Intimate Strangers

by Susan Lewis

  ‘Yes?’ Sherry prompted.

  Andraya smiled.

  ‘What kind of surprise?’ Sherry persisted.

  ‘Why, the kind only a woman can give a man, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ Sherry agreed. Her eyes flicked to Rachel. If Rachel knew, she wasn’t letting on. Nor, it seemed, was Laurie, but at least she seemed to be enjoying the moment.

  Andraya continued. ‘You must also discover the way of making him feel as though he has captured the only woman in the world that every other man wants.’

  Sherry’s expression turned comical. ‘Forgive me for saying,’ she responded, ‘but looking like you it wouldn’t be hard to make a man feel as though he had something every other man wanted, because basically he would have. So I think we have to take another tack here. Maybe you can tell us about the most difficult man you ever found to seduce, and how you eventually managed it?’

  Laurie stifled a laugh. Only Sherry could be this blunt and not cause offence.

  Andraya’s eyes were alive with humour.

  Sherry waited – and waited. Then it dawned. ‘Of course, you’ve never found it difficult, have you?’ she said. ‘Silly me.’

  ‘Oh but I have,’ Andraya assured her.

  ‘Then how did you finally get him?’

  ‘You’re assuming I finally did.’

  ‘If a man has ever resisted you, then I’m going to feel a lot better about myself,’ Sherry told her frankly.

  Both Rachel and Laurie burst out laughing.

  ‘Have you ever been married?’ Rachel asked her, topping up their wine.

  ‘Twice,’ Andraya answered. ‘My first husband I loved very much. Very, very much.’

  ‘So what happened?’ Sherry wanted to know.

  Andraya’s golden eyes were mournful. ‘I met the man who was to become my second husband,’ she sighed, tragically.

  Laurie choked on her drink.

  ‘So what happened to the second?’ Rachel said, patting Laurie’s back.

  ‘He died,’ Andraya answered.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Rachel said, instantly sobered.

  ‘On stage, in a Rio nightclub,’ Andraya added.

  Everyone looked confused. ‘You mean he was an actor whose show didn’t go well?’ Sherry said.

  ‘No. I mean he was shot. He was on stage at the time, singing with a friend of ours who is very good musician.’

  To the others’ relief their food arrived at that moment, for not one of them could think of a suitable response. They’d just got settled and ordered another bottle of wine when Sherry’s mobile started to ring. Reading the incoming number she knew she should let it go through to the voicemail, but something compelled her to take it.

  ‘Aunt Jude, how are you?’ she said, feeling as though a cloud had passed over the sun.

  ‘I’m well, dear. How are you?’

  ‘Great. I’m having lunch with some friends, next to the river. Is it a lovely day with you too?’

  ‘Yes, it is. I just wanted to call to see how you are.’

  Anxious about where this might go, Sherry excused herself and got up from the table. ‘I’m fine, really,’ she told her aunt, starting down to the river wall.

  ‘I’m glad. I was a little worried after our last conversation.’

  Of course, Sherry had known she would be, which was why she should have called back by now, but she’d been busy and she just wanted to forget the issues her aunt kept raising. It wasn’t fair to be so selfish, though, so bracing herself, she forced the question her aunt wanted to hear. ‘Has there been any more news?’

  ‘I received a letter from Bluebell this morning …’

  ‘I don’t want it. Please don’t send it.’

  ‘It was for me, dear.’

  ‘I don’t want to know what it said.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Positive.’ She took a breath. This was hurting her aunt and she knew it, but nowhere near as much as it was hurting her. ‘Look, if the suicide attempt failed,’ she said, sounding both angry and conciliatory, ‘and she still won’t tell the truth, there’s really nothing else to discuss, is there?’

  ‘She did tell the truth, Sherry. At the time …’

  ‘No! You don’t know what happened, you weren’t there.’ It was as though her heart was trying to explode from her chest. The world around her had started to swim, as the confusion became too intense to contain. She couldn’t deal with this now. She never could again. It was over. Her parents were dead. She would never see them again, so why couldn’t it all go away?

  ‘Sherry?’

