Times of Trouble

by Victoria Rollison

  I paused, not wanting to show Liam how upset I was starting to feel. He still hadn’t said anything.

  ‘Just tell me Liam. You’re making me anxious. Whatever it is, it won’t make any difference to me. We haven’t seen her in seven years. We just want to know she’s OK!’

  Was I channelling mum all of a sudden? Why was he making me beg?

  Liam suddenly got straight to the point. ‘She was an escort. A very high class, well paid escort.’

  My stomach dropped through my legs.

  ‘A prostitute? My sister works as a prostitute?’ I kept my voice as hushed as possible, trying to protect mum from overhearing this news.

  Liam looked embarrassed, but still eerily calm. ‘I’m sorry Ellen, there was no simple way to explain. She isn’t working as one anymore. But up until recently, around the time she must have sent the email, she was working in London as an escort. It doesn’t always mean money for sex. Sometimes it’s just companionship, or an attractive date for a function...’

  He wasn’t making me feel any better. How on earth was I going to explain this to mum? It would kill her to find out her daughter was a prostitute. Who cared if she was well paid or ‘high class’? It all boiled down to the same thing. Mum didn’t even let us watch Pretty Woman as children; she found it immoral even to speak of such things. I felt such an intense anger at Sophie I could barely sit still. How dare she choose such a horrible way to make a living? The fact she made a ‘good’ living made me even angrier. I pictured her dolling herself up, as she loved to do when she was a teenager, but instead of costume jewellery and mum’s oversized shoes, I imagined diamonds and Prada. It made my skin crawl to think about it. The sleazy men, the hotel rooms, the envelopes of cash. Married men, no doubt. I felt sick. Was there anything worse in the world she could have been doing than that? I couldn’t think of anything.

  My stomach felt a second squeeze; the familiar humiliating reminder that I was still a virgin. I hadn’t even kissed a man, well not properly. I guess my sister was making up for my inadequacies in that area! And my inadequacies in making money. I had always assumed Sophie had great things in front of her. She had such natural confidence, and she was so loved by everyone, I felt certain she would make it as an actress. And if not that, maybe a successful business woman, or an entrepreneur, or something creative. How could she give up everything she had always wanted? At least I tried to make it as a pianist. It sounded like Sophie gave up before she even tried.

  ‘I can see I’ve upset you. It must be quite a shock,’ Liam said.

  I glared at him. ‘It’s a shock, but I’ll get over it. I don’t know if mum ever would though. You were right not to tell her.’

  He nodded, keen to move off the subject.

  ‘I had to tell you, you see, because I’m sure it must relate to the trouble she’s in now.’

  ‘Before we talk about this, I need a glass of wine. Do you want one?’ I asked, hoping he wouldn’t, as there was only half a bottle in the fridge.

  ‘Yes please, I’d love one.’

  Fabulous. I walked inside, desperate not to let Liam see the tears in my eyes. Mum was still chopping tomatoes for a salad. Since when did we need to eat salad as well as sandwiches? She must be stalling to avoid the conversation.

  'What are you two talking about?' she asked, looking worried at my expression.

  'Oh, nothing much, I'll explain later...' That seemed to be enough for her for the time being.

  I took my time in front of the fridge, breathing deeply, trying to appear calm and composed by the time I went back outside. But as I handed Liam his glass, my hand was noticeably shaking. Liam seemed ready to keep talking, eager to erase the awkwardness that hung between us. I decided to let him talk, too scared to ask any more questions for fear of what I might be told. Maybe I was getting more like mum as I got older.

  ‘The café owner told me about the line of work she was in. One of the other girls who worked in the café told him Sophie was, was...working in this particular field, and he remembered he was shocked. He didn’t know where she was living or working, so I just went back to the area around the internet café, and asked around. A friendly cabby gave me an idea of where the brothels were. I visited every broth.... sorry, parlour... in the area, and showed people Sophie’s photo, the publicity shot from the agent. The problem was, these people are very discreet. Operating a brothel is illegal, so they aren’t exactly ecstatic when a man knocks on the door with a photo of a woman, asking if she works there. I felt like I wasn’t getting anywhere for a long time. Then I came across a nicely done terrace. It was in the right area and it didn’t look like someone’s home.’

