Читать книгу Scarlet Women - Jessie Keane - Страница 16

Annie was sitting with her head in her hands at Dolly’s kitchen table. She still felt as though she was going to throw up. It was nearly lunchtime of the same day, the day on which she and Hunter had discovered that Gareth wouldn’t be providing any evidence this side of eternity.

Dolly was busy ferrying covered plates of sausage rolls, tuna vol-au-vents and sandwiches through from the kitchen to the front parlour, in readiness for the rush. This only ever used to happen on Fridays—party day—but now it was something she tended to do most days of the week. Along with the bar, it kept the punters happy and kept them coming back for more. Plus, it added a bit to the takings. Everyone was a winner. All except Annie, who took one look at the tuna vol-au-vents and had to take a hasty trip to the loo.

Mungo Jerry was belting out ‘In the Summertime’ from the little trannie over the sink. Dolly was hurrying about the place, absorbed in her various tasks. Annie sat down again, flinching at the smell of warm sausage rolls. She envied Dolly that facility, to be content in your own four walls and to shut out the chaos. She had seen Dolly perform this act of denial before; it seemed to come naturally to her.

Lucky cow, thought Annie, wishing she could do the same.

Annie knew that this capacity for turning a blind eye to trouble came from Dolly having been kicked out of the family home in disgrace and left to suffer alone through a really bad backstreet abortion. Under circumstances like that, you’d have to build stout barricades in your brain to stop yourself from going mad, and this was obviously exactly what Dolly had done.

Ellie was mopping the floor and giving Dolly dirty looks because she’d just done that bit, for Chrissakes, and here was Dolly trotting around on her clean floor like a ruddy racehorse.

‘Someone certainly got out of bed the wrong side this morning,’ observed Dolly as Ellie irritably redid her work on the floor.

Annie looked up at Ellie. Ellie had been at Dolly’s place a long time, since before it had been Dolly’s place at all. She’d been there when it had been Annie’s, and there before that, when Aunt Celia had been running the show. It was no secret among them that the knocking-shop paid protection to the Delaneys, because the Delaneys ran Limehouse. It was no secret either that Ellie was the Delaney insider, which had caused them all a problem or two over the years, but Ellie had come to know which side she was batting for.

Annie knew Ellie was loyal to the house now before all else. She’d been on the game for years, the chubby-chasers had loved her ample curves, but she had not long since started displaying all the worrying signs of someone who couldn’t hack fucking for a living after all. Scrubbing herself, trying to get the scent of sex off her. So now she cleaned houses. She cleaned here, and she cleaned at Kath’s place. Made a really good job of it too. Liked to see a place all spick and span.

‘Jesus, you look just about ready to hurl,’ said Dolly to Annie as she passed by. She stopped and stared at Ellie too. ‘And you. What a face on you. You miserable mares.’

‘Doll, I have hurled,’ said Annie. ‘And if you’d seen what I’ve seen this morning, so would you.’

Rosie, one of Dolly’s new working girls, wandered into the kitchen in a transparent powder-blue peignoir and fluffy slippers. She was a small, pretty blonde with dynamite curves and a relaxed attitude. Yawning, she filled the kettle and switched it on, jigging sleepily away to the beat. She sent Annie a vague smile.

‘Oh for fuck’s sake,’ said Ellie loudly, slapping the mop back into the bucket. Rosie stifled another smile.

Annie could understand Ellie’s bad mood. Ellie had carried a torch for Chris for years. To see him banged up and about to be sent down for a long stretch was upsetting her badly. And now Annie had to tell her even more bad news.

‘They’ve charged him,’ she told her bluntly.

‘Oh no.’ Ellie looked devastated.

‘Sorry, Ellie, I really am.’

Dolly came hurrying down the hall and into the kitchen to butter more bread on the worktop.

‘Rosie, for fuck’s sake will you get tidied up?’ said Dolly.

‘I am tidied up,’ protested Rosie. ‘All I want’s a cup of tea, for God’s sake.’

‘Well take it up to your room; we’re up to our arses down here. Poor Ellie’s trying to get the floor done. Stop winding her up.’

Grumbling good-naturedly, Rosie made her mug of tea and departed.

Dolly paused. Her face clouded as she looked at Annie. ‘Did I hear you right? They’ve charged him?’

