Dirty Game (16 page)

After the Friday lunchtime party Annie sent Chris out for a fag break and phoned Redmond Delaney. It was something she’d been trying to avoid, but now she had to do it. She was about to announce her changes to her workers, and it was only polite to break the news to him first.

‘Miss Bailey. Always a pleasure,’ he said smoothly. ‘How can I help?’

‘I’ve changed my plans,’ said Annie.

‘Oh?’

‘I’m moving out of here and putting a manager in charge.’

Redmond was silent. Then he said: ‘Who?’

Annie told him.

‘You’re sure that’s wise?’

‘Positive.’

‘And you will be moving where?’

This was the bit Annie had dreaded.

‘The apartment I viewed last week, I’m moving in there.’

‘Are you planning to oversee the business there and have the Limehouse concern managed for you?’

‘No,’ said Annie, bracing herself. ‘I’m going to live there, not conduct business.’

‘That’s an expensive undertaking.’

God, this was harder than she’d thought.

‘I’ll have help.’

‘Whose?’

Fuck it
, she thought. ‘That’s my private business,’ she said.

‘Yes, of course,’ said Redmond. ‘As you wish.’

‘Sorry if this puts you out,’ said Annie.

‘It doesn’t. Was there anything else, Miss Bailey?’

‘No.’

There was a pause.

‘Keep in touch,’ he said, and rang off.

Annie put the phone down feeling uneasy. Of course the Delaneys would soon find out what was going on, but her relationship –
if you could call
it that
, she thought – with Max was not negotiable or for the public domain. If Ruthie should ever get to hear about it, it wouldn’t be because Annie had blabbed it about the town. She knew she had just made her position even more unstable, but it couldn’t be helped.

Annie gave everyone time to get cleaned and
cleared up, paid off the extra girls and bade them goodbye, then summoned the troops into the kitchen for tea and biscuits and a chat. She told them that she was moving out but would remain in control. She explained that the apartment she and Ellie had been to view was where she would be living, and she would not be running it as a parlour after all.

‘How can you be in control if you’re not even fucking-well here?’ asked Dolly.

‘I’ll put in a manager,’ said Annie.

‘Over my bloody dead body,’ said Dolly.

‘We don’t want some stranger comin’ in here an’ givin’ it large to us,’ warned Aretha. ‘An’ come on girl. How you goin’ afford a place like that? Ellie told us the details. It out of your league.’

‘My business is my business,’ said Annie bluntly.

‘Not when it affects us,’ said Dolly. ‘Aretha’s right. We don’t want some creep ordering us around.’

‘You won’t have some creep ordering you around. What do you think, Darren?’

Darren shrugged, but he looked unhappy. ‘You’re the boss,’ he said.

‘Ellie? You’re not saying much.’

‘You seem to have made your mind up,’ said Ellie, weakening and reaching for the custard creams.

‘I have.’

‘Well I for one am
not
happy,’ scowled Dolly.

‘Same here,’ said Aretha.

Annie drank her tea and let them stew for a minute or two. Then she said: ‘I’m not going to bring in a manager. I am going to
create
a manager.’

‘Create?’ Aretha laughed. ‘What, you goin’ make like that record, take a hundred pounds of clay and make a man, like Craig Douglas sang about? Dream on, honey.’

‘I’m going to create a manager from within,’ said Annie. God, they were dense. She was having to spell it out word for word.

‘You mean one of us?’ asked Darren.

‘At last,’ said Annie sarcastically.

They all exchanged looks. Annie could see she’d grabbed their attention now.

‘I’m not taking orders off that great lummox Chris,’ said Dolly.

‘Nor me,’ said Aretha.

‘Aretha,’ said Annie. ‘Dolly. Take your tea into the front room, will you? I want a quiet word with Ellie and Darren.’

‘I’m not joking,’ warned Dolly, shoving her chair back and storming off to the front room with a scowling Aretha.

‘Ellie,’ said Annie, when the front room door slammed shut. ‘You’re a good worker. You have a lovely way with our older gentlemen. I value your work very highly.’

Ellie looked pleased and preened herself, throwing Darren a triumphant look.

‘I hope you can carry on working for me. Go and try to calm Dolly down, will you? Send Aretha back in.’

Ellie looked bewildered but obediently left the room. Darren looked curiously at Annie, but her face was blank. Aretha strode back into the kitchen, pulled up a chair and sat huffily down.