  I wasn’t sure I needed so much detail, but I also didn’t want to butt in, in case he lost his train of thought.

  ‘When I knocked on the door, this attractive woman answered. I could tell right away she was a prostitute by the way she... you know... looked at me.’

  I didn’t know, but I stayed silent.

  ‘I asked to speak to the manager, and at first she tried to slam the door on me because she thought I was the police. I told her I wasn’t interested in what was going on there, and I was just trying to locate someone. She recognised Sophie in the photo I showed her, and she took me into a kind of reception area. The place was really flash, lots of velvet and antique furniture. There was a woman sitting behind this huge mahogany desk.’

  ‘She was Sophie’s employer,’ I guessed.

  Liam nodded. ‘She was an older woman, really classy, sort of like a politician’s wife, with an expensive suit. But I could tell she was the Madam. Her lipstick was a bit too bright, and she had far too many rings on her fingers.’

  Liam seemed acutely observant when it came to spotting prostitutes and their Madams. I hated to think how he was so familiar with these kinds of people, still not used to the idea my sister was ‘these kinds of people’.

  ‘So she was the one who needed be paid to give information about Sophie?’

  It didn’t sound like this woman was short of cash. All the rings and the antiques. Liam finally looked rattled at the mention of the money, though not as much as I had hoped.

  ‘Yes, she was the woman I paid the £5,000 to. Her name is Carla. At first she was suspicious of me, and wanted me out of the place. When I said I was working for Sophie’s family, she said she didn’t know a Sophie. But she recognised the photo. That was when I worked out Sophie had changed her name. She went undercover when her visa ran out.’

  Liam looked at me for acknowledgement of what he had said.

  ‘What was her name?’ I said quietly, almost to myself.

  ‘Molly Lane.’

  That made sense. ‘Molly from Ob La Di and Lane from Penny Lane.’

  ‘That’s what I assumed. Your mum said she loved The Beatles. I came back with the cash from your mum. Then she gave me the information she had about Sophie. It was really crucial, even though it didn’t lead me directly to her.’

  ‘So you gave her £5,000 even though she wasn’t in contact with Sophie at that time? How did you know she wasn't conning you?’

  ‘You’re right, she hadn’t seen Sophie in a while. But she knew where she was living.’

  ‘Is that where she sent you?’ I had started to interrupt now, the keenness to hear the rest of the story overtaking my reluctance to speak.

  ‘Yes, but Sophie wasn’t living there anymore.’

  ‘So she gave you an old address, and got the money for nothing?’

  Liam wasn’t taking my bait. He was too focused on thinking about his story. I noticed he hadn’t touched his wine, whereas my glass was empty. I felt confused and even angrier.

  ‘You are very blasé about the money. It might not be a lot for you, but it is for my mum. You have no idea about the money problems this has all caused.’

  I expected Liam to at least look at bit guilty when I said this. But his face revealed no shame.

  ‘Your mum wants me to find Sophie. I am doing whatever it takes
to do that. I’m sure you would do the same if you had a daughter who was in trouble.’

  That was a low blow. Now he was trying to make me feel bad for implying Sophie’s safety had a price, and it had been exceeded.

  ‘I don’t want to appear heartless. I want Sophie found as much as anybody, including my mum. But how would you feel about losing your home?’

  Still no guilt on Liam’s face, but maybe a hint of surprise.

  ‘Are you behind on your payments? Is that why you sold your piano?’ he asked matter-of-factly, far underestimating the pain this situation had caused me.

  ‘Yes, I sold it so we could pay the mortgage. And keep up with your fees.’

  He didn’t look perturbed by this. ‘I’m relieved you’re not going to lose the house then. That’s the last thing Sandra needs. So as I was saying...’