  Sherry stared blindly across the river to where the sun was glinting off the houses on the facing bank. It was as though she had been sucked into another world, where everything looked the same, but was in some strange, Dantean way entirely different.

  ‘Why don’t you come down for the weekend?’ Aunt Jude said. ‘We can talk. I’ll show you the letter …’

  ‘I can’t. Not this weekend,’ Sherry answered. She turned and looked back at her friends sitting round the table. Andraya was in Rhona’s place, but it didn’t matter. Rhona would be back, and Andraya was welcome. This was Sherry’s life now, with the people she cared about and who cared about her. What Aunt Jude was trying to discuss had nothing to do with them, and nothing to do with her now either.

  ‘I’ll let you get back to your lunch,’ Aunt Jude said, a note of resignation in her voice. ‘You know where I am if you need me.’

  As she rang off Sherry tilted her head down, counted to five, then brought it up with a smile.

  ‘Andraya’s about to tell us how the private showing went yesterday,’ Rachel told her as she rejoined them.

  Andraya’s laugh was infectious. ‘It is supposed to be a secret,’ she reminded Rachel.

  Rachel’s smile dropped. Dear God, she hadn’t realized it was Elliot they were talking about. ‘Then maybe it should stay that way,’ she said quickly.

  ‘No, I think we can share with friends,’ Andraya said, picking up her glass.

  Rachel glared her a warning.

  Andraya only smiled. ‘Eduardo Olivieri is our secret buyer,’ she announced. ‘He has purchased already two of my best works to add to his private collection. He has also invited me to his home in Tuscany to help him decide where they should hang – once the show is over, of course.’

  Rachel breathed again.

  ‘I find Señor Olivieri to be a very wonderful man,’ Andraya continued. ‘He has the most refined tastes, as most Italians do. We talked for many hours on subjects that interest us both. I believe we found much pleasure in each other. Yes, I think I will enjoy my time at his Tuscan home.’

  Not wanting to be the one to ask if his refined Italian wife was going to be there too, Sherry listened to the rhapsody a while longer, then turning to Laurie she whispered, ‘I’m meeting someone with a fashion shop over in Spitalfields later. She’s going to turn me into a buyer. Do you want to come?’

  Realizing she was being offered a distraction from more turmoil over Elliot, Laurie smiled her gratitude. ‘Thanks, but I should go home. Running away from this isn’t going to get it sorted.’

  ‘There’ll be an explanation,’ Sherry assured her.

  ‘Of course, but will it be one I want to hear?’

  Andraya suddenly said, ‘Laurie, I want you to be my guest of honour at the show next week.’

  Laurie blinked, then looked at Rachel.

  ‘Yes. That is settled,’ Andraya declared. ‘Rachel, we must make certain not to forget. Laurie is to be my guest of honour.’

  Laurie almost laughed, for Rachel’s expression showed just how delighted she was with her new role of personal assistant. ‘Does something special happen for guests of honour?’ she wanted to know.

  Andraya frowned. ‘I am not sure,’ she confessed, ‘but we will think of something, no?’

  ‘A free painting,’ Sherry suggested.

  Andraya didn’t seem averse. ‘Maybe. As a wedding gift,�
� she said. ‘We shall see,’ and with her eyes still on Laurie, she picked up her glass and drank.

  Stan Bright, the burly, broken-nosed private detective, was already waiting when Laurie joined him at the Blind Beggar that night. To her surprise, just setting eyes on him caused a surge of affection to rise up in her, for knowing this big, gruff ruffian of a man was in the world somehow made it seem a safer place.

  ‘I got you a white wine, is that all right?’ he said in his gravelly cockney voice as she sat down.

  ‘Perfect,’ she assured him. ‘So how are you?’

  ‘I’m all right. Elliot not with you?’

  She shook her head and sipped her wine. ‘He’ll be here in about half an hour, to pick me up,’ she answered, already feeling nervous about it, for she hadn’t seen him since she’d stormed out before lunch. They’d merely spoken on the phone, when he’d called to let her know he’d be at his office if she needed him, otherwise he’d see her later, as arranged.