‘Okay, what?’ she demanded.

‘You’re a great worker, Aretha. I really want you to stay on here and be happy with the arrangements,’ said Annie.

Aretha grunted. ‘Well, that depends on what you goin’ to do,’ she said.

‘Nothing you’d be unhappy with. Go back into the front room and have a chat with Ellie, will you? I really want to keep you both if I can. Send Dolly through.’

Darren poured himself and Annie another cup of tea, then sat and gnawed a hangnail. ‘This is doing my nerves in,’ he told her.

‘Just keep calm,’ said Annie.

‘I’m afraid you’re going to say something horrible.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like, “Darren, Chris is going to be your new boss.” Or “Darren, I want you to take over here.”’

‘Wouldn’t you like that?’

‘God, I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.’

Dolly came in slamming the door into the hall shut behind her. Dolly was a terrific door-slammer, but it cut no ice with Annie.

‘I’m not happy with any of this,’ Dolly fumed.

Annie nodded, she knew all about Dolly’s resistance to change of any sort. When you’d been humped around like an unwanted package all your natural and pushed about and abused by your own father, it would make you that way. It didn’t take a shrink to see that.

‘I’ve been talking to Darren about him being in charge,’ said Annie.

‘I told you, I’m not taking orders from anyone. Particularly not an arse bandit.’

‘Charming,’ said Darren.

‘Well that’s what you are,’ said Dolly. ‘You shove shit uphill, isn’t that right? It’s all tears and queers in your room on a Saturday night.’

‘Enough,’ said Annie sharply. Dolly getting panicky she could understand, but there was no call to take it out on Darren.

‘Well,’ pouted Dolly.

‘Well nothing. Be nice.’

‘It’s just that …’

‘I know how you like things steady,’ said Annie. ‘I know how much you appreciate what Celia did for you, taking you in here off the streets like she did, giving you a settled home. I know how much
you value this place. That’s why I want you to manage it.’

Darren’s jaw dropped. So did Dolly’s.

Annie sat there and smiled at them both.

‘Good idea?’ she said, and grabbed a biscuit. ‘Darren, you’ll be number two, you’ll stand in for Dolly whenever she’s not here and back her up when she is, would you like that?’

Darren’s natural position was number two. Annie knew it, and so did he. Darren nodded, relieved.

‘Dolly, you’ll be managing. That means no more entertaining clients and it means looking like a lady and not kicking off and swearing like a navvie at the first sign of trouble. Could you do that?’

To Annie’s surprise, Dolly’s eyes suddenly filled with tears.

‘No more shagging?’ she said faintly.

‘Not unless you really want to.’

‘Christ, no.’ Dolly’s laugh was shaky. ‘Fuck it, I don’t understand this.’

‘You’re tough, Dolly. I like that. Think you can take charge?’

Dolly wiped away a tear, but she was grinning. ‘You just fucking watch me,’ she said.

‘Call the others in, Darren,’ said Annie. ‘And bring a bottle of champagne. This calls for a celebration.’

 Ruthie Carter phoned her mother at eleven a.m. every day. Not that she really wanted to. Her mother disgusted her and yet Ruthie still loved her. The daily phone call had become a habit and now it was a job for life. If Ruthie didn’t phone, Connie became waspish and cruel, accusing her of not caring, of not loving her mother, of being a bad daughter. None of which could truthfully be said of Ruthie, but when the drink was on her – and when wasn’t it? – Connie could come out with all sorts.

Ruthie had started calling her every day because she was worried about her. Feeling worried was a prominent feature in Ruthie’s life. She worried about her failing marriage. She worried about how much she drank these days, she worried about Connie, who ought to be with her instead of living alone in London. Connie didn’t work any more. She couldn’t, truth be told. Most days she was too
rat-arsed to crawl out of bed, let alone do a day’s labour.

When Ruthie sat and thought about it she could trace this gnawing, constant anxiety back to when Dad left. It had been like the lunatics taking charge of the nuthouse on that day. Connie couldn’t run a piss-up in a brewery, and that was a fact. Running a household alone had turned out to be beyond her. When Dad went, everything started to crumble away; it was still crumbling. And now Connie wasn’t answering her phone and Ruthie felt her anxiety spiralling out of control.