  He paused. I noticed his concern was purposely directed only at mum. I also noticed he was getting annoyed by my efforts to divert the conversation to money. The cost was quite obviously a long way down his list of priorities. He sounded satisfied he had justified the expense, and kept on with his story in an enthusiastic boast. I realised how proud of his investigating skills he was.

  ‘The information Carla gave me... she gave me the name of Sophie’s new employer, who was also her boyfriend, and the address where they lived.’

  ‘She had a boyfriend even though she was a prostitute? Charming.’ This was a world I just couldn’t begin to imagine.

  ‘Can you let me keep going? Yes, she had a boyfriend. She stopped working for Carla, and was working for him. His name was Danny.’

  ‘So her boyfriend was her pimp. Makes sense.’

  As hard as I tried not to let all this information affect my feelings about Sophie, I couldn’t help but lose respect for her. I just always thought she would amount to more than someone who got paid for sex.

  ‘Don’t forget she was high class, not just a girl who works the streets. Once Danny took her on, her clients became absolutely top notch. She started to earn upwards of £1,000 a night.’

  Liam looked impressed by this, but I wasn’t moved. So, she was an expensive prostitute. She was still a prostitute.

  ‘How did you find this bit out?’

  ‘Well, first I went to the address Carla gave me. It was a penthouse in Chelsea, but there was no one there. I could see from the outside it was pretty swish, must have cost a fortune to rent.’

  ‘Ok, so my prostitute sister and her pimp boyfriend were rich! So what?’ Even I hadn’t expected my outburst.

  Liam looked unsympathetic, and finally took a sip of his wine, which must have got warm in the heat. He screwed up his nose and put it down again. What a waste!

  ‘I can see you’re quite… alarmed… at your sister’s career choice, but honestly, it really isn’t that big a deal. Lots of people work as escorts. It’s the world’s oldest profession.’ Now Liam was acting smug.

  ‘How would you like it if your sister was a prostitute?’ I snapped.

  ‘I don’t have a sister. But why do you think I kept it from your mum? Do you want me to keep going with the story?’

  I folded my arms across my chest, and nodded.

  ‘Right, so no one was at home. I hung around for a while. Actually it ended up being three hours. This investigating game can get quite boring.’

  ‘You were getting paid weren’t you? $300 a day doesn’t sound boring to me.’

  He said nothing. The confrontational comments were flying out of my mouth now. I felt like I’d been possessed by an angry person.

  ‘Eventually there was a man going into the apartment building, and I asked him if he knew Danny and Molly. I assumed she used Molly instead of Sophie permanently, which she did by the way. He had never heard of them. I asked him which apartment he lived in and he said he had the penthouse. That left me flummoxed, because I really thought Carla was genuine. I did worry for a moment she had given me a bum steer, and taken money for bad information. But rather than be totally put off, just before the lift arrived I asked the man how long he had lived there and he said he’d been there only a couple of weeks. So I gave Carla the benefit of the doubt, and assumed Sophie and Danny had lived there, but moved on without telling Carla.’

  The detailed story telling was starting to get on my nerves. Had he just used the word flummoxed?

  ‘So, back to the story. I had to find out Carla wasn’t a… what did you call it…a con...’ Now he was teasing me. ‘So I asked which property management firm looked after the building, as I wanted to look into leasing a flat. He gave me a name just before the lift disappeared.’

  ‘Liam, I’m beginning to be convinced you have, in fact, been trying to find my sister…’

  ‘Were you not convinced before?’ he asked, without even a hint of concern. If anything, he was amused.

  ‘If you must know, from your emails, I thought you were a complete fraud. I was worried about the lack of detail about what you had actually found.’

  ‘And what do you think now?’

  It was a fair question. I paused for a while to consider it.

  ‘To be honest, as much as I hate admitting I might be wrong, it does sound like there may have been reasons why you decided to keep some of the investigation to yourself. You obviously decided early on that mum couldn’t handle too much seediness. Now you are sitting in front of me, telling the story, I can see you must have done some work to get where you are. But I still have some issues with what you have done and said…’

  ‘Like what?’ he asked casually, doing his best to sound uninterested in what I thought.

