Black Widow

by Jessie Keane

  ‘It’s Mrs Carter to you,’ Annie pointed out coldly.

  ‘Sodding hell. All right. Mrs Carter. Look, if you let Constantine Barolli know Max is dead, there’s every chance that fucker’s going to move in on us. On the manor.’

  Annie stared at him. ‘I won’t do that,’ she told him firmly. ‘I’ll tell the Barollis that Max had to take off, do some business.’

  Jimmy was shaking his head.

  ‘You ain’t got a fucking clue, have you? You really don’t know what you’re playing around with here,’ he warned.

  ‘I know they’re the only ones with this sort of cash at their disposal,’ said Annie irritably. ‘What else is there to know?’

  Jimmy suddenly lost it and thumped the table. ‘Look, for Christ’s sake. They’ll kill her anyway. Whatever you do, they’ll kill her anyway. But you know that already, don’t you?’

  Annie went white.

  ‘No, you listen. You think I’d do this off the top of my head, like a whim or something? Wrong. Constantine Barolli and Max were friends and business associates. The Barollis have big money. I need big money. End of conversation.’ Annie jumped to her feet, throwing back the chair. It toppled. She leaned back against the worktop, breathing hard, furious. She looked at Jimmy still sitting there and suddenly she knew. ‘You haven’t been to see him, have you? You haven’t given him Max’s ring. Have you?’

  Jimmy’s eyes were on the table. He said nothing.

  Annie nodded slowly.

  ‘Okay, give it back to me. Give it back right now.’

  Jimmy looked up at her face. Then he reached into his pocket and drew out Max’s ring and placed it on the table.

  ‘Now fuck off,’ said Annie.

  Jimmy went, brushing past Dolly in the hall.

  Annie was setting her chair back up, grim-faced, when Dolly came into the kitchen and closed the hall door behind her. Dolly took in the room at a glance and then went to put the kettle on.

  Annie picked up Max’s ring, clutched it tightly in her fist.

  Oh God, Max, help me will you? She thought desperately. Help me do the right thing. Help me save Layla.

  ‘Hey, what the fuck did you do to Una?’ Dolly asked brightly. ‘Darren told me Ross had to take her into Casualty yesterday. Darren and Ellie were like little kids who saw Santa Claus. They said you beat the crap out of her.’ Dolly turned and looked at Annie. ‘And now here she is today, creeping around like a church mouse with two fabulous shiners on her ugly mug, being all polite and helpful. What happened?’

  ‘I had a word with her,’ shrugged Annie.

  ‘Ah.’ Dolly rummaged in the cupboard for tea, put a couple of spoonfuls into the teapot and then added boiling water.

  Annie turned and looked at what she was doing.

  That noise again.

  ‘Tea?’ offered Dolly.

  Annie turned away, shaking her head.

  ‘Got to go out, Doll. Bit of business.’

  Annie huddled into the black coat and hurried along the pavement toward Max’s car. Her car now. A gust of cold wind caught her, making her eyes water. She missed the warm sun of the Med. Spring was coming here, but not fast enough. Above the crowded buildings and the hurrying people the skies were grey and full of rain—the light was going, soon it would be evening. People would be tucked up warm indoors with their families, huddling together against the night.

  But not me, thought Annie. My family’s gone.

  Now she was back here, alone, her husband dead, gone from her forever, trying to save her daughter’s life—haunted by the constant feeling that she was failing in her task. She knew she had to get over that feeling, quash it somehow. To fear failure was to invite it to come calling. She had to stay positive, somehow. To hope for the best.

  But I fear the worst, that hopeless voice inside her cried out.

  She put her head down against the buffeting wind and hurried out into the road. Tony saw her coming and got out from behind the wheel and opened the rear passenger door for her. Annie looked up, gave him a nod, and then he came charging toward her and knocked her backwards.

  What the fuck? thought Annie angrily.

  They cannoned into a parked car. Annie took the brunt of the impact. Tony’s huge weight knocked all the wind out of her. She was aware of a jumble of things. Losing her footing, slipping to her knee, a crack of pain—another pain to add to all the others, she thought dimly. A blare of horns, headlights blinding her, then Tony hauling her upright and grabbing her shoulders and looking at her.

