Beautiful Stranger (standard:drama, 3744 words)
Author: Hulsey	Added: Aug 03 2003	Views/Reads: 4773/2544	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Multi millionaire Henry Miller is entranced by a beautiful girl, but is she really as good as he seems?

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

“No not at all, and you're right. I am lonely... My name is Rachel.” 

Her voice was husky in a feminine sort of way. “What can I get you to
drink, Rachel?” 

“Oh thank you. I'll have another Margarita please. If you'll excuse me
for a moment. I need to powder my nose.” 

Henry clicked his fingers at the waiter and ordered the Margarita. James
turned to his friend. “Christ, Henry, she's a vision. A lady with 
class.” 

“She is isn't she, James? Look, I wonder if you'd do me a favour?” 

“You want me to go, is that it?” 

“Well, James, you are married.” 

“You're old enough to be her father you old minx you.” 

“Some ladies prefer older men.” 

James grinned wryly. “Three brandies.” 

“What?” 

“Three brandies next time we meet and I'll go.” 

“James, you're one of the richest men in the country and you still
resort to extortion.” 

“That's why I'm rich. Have we a deal?” 

“You're on. Now make yourself scarce.” 

“Good luck. You'll need it.” 

Rachel returned from the ladies room, sat close to Henry and stirred her
cocktail. Where is your friend?” 

“Oh, he had to retire early. He has a business meeting in the morning...
I've never seen you in the Mayfair before.” 

“It's my first time.” 

“Are you here alone?” 

“Yes, are you?” 

“Yes. Tell me, Rachel, what is a beautiful girl like you doing in a
hotel alone?” 

“What do you think? Go on, guess.” 

“Well I could suggest you're a high-class prostitute, but I won't. You
have too much elegance and class for such a woman. My guess would be 
that you were to meet someone and he never turned up. He would of 
course have to be a foolish man to miss such an appointment.” 

“Oh, Henry, you're so sweet... You're wrong on both counts. I'm not
staying at the hotel.” She whispered,  “I sneaked in. I needed a drink 
desperately and this was the nearest watering hole.” 

“I see sadness in your eyes, Rachel.” 

She looked away, her eyes glazed. “I've done a terrible thing, Henry.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“I lost my father a couple of months ago... Recently I've been going
through such a frightful and traumatic  time. My husband left me last 
Christmas and my life is a mess. You see, I ran into financial 
difficulties. All my money was tied up in stocks and shares, and as you 
probably already know, the market crashed. My immediate reaction was to 
sell the house, but then I did something awful. I sold my father's 
painting.” 

“Was that so bad?” quizzed Henry. 

“As you know the market recovered and I should have felt elated, but I
didn't. My father's painting had been in the family for years. I feel 
such guilt and shame.” 

Henry pondered. “How much did you get for the painting?” 

“Five thousand pounds... I've since discovered it's worth a lot more.
The bastard I sold it to, a private dealer, will not consider selling 
it back to me. He's auctioning it at Sotheby's at the weekend.” 

“Will you be bidding for the painting?” 

“I've raised ten thousand pounds, mostly borrowed from friends. I don't
think it'll be enough.” 

“How much exactly is the painting worth?” asked Henry. 

“At least double that. I'll bid in hope that the competition is weak.”
Rachel checked her wristwatch and finished her cocktail. “It's been 
good talking to you Henry. I have to go.” 

“So soon. Look, can I see you again?” 

“I don't think so. You're charming, but I don't want to drag you into my
dismal world.” 

“Nonsense, I'd be honoured if you'd agree to meet me again. Tomorrow
evening perhaps.” 

“Are you sure you want to?” 

“I've never been so sure in my life. Do you need a lift home?” 

Rachel shook her head. “I'll take a cab thanks all the same.” 

“Nonsense, it's pouring down outside. My chauffeur will drop you off.
Where do you live, Rachel?” 

“Belgravia.” 

“Splendid.” 

The limousine moved slowly through the centre of London. Henry had
informed his trusty chauffeur not to drive in such a hurry. 

Rachel gazed ay the kind Samaritan. “Tell me, Henry, what do you do for
a living?” 

“What do I do? Lets just say that I also dabble in stocks and shares, as
well as property.” 

“Where do you live?” 

“I have a mansion in Kensington.” 

“A mansion, really?” 

“Really. It's such a large place for one man.” 

Rachel continued her probing. “You're not married then?” 

“I was, twice.” 

“Turn down here driver,” ordered Rachel. “This house here, thank you.” 

They pulled up outside a large Victorian establishment. Henry gazed at
her home. “I'm impressed Rachel. it would have been a crime to sell 
such a magnificent house.” 

