ago for a change of scene after her marriage broke up. Recently, she came back to live in Sydney and was staying with one of my sisters. I was at a family get-together a few days after your wedding and was showing everyone some of the casual snapshots I’d taken when Claudia recognised Dominique. She said Dominique had this fixation about becoming really rich. Apparently, she told Claudia she could never earn enough herself in a lifetime of working for a salary, so the only solution was to marry money. Everything she did had that single aim. To catch herself a rich husband.”

Charles expressed his despair with a colourful four-letter word.

“Absolutely. I agree with you. But at least now you can see why, after what Claudia told me, I thought it was my duty as your best man to find out everything I could.”

“Which you obviously couldn’t wait to pass on to me,” Charles said bitterly. “But for what purpose, I wonder. Do you think you’ve done me a favour, Rico, disenchanting me like this? You could have left me in blissful ignorance. That would have been kinder.”

“I was going to for a while, believe me. But not after what you said tonight about starting a family straight away. I just couldn’t stay silent and let you do that, Charles.”

“I don’t see why not,” Charles muttered bleakly.

“Fortune hunters fall into two categories,” Rico elaborated. “Firstly, there are the Jasmines of this world who marry you for the high life, and never have any intention of spoiling their figures having babies. Their plan is to have a ball for a while at your expense, till you start asking for a kid, like I stupidly did. Then they divorce you and take you for every penny they can in alimony. The second kind—into which your Dominique obviously falls—have a baby as soon as possible to cement their position, guaranteeing them of an even bigger settlement when they also eventually file for divorce. The child is a pawn, not the precious gift it should be. Just another little money-spinner.”

Charles wanted to weep at the death of all the joyful anticipation he’d been experiencing over having a baby with Dominique.

“That’s why I had to speak up, Charles,” Rico said with a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “Not just for you, but for that baby. No child deserves to be brought into this world as a bargaining chip.”

Charles slowly nodded his agreement, although there was a part of him which still wished Rico had stayed silent. Now he’d probably never have a child.

“Get rid of her, Charles. Dump her. Divorce her. She’ll be lucky to get a cent after the family law court sees all the evidence I’ve amassed against her.”

Rico was right in his advice. But Charles knew he wouldn’t do that just yet. Or was the word couldn’t?

His hand went to his pocket to pat the box which lay there and his heart suddenly stopped breaking apart, cemented back to survival mode by an emotion far stronger than his earlier despair. Love turned to hate was an amazingly powerful motivator.

No, he wouldn’t be getting rid of his beautiful new wife just yet. She had to pay for what this necklace had cost him, what she had cost him. His male pride demanded it. His hate insisted upon it.

Charles seethed inside when he thought of what a fool she’d made of him. A silly, blind, arrogant fool. Right from the start, she’d played him like a fiddle. Fleeing last year’s Christmas party had obviously been a ploy, as had appearing reluctant to date him at first, but her spurning his advances after she finally agreed to date him had been her coup de grâce!

He cringed when he thought of how triumphant he’d felt when she’d said yes to his proposal of marriage. But the triumph had been all hers, not his!

How she must have chuckled behind his back when he’d decided not to sleep with her till their wedding night. Her trembling as she’d come to him that night had probably been suppressed laughter. And as for the response she’d showed to his lovemaking…

Well, he’d be having the last laugh. Let’s see how good her faking ability was during the next month.

Because he was going to give himself—and her—one month. One month of vengeance.

His mouth pulled back into the travesty of a smile just thinking about some of things he planned for them. She’d probably even pretend to enjoy herself, like the mercenary manipulator she was.

“You’re not going to divorce her, are you?” Rico said with a degree of stunned surprise in his voice.

Charles abandoned the rest of his second brandy—being drunk was not on tonight’s agenda—then turned to his friend.

“No,” he said, his voice menacingly calm. “Not just yet. But don’t worry. There won’t be any baby.” Dominique wasn’t the only one who could lie, and deceive.

Rico frowned at him. “I don’t know now whether to feel sorry for you, or Dominique.”

“I wouldn’t waste your sympathy on her, if I were you.”

“You won’t do anything stupid, will you, Charles?”

“Stupid?”

“Like strangling her when you’re making love?”

Charles laughed a cold laugh. “Do you honestly think I’d go to jail because of that little tramp? Rest assured my revenge, such as it is, won’t ever take that path, or be allowed to get out of hand.” As he slid off the bar stool he clamped a hand over his friend’s shoulder, partly to support his own leaden legs and partly in a reassuring gesture. “Don’t worry about me, Rico. I’ll survive. What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow? I’m—er—going to the races.”

Charles frowned. “But none of our horses are running, are they? They’re all out on spells till the spring.” Charles and Rico usually only went to the races when they had a runner.

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