Scarlet Women

Dolly and Annie looked at each other.

‘Fuck it, that was bloody horrible,’ said Dolly.

Annie stepped forward and hugged Dolly tight, surprising her.

‘You all right?’ asked Dolly, when Annie released her.

‘Fine.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing, Doll. Really. Just you’re a bloody diamond, that’s all.’

‘Oh.’ Dolly was staring at her curiously. ‘You sure you’re all right?’

Annie wasn’t sure at all, but she nodded. Tony opened the back door of the car, and they both piled in ready to drop Dolly home. Then, at Annie’s request, Tony drove around while she sat in the back, silent, thinking about life and death, turning it all over in her mind. Tony was watching her in the rear-view mirror, thinking that something was really wrong with the boss.

Finally she told him to take her on over to Constantine’s. Once parked up, she told Tony to go home; she wouldn’t need him again tonight, she’d phone when she did.

She saw Tony give her an odd look as she turned away and walked up the steps of the Holland Park mansion. A few seconds later she heard him drive away as she knocked on the big navy-blue painted double doors.

The usual man, huge and muscle-bound, opened it. ‘Mrs Carter,’ he said politely.

‘Is he in?’

‘Yes, he’s in.’ And he held the door wide.

He led the way across the silent marble hall and knocked on the study door.

Annie heard the familiar voice call from inside.

‘Mrs Carter for you, Boss,’ said the man, opening the door.

Constantine was sitting behind the desk. The banker’s light was casting its usual cosy glow. He was sorting through papers but now he looked up, blue eyes bright in his tanned, healthy face. She stared at him. Mafia. Dangerous. Maybe untrustworthy, who knew? But he was sexy as hell. And so alive.

‘It’s Monday,’ he said.

‘I know,’ said Annie faintly, moving closer.

‘Monday, not Tuesday,’ he emphasized. ‘Tuesday for lunch we said, didn’t we say that?’

‘We did. Yes.’

Annie was standing in front of the big desk now with its tooled-leather top. Expensive, like him. A Mont Blanc pen was lying among the papers; here was a thug with class. Like Max, and yet nothing like Max at all. Max had been the roughest of diamonds. Constantine was smooth as silk. He wore an aura of immense power like a cloak. Scared the shit out of most people he came into contact with. Hell, he scared the shit out of her.

He kicked back his chair and looked at her. ‘Problem?’ he said.

Annie shrugged off her jacket. Breathing hard, she reached back, unzipped her dress, let it fall to the floor. Saw the surprise in his eyes as she stood there in her bra and panties, suspender belt and stockings. She walked around the desk, leaned against it, looked him straight in the eye.

‘Don’t talk. Just fuck me,’ she said. ‘Now.’

Constantine stood up. She suddenly felt small and vulnerable, semi-naked and shivering as if with fever, while he was fully clothed and tall and strong. His eyes holding hers, he put his hands on her waist and lifted her up so that she was properly on the desk.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, an exact echo of Dolly outside the funeral parlour.

It was mid-evening; dusk was beginning to close in. For an instant Constantine stepped away from her, pulled down the blind at the window behind the desk. The room was suddenly cosier, more intimate. He came back to her. Gave her a questioning look.

‘There’s nothing wrong,’ said Annie, linking her arms around his neck as he nudged her legs apart and came in close.

He bent his head and kissed her. Annie kissed him back, her tongue teasing. Then he drew back.

‘Liar,’ he said.

‘Fuck me,’ she repeated, and pulled his head back down to hers, absorbing his strength, inhaling the Acqua di Parma cologne he wore, feeling his heat, the sudden hard answering urgency of his desire.

Constantine unclasped her bra and pulled it off, releasing her breasts into his hands. Annie gasped at the touch of his thumbs stroking over her nipples, urging them into hardness. She reached down, pulling off her pants.

‘Why the rush?’ murmured Constantine against her mouth.

‘Just do it,’ she moaned, her hands trembling as they unbuckled him, unzipped him, moved inside, found him gratifyingly hard, fully erect. Pulling his cock out, touching its moist tip to her clitoris, massaging herself, fully absorbed in her own pleasure, in beating back this awful dead chill she had felt stealing over her today.

Heat flooded her as he swore and pushed her back on to the papers, scattering them, slipping fully inside her and using no finesse this time, no hesitation, no questions. Filled, replete, Annie lay back and let him have her, relishing every hot stroke, clutching at his hips, muttering yes, yes, do it until Constantine grew huge and harder, almost hurtful; and then he came and it was over, it was done, but he kept her there, working her clitoris with his fingers until she came too, the pleasure crashing over her, making her jerk and writhe and scream out his name.

Finally they were still, panting, coming back to themselves.

Constantine leaned over her, still lodged inside her. His face was still and watchful as he stared down at her.

‘Wow,’ he said.

‘Mm,’ said Annie.

Constantine withdrew, zipped himself back up, buckled his belt. Pulled her up so that she was sitting on the desk again. Annie felt warm, relaxed. Better. Much better.

Constantine sat down in the chair again, looked up at her that same way again. Shadowed. Watchful. Cool, all of a sudden.

‘Now are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know.’ Annie shrugged. ‘I just felt…down.’

And now Annie could see it clearly. Aretha’s death had brought to the surface things that she had been busy suppressing for months. She had never really dealt with her feelings over the deaths of her friends or Max, and Aretha’s horrible passing had brought it all sharply into focus.

Before this had happened, she had been wrapped up in day-to-day concerns, totally absorbed in the business of just surviving—worrying over Layla and all that Layla had been through. Worrying about the boys and winning them over—wondering if that would ever happen, and doubting it every day. Worrying about the expansion of the security business, worrying about the club, worrying about legitimately making a success of the firm, bringing in money to keep her daughter and herself clothed and fed…but all that had been before Aretha had been brutally murdered.

Now she had to face the fact that life could be shockingly short. People you love could be cut away from you in an instant, never to be seen again. So you had to live as full a life as you could, grab it with both hands and shake it by the throat, because yours could go just as quickly, just as unexpectedly. She knew that now.

‘Anything I can do?’ asked Constantine.

‘Think you just did it,’ said Annie.

‘Right. Staying the night?’

‘That was the plan,’ said Annie.

‘I didn’t know there was a plan.’

‘Well there was. There is. It’s all up here.’ She tapped her forehead.

Constantine sat back and shook his head. ‘Mrs Carter, you’re a very forceful woman. And you know what? I sort of like it. Sometimes.’

‘Only sometimes?’ Annie was smiling, teasing.

But still he was looking at her in that same way. Watchful, yes, that was it. Almost mistrustful. Shuttered.