by Jessie Keane
‘I was just telling Jen and Thelma about it. It was so wonderful. We had one of the suites overlooking the Thames. The view was stunning. I met Joe Louis.’
‘Who’s Joe Louis?’
‘The boxer, silly. And I was introduced to Lord and Lady Astor. And I met Harold Macmillan. And Tony Bennett the singer, he was lovely. William was very attentive. It was fabulous.’
Annie didn’t doubt that William had been attentive. William was Sir William Farquarson. Unfortunately his wife, Lady Fenella, was horse-faced and not keen on sex. Fortunately, she was often at their country house with her dogs, which left Billy free to entertain more glamorous companions up in town whenever he chose.
‘What’s he like then, Sir William?’ asked Thelma, who was sleek and red-haired with a haughty manner that certain men found appealing.
‘In bed?’ Mira wrinkled her exquisite nose. ‘He likes kinky boots. Nothing else. You have to be naked. No suspenders, no bra, no pants. Just the high-heeled boots – with dress spurs.’
‘What, during sex?’ laughed Jennifer, an elegant toffee-brown girl with an open, approachable demeanour.
‘Oh God yes,’ said Mira. ‘First he likes to be ridden around the bedroom on all fours, then when he gets down to it he likes you to dig the spurs into his back so that he yelps with pain.’
‘Men are very strange,’ sighed Jennifer. ‘My bank manager likes me to wear five bras and do a strip for him. He likes to shout out: “First bra off!” and so on, until I remove the last one. Then he tosses himself off. Pretty odd, wouldn’t you say?’
‘I can go one better,’ said Thelma. ‘One of my older clients doesn’t want sex, he just wants to lick me all over. And he has to take his teeth out first or they rattle all over the place. I tell you, I was getting serious bite marks. So I told him. No teeth out, no licky. So he takes them out. Last time he was here he got so overexcited he picked up his hankie from the side table and flushed it down the toilet with his dentures wrapped inside. Good job he’s widowed. How the hell would you explain that to your wife, I wonder?’
Annie smiled. ‘Thank God men are weird, or we’d all be out of work. Come on, girls. Ten minutes to party time.’
Annie was pleased with her little operation now. It had taken a while, but with Redmond’s cash input and some lively suggestions from her Limehouse colleagues she had come up with a very comprehensive programme of fun for her clients.
A seventy-five-pound charge on the door ensured that every client was entitled to as much food and drink as he liked, a floor show from the lady of his choice, a sexy film from a small selection, plenty of fine music and laughter and cigars, the day’s best papers to read, and – of course – as many fucks as he felt able to accomplish. Ten or none, it didn’t matter. So long as he went away happy and came back in a hurry.
It seemed to work well. She had a barman called Joshua – a Delaney man through and through – who was as smooth as silk. Joshua knew how to mix all the latest cocktails, he was non-judgemental and very discreet. He served food on silver platters to their elite clients with all the cool charm of a Savoy veteran.
No doorman, though. Annie hadn’t considered that, in such a select area. She took the money at the door and Joshua stood there with her and gave every guest a welcoming glass of the best champagne. By half past midday she had ten gentlemen happily ensconced in the apartment and busy with her lovely girls. Then Kieron showed up and Annie wished she did have a doorman, after all.
‘Kieron,’ she said, ‘what are you doing here?’
‘I’ve come to talk to you,’ said Kieron, all floppy blond hair and pleading eyes.
‘It’s not convenient,’ said Annie. ‘As you can see, this is a private party.’
‘Oh sure. I can see people are paying you money to come in. Hardly a party, is it? More an orgy, really.’
God, she was getting fed up with this.
Joshua was looking nervous. He wasn’t up to any rough stuff. Joshua was gay, skinny and unaccustomed to dealing with trouble. Annie gave him a reassuring glance.
‘It’s okay, Josh, I’ll deal with this. You carry on here, take the cash, dole out the champagne, I’ll be back in two ticks.’
Annie gave Kieron an angry look and led the way into her own bedroom, the only place unoccupied at present. She closed the doors behind them.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘You want to talk, so talk. I’m listening.’