  Stan put his pint down, and folded his big arms across his chest. ‘So how you been keeping, girl? I hear you’s getting married.’

  She nodded and smiled.

  ‘Got yourself a good bloke in Elliot,’ he told her. ‘One of the best.’

  ‘That’s what he says about you.’

  He grinned, showing his East End dentistry, which consisted of several more gaps than teeth.

  ‘So how’s business?’ she said.

  ‘Comme ci, comme ça,’ he replied in a terrible French accent. ‘What about you? What’s all this about Eddie Cribbs?’

  ‘Do you know him?’ she asked.

  ‘Not personally. Know a bit about him though. Got to take some of it with a pinch of salt, but whichever way you angle that bloke, ain’t no way he’s ever going to be up for no sainthood.’

  ‘Tell me more.’

  As he mulled it over, he downed half his pint, then wiped the back of one huge hand across his mouth. ‘It’s all different now,’ he said. ‘Computers is what changed it. And drugs.’ He sniffed. ‘Weren’t like it in my day. Bit of Mary-Jane, or LSD, never did no-one much harm, but the stuff they got going round now …’ He shook his head. ‘They say Cribbs is into it all. Smack. Crack. Jacks no-one never heard of before.’ His sunken eyes suddenly narrowed. ‘I hope that’s not what this is about. You want to pull him for drugs, then you might just as well go down the Co-op and pick out your coffin now.’

  ‘No, it’s not about drugs,’ she responded. ‘It’s about illegal immigrants.’

  He jutted his bottom lip out as he thought. ‘Got some boobies working for him, has he?’ he said. ‘Can’t say I’m surprised.’

  ‘We think they’re probably all women, and he’s using them for prostitution.’

  He nodded. ‘Suits his MO.’

  ‘He could even be involved in the actual trafficking,’ she said carefully. ‘We don’t know for sure.’

  Immediately his face darkened. ‘Now that’s an area you definitely don’t want to get into,’ he warned.

  ‘We want to find these women,’ she said. ‘The traffickers we’ll leave to the police.’

  ‘Might not be as easy as that.’

  ‘I know, but we still want to find them. We think he’s got them holed up somewhere, maybe in a hidden workshop, some derelict council block or warehouse … They could be anywhere, but they’re definitely here, in the East End.’

  ‘And that’s where I come in? You want me to see what I can find out?’

  She nodded. ‘So far, all we know is that a young Indian girl was taken to a doctor to have some internal injuries treated, and the address given was Cribbs’s workshop on New Road. We’ve spoken to a couple of the workers there and no-one knows anything about her.’

  He sniffed and drank more beer.

  ‘We’re afraid she might be dead,’ she added.

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  She explained about the call Barry had received after her brief meeting with Daya, when he’d been told no-one would ever see Daya again.

  ‘Mm,’ Stan grunted. ‘Don’t sound too clever, do it?’

  ‘He’s almost certainly using them for prostitution.’

  He grimaced and scratched his jaw. ‘Geezer’s got strip clubs full of pros what know their stuff,’ he said, ‘so why would he be needing a bunch of boobies who know nothing? Probably can’t even speak the lingo.’

  ‘If they’re illegal, he can use them for anything,’ she pointed out. ‘I mean, anything.’ She paused to let it sink in. ‘It’s possible he’s got children there too,’ she added.

  Disgust immediately registered in his watery eyes. ‘Gives me the right hump, that sort of thing,’ he grumbled. ‘If I found out it was true, I’d kill the bastard meself.’

  She took out her notebook. ‘Here’s the registration number of his Jag,’ she said, tearing out a page. ‘It’s dark blue, apparently. I know he’s probably got more than one car, but it’s a start.’

  ‘What am I supposed to do with that?’ he said, confused.

  ‘Follow him?’

  He chuckled. ‘Following the likes of Eddie Cribbs round in his Jag ain’t going to get you nowhere but Harrods Food Hall or Royal Ascot on Ladies Day,’ he told her. ‘He has people working for him who handle all the dirty stuff. Take it from me, if he does have a bunch of women holed up somewhere, you won’t catch him anywhere near it. The only place you’ll find him is in his fancy offices over there in Canary Wharf, twiddling about with his computers and running the world.’

  ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘You leave it to me, that’s what you do. And make bloody sure he don’t get wind of what you’re up to, cos whether or not any of this is true, he’s not going to be a happy bunny having his business poked into.’ He nodded towards the door. ‘Here’s the bridegroom just come in.’

  Laurie’s heart turned over as she looked round to see Elliot winding his way through the bar towards them. It had been a long time since she’d reacted that way to seeing him, and she could only wish it wasn’t happening now.

  When he reached their table he made to kiss her on the mouth, but she turned her cheek. Maybe he could carry on as though he hadn’t vanished for an entire night without explanation, but she couldn’t.

  ‘Stan,’ he said, shaking the big man’s hand. ‘Gorgeous as ever, I see.’

  ‘I do me best. How are you, son? Back from the dead, I hear.’

  Elliot grinned. ‘That was a while ago.’

  ‘Well, it’s been a while since I saw you. What you having?’

  ‘I’ll get …’

  ‘My shout. What you having?’

  ‘Half of bitter.’

  As Stan went off to the bar Elliot pulled up another chair and sat down next to Laurie. ‘So, is he on board?’ he asked.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Good. It’d be tough to pull off something like this without him.’

  She nodded and drank the last of her drink. ‘So how were things at the office?’ she asked, trying not to sound uptight.

  ‘Pretty normal. Murray thinks the headaches I’ve been getting are due to pre-wedding nerves.’

  The idea seemed so preposterous for someone like him that she couldn’t help but laugh. Just as funny was the image of Murray, his office manager, fussing around like an old hen. ‘Did he have any suggestions how to deal with them?’ she asked.

  ‘He said I should be kind to myself.’

  Despite herself, she laughed again. ‘So how are you getting on, being kind to yourself?’

  His eyebrows went up. ‘I don’t quite have the hang of it yet, I was hoping you could help.’

  Immediately her humour vanished. ‘If this is your way of trying to make me forget about last night, it’s not going to work,’ she snapped.

  They didn’t speak again, merely sat in awkward silence until Stan returned with the drinks, when they carried on talking about Cribbs and the illegal immigrants. Fortunately she managed to remain professional enough, in front of Stan,
to listen to Elliot’s input and was even able to speak to him civilly, until finally it came time to leave.

  ‘You only have to tell me where you were,’ she said tightly, as he drove them back along Whitechapel Road. ‘I don’t see what the problem is, unless you’ve got something to hide.’

  ‘I told you. I needed some time to think.’

  ‘About what? I mean, if you’re having second thoughts …’

  Sighing, he indicated to go left, then turned on to the Tower Bridge Approach.

  ‘I might find it a bit easier if you’d tell me where you actually spent the night,’ she said, through her teeth.

  ‘OK. I was at the Chelsea Hotel.’

  She turned to him, amazed that he’d actually answered, when earlier he’d refused to. ‘Who with?’ she suddenly demanded.

  There was a moment’s silence as shock registered with them both, for though she’d never actually suspected him of being unfaithful, and wasn’t even sure she did now, the question had come blurting out from somewhere, and to her horror, it was being met with silence.

  She waited, so fragile and so still she might shatter into pieces. Oh my God, she was thinking. This couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be happening.

  ‘I was alone,’ he said finally.

  Relief almost made her choke, but it was short-lived, for now the suspicion had taken root … ‘Then who did you meet there?’ she said tartly.

  ‘No-one.’

  ‘Why should I believe you? How do I know you were even there?’

  ‘Call the hotel. The reservation was in my name.’

  ‘Which means nothing. You could have done that to throw me off the scent and stayed somewhere else entirely.’ She wasn’t sure why she was doing this, but the words just kept coming.

  ‘I could, but I didn’t,’ he said.

  ‘Are you seeing someone else?’ she demanded, her eyes bright with fear, her voice sounding shrill.

  His tone was incredulous. ‘Of course not. For God’s sake, Laurie, do you seriously think I’d do that to you?’

  ‘I don’t know. I never imagined you’d disappear for a night then refuse to tell me where you were.’