Shifting uncomfortably, I peer out of the window. It’s already dark, and the shoppers are out in force. Christmas madness, everywhere.
‘And?’ I ask.
‘Dean says he doesn’t know anyone called Boyd, so I remind him about Isaac’s club, suggest Isaac’s put them in touch. Dean starts to twitch, realises I’ve done my homework. I remind Dean of who I am, as if he doesn’t already know. And he’s interested. Oh yes.’
Straightening the collar of his coat, Gordon gives out a quiet, satisfied laugh.
‘And then?’ I ask wearily.
‘He wants to know why I’m interested in this creature. I explain that you’re the love of my life. I tell him about Boyd’s fixation on you, his vendetta against your ex-boyfriend.’ He does that thing with his fingers, making imaginary quote marks in the air. ‘And then I tell him about the history of abuse. I suggest Boyd might not have been entirely truthful. Dean twitches even more, and I know I’m onto something. Seems he doesn’t like dishonesty.’
‘But he’s a villain.’
‘With a strange sense of morality. Honour amongst thieves and all that. Anyway, that does it. Dean suggests a price, and I agree.’
‘That’s it?’
‘Yup. He’ll cough up the goods tomorrow, in return for cash. Foultons oversee the handover. Bill’s contacts take off with Boyd.’
‘As simple as that?’
‘All we needed was the link. And now we’ve got it.’
I can barely believe what I’m hearing. After all this time, we’re finally down to business. This time tomorrow, Boyd will be out of our lives. I swallow back my own sense of morality. Whatever happens to him, he deserves it.
‘How much?’ I ask.
‘None of your business.’
‘Dan’s going to pay you back.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’
‘And he’s not to be involved.’
‘Understood.’
Half an hour later, we pull up outside the flat. Just in time. Nausea’s been building again. Any longer in the Bentley, and I would have been throwing up all over its expensive upholstery. Practically staggering across the pavement, I slam to a halt in front of the door. Roses. Everywhere. Scattered over the steps, stems broken, buds ripped apart, blackened petals, colourless in the dark. My heart beat triples in pace. I freeze and survey the road, wondering if he’s here, watching me, waiting …
I feel a hand on my back.
‘One minute.’ Gordon returns to the car, opens the front passenger door and stoops to speak to Carl.
‘Do you know about this?’
‘It’s only just happened.’ Leaning over, Carl touches his earpiece. ‘Unmarked van. We’re tailing it.’
‘Call them off. There’s no point now. How many have we got over the road?’
‘Four.’
‘Good. I’m staying with Maya. Come back at seven.’ Gordon straightens up and slams the door. ‘In you go. I’ll clear up this shit.’
‘But you need to get ready.’
‘I’m always ready.’
While Gordon tidies up the ruined flowers, I busy myself with making him a coffee. A good five minutes later, he joins me. I guide him into the living room, leaving him to watch the early evening news, occasionally sipping at his drink, complaining that the English have no idea about decent caffeine.
After a quick shower, I sort out my hair and choose a dress: a short, smart red number from Harrods. With a flourish, I take it off the hanger and put it on, deciding it’s the perfect antidote to Boyd’s latest antics. Drawing every last bit of attention to myself, I’m about to let him know, loud and clear, that I’m anything but intimidated. The usual make-up and a pair of high heels complete the job. And then I spend a moment examining myself in the mirror, eyes drawn inevitably to my stomach, thoughts dragged unwillingly in their wake … to the tiny speck of life hidden away behind the scarlet fabric. Tears blur my vision and suddenly, out of nowhere, I’m certain that raging hormones have nothing to do with the fact that I’m crying; and neither do shock or exhaustion. No. It’s all down some strange, indescribable, instinctive form of love that’s just made a surprise debut in my head. ‘Ta daa!’ it squeals in excitement. ‘I know I’ve never been here before, but I like it, and guess what. I’m never going to leave!’
The Bentley returns at seven, taking us back down to central London and dropping us off at the edge of Covent Garden. With Gordon’s help, I stumble across the cobbles, navigating a path through the evening crowds to the relative warmth of the market halls. I’ve had just enough time to register the wrought iron archways, a piazza overflowing with stalls and shoppers, when I’m guided into the gloom of a pub, through to a function room at the back.
‘Look at you!’ Lucy screeches as soon as I enter. ‘Power-dressing now, are we?’
I smile in satisfaction. My choice of outfit has definitely hit the mark.
‘Flipping heck. Billionaire’s girlfriend.’ Already several sheets to the wind, she smiles at Gordon and punches him in the stomach. ‘How are you doing, big fella?’
‘Fine and dandy.’
It’s a bloody good job he’s not about to become her real boss. If that were the case, I’m pretty sure she’d be searching for a new job come Monday. Dumping my handbag on the floor, I park myself on a stool and scrutinize the room. It’s already filling up with bodies, and the thrum of conversation.
‘This lot have been going for an hour already,’ Lucy informs me. ‘There’ll be carnage later, especially when that thing gets going.’
She motions toward the far end of the room where, in the gloom, a DJ’s busy setting up a disco. Without warning, Little Steve erupts out of the gathering