‘Don’t talk to me as if I’m a naughty schoolboy,’ snapped Kieron.
‘Then why are you behaving like one?’ Annie hissed back. ‘Why won’t you take in what I’ve told you? I’m not interested in any sort of relationship with you.’
‘But you are with Max Carter.’
‘Look, what fucking business is that of yours? Anyway – that’s over.’
‘Sure it is. That’s why you left my exhibition to which you came as my guest, with that bastard.’
‘When are you going to let that drop?’ Annie asked. ‘I was protecting you from yourself, Kieron. Believe me, you do not want to upset Max.’
‘I don’t care whether I upset him or not,’ said Kieron passionately. ‘It’s you I want.’
‘Kieron, don’t be fucking stupid,’ sighed Annie.
‘What’s stupid about this?’ asked Kieron, grabbing her and kissing her hard.
‘For God’s sake,’ muttered Annie, pushing him away and wiping irritably at her mouth.
‘You know you want me too,’ said Kieron, storming in again and slipping his hand inside her dress to squeeze her breast.
Annie recoiled, amazed and outraged at the same time.
‘For fuck’s sake, Kieron!’
‘I know I was stupid and I didn’t make a play for you when I should have,’ said Kieron in a rush, trying to get his hand back in there. ‘But I want you, Annie. I want you now.’
He pressed himself to her frontage and Annie knew he wasn’t telling a lie. To her horror she felt him reaching down between them to unzip himself. This was getting beyond a joke.
She hauled back and brought her knee up, but he had turned to the side and it didn’t connect where it should. She opened her mouth to speak, but his mouth quickly covered hers again. The feel of it disgusted her. To her alarm she realized that he was stronger than she had thought. She tried to get free, managed to get one arm away. She clawed at his face.
‘Bitch,’ Kieron cursed her, angry scratch marks emerging on his cheek. Then his hand was on her throat and she had really had enough.
She brought her free arm round and punched him straight on the jaw. He reeled back, clutching his chin, his eyes registering almost comical surprise. Annie stood there glaring at him, panting, hands on hips.
‘Now listen to me, you little fucker,’ she hissed. ‘You and me are never going to happen. Get that through your thick skull.’
‘Yeah, because of that bastard Carter,’ yelled Kieron.
‘Keep your fucking voice down!’ said Annie. She didn’t want a public ruck, not with punters in.
‘Oh, you don’t want to hear the truth? Because it is, isn’t it. It’s only that fucking Max Carter standing in our way.’ Kieron straightened, wincing. There was blood at the side of his mouth where she’d struck him. ‘It’s me you really want, but you’re afraid of what he’d do if you gave in to it.’
‘You’re deluded, Kieron,’ said Annie coldly. She went to the door and opened it. ‘Just get the hell out of here, will you?’
Josh came over instantly. ‘Is everything all right, Annie?’
He glanced anxiously between the two of them, seeing Annie’s agitation and the blood streaming down Kieron’s chin.
‘Ah, you can tell your lapdog I’m off,’ sneered Kieron with an angry look at her and a sneer for Josh.
‘Piss off, Kieron,’ said Annie tiredly. She was sick of the sight of him now.
‘You really okay?’ asked Josh when Kieron had pushed past him and gone, slamming the door behind him.
‘Fine,’ sa
id Annie, feeling suddenly shaky. ‘Take over for a little while, will you Josh?’
Annie went back into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. Trembling, she sat down on the bed and put her head in her hands and knew that the bad blood between the Carters and the Delaneys was far from over. And here she was again – stuck unwillingly between the two. Stuck exactly where she didn’t want to be.
53
Ruthie Carter had been at home in Surrey all week and she was fed up to the back teeth. All she had down here for company was the minder on the door, who had just a single brain cell rattling around in his head getting rather lonely – Dave couldn’t be relied on even to string a sentence together.
And as for Miss Arnott, that old cow was forever giving Ruthie dirty looks and thinking what a common little thing she was. Oh, she knew what Miss Arnott thought of her all too well. There was naff-all to do in this place, and the silence out here in the country was deadly.
