Marita: Fashion Can Be a Deadly Affair

By Devlin Wilkinson

MARITA had stars in her eyes when she married into the fashion industry, only to find her new life was a lie. Her philandering husband had tired of her, and the modelling agency had turned against her. And then there was a murder! Who was going to be next? Marita had to escape, but how? Could Lucas, her lover, come to her rescue? Set in Sydney, Australia, this is a story of murder and deceit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Apr 25, 2024
• ISBN: 9781779417619

Devlin Wilkinson

Devlin Wilkinson lives in Perth, Western Australia. Born in the UK, his first words were Arabic when he was a toddler in Sudan. He ran away from infant school in Sheffield, learned how to sing Welsh in Swansea, discovered a love of the theatre in Brisbane, played rugby in Sydney and kicked many a soccer ball through Scotland and England before running away from school again in Australia. Surviving a nomadic life, Devlin developed a love of reading, particularly thriller murder mysteries. Marita is his first book in this genre.

Book preview

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Change your life today. Don’t gamble on the future, act now, without delay.

Simone de Beauvoir

Prologue

She stepped into the dim light of her ensuite and put the glass next to the sink. She started to tremble, relieved to be out of his view. She tried to calm down and told herself she was overreacting. Behind her, she could see the bed lamp glowing in the humid late-night air. Some light flickered against the ensuite walls as she stood at her vanity. In the mirror, her dark eyes stared back at her, hollowed by the shadows of her face, the wavering lights creating impressions of wrinkled skin. She shuddered. Is this my future? She didn’t want to grow old. She had a sudden feeling of déjà vu, but she hadn’t been here before, had she?

She turned and flicked on the ensuite light. So bright! Shielding her eyes from the initial glare, she blinked a few times as her eyes adjusted to the light. Her hair was tangled, so she picked up her brush. Carefully, she brushed away at the knots. And then she heard something. What was it? A thump?

She resumed brushing her hair, getting out the knots. There’s that sound again. She stopped midway through brushing her hair and glanced around. Nothing. She returned to brushing her hair. The sound again, louder this time. She dropped the brush. What was that sound? Every muscle in her body tensed.

Then, her breath caught in her throat. In the mirror, a masked face had appeared behind her.

Her eyes widened. She started to turn towards the face.

‘You . . .’ she managed to say, as a cord was wrapped around her neck.

Her hands scrambled for the cord, trying to loosen it. The cord was tight. She grappled for air, struggled and kicked. A vase crashed to the floor, her flailing arms grasping across the vanity for something to hold. Her face started to turn red.

The cable grew tighter around her throat. Terrified, her brain was exploding! Her wide-open mouth could emit no sound.

She knew then she was going to die.

1

‘This little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed home. This little piggy had roast beef; this little piggy had none. But this little piggy went wee, wee, wee, all the way home . . .’

A howl rattled through the bakery racks, followed by the crack of a bone as his little finger was snapped back.

Robert smiled. He let go of the man’s hand. It dropped as if it were a dead weight; the abruptness of the action surprised him. He sat back, reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out a slender cigarette. With a practiced flick, he brought a lighter to life, its flame briefly illuminating his features. He took a moment to light the cigarette, the glow at its tip casting a warm, amber hue on his face and a faint shadow across the scar on his cheek. He waited.

‘I’ll have it . . . tomorrow,’ Frank groaned through clenched teeth.

‘Oh, yeah?’ Roberto said. He leant forward, holding his burning cigarette close to the baker’s time-worn face. ‘Tomorrow isn’t soon enough.’

Frank squirmed in his chair and tried to turn his head away from the heat of the burning ember and the menacing smell of nicotine, bad odour and urine.

‘Okay, I’ll give you some time to think this through,’ Roberto said as he relaxed back into his chair.

Frank’s head dropped.

Roberto studied the baker as he waited for an answer. Early fifties, maybe, but he still had his coal-black hair. Big nose, too.

‘I can’t . . . tomorrow, please . . .’

Roberto looked at his watch, unruly locks of his long, brown hair dangling around his face. ‘It’s nearly tomorrow now, so okay, why not? I’m a kind man at heart. But I’ll be around in a few hours, so make sure you have it.’ Roberto blew a cloud of smoke into the baker’s face before getting up to leave. Halfway to the door, he paused and turned his head. ‘And don’t think of doing anything you might regret. There’s a big bad wolf out there.’ He rubbed his stubbly chin. ‘I mean, you wouldn’t want one of your beautiful daughters to be lost in the woods now, would you?’