Annie nodded and glanced at Ellie, seeing the pain on her plump, pretty face. She’d scraped her long dark hair back into a ponytail and she was wearing a pale blue overall that gave the effect of an overstuffed sausage. She looked hot, irritable, and above all, worried. But then she would be. She’d always adored Chris.

‘Oh no, it looks bloody marvellous,’ said Annie tiredly, ticking off facts on her fingers. ‘His wife’s dead. And if that ain’t bad enough, his blood’s on her body and on the murder weapon. Our only possible lead’s her last client, who nobody knows a damned thing about except that he’s calling himself “Smith”, and the only person who might have actually noticed this Smith bloke has decided to top himself. Or at least, that’s the story.’

‘What do you mean, that’s the story? It was suicide.’

‘It looked like suicide. There was a chair kicked over, and the flex was tied up just right…poor bastard. The cop in charge told me that he’d heard things in the hotel about the boy. That he was a loser. Always stoned out of his head on pot. Couldn’t hold down a job for ten minutes before he started screwing up.’

‘Well then,’ said Dolly.

‘Yeah, but ain’t that bloody convenient? We’re all after this “Smith” person like longdogs—and there’s no saying he’s the one who did this to Aretha anyway. In fact anyone could have rushed up behind her in the street and done this; any sly bastard with a length of wire in his—or her—pocket.’

‘Fuck me, you think a woman could have done this?’ demanded Dolly. She was looking at Annie in exasperation. ‘You’re crazy.’

‘Who the hell knows? But still, we’re after Smith,’ she went on. ‘It’s all we’ve got. And our only link to him or her has just killed himself.’

‘Wait up,’ Dolly objected. ‘How’d this person who killed him—supposing that’s what happened—get into the flat?’

Annie shrugged. ‘Easy. Knock on the door, he opens it, they barge in, shut the door behind them, exit through the same door, no problems at all. No need to break in.’

‘What about the doormen at the hotel?’ asked Dolly.

Annie shook her head. ‘I had Jackie Tulliver talk to the doormen. They’ve got no recollection of the man, none at all.’

Jackie was an ugly, cigar-smoking little goblin who had been with the Carter firm forever. If Jackie said there was nothing, then there was nothing. End of.

‘So that’s that then,’ said Dolly firmly. ‘Now, will you just let it go, for the love of God? Chris did the deed. It’s bloody sad, but he did. I suppose she goaded him about how little he earned, she went back on the game, they argued—and he just snapped. So just let it go.’

There was a loud silence from Annie and Ellie.

‘Oh come on,’ protested Dolly.

They both ignored her.

‘What will you do now?’ asked Ellie, sitting down at the table across from Annie.

‘No idea.’ Annie stared at the table. Her brief Jerry Peters had phoned her early this morning saying that it looked very bad for Chris.

‘I fear for your friend, Annie,’ he had said gravely. ‘I really do.’

So do I, thought Annie.

‘This must have hit Aretha’s Aunt Louella like a sack of shit,’ said Ellie. She looked at Annie. ‘I hope the firm’s going to take care of her.’

Dolly looked up. ‘That’s the first sensible thing either of you has said.’

‘Yeah, but she don’t want our help, Doll,’ said Annie.

‘Look, make her take it. She can’t afford funerals and such: she’s poor but she’s proud. She’d probably like to accept an offer of help but it’s beneath her dignity.’

‘I’ll try,’ said Annie with a sigh, standing up.

‘So what now?’ asked Dolly. ‘You seen that Barolli bloke yet?’

Oh yeah, thought Annie. And instead of calling me, he’s been calling Redmond Delaney. The bastard.

‘No,’ she said. She really didn’t want to get started on all that.

‘Well, you ought to catch up with him. Have some fun, forget all this business.’ Dolly looked at her sharply. ‘You know what I’ve got to look forward to this afternoon? An assortment of fat naked arses and the frigging washing-up. Oh, and I’ve got to find a replacement dominatrix now that we’ve lost poor bloody Aretha. The silver fox, eh? Damn, that sure beats doing the dishes. Oh, and I forgot to say, your cousin Kath phoned. She was moaning about when were you coming over to get Layla, you said just overnight and she’s been there all morning. Kath says she don’t mind, but she’s got her hands full with her own two and you did promise Layla after breakfast at the latest, and Kath said where the fuck were you, in that charming way she has.’