Rachel sighed. “If only you knew how close I was to selling it.” She
leant over and kissed him on the cheek. 

“I'll pick you up at seven 'o'clock this evening. Okay?” 

She nodded and turned away. 

Henry touched his cheek as the driver pulled away. 

All the next day, Henry had butterflies in his stomach. He had never
felt as excited in a long time. His butler assisted him when he 
dressed, tying his bow tie, which he always had difficulties with. 

“You look marvellous Mr Miller.” 

“Thank you, Roger, but you don't have to lie to me. I know what I am.”
He picked up the huge bouquet of flowers and climbed into his 
limousine. She was waiting outside her house as they pulled up close to 
the kerb. Her blue dress matched the colour of her eyes, her hair now 
uncovered was blonde, something he never noticed before. It was 
elegantly tied in a bun, highlighting the natural beauty of her bronzed 
face. He kissed her on the cheek and she climbed in besides him. 

“You look beautiful, Rachel.” 

“Well thank you Henry. You're rather dapper yourself.” Her eyes settled
on the flowers. “Are those for me?” 

“They are, I hope you like them.” 

“Like them? They're beautiful, Henry.” 

“I do hope you're hungry?” 

“Absolutely famished.” 

“Good, I know a quiet restaurant in Knightsbridge.” 

They dined by candlelight, serenaded by a violinist. Rachel had indeed a
hearty appetite. Henry had never seen a woman eat with so much purpose. 
She even had room for her strawberry dessert. 

“That was lovely, Henry.” 

“I like a woman with an appetite.” 

“And I like a man who knows how to treat a lady.” 

“Well I haven't had much practise lately.” 

Rachel looked into his eyes. “I've never enjoyed myself so much as
tonight, Henry. Thank you.” 

“No dear, it should be me who is thanking you.” 

She reached for his hands and their fingers entwined, as the violinist
played for them. They finished off two bottles of the finest champagne. 


Rachel lowered her voice. “Henry, you're the only man I've been with who
hasn't asked me to sleep with him.” 

“I'm sorry. Should I have?” 

Again she kissed him on the cheek. “You're so sweet, Henry, a real
gentleman.” 

“Rachel, I've been thinking about your father's painting. Let me buy it
back for you.” 

“Certainly not. I'll not hear of it.” 

“But I'm a very wealthy man.” 

“I want to hear no more on the subject, Henry.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Positive. I'll buy the painting back myself. You must understand, it's
something I've got to do myself.” 

“Well will you allow me to escort you to Sotheby's?” 

“On one condition. You do not interfere?” 

“It's a deal.” 

Saturday morning and the brisk November wind howled loudly, pushing
against the limousine door as if to deter them from the auction. Henry 
and Rachel were greeted at the door, and he ran a comb through his 
silver thinning hair. The stillness of the auction room was a comfort, 
away from the coldness of the streets of London. Henry's eyes browsed 
through the strange faces, expecting to see a familiar face or two. 

They took their seats towards the rear of the room and leafed through
the programme until they came to page five. The portrait in question 
was of a little boy sitting by a river and fishing. Rachel smiled 
nervously as the time for the lot drew closer. 

“How many of these people are art dealers, Rachel?” 

“I haven't a clue, Henry. I know nothing about art.” 

The auctioneer opened up. “And now we turn to this wonderful painting,
entitled The River. It was painted by an unknown artist, but the 
quality of the work alone warrants it as a piece that would grace any 
collection. The bidding will start at five thousand pounds. Do I hear 
five thousand?” 

Rachel raised her hand, and a tall, dark foreign looking man sitting
close to the front raised his newspaper. 

“Six thousand pounds. Do we hear six thousand five hundred?” 

An elderly woman joined the bidding, much to the disappointment of
Rachel. The bidding had reached nine thousand pounds when Rachel 
increased her bid once more. 

“Nine thousand five hundred from the lady at the back. Do we have any
more bids? Ten thousand to the lady in black... Ten thousand going 
once.” 

Eleven thousand the gentleman at the front... Twelve thousand to the
lady in black.” 

Henry looked across at Rachel to see tears were streaming down her eyes.
Her bidding had ceased. 

“Take me home, Henry please.” 

“Thirteen thousand,” screamed Henry. 

“What are you doing? I told you not to get involved.” 

“This is loose change to me, Rachel. Consider it a gift.” 

“Fourteen thousand, to the gentleman at the front.” 

Henry nodded. 

“Fifteen thousand... Do we have any more bids?” 

The old lady shook her head in dejection. 

The foreigner raised his newspaper. “Sixteen thousand.” 

Henry again nodded his head. 

“Seventeen thousand,” yelled the auctioneer. 