Roberto’s laughter became a barking cough as he walked out and slammed the door.

Frank couldn’t stop trembling.

~~~

Outside in the street, Detective Sergeant Sue Le’s car engine idled as she watched Roberto stop under a streetlight and toss his cigarette butt into the gutter before he climbed into his Porsche. As he drove away, the detective followed carefully and at a distance, her car lights off.

It was already very late, and this had been his third stop for the night. Sue Le found it reasonably easy to follow on the main streets around Kings Cross without being observed. The side streets were much harder. Turning the corner, she saw Roberto’s car turn up ahead. She mustn’t lose him this time. And then she heard a distant rumble. Her body tensed. And then there was a louder rumble.

‘No, no. Not again. Not now,’ Sue Le said.

She tried to calm herself as she kept the Porsche in view. ‘Breath in slowly. In 2, 3, 4, hold 2, 3, 4 . . .’

Suddenly, a huge tidal wave rose up in front of her car! Higher and higher it rose. It was going to break and wash her car away!

Sue Le swung to the side, only to see another massive wave come at her car broadside! And then another! And another. All around her battered car, fierce waters were shooting spray all around her car windows.

Sue Le gripped her steering wheel. But her car continued rolling in the huge swell. It was going to capsize. Sue was going to be trapped in her vehicle. She was going to drown!

‘This is not real,’ she shouted. ‘Go away.’

Sue Le pulled over and stopped the car. She closed her eyes and slowly the car started to stop rocking as the angry waters subsided.

Sue Le’s opened her eyes, took a deep breath, and saw a normal Sydney street, no water. She felt her shoulders slump. A tear rolled down her cheek. She had lost him again.

2

Michael rolled onto his back, breathing in deeply.

Marita turned onto her side, feeling disgruntled. I’ve done my duty. She closed her eyes, drifting off to sleep.

‘I love you, honey,’ Michael said, wrapping his arm around her.

Marita’s hazel eyes snapped open as if triggered like a mousetrap. She tilted her head and flicked her dark hair. ‘I love you, too, Michael,’ she lied. Marita took a slow, deep breath and then gently removed his arm. ‘Now, good night, my love. I need to be up early tomorrow.’

‘I’m up already,’ he whispered, pressing his body against hers.

‘Goodnight, mi amor,’ Marita said and rolled over onto her other side.

Michael sank into his pillow.

Marita closed her eyes and tried to relax. Lucas! How she needed him now. Maybe she’d ring him tomorrow. If only she could.

~~~

Early the next morning, Marita slid quietly out of bed. Apart from Michael’s heavy breathing, all was quiet in their two-story townhouse in Surry Hills. She should feel lucky to live in a place like this, but Marita didn’t feel that way. Outside, she could hear the traffic building up as the frenetic rush to work started to slow to an overcrowded crawl. Another siren sounded, one of many amid the blaring of car horns escalating into the day.

As Marita dressed, she wondered how on earth she’d ended up in this marriage. She was nearly thirty now. It was well into a new century, 2012, an exciting time, and maybe it could be for Marita, too. Where could she have been if she hadn’t been so naive and foolish in her youth?

Marita’s shoulders dropped as she recalled how fanciful, almost farcical, her dreams of a glamorous career had been. Exotic? Ha! What a joke. Lights, camera, action!

‘You’ve got stars in your eyes,’ her Mamá had said. ‘The fashion world will not be all glitter and glamour. Find work that is good and wholesome.’

Marita loved her Spanish mother, who was now a widow and always dressed in black. But had Marita listened to her when she was in her late teens? No, she hadn’t. And later, in her early twenties, when she had told her mother about her engagement to her new boss, the ‘Mr Romano’ of Inter-Romano’s, her mother nearly disowned her—she couldn’t stand the sight of the man. ‘Don Juan,’ Marita had heard Mamá hiss under her breath.

Marita shuddered and brushed back her wavy dark hair. Even with the ensuite door closed, she could hear Michael’s snoring from the bedroom. What was a girl to do? She took a sharp breath as she recalled how her modelling career became a disaster. Nearly the whole agency seemed to turn against her. A fashion house bearing the surname of the man she married, Romano’s. Was it jealousy or spite? Or had Michael orchestrated the whole ordeal? Marita didn’t know, but she recalled how her life became unbearable. She had to find a way out.

When she had finally managed to summon up the courage to front up to Michael to tell him she wanted to quit modelling, he had laughed at her. He couldn’t have cared less. Marita’s sense of worth completely disappeared at that point. Her dreams had been shattered and her marriage wasn’t anything like she thought it should be.

