Dirty Game (32 page)

‘Ruthie’s gone up to stay in Mum’s place in London,’ said Max as he brought their drinks out into the garden.

Annie was sitting under the shade of the big willow tree in the Surrey garden. Summer was at its height, the lawn was bleached yellow and the air was hazy. Birds sang. Bees hummed. Max put the drinks on the table and sat down with her.

‘I know,’ she said, thinking that he would always call the house in London ‘Mum’s place’. Queenie had reigned supreme there, and in the annexe here. In a way, she still did. ‘She told me.’

‘Are you two all right now?’ Max was watching her acutely.

Annie shrugged. ‘As all right as we’re going to be.’

‘I was worried,’ said Max. ‘When she started looking after you.’

Annie laughed. ‘What, you thought she was going to do me in?’

‘It crossed my mind.’

Annie shook her head. ‘That’s not Ruthie. You must know her by now. She’s been spitting mad about all this, but she’s good right through to the bone. She couldn’t squash a fly, much less hurt me.’

‘She had every right to be spitting mad,’ said Max.

‘I know.’

‘I was mad at you myself when you did it, told her about us. It was only ever meant to be sex between us. I thought you understood that. But now I see you were too young to understand anything except getting back at your sister.’ He sat back and sighed. ‘Truth is, I felt bad about it. Really bad. I was the one who should have known better.’

‘But Max – I chased you.’

‘Yeah.’ He smiled. ‘You did.’

Annie looked away, down the garden.

‘I think you know it wasn’t ever “just sex” for me.’

‘I’ve come to know it. Slowly.’

‘I’ve always been in love with you,’ said Annie.

‘I know.’

Annie looked round at him. ‘Fuck it, Max. You’re not supposed to say that. You’re supposed to say “I love you too”.’

‘It goes without saying,’ teased Max.

‘Men,’ sniffed Annie. ‘It doesn’t ever go without saying. Women need to hear it.’

‘Okay then.’ Max looked her dead in the eye. ‘I love you, Annie Bailey. Even if you are a fucking lunatic. You stopped a bullet for me, and I’d stop one for you.’

Annie stared at him. ‘I’m going to jail, Max,’ she said. ‘You know they postponed the trial because of me being hospitalized; well now they’ve re-scheduled.’

His face clouded. God, how she loved his face. So strong, almost brutal, but saved by a masculine beauty that she would never tire of.

‘Maybe it won’t be for long,’ he said. ‘I’m looking into things.’

Annie shook her head, ignoring his platitudes. ‘The date’s set for the trial. Six weeks’ time. Taking a bullet’s not going to stop them sending me down.’

‘Then we’ll make the most of those six weeks,’ said Max, and he took her hand and kissed it.

Max sorted her out with a proper, hotshot brief for the trial. Mr Jerry Peters, her defending counsel, was an expensively-suited tall man with a florid complexion and too much fluffy ginger hair. He told her that she was almost certainly going down, but there were mitigating circumstances and they were going to make full use of them to lessen the sentence.

‘Aren’t you supposed to promise me you’ll get me off?’ Annie asked as she and Max sat in Jerry’s plush office in the Law Courts.

‘I don’t deal in lies with my clients, Miss Bailey,’ said Jerry smoothly.

‘And what are these “mitigating circumstances”?’ she asked.

‘A disturbed childhood. Your father left when you were nine …’

‘Eleven.’

‘Eleven.’ He made a note. ‘Your mother drank. You and your sister had to fend for yourselves. Little wonder that you ended up out of your depth.’

Which wasn’t exactly how it had happened, but she supposed he did have a point. She’d always had to make her own way in the world, with no support. Her entrepreneurial spirit had always been there, lying dormant. If she hadn’t seduced her sister’s bridegroom on the night before the wedding, she wouldn’t have been flung out of Connie’s house and been forced to retreat to her Aunt Celia’s. Once there, it had only been a matter of time before her business skills kicked in and she landed herself up to her neck in the shit.

‘And?’

‘
And
none of the neighbours complained. Not one.’

‘And?’

‘And you were doing a service to these poor unfortunate women. Without your protection, they would have been walking the streets, at the mercy of men who would exploit them.’

Annie had to suppress a smile. Hard to imagine Mira or Jenny or Thelma on the streets. In luxury apartments being kept by wealthy admirers, perhaps. On the streets? Never in a month of Sundays.

‘Well, you’ve convinced me,’ said Annie as Max sat silent beside her. ‘Anything else?’

‘There’s been a lot of Press interest in this. They’ll dig around and try to find more juicy morsels to titillate the readers. Is there anything else I should know, bearing that in mind? We don’t want any nasty surprises.’

‘I ran a parlour in Limehouse when my aunt took off unexpectedly. I carried on, kept it going for her.’

Jerry stared at her face, then nodded and made more notes.

‘How many girls?’

‘Three. And one boy.’

‘But your aunt told you it was a massage parlour, not anything else? Not, for instance, a brothel?’

‘I was never under any illusion about what went on there.’

‘You must have been, surely?’ He prompted her with his eyes.

