in the afternoon, announcing to their visitors that it was time to get gone. She was always relieved at this point, however much she became accustomed to what happened here. Dolly was upstairs with two punters, Ellie was drinking sherry with one of their dear old fellows in the front room. Darren had a judge upstairs, doing God knew what. Connie Francis was belting out her latest on the radiogram, Annie loved that song.
She was tired now, tired of smiling and being Madam. Their new barman, Brian, was boxing up the empties, putting the dirty glasses to one side. All the food had been cleared today. It had been a busy party, and very profitable. No trouble, either. All in all, a good day’s work.
Annie went through to the kitchen and put the kettle on. She kicked off her courts and sighed with pleasure. You couldn’t beat a cup of tea and a sit-down at the kitchen table with all your mates to talk over the day together. She looked around her happily, then frowned at the new kitchen door.
Not frosted glass now. She didn’t like it, but this one was solid wood, with a peephole and a Yale lock. At the kitchen window, which looked out over a tiny square of garden, there was now an iron grid. There was also a discreet strip of barbed wire on the fence at the bottom of the garden and the side of the house, and a solid securely locked side gate had replaced the pretty, white painted, wrought-iron one that used to be there.
None of this pleased Annie. She felt like she was living in fucking Stalag 13, and the wooden door blocked out a lot of light from the kitchen. Everyone was admitted from the front of the house now. No surprises, nasty or otherwise. She picked up Chris’s paper from the table and browsed through it, stopping dead when she came across a piece about two nightclubs being burned to the ground. Arson was suspected. The clubs were owned by the ‘influential’ Delaney family, it said. Enquiries were ongoing.
Annie sat down at the table. Yeah, sure, she thought. The Bill were sure to enquire closely about what happened to gangland clubs, weren’t they. She hugged herself and shivered. She’d been feeling down since going over to Mum’s to see Ruthie. She didn’t know what she’d expected. Maybe a tearful, happy reunion? Perhaps for Ruthie to hug her and say, there, there, it’s all forgotten. To be forgiven for the unforgivable? What a fucking laugh. She’d told herself to buck up and get a grip. She’d done the deed, and these were the consequences. Still, she’d been undeniably low ever since. And now this!
Did the fires have anything to do with Eddie Carter falling off the twig? She couldn’t forget her own involvement, or Darren’s. Or the way Celia had bottled it and taken off, who the hell knew where. She looked again at the solid door and the metal grille over the window. No surprises, nasty or otherwise. Perhaps it was best to be on the safe side after all.
Redmond Delaney’s call came at four o’clock that afternoon. Everything was cleared and ready for the evening’s trade, Annie had luxuriated in a hot, deep bath, she’d got over the jitters. Wrapped in her thick towelling dressing gown, she came downstairs from her room at Chris’ call and picked up the phone.
‘Mr Delaney,’ she said as Chris shook out his paper and took his usual seat in the corner by the front door. ‘Are you keeping well?’
‘Very well, Miss Bailey,’ said Redmond. ‘And you?’
‘I’m good, Mr Delaney. Thank you.’
‘And how is business?’ he asked.
‘Thriving,’ said Annie. She considered mentioning the fires, but thought better of it. Her relationship with Redmond was strictly formal. She knew that any hint of familiarity would be met with a sharp rebuff.
‘The barman is satisfactory?’
‘Brian’s perfect, Mr Delaney.’ And I’m paying
‘I’ll put the word round,’ said Redmond.
‘Only nice girls,’ said Annie. ‘Presentable and clean and experienced.’
‘Exactly so,’ said Redmond.
‘Maybe six?’
‘Six it shall be,’ said Redmond. ‘Goodbye, Miss Bailey.’
‘Goodbye, Mr Delaney,’ said Annie, and started to put the phone down.
‘Oh, Miss Bailey?’ said Redmond.
‘Yes, Mr Delaney?’
‘I hope I shall see you at Kieron’s exhibition on Saturday night?’
Annie nearly dropped the phone. ‘Well … yes,’ she said in surprise.
She hadn’t planned to go, but she supposed she ought to put in an appearance, if only to give Kieron a bit of a boost. She was amazed that Redmond had mentioned it. This was surely crossing the line into informality. That wasn’t like him.
‘I look forward to it,’ said Redmond, and the line went dead.
‘Blimey,’ said Annie.
‘Problem?’ asked Chris.
‘No, not at all. Just Redmond Delaney being nice to me.’
Chris smiled and returned his attention to his paper. Annie put a call through to Kieron.
‘Listen, am I invited to this shindig on Saturday? This exhibition thingy?’ she asked.
‘Of course you are, if you want to come. I didn’t think you would.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you’ve been such a reluctant sitter!’ barked Kieron. ‘Jaysus, you’ve acted right the way through as if I was trying to sell you into white slavery instead of painting your ruddy picture. I thought you’d hate to see the thing hung on a wall.’
‘Sorry,’ said Annie.
‘Apology accepted. Come as my guest, I’ll pick you up at eight, will that do you?’
‘Hadn’t you planned to take anyone else?’
‘No, I hadn’t. I’m a working artist, I haven’t time to be chasing girls all around the town, you’ll be doing me a favour. How about it then?’
‘Okay,’ said Annie. ‘Saturday at eight.’
After she’d put the phone down she realized that she hadn’t talked to Kieron about the fires, either. Ah, it was just as well. What would she say about it anyway? She didn’t want to go treading on dangerous ground. She didn’t want to know more than she knew already.
27
Toby Taylor was bricking it with excitement. He had never seen so many faces in one room at the same time. The Delaney twins had come to the opening, and the Regans were in with all their heavy friends. The Foremans of Battersea had already bought up several of Kieron Delaney’s paintings out of respect to their Delaney colleagues. The Nash family were in too, and some of the real hard, heavy boys from New York, the Barolli lot. And the Kray twins. Fucking good job Eddie and Charlie Richardson had been nicked, because they had been mixing it with the Krays, which wasn’t wise.
‘Christ,’ said Toby, mincing around the gallery with his long-term boyfriend Paolo. Vivaldi’s
Paolo nodded. He didn’t share his older lover’s taste for danger. These people looked like they could cut up rough in an instant. He didn’t like it. Toby was a silly old queen, prancing around arse-licking to these people. Paolo thought that Toby was a joke with his spare tyre straining to get out of his pink floral shirt and his stupid toupee slipping sideways on his billiard ball of a head. Toby was sweating with excitement as the crowds grew thicker. The noise level rose with each bottle of Moet that was opened.
‘Darling, sweetie,’ said Toby as they stumbled across Kieron and Annie. ‘Mwah, mwah.’ Toby air-kissed either side of Annie’s head. ‘Don’t you look absolutely