Rachel held Henry‘s hand. “Stop it, Henry. This is absurd.” 

Henry ignored her protest. “Who is the man I'm bidding against? He seems
to want the painting badly?” 

“Eighteen thousand pounds,” enthused the auctioneer. 

Henry nodded. “Nineteen thousand.” 

“Please, Henry, no more. The painting is not worth that much.” 

“He seems to think so.” 

“Twenty thousand. We have twenty thousand pounds from the gentleman at
the front.” 

“Twenty five thousand pounds,” yelled Henry, the crowd mumbling between
themselves, turning to see who the bidder was. 

Rachel again complained. “This is crazy, Henry. If you're trying to
impress me, you're not.” 

“Thirty thousand pounds,” was the cry from the front. 

“Thirty five thousand.” 

“Forty thousand.” 

“I don't believe I'm hearing this, Henry. No more please.” 

By now this was developing into a kind of duel between the two, and
Henry would not be beaten. He had his vast wealth to back him up. 

“Fifty thousand pounds!” he yelled, his face lit up proudly. 

The roars echoed around the room. The foreign looking man turned towards
Henry and shook his head in resignation. 

The auctioneer pointed towards Henry. “Going, going, gone! To the
gentleman at the rear.” 

Henry punched the air in delight. He felt like a gladiator having made
his first kill in the great arena of Rome. He put an arm around Rachel 
and kissed her cheek, surprised when she squirmed away from him. 

“I did it for you, Rachel. Be happy.” 

“And now I'm supposed to be in your debt forever am I.” 

“It's not like that, Rachel. I love you.” 

“Oh, Henry, you hardly know me.” 

The older man was adamant. “I've never felt like this ever before,
Rachel. My heart is beating twice as fast. I feel like a teenager all 
over again... Please, accept my gift.” 

She looked into his eyes and smiled. She reached for him and kissed him
on the lips, the cheers from the spectators echoing around the auction 
room. 

“Come on, Rachel. Lets go and view your painting.” 

It didn't look anything special thought Henry, certainly not fifty
thousand pounds worth. 

“Where do you want the painting delivered to sir?” asked the assistant,
rubbing his hands as Henry wrote out his cheque. 

Henry addressed Rachel. “What is your address?” 

“No, Henry. Your address. Or should I say our address?” 

“You mean...” 

“Yes, I'll move in with you and I'll sell my house. That's if you want
me to of course?” 

“Of course I want you to darling, but you don't have to sell your
house.” 

“Whatever you say.” 

Henry had to admit, the painting was actually growing on him. He
savoured his glass of brandy and stood admiring his purchase that hung 
above his roaring fire. Rachel joined him, drying her blonde locks with 
a towel. She even managed to look elegant in his dressing gown. 

“Isn't it beautiful, Henry?” 

“You're father has wonderful taste, Rachel. Where did he acquire it?” 

“I don't remember. It's been in the family for as long as I can
remember.” Henry was impat ient. “When are you moving your things in, 
Rachel? You've been here almost a week now.” 

“I'll do it first thing in the morning. I must say, Henry, it's true
what they say about older men in the sack.” 

“In the sack?” 

“In bed.” 

“And what do they say, dear?” 

“Well put it this way, I don't think I'll ever leave you for a younger
man.” 

“I should think not.” 

She snuggled up to him. “I've never been so happy in my life Henry. I'm
such a lucky girl.” 

“I'm happy you should feel this way, because there's something I want to
ask you... Will you marry me?” 

“Oh, Henry, do you mean it?” 

“Of course I mean it.” 

“Give me some time to think it over. I do love you, but we know so
little about one another.” 

“I know everything I want to know about you.” 

“When I return tomorrow, you'll have your answer.” 

“Promise?” 

“I promise.” 

It was two' o'clock in the afternoon and Henry waited eagerly for
Rachel's return. He paced up and down the room, redialling her mobile 
telephone number yet again. His impatience got the better of him and he 
ordered his driver to get the limousine ready. Henry peered through the 
limousine window when they parked outside Rachel's house in Belgravia. 

“Wait here, Charles.” 

He pulled his scarf tight around his neck to ward off the coldness,
before rapping on the door loudly. He waited in anticipation for the 
door to open. 

“Yes, can I help you?” 

A bald-headed, middle-aged man faced him. 

“Who are you?” asked Henry. 

“I may ask you the same question.” 

“Where is Rachel?” 

The man appeared bemused. “Rachel?” 

“Yes, Rachel Saunders. She lives here.” 

“I assure you she does not, Sir.” 

“There must be some mistake.” 

“It appears so doesn't it?” 

Henry persisted. “Who lives next door?” 

“A magistrate and a doctor.” 