Annie took the hint. ‘When my mother kicked me out due to a family disagreement, I went to stay with Celia. At first, I didn’t fully realize what went on there… but after a while, I did. And when Celia vanished, I took over the running of the place.’

‘So it was an established business. You carried on running it as a favour to your aunt. You were almost running a public service, isn’t that true?’

‘I suppose so. Celia had lots of older clients. She gave them discounts. She was very sympathetic to their needs.’

‘
Definitely
a public service,’ beamed Jerry. ‘Now, have I warned you fully about the Press?’

Jerry had warned her about the Press but he hadn’t warned her enough. Outside the court when the trial began it was a madhouse. Flashes went off in her face, questions were shouted. Max was there with her, though, and a line of Max’s boys established a way through for her up the courthouse steps and into the building, elbowing the rabid reporters out of the way.

‘Jesus,’ she said as she sat in the lobby and Jerry Peters came to greet her dressed in his working clothes of black gown and grey wig. ‘I didn’t expect so much Press interest.’

‘It’s a titillating subject,’ said Jerry. ‘The Press will lap it up.’

Bastards
, thought Annie. Talk about a three-ring circus. They wouldn’t be so bloody keen to dish the dirt if it was their backsides on the line here.

When she at last stood in the dock and heard the dreaded words ‘All rise’ and the judge came in all po-faced and looked at her like she was shit to be scraped off his shoe, she knew she was in trouble.

‘Let’s hope we don’t get that Bartington-Smythe asshole,’ Jerry had said in chambers. ‘He’s a Puritan to his boots.’

Judge Bartington-Smythe glowered down at her.
Oh fuck
, thought Annie.

Well, she’d done all she could do. Her dress was dark and demure, covering her from neck to wrist to ankle. Even her friends, sitting across the court from her, had toned it down to show their conservative support. Aretha and Dolly and Darren looked positively respectable sitting there watching the proceedings. No Ellie. After all her backstabbing, Dolly had made it clear she wasn’t welcome to accompany them to the trial. No Ruthie or cousin Kath, but then she hadn’t expected them to show up. But Max was there across the court. He winked at her. She felt like she was going to throw up with fear, but his being there gave her comfort.

‘Do you plead guilty or not guilty to the charge of exercising control over three prostitutes and keeping a disorderly house?’ asked the judge.

‘Guilty,’ said Annie, as Jerry had instructed her.

So lock me up
, she thought.
Get on with it
.

But first it all had to come out. Annie closed her eyes and ears to it as much as she could. She looked at the judge sitting up there looking down at her and thought,
hypocrite
. His posh mates had been among her clients. She was faintly surprised to realize that he hadn’t been one himself. Several judges and barristers were among her regulars.

It was tiring. She was well now, the bullet scar
was still there but it would fade within the year, the doctors told her. But she had been left weak and easily tired by the shooting. She could have done without all this shit so soon after the event.

It’ll pass
, she told herself. She shut out the shouts of laughter from the Press gallery, the judge’s admonitions to them, Jerry’s impassioned pleadings in her defence, the cruel jibes of the prosecuting counsel, the endless summings-up and evaluations of all her many and various sins.

Finally, it was done. She stood in the dock and Judge Bartington-Smythe glared at her. She looked at Dolly’s face, taut with worry.
Good old Dolly
. Darren was chewing his nails and Aretha was so tense she looked like she was carved from ebony.

Good luck, girl
, she mouthed at Annie.

She was standing alone again. She took full responsibility. All the pillars of the community who had flocked to see her girls were unnamed, home free. Her girls were out of the frame too. She alone stood accused, and in the judge’s summing-up was such venom that she knew she was sunk.

‘I do not accept that you are ignorant of the law, Miss Bailey,’ he said in a voice that chilled her to the marrow. ‘I therefore fine you one thousand pounds and order you to pay costs of one thousand five hundred pounds for keeping a disorderly house and exercising control over prostitutes. I also sentence you to eighteen months’ imprisonment,’ he said.

Annie clutched the front of the dock for support. Eighteen months! For fuck’s sake, she would die shut away in some hell-hole for that long. She felt dizzy suddenly, her ears buzzing. She looked over at Dolly, who had tears streaming down her face. Darren was talking to her, putting his arm round her shoulders. Aretha was patting Dolly’s back. Annie looked straight at Max, whose face revealed not a flicker of emotion.

Rotten, cold-hearted sod
, she thought in fury.

Then the judge cleared his throat and went on. ‘But as this is your first offence it will be unconditionally suspended for one year, during which you will be required to conduct yourself as a model citizen…’

The old boy droned on and on, while Annie stood there with her mouth hanging open.

Suspended
.

She was not going down.

Annie looked over at Dolly, Aretha and Darren. A slow grin spread itself over her face. Dolly suddenly let out a delighted shriek. Aretha jumped up and punched the air. Darren grinned and blew Annie a kiss. The Press gallery went crazy. Judge Bartington-Smythe gave them all a look of sour disfavour.

Annie looked at Max.

He winked.

