Читать книгу Broken Hearts - Grace Monroe - Страница 17

The door was no different to any of the other respectable doors in the road. It was painted a conservative black in accordance with planning regulations, and the brass plate beside the bell gave the number of the house but not the identity or occupation of its inhabitants.

Thankfully.

When I parked the bike outside it I was in a good mood again. The cheques from Graham Marshall were in my pocket and I was certain they wouldn’t bounce. I had Googled Marshall before I left the office and his fame was more widespread and greater than even Lavender had led me to believe. The man was world famous. He operated alone in a small private hospital in Edinburgh; celebrities and the filthy rich came here from all over the world, just to be nipped and tucked by him. I had decided that it was a good sign that he chose me; my reputation was known amongst the criminal fraternity but he was an outsider. Naturally I was curious about the nature of his potential case–not to mention his manners–but many professionals and businesses retain legal firms for all sorts of reasons. The mistake ‘respectable’ people often make when getting into trouble is to instruct one of the big-name commercial firms, who may be excellent at drawing up a lease, but don’t know their arse from their elbow when it comes to court work.

I rang the bell and waited, but not for long. Kailash’s staff knew better than to keep a punter hanging around on the doorstep. Malcolm opened the door. He looked well. As usual his make-up was impeccable. His eyes flicked over me and I was found wanting. Helmet hair and unidentifiable squashed things on my leathers meant that I didn’t pass his grooming test. I handed him my helmet and walked in.

‘You’re in trouble,’ he warned as I marched down the Georgian hallway. The brothel (or ‘club’, as Malcolm preferred to call it) was very upmarket, more like a chic boutique hotel than a sex joint. In my mind, no matter what colour the paint job was, it was still a knocking shop. I half turned to face him. Like a child I pulled the cheque out from my inside pocket and waved it in his face. He shrugged his shoulders.

‘She won’t be impressed. Kailash could write you a cheque for twice that amount from her housekeeping and never even notice it was gone.’ He reached out and held my elbow. ‘You only have to ask her, Brodie–she’d love to help you if you need it. She doesn’t want you to struggle like she did.’ Only Malcolm could compare the financial struggles of an Edinburgh lawyer with Kailash’s past. He had been Kailash’s dresser for decades. They’d met in Amsterdam when she was an underage runaway. He patched her up when the punters got too rough, and he was with her when she made the momentous decision to become a ‘top’, the one who wields the whip. I had become acquainted with the world of bondage, domination and sadomasochism when we were reunited.

Malcolm moved ahead of me and removed the thick blue rope that barred the stairs down to the private quarters. I followed him down into the kitchen, where Kailash sat at a substantial oak table surrounded by shiny red Poggenpohl units. A couple of girls, between clients, were at the other end of the table drinking tequila. Kailash poured me a mug of tea and passed it across. I sat down beside her, feeling like something stronger than tea–but having seen the look in her eye, I wasn’t going to ask.

‘So…who is this VIP client, the one who ranks above us?’ she asked immediately.

Kailash had a golden rule–never betray or let down family or friends. It was one that she had only taken to relatively recently, but she was now a true convert. What had happened to and between us in recent years had made her convinced that we would never be apart again, even if we were still learning about each other, but it was hard going at times. Clients and work were way down her list of life’s priorities, and she made that clear to everyone. The girls and boys she employed were the family she’d made herself, so although she spent long hours in her businesses, she didn’t consider it work. I didn’t want to say too much because Graham Marshall clearly wanted discretion, but there was no harm in saying he’d come to my office; besides, he might be a friend of hers. I leaned forward, my voice hushed.

‘Now this is top secret.’ I glanced around at the girls but a flash of annoyance crossed all their faces. In their line of work, they knew how to keep their traps shut. ‘Don’t breathe a word of this unless I give you the say-so.’ The girls nodded. Kailash rolled her eyes and feigned disinterest.

‘Dr Graham Marshall,’ I said.

Even Kailash perked up at the sound of his name. ‘Really?’ She thought for a moment. ‘He’s good, Brodie, very good–I’ve used him.’