But now Marita was discovering a new career and finding a new lease on life. Marita didn’t know how she’d done it, but she had secretly completed a two-month nursing assistant training program and had successfully applied for a part-time position. ‘Well done, a mi!’ she whispered to her reflection. Working as an aide at Sydney Children’s Hospital was a commendable occupation.

Marita stood tall, her shoulders back. She was a career woman now. And her mother was proud of her. ‘At last,’ her mother had said. ‘Marita, you are bringing back some honour to the family name.’ Her father would have been proud of her, too, if he were still alive. Papá—how she missed him.

As Marita dusted bronzer on her high cheekbones, her spirits started to lift. She had discovered she loved working with children. What a revelation that was.

Full of life? Marita paused with her red lipstick in front of her. Nursing was a bittersweet occupation. Marita’s heart ached for the sick children battling illnesses and injuries. It amazed her how often they seemed to accept their condition and could remain so positive—chirpy, even. Who would want children, really? There were so many terrible things that could happen to them. But then Marita thought about motherhood. Secretly, she really wanted a large family, but not with the man she had married. If only she had met Lucas before Michael, her life would have been so much happier. Lucas had told her how much he would love to be a father, whereas Michael had said his career was far more important than putting up with grotty bambini.

Marita quietly walked out of the bathroom, back through the bedroom, and glanced at Michael, still snoring away, before stepping down to the kitchen and leaving for work.

~~~

After a shave and a long, hot shower, Michael popped on his black silk shirt, put on his favourite tailored suit, and slipped on his suede shoes. He admired himself in the ensuite mirror as he combed his short, greying hair. He refused to resort to using hair colour, preferring the more mature, executive look.

Not bad, he thought, breathing deeply and pulling in his tummy. At thirty-six, he still tried to keep a well-toned body, but he was losing the battle against a paunch slowly ballooning beneath his shirt, pushing the buttons to the limit of their endurance.

Michael had also discovered it was taking him a little longer to recover from his heavy drinking bouts. He smiled. That was partly why he was looking a little rough this morning. ‘Problema . . . no,’ he declared as he splashed on some woody aftershave and made his way down into the kitchen.

Marita had left some bread in the toaster, a bowl of cereal on the table, and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice on the table. Even the coffee machine was ready to brew. She did this every workday morning when she was on an early shift.

‘Perfetto,’ Michael muttered. He took the bread and cereal and dumped them in the bin before tipping the orange juice down the sink. He pressed the start button on the coffee machine and then walked out of the house.

And he did this every weekday morning once Marita had gone to work.

3

Before reaching the first red traffic light, Michael had flicked the switch to open the Jag’s sunroof. At the second stop, he called his secretary on his mobile to tell her that he was on his way in. After hanging up, he blew her a kiss as he imagined her quickly tidying up her desk before rushing down the road to the local cafe. Michael grinned as he recalled the time he’d had her over that very desk. What a memory! The phone had started ringing in the middle of the act, and he’d made Angie answer it. A task she completed with a fair degree of dexterity as Michael thrust into her. At one point, she groaned and then apologised into the phone, her strained voice explaining she had just sat down on something hard. Michael laughed out loud as he drove along in the heavy traffic. God, Angie was fun, the best arse in the business. That was an experience worth savouring.

‘Who was that?’ he had asked while zipping up his pants.

Angie put a hand to her short, dark hair when she answered, ‘Your wife.’

‘What did she want?’

‘Can you pick up some milk on the way home, mi amor.’

Keeping one hand on the wheel, Michael guffawed as he touched himself, but his smile faded as he turned into Darlinghurst Road—God, how needy Angie had become.

Angie Campbell had wanted full-time work to afford a carer to look after her bedridden mother. She also wanted Michael. She had begged him to marry her, but as far as Michael was concerned, that was not going to happen. And now, Angie had become just another whining female.

Why do women do that? Why do they always become so totally unsexy? Just like that! She’s damn good at her job, though. Jeez, I would love to be rid of her. But Michael knew better than to put his lust (or lack thereof) ahead of his business.

Angie was very smart and quickly learned to be agile with her keyboard and computer skills. But her real strength was her people skills; she was warm and diplomatic when answering the phone and excelled at welcoming customers and important visitors with her friendly demeanour. She had rapidly become indispensable to the business operation—a highly successful fashion retail and model training agency called Inter-Romano’s Fashion House situated on Bayswater Road, Kings Cross.

When Michael Romano arrived at his desk, he found his usual cappuccino and freshly baked croissants waiting for him. The coffee was sickly sweet, with two sugars and double-chocolate toppings, just as he liked it. Yes, she was good at her job!