  ‘I’ll get to those as you go on with your story. I might be judgemental, but I’m not stubborn.’

  This made him laugh, and I almost laughed too, realising how ridiculous my last statement sounded.

  ‘I was under the impression you wanted more information about the case. I didn’t realise you asked to speak to me to ascertain whether I was genuine or not,’ he said with a sarcastic sparkle in his eyes.

  At that moment mum slammed the back door loudly, warning us to stop speaking as she walked over to the table with a plate of food. It was no longer just sandwiches and salad; there was also gourmet dips, cheese, biscuits, ham and olives. Trust mum to try to help a situation with food. Liam didn’t seem in the mood for chit chat any more. Was it possible I had offended him slightly? Or was he still trying to protect mum from the truth? We ate in forced civility. Mum chatted to Liam about everything except looking for Sophie, and I sulked in silence. Just as we were finishing the last few sandwiches, his mobile phone rang, and he stood up to answer it. He excused himself, ducking around the side of the house where we couldn’t hear him. When he appeared again after a couple of minutes, his face looked pale and his confident smirk was gone.

  ‘That was my parents. They were wondering when I would be arriving. I better get going, they're waiting for me.’

  ‘Can’t you tell us the rest of what you found out?’

  Or did he need more time to make things up? My suspicions, which moments earlier had cooled, flared up again.

  ‘I really have to go, they aren’t happy I didn’t come straight home from the airport.’

  As much as I couldn’t fluster this man, his parents had the completely opposite effect. He said a quick goodbye to mum, turning down her offer of a lift.

  ‘I’ll get a taxi, thanks anyway Sandra. I’ll call later, and we can make another time to talk.’

  As we watched him hurry out the front gate, mum looked worried.

  ‘What did you say to him before lunch to make him rush off like that? He hardly spoke to me at all.’

  ‘Nothing mum, seriously. Like he said, he had to go see his parents. They must have been cross, or something.’

  I felt like I had just got to the end of a book, and found the last chapter torn out. He had given me some information, but nowhere near enough to understand how he tracked Sophie to Sydney.

  .

  Chapt
er 10

  It wasn’t often he made this sort of phone call himself. But the security risk had been going on too frigging long. Vince was impatient to sort it out, before it wasted any more of his time. He wanted to get this conversation exactly right. And the only way to do that, he had learnt, was to do it himself.

  ‘Hello?’ the man answered gruffly, making it obvious he wasn’t in the mood to chat.

  ‘Hello. You don’t know me, but I know you.’

  Vince's tone was menacing enough to make the man's voice jump with alarm.

  ‘Who is this?’

  ‘I just told you. You don’t know me. So there’s no point me telling you who I am. It wouldn’t mean anything to you.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I want to tell you something important. I want you to confirm you’ve understood. Then I want you to agree to do exactly what you’ve been told.’

  ‘I can’t agree to anything unless…’

  ‘Be quiet, friend. Just you listen.’

  Vince was not good at keeping his temper, but he had trained himself to breath slowly in this situation, no matter how much the conversation irritated him. There was a welcome silence at the other end of the line, so he continued.

  ‘The first thing is that I know you’re connected to a woman whose boyfriend has recently become… deceased.’

  ‘Is this the police?’ The man's voice was shaky now. Just how Vince liked it.

  ‘Ha! You wish! The police are the least of your worries.’ His laughter was genuine. ‘No. The reason I know this gent is dead is because I organised for him to be rubbed out. I didn’t get my own hands dirty, of course.’

  ‘Who are you?’ the man asked again, hopefully knowing by now it was futile even to speak.

  Vince could tell his quarry knew who the dead man was.

  ‘No more questions, lad, remember? I’m doing you a favour. I’m saving your life. And I‘m potentially going to make you a rich man. If you do what I say, of course. You see, I had planned to kill you. Tie up lose ends and all that. In fact I had a man organised to be at your front door first thing tomorrow morning, and he would have put a bullet in your head. But then I thought you might have some information that would be useful to me. And I’m willing to pay handsomely for any help you can give.’