Jesus Christ, he’d bought the judge. She couldn’t
believe it but it was true. He’d bought the fucking judge!

The court was in uproar. In a daze Annie found herself shaking Jerry by the hand, found herself being hustled outside, fetched up at the door of the court with Max by her side. His boys formed a cordon around them as they left the court building.

‘You bought the fucking judge,’ Annie hissed at Max as they emerged into bright daylight and the Press went crazy, bulbs flashing, crowding around, asking if there was any comment. ‘Didn’t you?’

‘I did tell you I was looking into things,’ said Max, slipping his arm around her shoulders.

‘Any comment, Miss Bailey?’ asked someone, shoving a microphone in her face.

‘No comment,’ she said, and Max’s boys got them down the steps and away.

Ruthie was down in the country, wandering around Max’s big imposing house alone. She’d spent some time in London while Max and Annie had been here together. She’d gone shopping, caught up with Kath and Maureen, had some fun for once. Hadn’t touched a drop, either.

She’d been following Annie’s trial in the papers and on the telly. She hadn’t been able to bear the thought of going to court and watching Annie squirm up there. Poor little cow. The Press were calling her ‘the Mayfair Madam’ and making a big joke out of the whole thing. Not mocking the well-to-do men who’d shagged the girls there, oh no. It was always the women who paid and the men who got the gravy.

The phone was ringing. She went into the drawing room and picked up.

‘She got off,’ said Kath’s voice in outrage. ‘Jimmy
just came home from the court and told me. Talk about the devil looking after his own.’

Ruthie sagged with relief.

‘Ruthie? You there?’

‘Yeah, I’m here.’

‘She got off, can you believe that?’

‘Yeah. Thanks for letting me know, Kath.’

Quietly Ruthie replaced the receiver. Kath was still babbling away, full of bile towards Annie and all that she had done. But Ruthie felt calm now. She thought of Annie, and of Max, the cunning bastard.

I knew you’d come to the rescue, Max Carter
, she thought with the ghost of a smile.
You never
could resist being the hero could you
?

She went to the window and looked out at the bright clear day. Gordon was out in the garden, cutting back the plants and tidying up. Autumn was coming in fast, and the beeches were beginning to turn red. She watched him from the drawing-room window. Big Dave was in his flat over the garage, no doubt eyeing up his posters and reading his smutty magazines.

She was alone.

She looked over at the drinks tray, but it didn’t have any appeal. Funny how Annie had been her downfall and also her saviour. She had started drinking when Annie had betrayed her; she had stopped drinking when Annie needed her.
Maybe
I’m just weak
, thought Ruthie.
Weak like Mum
was
.

She shivered when she thought that she could so easily have gone the same way as Connie, down that slippery slope to death by drinking. She went over to the tray on the sideboard and picked up the bottle of vodka. Deliberately she carried it through to the kitchen and tipped the contents down the sink. She put the bottle in the rubbish bin then gave a dismissive brush of the hands.

Picking up her bag, she took the keys down from their hook and went out of the back door and over to Queenie’s annexe. She let herself inside, then went along the quiet hallway to the cosy little sitting room. It was still kept immaculately clean, dusted, cared-for. She looked up at the portrait over the fireplace, at the gimlet-eyed Queenie glaring down at her.

‘Well, you old bag,’ said Ruthie. ‘I’m going. You never wanted me here in the first place, did you?’

Ruthie smiled. Queenie couldn’t answer her. The mean thin line of the lips and the imperious stare said it all. This wasn’t a woman who would welcome a rival for any of her sons’ affections.

‘Do you know what I thought I’d do?’ Ruthie asked the dead woman in the portrait.

Ruthie rummaged in her bag and came up with
a cheap cigarette lighter. It had been Connie’s, and she had kept it out of sentimentality. It reminded her of her mum, who had been a disgusting old lush but who had nevertheless given life to her. She flicked it with her thumb and a flame ignited. Ruthie stared at it, then at Queenie, up there like royalty. Named as a Queen and regarded as one by all the boys and by everyone on Max and Jonjo Carter’s manor. Ruthie thought of Annie – a worthy successor if ever there was one. The thought tickled her and she smiled. Annie would be more than a match for Queenie, dead or alive. Annie and Max. Maybe some things were just meant to be.

‘I thought I’d do this place,’ said Ruthie. ‘Then the main house. Then your London house. Burn the whole lot to the ground.’

Only silence answered her.

Ruthie smiled at the portrait’s glassy blue eyes for a moment longer, then flicked the lighter shut.

‘But you know what?’ she asked. ‘It isn’t worth it. What would I be proving? That I care enough to bother? Strangely enough, I don’t. Not any more.’

Ruthie tucked the lighter back in her bag. ‘I’m free as a bird,’ she told Queenie.

She had freedom from a loveless marriage, freedom from a drunken mother, freedom from all care. She had it within her grasp now.

‘I can go anywhere and do anything I like. And you know what, Queenie Carter? I think I will.’

With that she turned and left the room, walked along the hallway, left the annexe.

Rest in peace
, thought Ruthie as she relocked the outside door.
You old bag
.