~~~

Suitably refreshed, Michael wandered down to the showpiece salon and, as was his habit, paused to admire the long catwalk surrounded by highly polished round tables. Even the bar featured highly polished wood with brass fittings. It was all class; the best money could buy. But it wasn’t just the room he was admiring.

There was to be a show tonight, and the trainee models were in the middle of a rehearsal walk-through. Young women in various sleepwear apparel and lingerie strutted up and down the catwalk, appearing and disappearing behind a black curtain disguising the chaos of the change rooms. The procession was conducted like some strange form of robotic dress-up, fully automated on a conveyor belt.

Michael could hear voices above the change room noise. ‘Hurry up. Change into this. Walk this way.’

The chatter echoed around the salon as the girls were ordered on and off the parade during the last-minute directions being given by their stage manager.

Tonight, they would be showcasing products from Barettie Lady, Geniesse Body and Laces’n’Lovers. Mainly, women frequented the shows and were excellent for promoting sales; however, the online shop—tutticutie.com—brought in the real money. And in direct contrast to the shows, the online shop was a site patronised mainly by men.

Michael glanced over at the bar, where he noticed his photographer, Lucas, sitting on a bar stool and adjusting his camera settings. Behind the bar, he saw his general manager and half-brother, Danny, changing some bottles on the glass shelving. Michael waltzed over to them.

Lucas sensed Michael’s presence but focused on his camera’s settings. However, Michael had focused on Danny.

‘Are you serving yourself, or can anyone join in?’

Danny turned abruptly. ‘No. Just checking stock.’

‘Don’t bullshit me,’ Michael said as he leant over the bar and sniffed. ‘I can smell you from here.’

Danny shrugged but didn’t answer.

‘How’s the trigger finger? Shoot anyone recently?’ Michael said to Lucas.

Lucas looked up from his Nikon camera. Tall, lean, and olive-skinned, he loved photography but couldn’t stand his boss—Lucas had only come to work here as a stepping stone to more prestigious work. He hoped one day his work would feature in glamour magazines like Vogue rather than in mediocre shop catalogues like Inter-Romano’s Lingerie or the more dubious online store site tutticutie.com.

Michael insisted his online business was about high-quality fashion and not voyeurism or sex, but Lucas thought otherwise.

‘I have some new product from Les Scanties,’ Michael continued. ‘I need some shots for promos online by tonight. Can you manage that today, Lucas?’

‘Sure. No probs.’

A mobile buzzed on the bar mat. Marita appeared on the phone’s display. Lucas tightened his grip on his camera and didn’t move.

‘Is that my wife calling your phone, Lucas?’

Lucas could feel the heat of Michael’s eyes glaring at him. ‘Yes, that’s strange.’

‘Answer it!’

Lucas tried to pick up his phone casually and then accepted Marita’s call. ‘Hello, Lucas Durante here.’

‘Lucas, it’s me.’

‘Oh, hello, Mrs Romano. How are you today?’

‘Mrs Romano? Why are you talking to me like that?’

Lucas could feel Michael take a step towards him. ‘Good. I am well, too. Now, about those old photos you want . . .’

‘What the hell? I don’t want any photos.’

‘Yes, I know they’re a surprise for your husband, but I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to look at any yet. I’ll have a look later today or tomorrow. Perhaps call me back later this week. Will that be okay?’

‘Is Michael there?’

‘Yes. Thank you, Mrs Romano. Goodbye,’ Lucas ended the call.

Michael stood very close to Lucas. ‘And what the hell was that all about?’

Lucas’s hesitation lasted a moment too long before he said, ‘Supposed be a secret—a framed photo. It was going to be a surprise present for you. Marita wants to give you something special. You know how women are. Maybe you can pretend you don’t know anything about it when you get it, Mr Romano.’

Michael raised his arm just as some bottles rattled behind the bar. Michael and Lucas turned their heads towards the direction of the sound. It was Danny adjusting the top shelf. Michael grinned. He patted Lucas on the shoulder and said, ‘My wife in a frame; that sounds fitting. Okay, good idea, Lucas. I’ll do just that. I don’t know a thing.’

‘Great,’ Lucas replied.

Michael turned back to Danny. ‘Poor me a shot, Danny; I’m in need of a heart starter.’

Lucas picked up his camera and phone and walked to the back dressing rooms. Once out of Michael’s sight, Lucas slumped against a wall and slowly breathed out