“You must have seen her, a blonde girl.” 

“I'm afraid not. Now if you'll excuse me.” 

Henry wandered slowly back to the limousine, his shoulders slouched. A
million thoughts flooded through his mind, none of them good. 

“Where to now, Sir?” 

“Wait, Charles, let me think.” 

He sat for five minutes, his head resting in his hands. “To Sotheby's,
Charles.” 

“As you insist, Sir.” 

Henry walked briskly into the auction rooms and demanded to see the
manager. He was shown to an office where he was introduced to a young 
man. 

“Hello, I'm Mr Burton the manager. What can I do for you sir?” “Five
days ago I purchased a painting from here. I would like to know who was 
the original owner of the painting?” 

“I'm sorry, Sir, it is most irregular. We like to keep our clients
confidential.” 

“I purchased the painting for fifty thousand pounds damn it!” 

“Ah yes, The River, I remember now.” 

“Well?” 

“Look, all I can tell you was that it was a pretty looking young woman.”


“Blonde?” 

“No, in fact she had black hair. I'm telling you more than I ought to.
If there have been any irregularities you should contact the police.” 

“No, that won't be necessary.” 

The couple released their seat belts when the jet reached cruising
altitude. The dark man kissed the blonde girl on the lips and ordered 
champagne. 

“Acapulco here we come,” said the man. 

“It was so easy Carlos. The old fool actually thought I fell in love
with him. Can you Adam and Eve it?” 

“You ought to have been an actress, Susan.” 

“You didn't do too bad yourself. I must admit, I was a bit worried when
he paused after you went to forty thousand pounds.” 

“Not as worried as I was. How come you were so sure he'd bid?” 

“Call it woman's intuition. I had him eating out of my hand.” 

Carlos grinned. “That's what I call a profit... If the old geezer in the
antique shop knew how much that old painting went for, he'd have a 
heart attack.” 

“That was one hundred pounds well spent,” laughed the girl." 

“I reckon the money will last us three months and then it should be safe
to return and look for our next millionaire, Susan.” 

Susan grimaced. “To think that ugly bastard thought I  fancied him. I
deserved an Oscar for my performance in the bedroom.  Ah, ah, yes, yes, 
yes, baby!” 

They giggled in unison, only stopping to sip their champagne. 

Three weeks passed and the couple were sunning themselves around the
pool. They were ignorant of the waiter who towered above them. 

“Miss Morgan?” 

Susan cupped her eyes from the sun. “Yes.” 

“There's a long distance phone call for you from London.” 

“There must be a mistake. Nobody knows I'm here.” 

“No mistake. Will you take the call?” 

Carlos had a worried look etched on his face as he shrugged his
shoulders. 

Susan conceded. “Okay, give me a moment.” 

The blonde beauty clad in a blue bikini, attracted admiring glances from
the male sun worshippers. 

She reluctantly picked up the receiver. “Hello, who is it?” 

“Rachel, or is it Carol? Surely you recognise the voice.” 

“How did you find me?” 

“Rachel, I'm a multi-millionaire. It wasn't difficult. I hired the best
private detectives in London.” 

“I'm sorry, Henry. I got cold feet and couldn't go through with the
marriage.” 

“Stop it! You know what this is about... How many more men have you
duped?” 

Susan‘s tone changed. “Get to the point. What do you want? Your money is
almost spent.” 

“Really? I actually wanted to thank you.” 

“What?” 

“Do you think I got where I was today without being clever and
ruthless?” 

“What the fuck are you talking about old man?” 

“I've met many gold diggers in my time. I took advantage of some of
them, then discarded them before they could fleece me.” 

“So you knew all along?” 

“Actually no, I didn't. Let's say I wanted to believe that you loved
me... Before we went to Sotheby's, I had your painting checked out. I 
couldn't help but be inquisitive. I have many friends in the art 
world.” 

“So you knew it was worthless?” 

“On the contrary. It's a missing masterpiece, painted in the eighteenth
century by Gilkes.” 

“Gilkes?” 

“Yes, he was one of the most underestimated artists of his time. It
appears four of his paintings were missing and three of them turned up 
years later. They averaged one million, two hundred thousand pounds 
each. It appears I now have the fourth.” 

“You're lying.” 

“Am I? Oh of course, you can't have read yesterday's tabloids. I knew
how much the painting was worth when I bid for it. Of course, if you 
were genuine, I was going to give you the profits from the painting. By 
the way, Rachel, you were a great screw.” 

He put down the phone and she ran to the poolside. “Can I borrow your
newspaper?” she asked an English couple. She sat besides Carlos, her 
mouth agape. 

“What is it, Susan?” 

The following scream was deafening. 


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