Rejection Runs Deep (The Canleigh Series, book 1: A chilling psychological family drama) by Carole Williams (uplifting novels TXT) 📕

World weary, Delia took to drink.  It had just been one at first but as the days dragged monotonously on, it increased rapidly.  It helped ease the mental anguish and allowed her to sleep for long periods, providing a means of escape from the awful truth that no-one wanted or loved her.

She began to wander around London aimlessly, dropping into hotel bars for a drink, or maybe two or three.  Taken for a prostitute, men tried to pick her up and she was asked to leave the premises on more than one occasion.  Highly amused, Delia allowed a beefy Australian to think she was on the game and after a whirlwind hour in his hotel room, came away with money in her pocket and a revived sexual appetite.  The Australian hadn’t been anywhere near as exciting as the charming and energetic Barrie but she had nothing else to do but drink and fornicate.  So Delia did both … and then met Benny.

Even though Shelley was a workaholic, the two girls renting the flat beneath hers were the opposite.  They liked to party …  regularly.  Shelley was always invited but having been once had no wish to repeat the experience.

“All a bit over the top for me,” she said when the girls popped an invitation for both her and Delia through the door.  “Their guests aren’t quite the sort I want to socialise with.”

“Oh?” asked Delia, vaguely intrigued, taking the decorative card Shelley handed her.

Shelley absentmindedly shuffled some papers from a file on the coffee table.  She had to go through it before work in the morning and was hoping Delia would find something to occupy her.  It was becoming a strain having someone moping around the flat with nothing productive to do.  It had been nice to have company at first, but Delia was beginning to get on her nerves and coming in at all hours, smelling of alcohol, was distinctly not what Shelley had expected.

“A bit … gangsterish … blokes with too much jewellery, flashy white teeth and expensive cars,” she said, wrinkling her nose disdainfully.

“Sounds interesting,” grinned Delia.  “Perhaps I might pop down.”

“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” replied Shelley.

Delia went … and within minutes of entering the flat with booming pop music and flashing lights met Benny.  He walked in directly after her.  She was taking the drink someone offered her when she saw him.  He kissed one of the hostesses on the cheek and looked around.  His eyes met hers and within seconds he was by her side, smiling charmingly.

“Hi, I’m Benny Caruthers … I don’t think we’ve met before,” he grinned.

“Delia Canleigh,” she replied, as they shook hands.  His was large, warm and firm and she liked the feel of it.  She examined him with her eyes.  Shelley was right.  This individual fitted her description of the type of guests who frequented these parties.  He wore an expensive suit, flaunted a solid gold Cartier bracelet and watch and his Gucci shoes were beautifully polished.  He spoke well but his accent revealed East End roots.  His cold blue eyes swept round the room quickly but dismissing the other guests as of no interest he turned his full gaze on her.

Delia stared back, flirting with her eyes and a wry smile on her face.  Even with Shelley’s warning ringing in her ears she liked the look of this man.  His hair was dark, his skin was tanned, and the scent of his heady French cologne made her feel dizzy with desire.  He also possessed an air of danger.

Within minutes, they left the party and were speeding in his Mercedes to his palatial house in Chelsea where they remained for two days, only leaving the bedroom for necessities such as food and drink.

The affair lasted six weeks.  Delia, soon picking up on exactly how Benny was making his living, thought it prudent to bring an end to this adventure before she too was dragged into the seedy world of real prostitution and trafficking hard drugs.  Benny owned a well patronised Soho nightclub which fronted his nefarious dealings and Delia accompanied him there on several occasions during those few weeks.  It looked a smart, exciting place for the young and not so young of London to hang out.  Live bands played nightly with breaks in their performance covered by a tall black man called Jed who rolled out the latest pop chart hits on his discotheque equipment.  Dining tables with white damask linen, gleaming cutlery and sparkling glasses were on the upper floor, overlooking the stage and dancing crowd below.  Scantily clad attractive females, wearing six-inch black stiletto heels and black and white waitress tunics, the skirt lengths leaving little to the imagination, waited on mostly male diners and were often seen disappearing through a door discreetly hidden by a black velvet screen followed shortly after by whoever they had been serving.

On joining Benny in his office and overhearing his conversations with three men who were supposedly dubbed as security, it became blatantly obvious that not only prostitution but also drugs and gambling were high on Benny’s list of priorities which enabled him to enjoy the luxuries of life.  But Benny was a charming and slippery character and kept a few aces up his sleeve.  Delia was sure that at least two men, who were keen to speak to him privately in his office and then drank heavily at the bar without appearing to pay a penny, were police officers who were in his pay.

But as much as she liked Benny’s company and thoroughly enjoyed the stimulating and exciting sexual encounters with him, the night she walked into his office and found him putting a gun into his desk drawer and locking it made her realise she had to make a hasty exit from his life.  She returned to Shelley’s flat, stopped drinking and considered her