Annie sighed again. Damn, it was true. She couldn’t keep dumping Layla on Kath like this while she addressed all sorts of business crap. She was going to have to sort out something more permanent, more settled, for Kath’s sake and for Layla’s. Within a few months she was going to have to think about schooling for Layla, too. But for now, she was going to sort out something else. Something she had already put off for too long.

The Holland Park mansion was just the same—it was a large and imposing William and Mary house with beautiful proportions, standing full square in an elegantly shaded plot. Lollipop bay trees adorned either side of the vast pillared doorway. It was the very picture of prosperous English gentility, probably owned by a banker who was something big in the City—which just went to show how far you could rely on appearances.

The mansion was in fact owned by the don of an Italian-American mob ‘famiglia’, greatly to be feared, who loaned money at ridiculous rates then had people apply baseball bats to clients who were slow to pay. Who practised the ancient arts of loan-sharking and extortion. Who ran all-night poker games for high stakes. Who paid off bent cops—just like the Carters did, Annie reminded herself.

Annie walked up the steps with the strangest feeling that someone was watching her. She paused midway, looked around. She’d sent Tony home; said she’d get a cab back to the club. She looked up and down the quiet, sedate street. There was a brief flare from a doorway about a hundred yards up the road, as someone lit a cigarette.

Hey, is that all it takes to spook you now? she wondered. Someone standing in a doorway taking a smoke?

Exasperated with herself, Annie went on up the steps. She was getting jumpy and she didn’t even know why—except maybe she did. Her friend had been killed. Another friend had been arrested. And then the horror in the flat today. Trouble, every way she looked, and it was putting her on edge.

And now she was remembering the last time she’d come here, distraught, almost senseless with grief and worry, her daughter missing, her husband gone, money to find and nowhere to find it. This time was different, but still she felt her stomach churn with nerves.

She knocked at the glossy navy-blue painted door. The door opened. A large mound of muscle stood there, looking at her expectantly.

Annie moistened her dry mouth. ‘Is he in?’ she asked. ‘I’m—’

‘You’re Mrs Carter. Yes, he’s in. Come in please.’

And now it was too late to do a runner like she wanted to. She looked around the hall, marble everywhere, discreet and tasteful flower arrangements set up on pale stone plinths. Long mirrors: those were new. She saw herself in them, dark clothes, dark hair, blank face. That was good, the blank face. At least if she felt terrified, she didn’t actually look it.

The heavy was knocking at the study door. Faintly she heard the familiar American voice call out, ‘Come,’ and then the door was opened.

‘Mrs Carter for you, Boss,’ said the heavy, and ushered Annie inside and shut the door behind her.

Annie told herself firmly that it was childish to want to wrench it open and bolt straight back out. She thought of Max, and fuck it, this wasn’t the time at all to be thinking about him, but there he was in her mind: Max, all piratical charm and black hair and steely blue eyes. Her late husband, Max.

And now here she was. Picking up where she had left off with Constantine Barolli. Another powerful, ruthless man. She never could resist the allure of bad boys. And she feared that this could only end the same way, in death and disaster—perhaps it was stupid, but she did fear the consequences: the whole thing was fraught with danger, littered with hurdles.

His damned children, for instance. His son Lucco had hated her on sight. His other son Alberto she didn’t yet know about, but she felt sure he was going to hate her too. Cara, Constantine’s daughter, who was newly married, was sure to see her as a rival for Daddy’s affection, and already Constantine’s sister Gina had looked at her like she was a turd on the pavement.

‘Well, are you going to come in, or go out again?’ asked Constantine from behind the desk.

The study was the same as she remembered. Big tan-coloured Chesterfields, rows of books, a big desk with a buttoned leather chair behind it and a yellow banker’s light casting a warm glow upon its tooled-leather top. There was a marble fireplace with a decorated screen in front of it. This was a clubby, masculine room, and she felt out of place in it, just as she had last time she was here.

‘I’m not sure,’ she said.

He stood up and came around the desk and over to where Annie stood against the door. He held out his hand, palm down. Expecting her to kiss his hand, she thought. Annie looked at it, then at his face, then shook his hand briefly. Constantine gave a slight smile.

The silver fox. After his mother and brother had been hit in Sicily, his grandfather had promptly shipped him off to join the family in New York where it was safer. He’d grown up running numbers around Queens and in the Bronx, learning the business, finally taking control.

