Dirty Game (14 page)

Kieron phoned the following week. Now the exhibition was over, she’d expected not to hear from him again. After all, he’d been adamant that their relationship was strictly business. He was the artist, she was the model, and now their work was done.

‘So how are you, Annie girl?’ he asked.

Annie thought his voice sounded odd. Sort of different.

‘I’m fine and dandy. And you?’

‘Ah, fine.’

Silence.

‘The exhibition went well, didn’t it?’ said Annie.

‘Oh yes. I was pleased.’

‘Did you sell much?’

‘Every damned thing in the place.’

‘Including the nude?’ Annie wasn’t going to ask, but the words sort of popped out.

‘Yeah, including the nude.’ A long pause. ‘Actually,
Max Carter bought it. There was a bit of a bidding war going on between him and some other chap. Toby’s been on cloud nine with it all. Put the price right up, so we did well.’

‘Good.’ Annie’s heart was thumping sickly in her chest. Fuck it, she couldn’t think about that. Not yet. ‘I’m pleased for you,’ she said.

‘Was he bothering you?’

‘Pardon?’

‘At the exhibition,’ said Kieron. ‘Only I saw the two of you talking, and you seemed a bit awkward. Was he hassling you, Annie? Was that it?’

‘No, he wasn’t hassling me,’ said Annie.

‘Only I know there was something between the two of you at one time, you told me about it, you remember?’

God, why didn’t he just shut up?

‘I remember. But that was then and this is now, Kieron. That was a mistake. One best not repeated.’

‘Won’t it be?’

‘What?’ Annie stared at the phone. Chris was looking at her over the top of his paper. Jesus, she was blushing. She could feel herself getting hot.

‘Repeated,’ said Kieron.

‘No.’ She couldn’t go there again. God, no. Never. Poor bloody Ruthie, hadn’t she suffered enough? What would it do to her if all that started up again? Hadn’t it hurt her enough the first time?

‘Only I’m worried about you,’ said Kieron.

‘Well don’t be,’ snapped Annie. ‘I’m a big girl, Kieron. I’m not a bloody kid.’

‘Listen, it’s none of my business,’ said Kieron.

‘Too fucking right it isn’t.’

‘Whoa! Don’t bite my ruddy head off, I’m just concerned.’

‘Kieron, who asked you?’ said Annie, and slammed the phone down.

‘Trouble?’ asked Chris.

‘No. No trouble.’
And even if I had trouble,
would I discuss it with you?
Annie wondered. Since the last party when she had seen Pat and Chris in a huddle she had really started to worry about what was going down here. Was Chris selling drugs to her clients? Suppose the shit hit the fan one day and they had a raid. All right, it was unlikely. The Delaneys had plenty of tame coppers around here. But what if the unlikely happened? And what if they found drugs on the premises that
she
was in charge of?

It was a shame. She had taken to Chris straight away, but this had soured her feelings about him. She’d been aware for a long time that she had to be careful what she said to Ellie because it would go straight back to the Delaneys. Now she had to watch Chris too.

To cheer herself up she went up West and cleared out the shops. It helped, but only a little. Her mind was in a mess and it didn’t help to come
back and find a long black car and a driver outside her place. Her heart rate picked up to a gallop. It was him. It was Max.

But it wasn’t. She went past Chris into the kitchen and found Ruthie sitting at the kitchen table.

‘Fuck, you gave me a turn,’ said Annie, dropping her bags and clutching at her chest.

‘Sorry,’ said Ruthie coolly. ‘The man on the door said you should be back soon, so I thought I’d wait.’

Annie nodded. Christ, she felt bewildered. Her brain seemed to be in a fog. She took a hold of herself and put on her smile.

‘Tea?’ she offered brightly.

‘No, give me something stronger,’ ordered Ruthie.

Annie looked at her sister. It wasn’t like Ruthie to boss people about. And it was two in the afternoon, and she wanted a drink? Ruthie might be beautifully turned out, but she looked even skinnier than when Annie had last seen her at Mum’s. She might not be eating, but she was obviously drinking.

‘Bit early, don’t you think?’

‘No, I don’t think,’ said Ruthie. ‘Get me a sherry or something.’