Ruthie longed for London, for the noise of traffic and voices, for the close proximity of other people going about their daily lives. But she had agreed with Max that they would do this. They had sat down together and he had been straight with her. He knew he had made mistakes. But they could still save this, they could still make it work. That’s what he said. But she had to stop the drinking, get herself busy, bringing this place to life. Ruthie had actually started to think there was some hope.
But that had been two weeks ago. Since that one night – when they hadn’t slept together – Max had barely shown his face in this arsehole of a rural nowhere. He’d been busy up in town. She had phoned him at Queenie’s old house. He had said not now, Ruthie, he was up to his ears in stuff, he’d be down at the weekend.
And here we are, she thought. The weekend. Her great bonus in the long haul that was being married to Max Carter. He showed up at eleven on Saturday night. Half the weekend gone, anyway. She was steaming, and Max hardly had a foot through the door when she let rip.
‘You said we’d spend the weekend together,’ said Ruthie, following him across the hall as he dumped his overnight bag and shrugged off his coat.
‘And I’m here,’ he said.
‘But you don’t want to be,’ yelled Ruthie.
Max glanced around. ‘Is Miss Arnott here?’
‘No, she’s off for the weekend. You don’t have to worry that I’ll show you up in front of your posh housekeeper, shouting about like a fishwife. I told her she could take some time off. I thought we’d be here together. I thought we’d need some privacy.’
‘And Dave?’
‘He’s asleep, so far as I know. Who the hell cares?’
Dave had a flat over the garage. Miss Arnott disdained Dave, too. Margie, the cleaner, had been in his flat and got an attack of the vapours. It was lined floor to ceiling with photos of nude women. Margie complained to Miss Arnott, Miss Arnott complained to Ruthie. But whatever Dave did within his own four walls was fine with her.
She knew she should have protested more, to gain Brownie points with Miss Arnott, to convince her that Ruthie was a lady. But Ruthie couldn’t be arsed. Miss Arnott knew what she was, all right. She knew that Max was ‘in business’ and she knew that Ruthie had married above herself. Ruthie wasn’t going to flog her guts out trying to convince the sour-faced old bag otherwise.
‘Nice welcome,’ said Max.
‘You don’t deserve a nice welcome,’ shouted Ruthie. ‘I had dinner all planned, and where the fuck were you? Up in town with her, were you?’
‘If by her you mean Annie, no, I wasn’t,’ said Max.
He turned his back on her and went through to the drawing room. He poured himself a brandy, and sat down.
Ruthie came and stood over him. ‘I don’t believe you,’ she spat.
Max raised his glass to her. ‘Suit yourself,’ he said, and took a drink. He put his glass aside and stood up to put on some music, but Ruthie came close and glared up at him, standing in his way.
‘You said you’d give her up. It was part of the deal.’
‘Along with you laying off the bottle,’ said Max cruelly. ‘I remember. I kept my half of the deal, Ruthie. Did you keep yours?’
Ruthie’s glance slipped away from his hard gaze. She’d had the odd glass or two. Miss Arnott had probably snitched to Max about it, the snooty cow.
‘No, don’t answer that,’ said Max after a beat. ‘We both know you’d be lying.’
‘We’re both good liars, Max. I think you’re still seeing her.’
‘I’m not.’
‘You’re lying,’ screamed Ruthie. ‘Listen, I’m warning you – if you don’t pack it in, I’ll tell the police you weren’t with me on the night Tory Delaney died. Then you’ll be in the shit.’
Max grabbed her shoulders. His eyes were icy as they glared into hers. ‘A wife can’t testify against her husband, you silly bitch,’ he hissed. ‘But go on. Tell them whatever the fuck you want to. Because I didn’t kill Tory Delaney.’
‘Oh, sure you didn’t. You were off somewhere that night. Eddie said he hid a gun for you.’
Max stiffened. ‘Eddie shouldn’t have said that.’
‘And what are you going to do about that, “discipline” him? Send the boys round? You’ll have a hard job. The poor boy’s dead, isn’t he?’