She couldn’t phone Max. He must never be bothered with domestic stuff, and her mother came in that category. She knew very well what Max thought of Connie. There’d be merry hell to pay if she troubled him because Connie was drunk again. Instead, she phoned her cousin Kath who was now married to Jimmy Bond, one of Max’s boys. Kath’s mother, Maureen, lived just three doors along from Connie.

‘Mum’s not answering her phone, Kath love. Could you get your mum to pop round and check on her?’

‘Of course I could,’ said Kath. ‘You’re all right, are you, Ruthie?’

‘Oh, I’m fine,’ said Ruthie.

‘I’ll phone Mum,’ said Kath, and rang off.

Ruthie sat there, alone in the big Surrey house.
The silence was oppressive. After a minute she got up from the couch and poured herself a Scotch.

 Maureen took Kath’s call and without hesitation went and knocked at Connie’s door. After a while of waiting in the rain, with her brand-new perm going frizzy, she swore and took out her spare key and let herself in. She and Connie had had the keys to each other’s doors since the Blitz, it was no big deal. But Gawd, what a mess the place was in.

Curling her lip in disgust she went through to the lounge and there, as expected, was Connie spark out on the sofa. She was a mess. The cardigan she had on over her food-stained dress had two buttons missing. Connie’s gut was swollen, Jesus, she almost looked like she was up the duff. As if. Who in his right mind would lay a finger on Connie Bailey without fumigating her first? Connie had never been house-proud or tidy about her person, but she had now sunk to a new low. There was a trickle of drool running out of her half-open mouth.

‘Fucking hell,’ muttered Maureen, wrinkling her nose at the smell in there. Impatiently she shook Connie’s shoulder. ‘Connie! Come on girl, rise and shine.’

She shook her again. Connie’s head waggled from side to side and Maureen saw the blood in the drool. ‘Jesus,’ she said, her stomach clenching
in alarm. She shook Connie once more. She couldn’t rouse her.

‘Come on Connie,’ said Maureen nervously. ‘Don’t arse around.’

But Connie was dead to the world. There were empty vodka bottles all over the front room, on the floor and on the coffee table. Fag ash everywhere too. The place was a tip. Maureen placed a tentative hand to Connie’s neck. Oh thank Christ. She wasn’t dead, anyway.

Maureen looked at Connie’s sunken cheeks and yellowish colour and thought she’d seen better-looking corpses than this. She’d laid out her own mother and she’d looked as if she might sit up and start chatting away at any moment. Poor old Mum had looked a fucking sight better dead than Connie did alive, and that was a fact. Maureen went back out to the hall and unravelled the piece of paper with Ruthie’s number on it. She phoned her first, and then she called the ambulance.

 Annie was in Harrods poring over one of the make-up counters when someone grabbed her in a bear hug from behind. She turned and found that her new minder Donny, a Mancunian and as tough as they come, had Kieron Delaney in a headlock. Kieron’s face was turning puce. Annie touched Donny’s steely arm quickly.

‘It’s okay, I know him,’ she said.

Donny let Kieron go. Kieron clutched at his throat and took a deep breath.

‘Fucking
hell
,’ he gasped.

‘Give us a bit of space, will you?’ Annie told Donny, feeling irritated.

She’d never had a minder before, never wanted one, never needed one. Now Max insisted. She was Max Carter’s woman, she had to have protection day and night. She didn’t like it. Donny doubled as her driver. She had a car at her disposal,
but she couldn’t drive, so Donny drove her wherever she wanted to go. Today, she wanted to go shopping and she was already in the heart of Knightsbridge so she wanted to go on foot. Donny had insisted on coming along, and now this. Kieron was getting his breath back. Annie was getting ever more irritated.

‘Sorry,’ she said to Kieron.

‘It’s okay,’ he said, his colour back to normal. He glared at Donny, who gazed impassively back at him from a few yards away.

‘Since when have you had a minder?’ asked Kieron.

Annie shrugged. She didn’t want to go there.

‘You’re looking good,’ said Kieron, regaining his composure. ‘You know, this is sort of romantic, barring the near-death by strangulation.’

‘Pardon?’

‘This is where we first met. You remember? You with your Aunt Celia, me with Orla.’ He looked around. ‘She’s here somewhere, spending like a man with no arms, God bless her. How are you, Annie? Long time no see.’

‘I’m fine,’ said Annie. ‘And you?’

‘Yeah, fine. Busy, you know. Planning another exhibition. Landscapes this time, though. No nudes.’

‘Thank God for that.’