  ‘You all right, Mrs Carter?’ he gasped.

  Annie nodded. Couldn’t get her breath.

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Fine,’ Annie managed.

  ‘That fucking car nearly had you. Didn’t you see it?’

  Annie shook her head. Straightened. Checked herself over. Her tights were laddered. Yeah, she was okay. Shaken, but okay.

  ‘He pulled out down the road. Came straight at you, revving up fast. Would have knocked you flat if I hadn’t seen him coming.’

  Annie looked up the road to where the car had shot off around the corner with a mad squeal of tyres. Long gone now, of course.

  ‘Did you catch the number plate? Did you recognize the driver?’ she asked.

  Tony was shaking his head.

  ‘No, Mrs Carter. Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be sorry, Tone. You did good.’

  Better than good. You saved my damned life, she thought. If Tony hadn’t spotted her coming across the road and got out of the car to open the door for her, he wouldn’t have seen the car coming. And she had been distracted, worried, head down, not thinking…not thinking that anyone would try to kill her.

  She was shaking slightly with the shock now. Realizing that she could have been mincemeat. Realizing that someone had tried to take her out. Not a nice feeling. And who the hell would want to do that?

  She didn’t have a clue.

  Tony escorted her back over the road to the Jag and settled her into the back, closing the door gently as if she was a precious package, safely retrieved.

  God bless Tony, thought Annie. What would have happened to Layla if anything had happened to her?

  But Jimmy thought Layla was dead meat anyway.

  Annie shivered and huddled down. She had the box in one pocket, Max’s ring in the other, and she clung tightly to both for reassurance. Tony restarted the engine and the big car purred into life. The heater blasted out hot air, reviving her.

  ‘Where to, Mrs Carter?’ asked Tony.

  ‘Do you know the Barolli house in Holland Park, Tony?’

  ‘Yeah, I do. Mr Barolli’s over here at the moment to give his daughter away. She’s marrying a stockbroker or something like that.’

  Annie closed her eyes, feeling the aftermath of the shock she’d just had, feeling suddenly that she might even cry. Would she ever see Layla grow up, get married, have children of her own? She squashed the sudden weakness and her eyes met Tony’s in the rear-view mirror.

  ‘Take me to the Barolli house, Tony,’ she said.

  Tony looked at her doubtfully. ‘Is Mr Barolli expecting you, Mrs Carter? Has Jimmy okayed this?’

  Annie sighed wearily. She didn’t know what the hell Jonjo had been up to, but it was clear that Jimmy had for some time felt that he was running things—and so had all the boys.

  But then Jonjo would have been off screwing blondes, not taking care of business, she thought. Max shouldn’t have trusted him. But then, didn’t you always trust family? Weren’t you supposed to be able to do that?

  ‘Yeah,’ she told Tony. She didn’t feel strong enough right now to argue the toss. ‘Mr Barolli’s expecting me. And Jimmy okayed it.’

  Her soul was never going to get to heaven, wasn’t that what her mother Connie had always told her? It was bad to lie, she was a wicked girl. Maybe that was it—maybe this was what they called karma, payback for what she’d done to poor Ruthie. Annie had lost Max and her child had been taken from her. Maybe she deserv
ed all this shit. Certainly there had never been any hope of Annie achieving her mother’s approval—all that had been reserved for her good sister Ruthie. Not for Black Sheep Annie.

  Yeah, a black sheep, she thought as the Jaguar slid smoothly through the streets.

  Now, of course, a black widow.

  28

  Annie’s first thought when they got to the Barolli residence was that she’d made a huge mistake in coming here. There were swarms of people wearing expensive clothes and buttonholes unloading from limos and taxis and going in through the front door. She clocked two obvious faces checking invites.

  Fuck it, she thought. The wedding was today. And it looked as if the reception was going on chez Barolli.

  ‘You didn’t tell me the wedding was today,’ she told Tony in frustration.

  Tony shrugged.

  ‘I didn’t know, Mrs Carter.’