My mother rarely spoke about what she’d had done. She was beautiful, and naturally so–but she wasn’t shy about enhancing and investing in what she already had. I looked at her in the warm glow of the real fire in the kitchen. Gorgeous dark hair–but filled out with extensions. Perfect figure for someone in her forties (a damn sight better than mine)–but undoubtedly helped by impossibly pert implants, something Kailash would never deign to speak about directly. A face to launch a thousand fantasies–fantasies that were helped by veneers, acid peels, Botox and plumpers. She was encased in a business suit that probably cost as much as one of the procedures she saw as an investment, and was walking in five-inch heels, looking as if she was enjoying a level of comfort that most women could only manage with a pair of Crocs. Kailash Coutts was a product. She had created herself after her early years were ruined by others. Raped as a child, left for dead by one of my father’s minions after she gave birth to me in chains, my mother had found strength from God knows where, and she had turned what men had used her for into her fortune.

‘So, what did he do for you?’ I asked, knowing she wouldn’t answer.

My mother stared at me as if I’d just asked the last time she’d picked her nose and eaten it. ‘For the girls,’ she said, ‘I’ve used him for the girls. He’s discreet and he treats them well.’

‘And he’s gorgeous,’ said Dina, one of Kailash’s favourites, a tiny little redhead from Dublin.

‘How does that help?’ I asked. ‘I think I’d prefer it was some ugly bloke cutting me up rather than one who I was going to embarrass myself about. I’d want to know he knew what he was doing rather than just been making himself look good.’

‘He does,’ said Dina, ‘he knows exactly what he’s doing. But where’s the harm in having someone who you wouldn’t kick out of bed?’

‘Who wouldn’t you kick out of bed?’ asked Rochelle, an Amazonian New Yorker who was one of Kailash’s newest acquisitions. Kailash had been on a bit of a spree lately, bringing in quite a lot of new workers, and I liked this girl a lot–she still seemed as if she was in control, as if she could walk away from this life any minute. ‘If they pay enough, they get to stay even if they look like…’ She paused. ‘A shitey arse. Right?’ Kailash had an international operation. Listening to this United Nations of whores always made me laugh: it was like foreign footballers on the telly suddenly coming out with Glaswegian accents just because they’d been at Celtic for a month. ‘This guy? Your mom put me in touch with him when I first got here,’ she told me. ‘I knew a few surgeons back home who were okay with working girls, but this one–he’s actually a nice guy. Doesn’t want to turn us all into porno lookalikes–looks at what you’ve got and makes it even better.’

‘What’s he like off duty?’ asked Dina.

‘Arrogant,’ I said.

‘The best surgeons are…Why has he retained you?’ Kailash asked. ‘You don’t do commercial work.’

‘I don’t think it’s commercial.’

‘Well, you don’t do medical negligence cases either,’ she said.

‘For the sort of money he’s offering, I could learn. Anyway, I don’t know what his exact problem is and if I did I wouldn’t tell you…client confidentiality,’ I said. All I knew was that Marshall had seemed to hint that it would be a criminal charge. ‘I’m sorry I wrecked the dinner. Was Connie disappointed?’

‘Yes, she was, but she’ll get over it. She’s all drama and hormones just now anyway.’ I looked closely at my mother when she said this, but there was no sign of resentment. I was born when Kailash was only thirteen–she hadn’t had the luxury of being a stroppy teenager like my half-sister Connie.

‘What about you? Do you forgive me?’ I asked.

‘I’ve got work to do,’ Kailash answered. ‘Good luck with Dr Marshall.’ She planted a cold kiss on my forehead, giving me a taste of my own medicine. Kailash was a harsh disciplinarian–it was the quality she had built her fortune on. I should have known better than to break the golden rule–family, family, family. But, if this was my family, they were all telling me one thing–I shouldn’t judge Marshall too quickly. These girls weren’t stupid, they could read people, and he seemed to have their vote. I had my own little research group here. I could only assume that Marshall was about to be sued by a client for some sort of malpractice and, if he had fucked up someone’s face or whatever, they must be even richer than him, given the amount of money he’d offered me. This might be interesting after all.