‘Ah, you enjoyed getting into your pelt for me, don’t deny it,’ he twinkled.

‘I hated every minute of it,’ said Annie truthfully.

‘It was a great exhibition.’

‘Did you sell the lot?’

‘Everything! Even the stuff I thought I’d have to hang on my own walls.’

Annie laughed. Kieron thought how beautiful she was, exquisitely groomed and seeming almost to glow. But it was a lost opportunity. He had heard from Redmond that she had some sort of serious romantic involvement now. When pressed, Redmond had said that he’d heard Annie was involved with her sister’s husband. Sure, hadn’t Kieron always suspected that particular fire was still smouldering away? So she was with Max Carter now. He’d missed his chance with her. His taste for playing the light-hearted joker had backfired on him. He was mad as hell about it, if you wanted the truth.

‘I heard,’ he said carefully, ‘that you have a boyfriend now.’

‘That could be the case,’ said Annie reluctantly.

‘I also heard that it’s Max Carter.’

Annie shrugged.

‘I heard he’s keeping you, actually,’ said Kieron, growing annoyed at her evasiveness.

‘I have an apartment on Park Street,’ said Annie.

‘Right, right.’ Kieron felt furious now. He had expected better from her somehow. He knew how
much she loved her sister. How the fuck could she do a thing like this to the poor cow? ‘And how many banks did he have to rob to pay for that?’ he asked her.

Annie’s smile faded. She turned on her heel and started to walk away. Kieron grabbed her arm. Donny was there in a flash and grabbed his.

‘Fuck it,’ said Kieron, wincing. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Don’t just walk off, I’m sorry.’

‘It’s okay, Donny,’ said Annie, and once again Donny dropped him like an obedient attack hound.

‘Jeez, that hurt,’ said Kieron, rubbing his arm.

‘No more than you deserved,’ said Annie, as Donny moved away again.

‘I’m just surprised, that’s all. Fuck it, I’m more than that. I’m appalled.’

‘I love him, Kieron.’

‘He’s married to your sister,’ said Kieron.

‘The marriage is dead.’

‘Oh, come on! They all say that, don’t they? My wife doesn’t understand me, we don’t sleep together any more, we have separate rooms, poor little me, won’t you let me jump your bones?’

‘Donny,’ said Annie, ‘hit him. Hit him
hard
.’

Donny lumbered over. Kieron backed off. The customers milled around them, getting worried about all the aggro.

‘No, stop.’ Annie shook her head. ‘I didn’t mean that. Sorry, Donny.’

Donny subsided.

‘Yeah, you great tame gorilla, give us some space here,’ said Kieron, braver now that Annie had given Donny the hard word.

‘You’ve got no right to comment on my personal life,’ said Annie.

‘I know, I know.’

‘Don’t ever do that again.’

‘I won’t. I was just …’ Kieron hesitated. He didn’t know what he’d been intending to say. That he’d been disappointed in her? Or jealous as fuck of Max bloody Carter?

‘You were just concerned for me, I know,’ said Annie.

Or that, thought Kieron, maybe he’d been intending to say that. Whatever, it was too late now. She was committed elsewhere. Still, it galled him, niggled at him like a rash he had to scratch.

‘Hello?’

It was Orla, gliding over, her green eyes bright with curiosity as she looked between Kieron and Annie. She smiled and held out a hand. Annie clocked the minder, ten paces behind her. She saw Donny clocking him too.

‘Annie Bailey! It’s good to see you again,’ said Orla.

Annie shook Orla’s warm, dry hand in greeting.

‘I saw Kieron’s portrait of you, it’s wonderful.’

‘That’s down to the talent of the artist,’ said Annie.

‘And the beauty of the sitter, I’m sure,’ said Orla graciously. ‘Are you well, Annie?’

Annie was starkly reminded of Redmond when Orla said that. Cool, polite Redmond. They were startlingly alike. She rather missed Redmond’s weekly phone calls. She hoped Dolly was nice to him when he phoned and minded her language a bit.

‘I’m very well. And you?’

‘Ah, fine. We ought to be getting along, Kieron, if you’re ready?’

‘Yeah, sure.’ Kieron took one last lingering look at Annie. ‘Goodbye then Annie. It was nice to see you, if slightly painful.’

He grinned at her and she grinned back. His arm ached, just a bit. His heart ached too, quite a lot. But maybe he was still in with a chance.