  Annie thought it over. But not for long. She was too hyped up to just turn around and go home. Home! Well, back to Dolly’s place anyway. Her home was gone, along with her life.

  ‘Wait for me, Tony,’ she told him, and got out, slamming the door behind her.

  This time she was careful; she looked left and right before hurrying across the road. She shuddered again as she thought of what could have happened. Had someone really intended to knock her down? Other people, people dressed up to the nines in their wedding finery, were ambling along the path up to the big house in front of her, chattering and laughing, making her grind her teeth at their slowness.

  It gave her time, though, to look up at the house. It was just as big as Max’s Surrey place. It was a red-brick William and Mary mansion, beautifully proportioned and standing full-square. As she edged toward the pillared doorway and the big men in black suits, she saw the lollipop bay trees placed on either side of the vast doorway, decorated with pink and cream satin ribbons.

  Moving along with the crowds, she slowly ascended the six big curving marble steps leading up to the front door. Chamber music, refined and gentle and soothing, drifted out from the open doorway along with a gust of warm air.

  Finally she was on the top step.

  Now the people right in front of her were wandering off inside, into a palatial and opulently lit hallway, taking champagne from a silver tray held out by a waitress. And one of the men in black was holding out his hand for her invitation.

  ‘I don’t have an invite,’ said Annie, pulling herself up to her full height. ‘I’ve got urgent business with Mr Barolli.’

  There was a roar of laughter from inside. The taller of the two heavies was regarding her with gently quizzical eyes.

  ‘Mr Barolli is busy today. Family business. His daughter’s wedding.’

  ‘Still, I need to see him. It’s urgent. Or I wouldn’t bother him, believe me.’

  The two men exchanged a look, then the one she was talking to shook his head and reached past her to take the invitation card from the next guest.

  ‘I have to see him,’ she said, as the guests around her looked at her curiously.

  Annie suddenly realized what a strange picture she must present. All in black, with her hair uncombed and no make-up on her face. More suitably attired for a funeral than a wedding.

  Should have thought this through, she berated herself.

  ‘I have to see him. Please,’ she said more urgently.

  Guests were moving past her, their eyes on this strange woman with her desperate ashen face and her weird black clothing.

  The two heavies no longer seemed to be hearing her.

  ‘Seen enough?’ Annie snapped at one woman wearing a huge pink-feathered hat. The woman quickly looked away.

  One of the heavies moved in and gently clasped Annie’s arm.

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘Come back tomorrow. Or phone.’

  Annie shook her head. ‘I need to see Mr Barolli,’ she reiterated.

  ‘Well, perhaps Mr Barolli don’t need to see you. Not today, anyway.’

  ‘Tell him I’m here, will you?’

  ‘Please go away.’ He gently clasped her arm.

  ‘Look, it’s all right,’ said Annie. Another minute and he’d be hustling her down the steps and off the premises. She had to convince him she wasn’t trouble.

  But she knew that’s exactly what she looked like. Unhinged. Disarrayed. Crazy.

  ‘It’s okay, it’s okay,’ said Annie, pulling her arm free. ‘I’m not here to make trouble. I just need to see him. Look, I’ll wait.’

  She went over to the far edge of the top step and sat down on it.

  ‘I’ll wait, okay?’ she said hopefully.

  Fortunately they were busy or they’d have kicked her arse straight off that step and down the others, she was sure of that. They went back to attending to the invited guests, who continued to file past Annie and gawp at her curiously. Annie tried to ignore them.

  She just sat there, waiting.

  She was still there when the last of the guests had gone in, and the heavies went inside too, closing the door on the laughter, the music, the warmth.

  Annie sat there and shivered.

  Along the road, as the light started to go, she could see Tony sitting in the Jag, watching her with anxious eyes.

  He thinks I’ve lost it, thought Annie. How long before he trots off to the nearest phone box and calls Jimmy and tells him I’ve flipped?

  It was almost dark now. Two big lights came on over the porch, and moths started to do their suicidal dance around them. Annie could faintly hear the music going on, the laughter, the clink of glasses.

  Time passed.

