It was beginning to rain as Bella took the car keys from her purse. There was a heavy, tense feeling in her stomach as she climbed in and began the drive to Soho.
Bella was driving along the Tottenham Court Road, recalling the night she had spent here with Micky. She had wanted him too much to care about their squalid surroundings. He was everything to her and her love knew no bounds. What had happened to them over the years? Micky had watched her grieve over Terry and admitted to nothing. How could he have led Terry into danger and left his body in a wood?
Bella parked the car near Wardour Street, tears pricking at her eyes. All the memories came flowing back of the night Micky brought her to the Fortune. She had thought they were going to see The Barefoot Contessa and had worn her new blue dress for the occasion.
The club had been a big disappointment. Was it still as seedy as it had been all those years ago? Everywhere she looked now, the buildings were old and dirty. The gutters were overflowing and the neon lights of the gambling clubs and strip joints reflected in the water. Couples stood on corners and smoked cigarettes in the rain touting for custom. They stared at her as she passed by and some made remarks. How could Micky ever want to be in a place like this?
The Fortune looked even dirtier and smaller than she remembered it. As old and disreputable as all the other clubs in the street. Posters of naked women were peeling off the walls and water plopped noisily from the broken pipes. A man in a shabby suit stood outside.
'Is Micky here?' She gripped her bag tightly as though it might be snatched away from her.
'Micky who?'
She glanced inside. 'Micky Bryant. He owns this place.'
'He don't any more, love.'
'You must be mistaken. I have to speak to Micky and quickly.'
The man looked her up and down, a leer stretched over his florid face. He wore a red bow tie and his brown hair was greasy, hanging about his collar. 'And who are you, exactly?'
'I'm Mrs Bryant, Micky's wife.'
'The old reprobate in trouble with his missus is he? You should come inside love and I'll put you in touch with the gov'nor.'
Bella was suddenly aware they were quite alone. 'Who is the gov'nor?'
'Why, Mr Billy McNee, of course,' he answered in mock surprise. 'Now just you come out of the wet little lady and we'll get acquainted.'
She took a step back, then hurried away, humiliated at the way he was laughing at her, treating it all as a big joke. She walked quickly along the damp street, but her legs felt weak with fear. Her footsteps became faster and faster until she broke into a run. When she came to a corner she sheltered inside a doorway trying to catch her breath.
As she paused, she began to collect her thoughts; McNee had taken over Micky's club and there was no sign of Micky. What had happened to him and where was he now? People passed by, hunched in the driving rain. What should she do next? She didn't know the address of the Flamingo, but Micky had told her it was close to the Fortune.
When she had calmed herself, she stepped out onto the street and began to walk again, but every now and then she looked behind her wondering if someone was following in the shadows. The cars roared by, spraying water from the puddles over her as they went. She could hear loud laughter and music, together with the smell of fried foods from the restaurants and bars. Figures hurried on their way, through the downpour that was making the pavement slippery.
It was when she turned into the next street that she saw it. The letter "F" was missing from the unlit neon sign, "Flamingo", and the rest of it hung lopsidedly over the door. For a moment she hesitated, then crossed the road, her pulse racing faster with every step. She came to a stop at the entrance, but the door had graffiti sprayed over it with two strong pieces of wood nailed into place across it. Steps led down to a cellar below, but that too, seemed deserted.
An alley ran beside the building and to her astonishment she saw the dark shape of Ronnie's car. As she walked towards it she could smell the overflowing dustbins and wet rubbish piled high against the filthy walls. A cat hissed at her and sped away.
She came to a side door and saw it was open a few inches. Ronnie must be inside and perhaps Micky was too. Bella fought her nerves back and decided the only way she would find out was to enter the darkened passage. Feeling her way along the wall, she listened for sounds. There were none, only the scuffle of rats around her feet.
At last she came to a large, dimly lit room, strewn with rubbish and broken chairs. There was a bar at the far end, but all its mirrors were broken, the sharp shards of glass either in piles on the floor or jutting out from the walls. Bella stared at the scene of devastation before her, at what was obviously the remnants of Micky's beloved Flamingo.
Had this happened recently? No wonder Micky couldn't find a buyer for the club. How could he expect to sell it like this?
Then she heard voices. Following the sounds she walked slowly through another dark passage at the end of which there was a shaft of light.
Pushing open the door, Bella stepped in.
Ronnie's face was tight with anguish, reflected in the pale light as he bent over his brother. Micky was sprawled on a sofa, propped by cushions. Bella saw there was something unusual about him, perhaps the casual way he was seated, not Micky's style at all.
'Come and join the party, Bells,' Micky