Annie looked up at his face. It was a strong face, commanding. Tanned, with bright blue eyes. Deep laughter lines in the corners. He put his hands in his pockets and looked at her from just inches away.

‘So what now, Mrs Carter?’ he asked in that assured, deep American voice. ‘You gonna bolt for the door, or give this a shot?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Annie, although she did. She brushed past him, went to the desk, sat down. ‘I’m here to discuss your clubs.’

Constantine went back around the desk and sat down too.

‘There’s nothing to discuss,’ he said. ‘I’m perfectly happy with the service I’m getting.’ He looked at her. ‘Which isn’t to say it couldn’t be improved upon, of course.’

The West End clubs that Constantine owned were gold mines. Annie knew that. Famous people were in and out of there all the time, the Beatles, Howard Keel, George Segal, anyone who was anyone, all the big names. If you weren’t rich, famous or glamorous—and preferably you would be all three—you wouldn’t get through the door.

Constantine knew many film stars and singers, just as Max had done. They were pleased to appear in his clubs and to bestow extra kudos upon them. Those he didn’t know—the up-and-coming talents, the great emerging beauties flaunting their fabulous bodies and eager to press the flesh of producers and directors—people like that, he paid. For a couple of grand and a few freebies they’d be there, spotting and being spotted, adding new-face charisma and a sprinkle of stardust to the already heady mix.

His clubs—like the other top London nightspots, Tramp and Annabel’s—were always packed out with wealthy punters, and wealthy punters liked tight security, locally provided, right there on the spot. While Constantine did business here, his main base was New York. Rather than spread his own resources too thinly, he preferred to hire in native muscle—and, up until this point, that muscle had always been the Carters.

‘Look,’ she said quickly, ‘have the Delaneys made you an offer?’

Constantine gave her a look. ‘The Delaneys are always making me offers.’

‘Have they? What did Redmond have to say to you when I met you at the hotel?’

‘Okay. He said that whatever the Carter cut was, he’d halve it.’

Annie let out a breath. ‘I bloody knew it,’ she fumed. She looked at him. ‘And you didn’t buy that?’

Constantine shrugged. ‘Max was always a good friend to our family, he honoured his business dealings with us and I’m returning the favour.’

‘Although it’s costing you.’

‘Yeah. But that goes with the territory.’ He looked at her shrewdly. ‘The Delaney thing’s still ongoing then? I know they’ve spent years trying to muscle in on Carter territory, and now Max and Jonjo are not on the scene, I guess they’re thinking the coast is clear.’

‘It’s not clear,’ she said. ‘I’ve told them that.’

‘Well, that’s good. Because it’s tough, being a boss. And doubly tough being a lady boss. People looking to shake you down. Thinking it’s gonna be easy, you know?’

‘It’s not clear, okay?’

‘Okay, so that’s the business talk wrapped up. How is Layla?’

‘She’s fine,’ said Annie.

‘Good. That’s good news.’

He stood up and came around the desk and leaned back against it, then hauled Annie to her feet with one hand. Startled, she found herself standing between his legs, pressed up tight against him, his arms around her waist. ‘Can we now get on to what’s really on our minds?’ he asked.

‘Like what?’ asked Annie, although she knew.

Her blood was fizzing with desire; she’d wanted this for far too long. But her desire was tainted with unease now. What if he was lying, what if he’d already got into bed—in the business sense—with the Delaneys? What if he was her enemy, even while he appeared to be her friend?

‘Like this,’ said Constantine, and bent his head and kissed her. Her head reeled and pulse accelerated. After a couple of seconds, Annie pulled back, bunching her fists against his chest.

‘Wait,’ she said.

‘Wait?’ Constantine’s expression was amused disbelief.

‘You said something and I want to know what you meant.’

‘When did I say something?’

‘Outside the hotel. You said if you could find the guts to face this thing, then so could I. What did you mean?’

‘Right.’ His eyes lost their spark of humour. He looked at her, smoothed his hands over her back. ‘Listen to me. Five years ago I lost my wife Maria in a hit organized by a rogue soldier from one of the other New York families. He was aiming for me. He got her.’

‘I know that,’ said Annie.