Annie bit her lip and got down a bottle of Amontillado from the store cupboard. She put out
a schooner and filled it. Ruthie, to her dismay, threw half of it back in an instant. Annie’s heart seemed to freeze in her chest. This is my doing, she thought, I did this to my own sister.

‘So, is this a social call?’ asked Annie as she busied herself putting on the kettle.

‘I got fed up at Mum’s,’ said Ruthie, polishing off the rest of the glass while Annie watched out of the corner of her eye, appalled. ‘Kath’s away on holiday, I thought it was time I came and paid my dear little sister a visit.’

Christ, she was already drunk. Her words were slurred. Ruthie held up her empty glass and tapped it.

‘No, you’ve had enough,’ said Annie firmly.

Ruthie grabbed Annie’s arm with surprising strength. ‘I’m Mrs Max Carter,’ she shouted. ‘I’ll decide when I’ve had enough.’

Chris’s head came round the hall door. ‘Everything okay?’ he asked.

‘Everything’s fine,’ said Ruthie with a giggle.

‘Yeah, it’s okay Chris,’ said Annie, wrenching her arm free. ‘Thanks. Make sure we’re not disturbed, will you?’

Chris looked at them both and then withdrew, closing the door softly behind him.

She sat down opposite Ruthie and looked at her.

‘You want to kill yourself?’ Annie asked. ‘Haven’t
you seen enough of what drink does to somebody? Haven’t we both had years of it to know better?’

Ruthie shrugged and reached for the bottle. Annie grabbed her wrist. Ruthie winced. Annie was fitter and stronger than this wreck her sister had become.

‘Ruthie,’ she said, letting go. ‘Whatever life’s thrown at you, don’t let it grind you down like this. Don’t chuck it all away.’

Ruthie threw back her head and laughed. ‘Jesus, advice on life from the husband-stealer!’

‘All right, Ruthie. Listen. If you can’t get over it, if you hate him so much, why go on with it? Get a divorce.’

‘Oh no.’ Ruthie shook her head. It waggled like a rag on a stick. ‘What, and leave the way clear for little Annie? I don’t think so.’

‘You’re only hurting yourself, Ruthie. What good is that?’

‘I don’t care,’ said Ruthie, sloshing more sherry into her glass. ‘I don’t care about anything any more. I’m going back home tomorrow, back to Surrey. It’s nice in the country. If you ignore the peasants.’

Ruthie roared with laughter, as if she had just said something extremely funny.

Annie looked at her sister, nonplussed. She had never thought of Ruthie as weak, but now she clearly saw that she was.

‘I thought of having a baby,’ said Ruthie. ‘But you have to have
sex
to get babies. We don’t even sleep in the same
bed
any more.’

This was more than Annie wanted to know. So their sex life was over. She should feel sad for her sister. Fuck it, she
did
feel sad for Ruthie, desperately sad. But a small, treacherous part of her was relieved.

‘You’re a young woman,’ said Annie, hating herself for how she felt.

‘Yeah, so I am.’ Ruthie nodded vigorously as she slurped back another belt. She swallowed and then looked Annie dead in the eye. ‘And you know what? I don’t care whether I live or not.’

‘Ruthie!’

‘It’s the truth. I don’t care any more. About anything. Because you’ve ruined my life.’

Now Annie felt real anger take hold.

‘For fuck’s sake, Ruthie!’ she burst out. ‘I’m sorry as hell, I’ve said it over and over again, how many more times do I have to say it? I won’t let you keep punishing me like this, it has to
stop
.’

And then Ruthie just sat there and sobbed.

‘Good afternoon, Miss Bailey. I hope you’re well?’

Thank God for Redmond Delaney and a sense of normality, thought Annie. Ever since the exhibition she had felt that she was losing her mind. Seeing Max had rattled her, seeing Ruthie so upset had rattled her even more. It was hard for her to keep on track, to keep everything running as it should, but somehow she was managing.

Dig deep and stand alone
, she thought. She had to carry on doing that however hard it might be.