‘You’ve been drinking,’ said Max with disgust. His eyes had narrowed to slits. His mouth was grim. He leaned in very close and Ruthie started to feel frightened. ‘Listen. You don’t go to the police. You don’t start any trouble. You keep your mouth shut and you do as you’re told, or I get very annoyed. You got that?’
Ruthie nodded dumbly.
‘I didn’t kill Tory Delaney,’ said Max with soft venom. ‘But I’d like to shake the hand of whoever did. Serious. I’d like to buy that fucker a drink and pat him on the back. I wish I’d done it myself, but I didn’t.’
‘Then who the hell did?’ asked Ruthie more quietly. She knew she was in danger of going too far. She could see it in his eyes. Time to tone it down.
‘We’d all like to know the answer to that,’ said Max, letting her go. ‘But it’s done. And, really, who gives a shit? The bastard’s dead. End of story. Now is there anything to eat?’
Ruthie settled down after that. Went and cooked him some bacon and eggs while Max sat on the couch and listened to his favourite Mozart concerto. He thought of the haul from the department store, all used notes and stored away nice and safe for the time being. God bless the January sales. That safe had been stuffed. He thought of the situation he was in, keeping face by remaining married to a woman he detested. He thought of Annie, up in Upper Brook Street. He thought of her dark green, laughing eyes and her thick dark hair spilling over the pillow as she slept.
Fuck it, he thought.
No one ever said life was going to be perfect.
54
Sometimes you had to do things for a person’s own good. Billy knew this to be true. When he was little and he had used swear words, his mum had washed his mouth out with carbolic soap and water.
‘It’s for your own good, Billy,’ she had told him while he gagged and struggled. ‘You don’t want to grow up using words like that, now do you?’
And he didn’t. Oh, Max and the boys used bad words all the time, but he wouldn’t do it. His mum had taught him that standards were important, and he knew she was right.
That was why he was standing in the police station now. The desk sergeant was looking at him as if he’d just landed from Mars.
‘I want to report someone running a …’ He paused to get his words straight … ‘a disorderly house.’
‘Really?’ The sergeant looked at him. Clearly a nutter. Rigged out like Sherlock Holmes, for God’s sake. With a sigh the sergeant pulled out a sheet of paper and started taking down the details.
‘Where?’ he asked.
‘Upper Brook Street.’
The copper’s eyebrows raised. ‘That’s a nice area, son,’ he said. ‘Not much disorder around there, I sho
uldn’t think.’
‘Oh, there is. Posh people, too, going in and out.’
‘Who’s running this disorderly establishment then, son?’ asked the sergeant.
This would give the boys in the back room a laugh, at least. Poor simple sod, probably a figment of his imagination. He looked shot away with his long face and his vacant eyes, his deerstalker pulled down low.
‘Miss Annie Bailey,’ said Billy with a tremble in his voice.
He hated to do this. He’d wrestled long and hard with his conscience about it, but it was for her own good. He reminded himself of that. She couldn’t go on like this, doing bad things with all these men. She really couldn’t.
‘And do you have any evidence to substantiate these claims?’ asked the sergeant with a sigh.
‘I’ve got it all written down,’ said Billy, rummaging in his briefcase. ‘In my book.’
He placed the book on the counter. The sergeant opened it. There was nothing but illegible scrawl in there. Page after page of it.
‘I’ve been keeping watch outside and noting down times and things,’ said Billy. He looked down at the open book and at the sergeant’s face. ‘No, no. Not at the front. At the back.’
The sergeant turned to the back of the book. There, in neat handwriting, were clear legible details of people entering the building, people leaving, times, dates, everything. The sergeant’s mouth dropped open. He was looking at the names of cabinet ministers, bankers, lawyers – even peers of the bloody realm.
‘You see?’ said Billy in triumph.
The desk sergeant took a breath. ‘Have a seat over there, son,’ he said at last. He picked up the book and the sheet of details. ‘I’m just going through to have a word with my superior. Hold on. I’ll be back in a jiff.’
Billy sat down, knees together, his briefcase hugged tight against his chest. This was hard, one of the hardest things Billy had ever done. But you had to protect the ones you loved. His mum had taught him that. Even if what you did seemed harsh, even if they had to suffer for it, their best interests were what counted in the end.