‘Yeah, but maybe you don’t know what it’s like to have that sort of guilt on your shoulders, uh? Anyway, what I’m telling you is, bad things can happen to people who come close to me.’ His eyes were intense as they stared into hers. ‘You know what I am. You know I’m telling you the truth.’

Maybe I don’t even want to get close to you, she thought. Maybe I don’t dare.

‘I’m not afraid,’ said Annie.

‘There have been bad things done between the families. Terrible things. Thirty members of one family, wiped out in a vendetta. A boy of twelve killed, his body dissolved in acid. Getting scared yet?’

She was scared all right—scared of loving him, and discovering too late that he was a treacherous bastard.

‘You’re quiet,’ he said when she didn’t answer.

‘I think you’re on my side.’ Annie was staring at him. ‘So I’ve nothing to fear, have I?’

‘You think?’ He was looking at her curiously.

He was warning her of the dangers of involvement—but she wasn’t even sure she wanted to get in any deeper. ‘And I’ve got the boys. Max’s boys,’ she said. It was safer, better, to rely on them.

‘I’m glad you said Max’s,’ said Constantine. ‘Because they’re still his, you know, not yours.’

Annie shook her head. ‘No, that’s—’

‘Don’t tell me it’s not true, because it is. It’s a tough world out there: men run it and you’re a woman. Max’s people will think you should remain loyal to him. To his memory, anyway. So if you’re not—if you start something with me, for instance—although you know you’re free to do so, they won’t ever accept it. And trust me, they’ll be annoyed. They’ll see it as a betrayal.’

Annie said nothing. She knew he was right. She’d been thinking much the same herself.

‘I’m going to be honest with you,’ said Constantine. ‘After we parted last time, I thought…no. I didn’t want to go there. I’d already lost people I loved. I didn’t want to risk that sort of pain again.’

Annie opened her mouth to speak.

‘No, let me finish. But I kept thinking about you. And I realized that it was already too late, I was already involved. So I knew I had to go for it. And I hoped it wasn’t too late, that I hadn’t kept you waiting too long, that you had the balls to go ahead with this even though there could be dangers involved, there could be risks. You know what I really didn’t want to happen?’

Annie shook her head.

‘That you should feel grateful to me for anything I’ve done in the past. I didn’t want your gratitude, and I didn’t want you on the fucking rebound from Max either.’

He pulled her in and kissed her again, harder.

Annie melted. But again she pushed him away.

‘And the problem this time is…?’ asked Constantine.

‘Is Lucco going to walk in on us?’ Annie remembered Constantine’s oily dark-haired son sneering at her, warning her off, bursting in on them at every opportunity.

‘Lucco’s in New York,’ said Constantine, pushing her back a step. He took her hand, looked at the ring on her thumb. Max’s ring, with the Egyptian cartouches carved into the gold, the solid slab of lapis lazuli a gleaming pure blue. Looked at his own ring, gold with small diamonds scattered like stars. ‘Listen, if I kiss your hand, will you kiss mine?’

Annie started to smile. He could always charm her. His charm was her weakness. ‘Did you seriously think I’d kiss it?’

‘Wanted to see how you’d react.’

‘That’s cruel.’

He shrugged, his eyes playing with hers. ‘Hey, I can do cruel. If it turns you on.’

Annie was aware of her heart beating fast. Her cheeks felt hot, her nipples hard. They looked at each other and there was a hot crackle of sheer sexual need between them.

‘Let’s take this upstairs,’ he said.

‘No,’ said Annie, digging her heels in. She wasn’t sure about him. No way was she going to be rushed. She was determined to take things at her own speed.

He gazed steadily at her face. ‘Okay. I’ll wait. I’ll do the whole courtship thing, if you want. Why not come to lunch on Tuesday, meet the family properly?’

‘Oh shit, Constantine…’

‘They don’t bite.’

‘Are you sure?’

He laughed. ‘I’m not going to let this go,’ he warned her. ‘And this courtship thing? I won’t be patient for too long.’

She knew it. He knew it.

‘You need me,’ he murmured, trailing his lips lightly over her mouth. ‘You need me like a drug. And one day soon you’re going to admit it to me—and to yourself.’

‘You know what? You’re an arrogant swine,’ said Annie, but he was right, damn it.

‘Yeah, and you like that,’ he said with a smile. ‘So let’s get this thing rolling. Come to lunch.’

‘Okay,’ she said at last, and wondered what the hell she was getting herself into.