She had started making elaborate plans, frantically occupying her thoughts with business, trying to cope with her emotional disorder through diversion. When she heard that deep cool, Irish voice on the phone, it steadied her somehow. And now she had a face to put to the voice. Handsome, chilly Redmond Delaney. Twin to Orla and brother
to sweet and scatty Kieron – not to mention that disgusting lout Pat.

‘I’m very well, Mr Delaney. And you?’

‘Perfectly fine, thank you. How is business?’

‘I’m going to expand,’ said Annie.

‘Indeed?’

‘The parties are going so well I’m going to have them three times a month. We can’t cope with the demand and we don’t want too many punters in here at any one time.’

‘That’s good news, Miss Bailey.’

‘Also, I’ve been thinking.’

‘Yes?’

‘Quite a few of our clients are prosperous professionals, Mr Delaney. They need a place to go that’s close to the City – to Whitehall.’

‘I see.’

‘So in addition to this business, I’m also planning to rent an apartment – a nice one – perhaps in Mayfair?’

‘That will be expensive.’

‘Not if you chip in half the rent.’

There was a short silence before he came back: ‘We’ll need to renegotiate my cut.’

‘That goes without saying,’ said Annie, who had already thought all this through.

‘By the very nature of the business, the rentals may have to be short-term. If you are not in our
area other interests may come into play. Neighbours may have more influence. You will have to be cautious. And extremely discreet.’

‘Yes, I do realize that.’

‘Find a suitable property and we’ll talk again, Miss Bailey.’

‘Thank you, Mr Delaney.’

‘Was there anything else?’

Annie glanced over at Chris, sitting there like Buddha in the corner. Not the time or the place to tell Redmond about her suspicions regarding Pat, she thought. Maybe Redmond knew, anyway. Maybe Redmond didn’t care.

‘No, there’s nothing else.’

‘Goodbye then.’

Ruthie was right, Annie thought. She was sitting on a powder keg. One dropped spark, and pow! A feeling of fatalism was coming over her. Sooner or later it was all going to erupt around her. But for now, she was alive. She was in charge. She was Madam Annie. The minute she put the phone down she shouted up the stairs for Ellie. A dark head appeared over the banister.

‘Get smartly dressed, Ellie,’ said Annie. Ellie knew that ‘smart’ meant ‘nothing tarty’. Ellie could look like a novice nun when she set her mind to it. Her ‘novice nun’ was in fact very popular with some of the clients, nearly as popular as her ‘schoolgirl’.
Annie had every confidence in her ability to appear demure. ‘We’re going up West to do some business.’

 ‘Jesus H Christ in a sidecar,’ said Ellie two and a half hours later. Annie gave her a sharp nudge. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘But look at it, Annie. Just fucking-well
look
at this place.’

Annie was looking. She was looking and she was wondering what it would be like to actually live here. It was a high-ceilinged, bright and incredibly big apartment set in a gorgeous block on the corner of Oxford Street and Park Street. Buck House was just up the road. So was the Ritz, just a step away in Piccadilly. The Houses of Parliament were close by too. It was a perfect place in a perfect location. There was a private balcony and even porterage.

‘Someone to carry your stuff up for you,’ said Annie when Ellie gave her a questioning look.

There was a lift. There were two beautiful bathrooms. The apartment was furnished in luxurious gold and pale blue tones, offset by a warm, muted cream. It was the most exquisite, the most truly luscious place Annie had ever seen. It damn near brought tears to her eyes, it was so lovely.

‘So ladies – what do you think?’ asked the estate agent, emerging from one of the bathrooms and beaming from ear to ear.

Christ, even the estate agents in this area looked
prosperous, thought Annie. He had a healthy tan and lustrously styled hair. His suit looked like Savile Row, elegantly pinstriped and teamed with white shirt, gold cufflinks and discreet silk tie. You could have made your face up in the reflection off his shoes, she thought. The bastard looked
rich
. Fortunately, so did she. Or rather
Anne
Bailey did. Anne. Like the Princess, she had told him and smiled charmingly when she shook his hand. And so did her little sister for the day, whom she introduced with a flourish as Elisa.

This was the third flat they had viewed. The first had taken her breath away, and she had been inclined to go for that one – but it was slightly further out than she really wanted, although it boasted stunning views over Green Park. Then the next. Dazzling, alluring. But a little dark with a lot of wood panelling. But this one. This was
it
.