  After what she guessed was about an hour—she wasn’t wearing a watch—one of the heavies opened the door and stared out at her, then shut the door again.

  Time went on. She couldn’t see Tony behind the Jag’s wheel any more, and she hoped he hadn’t gone and found a phone box; she hoped he wasn’t talking to Jimmy at this minute; she hoped and prayed the pair of them weren’t going to come and grab her and move her on as if she was a drunken old bag lady. That would be embarrassing.

  Her buttocks were numb from sitting on the step. She was stiff. She was aching.

  More time passed.

  It was full dark when she stood up creakily. Had to either fuck off or bang on the door. Couldn’t decide which. Time to shit or get off the pot, she thought, and approached the door, her fist raised.

  The door opened.

  The blast of light, heat, and noise made her blink.

  ‘All right, what’s your name?’ asked one of the heavies, looming in the doorway.

  ‘Carter,’ said Annie, swallowing her surprise. ‘Annie Carter. Max Carter’s w—’ Widow. She’d nearly said widow. Maybe she really was losing it. ‘Wife. I’m Annie Carter, Max Carter’s wife.’

  ‘Wait.’

  ‘No! Hold on.’ Annie brought Max’s ring out of her pocket. ‘Show him this, will you?’

  The man nodded and took the ring. The door closed again.

  Annie stood there, staring at her reflection in the highly polished navy blue paintwork of the door.

  Now, of course, he wouldn’t see her anyway, she thought in dreary exhaustion. And what the hell would she say to him if she saw him? Hey, lend me half a million? Help me out here? Her mind felt numb and woolly, not her own. It was no good. Jimmy was right, Layla was dead meat and here she was, kidding herself that she could save the day. Save her daughter. Rescue a situation that was already too far beyond her control.

  She turned and walked down the steps.

  Give it up, you silly cow.

  And then the door opened behind her, and light flooded out. She blinked as she looked back up the steps, at the man who was standing there in the open doorway.

  ‘Mr Barolli will see you now,’ he said.

  29

  The noise and the hot crush of bodies inside nearly defeated her. She stumbled after the hulking shape of the heavy as he cut a swathe through the glittering crowds beneath huge, brilliantly lit chandeliers.
The place was massive, she took in that much. A huge curving staircase, swathed with more ribbons…hundreds of candles, all alight with a golden glow that warmed the happy scene…massive arrangements of white lilies in glass bowls.

  In the midst of all this grandeur, Annie felt shabby, insignificant, badly out of place. But she had a job to do here, so she followed him even though she was stiff and aching and almost out of hope.

  The man paused at a set of double doors and knocked.

  ‘Come,’ Annie heard from within.

  The man opened the door, gave her a nod. She slipped inside.

  Into quiet and warmth. A man’s study, lined with books, two large worn tan leather Chesterfield couches set out on either side of a fire that was burning brightly, fending off the chill of the spring night. At the far end of the room there was a big desk, a golden banker’s light there spreading a gentle glow.

  The door closed behind her and a man rose from behind the desk and came forward, extending a hand, palm down.

  What, does he expect me to kiss his hand? Ain’t that what people do when they meet a Mafia don?

  She had no intention of doing that.

  ‘Mrs Carter? I’m Constantine Barolli. Come and sit down.’ His accent was pure New York.

  Her first sight of Constantine Barolli shocked her. She had expected an old man, heavy in body and grave in manner. But he was younger than she had supposed he would be—early forties, she guessed—given that he had an adult daughter getting married. He looked fit, tall, streamlined, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. The silver-grey suit he wore was beautifully cut, and he even smelled good. Annie caught a fragrant whiff of Acqua di Parma cologne as he came close. He had a thick head of silver-grey hair, darker brows and a tanned, intelligent face with stunningly clear blue eyes.

  Annie walked forward over costly rugs and sat in the chair on her side of the desk. The soft tan leather creaked as she sat down. Max’s ring was in the centre of the desk, beside an empty crystal brandy glass.

  ‘Drink, Mrs Carter?’ he offered, sitting down behind the desk.

  Annie shook her head.

  He reached for the decanter and poured a snifter for himself.