‘We’ll take it,’ she said.

They went back to his office and Annie wrote out a cheque for six months’ rent in advance. A staggering amount. But she’d been busy saving a large wodge of her considerable profits. She could, for the first time ever, afford to follow a whim.

Chris drove them back to Limehouse stopping on the way, at Annie’s instruction, so that she could make a call from a phone box.

‘It’s urgent,’ she said. ‘Something I forgot.’

She phoned through to Redmond Delaney and
kept her back turned to Chris and Ellie, who were both waiting in the car. She told him that Pat Delaney had shown up at her last party, that he appeared to be on something and that he had passed something to Chris.

Redmond took it all in silently.

The pips went. Annie shovelled in more change.

‘I’ll look into it,’ said Redmond.

‘I’d rather he didn’t know I told you,’ said Annie.

‘Of course.’

‘I got the flat,’ said Annie.

‘Good work, Miss Bailey. Get the details to me as soon as you can.’

‘Of course,’ said Annie, and rang off.

She was moving on up. Everything was going to be all right. But she felt jittery. She got back in the car, clutching the flat details to her. She sat there staring out at the traffic and reviewing her recent past with blank amazement. Funny how Billy hadn’t called in for a while. She almost missed the poor loon, he’d become a familiar face to her. But she supposed he was intimidated, being confronted by Chris every time he called. It wasn’t something she could help. Chris was necessary now. Protection. Security. She lay back against the leather upholstery as Ellie prattled away excitedly beside her and thought what it would be like to just take off to that beautiful Mayfair flat on her own, to live there as Miss Anne Bailey, happy and
prosperous. To forget Celia’s place and the danger and the excitement of running it.
Sure
, she thought. And live on what? Peanuts?

The big black car was outside the house again when they got home, the driver sitting stolidly behind the wheel, waiting.

Ruthie!
thought Annie, anxiety and anger gripping her. She tore through the hall and flung open the door to the front parlour.

‘Look, Ruthie, if you’ve come here for another bloody row …’

But it wasn’t Ruthie waiting to see her.

It was Max.

Every time she saw Max Carter she was hit by the sheer physical impact of him. Of course whoever had let him in had shown him into the front room, not the kitchen. You didn’t show Max into a kitchen.

Annie stood frozen in the doorway for a moment.

Chris came up close and hissed: ‘You want me to phone Redmond?’ in her ear.

Annie shook her head. ‘I’ll deal with this. See that nobody disturbs us, will you?’

She went into the front room and closed the door behind her and leaned against it, breathless, heart hammering crazily in her chest.

‘Sorry. I thought you were Ruthie,’ said Annie. Her mouth was dry.

‘She’s been here then?’ said Max.

‘Yeah,’ said Annie coolly. ‘Can’t seem to make up her mind whether your marriage is dead or alive, but she was here. You mean you didn’t know she called?’

‘I don’t own her.’

‘Sorry, I thought you did.’

Max nodded. Slowly he came over to where she stood, placed one large hand on the door beside her head, and leaned in.

‘You’ve got a fucking nerve, Annie Bailey, talking to me like that,’ he said.

‘Ruthie might be afraid of you,’ said Annie. ‘I’m not.’

‘No?’ Max was half-smiling as he came in closer still. He knew the effect he had on her.

Annie gulped. ‘No,’ she said.

‘You’ve changed, Annie. Look at you. You’re all grown up now,’ he said, his eyes moving over her.

Annie nodded. ‘I had to grow up fast, Max. I got kicked out by my mother, remember? If I hadn’t been able to come here I’d have been walking the streets.’

‘Is this what you wanted out of life, running a knocking shop?’

Annie shrugged, trying to be cool, but her heart was racing and now –
oh shit!
– her nipples were hard. The flat details in her hand were crumpled
and damp, forgotten. She wished he’d back off. But she knew he wouldn’t.

‘It’s a living,’ she said.

‘Word is you’re making a good job of it,’ said Max.

‘I like to think so.’

‘You shouldn’t be here,’ he said.

‘Why?’ Annie was stung by this. What fucking business was it of his where she was or what she did? He’d made his feelings plain enough when he’d kicked her out of his car into the pouring rain; she’d never forget that, or forgive it. ‘Is something going to happen? Is the place going to burn down around my ears, is that it?’

She saw anger in his eyes and then he smiled. ‘You may not be afraid of me, Annie Bailey, but I think you’re afraid of yourself.’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Annie, but she did.

‘So I’m asking the question,’ said Max.

‘What?’ Annie’s voice was barely more than a whisper. She could feel Max’s breath on her face, feel the heat coming off his body.

‘How much?’

‘What?’

‘How much do you want?’ Max’s eyes were sharp now, predatory. ‘You know I want you. Always have, always will. So if it makes you feel better we’ll keep this strictly business. How much?’

For fuck’s sake! The cheek of him, to treat her like a tart! Annie shook her head violently. She wanted to hit him.

‘God, you’re a bastard,’ she said. ‘And let’s get this straight. Even if I was selling it – which I’m not –
you
couldn’t afford me.’

‘Yes I could,’ said Max. ‘I could have you for free, and you fucking-well know it.’

Now she did hit him. Or she tried to. He caught her arm on the upswing and pinned it back against the door. Then he kissed her and she was lost. She couldn’t help it. The heat of his body, the smell of his cologne, the slickness of his tongue as it entered her mouth, everything overwhelmed her.

Ruthie
, she thought.

But it was no good. She was gone, the touch and feel and smell of him was something she had dreamed of every night for too long. Then he was lifting her, carrying her over to the couch, lowering her on to it, pushing up her dress.

‘No,’ she managed to say. ‘No, I don’t want this.’

But Max wasn’t listening. His mouth covered hers again and she was powerless to resist. He was shoving aside the flimsy pants she wore, then she felt him undoing his trousers.
We mustn’t do this
, she thought, but the wetness was flooding her.

Then suddenly he was inside her, huge and pumping and just as she remembered. She cried
out and he covered her mouth with his hand and had her quickly and silently. Annie lay there, pinioned, trapped, loving it. Then he stiffened and groaned as his seed spilled into her, God, no protection, nothing, there could be a baby, anything could happen, she was in terror and in rapture, she loved it, couldn’t get enough of it, God she must be a whore, what else was she, this was her sister’s husband, Ruthie’s husband …

It was over. He was finished, but instead of withdrawing he stayed there, kissing her, nuzzling his nose into her neck, crushing her with his strength, hurting her a little but she still loved it.

‘I want this,’ he murmured against her skin. ‘I want you. I’ve been going fucking mad ever since I saw you again, dreaming about you.’

At the gallery, she thought. And at poor Eddie’s funeral. It was Eddie’s death that had really brought them back together. She remembered that hot, lingering look they’d exchanged as Max stood at Eddie’s graveside.

‘But Ruthie,’ she groaned, nearer to tears than she had ever been before.

‘She lives her life, I live mine,’ he said roughly. ‘Whatever you and I do, it’ll make no difference to her.’

If Annie tried hard enough she could almost make herself believe that it was true.

‘What’s this?’ He was taking the scrap of
mangled paper out of her hand, pulling away from her a little, adjusting his trousers. Annie straightened too, feeling sore and achy. She wasn’t used to bearing a man’s weight. Her hands were shaking. She felt hot, ready for more. She wanted him to touch her again, be inside her again. No wonder she felt at home in a whorehouse – she was a whore.

‘We’re expanding the business,’ she said, trying to steady herself as Max spread out the details and looked at the photo of the apartment’s interior.

‘We?’ He looked at her.

‘The Delaneys will chip in.’ There, she’d said it.

He was silent. Then he said: ‘It looks good.’

‘It’s beautiful,’ said Annie. ‘Walking around it, I felt like I was in another world.’

‘Come here,’ said Max, and kissed her again, his hands deftly stroking her until he had to cover her mouth again to stifle a scream. ‘Good?’ he murmured, covering her mouth with his own again and pushing her back, going on to his knees and freeing himself quickly and pulling her legs apart, sliding her arse down the sofa until they were joined again, he was plunging inside her again, riding her.