only be a good thing. She would have to double up on the pills more often if they made her this energetic and happy. And later, she would have a nice cold glass of vin; whoever had invented wine was a fucking god, and that would set her up for the evening.
'You all right, Phil? You're staring at me.'
'I was just thinking how beautiful you are when you're happy – not that you ain't beautiful when you're sad, but when you smile, Chris, it really lights you up inside.'
She shrugged. 'The new pills are working, I think, they make me feel happier than I have in a long time.'
He nodded. 'I can see that. Shall we go out tonight? Have a meal, a few drinks and a laugh?'
She nodded. She knew it would please him, and she would be glad to get out of the house for a few hours. 'That sounds lovely. Get all dressed up, and paint the town red.' She could see how happy she had made him, and for a split second she felt guilty because it took so little to please him.
'I'll show you the new club later on. You will love it – it's really upmarket and the decor is superb, like something out of a fashion magazine. Really tasteful.'
He loved showing her how well he had done, it was important to him that she understood how hard he worked for them all. She knew that what he really wanted was her approval, and that it would make her life much easier if she just gave it to him. But it was hard at times, playing a part, pretending every minute of every day, it got her down. She felt the depression looming again, like a dead weight, and forced herself to stop thinking too much about her life.
'I'll look forward to it, Phil.'
She would dress up for him and wear her best jewellery; it made him proud when people admired her. He loved to see people gasp at their obvious wealth. She decided she would raid the safe and really go to town. Even get her hair and nails done.
She was surprised to find she was actually looking forward to it, and she saw that as a step in the right direction.
She heard someone pressing the electric gates, and automatically opened them, assuming it was the postman, so she was surprised to see Ricky pulling up in his top-of-the-range Mercedes. She saw him get out with a huge bunch of flowers, and a very contrite expression on his face; she had to admire his guts, if not his common sense.
'It's Ricky, Phil.'
Phillip shrugged and carried on eating his breakfast.
Ricky came through the back door all false smiles and obvious embarrassment. Christine went to greet him and, giving her the flowers, he said loudly, 'For you, Christine, an apology for my boorish and drunken behaviour last night. I have been getting serious earache off Deandra over my actions and I can only blame the surfeit of wine and brandy. Can you ever forgive me?'
Before she could answer Phillip said loudly, 'She might, but I fucking won't.'
He was wiping his mouth with his napkin, and sitting there, in his tracksuit bottoms, bare chested and needing a shave, it struck Christine just how very good-looking he actually was. His deep blue eyes were focused on Ricky, and she could feel the power of his gaze herself like a physical thing. It was accusatory, showing how upset he was at what had happened last night, and it was also devoid of any sympathy or pity for Ricky's obvious discomfort. Taking the huge bunch of flowers she left the kitchen, and made her way through to the utility rooms, shutting the heavy baize door behind her. She didn't want to hear any of this conversation, not today. She couldn't cope with any of it.
Ricky was on his own.
Chapter Sixty
'Look, Phillip, I can't fucking apologise enough, mate…'
Phillip was leaning back in his Carver chair, relaxed, with an interested look on his face. He was secretly pleased that Ricky had been so worried he had come round his drum first thing; it appealed to his sense of honour and respect. It showed just how worried the man had been. That appeased him in small measure. He appreciated it when people put their hand up – as far as he was concerned, it showed true strength of character. To be able to admit your mistakes was something all the powerful generals had been willing to do throughout history. It was a sign of good leadership, it was also a sign of shrewdness, because anyone with half a brain knew Phillip wasn't the type to swallow last night's events without some kind of retaliation.
'I bet you can't. But the thing is, Ricky, you not only mugged me off, you mugged me off in my own home in front of my wife. Now everyone knows how I feel about my wife – she is a very fragile girl, what with her delicate constitution, and last night's outrageous behaviour on your part upset her deeply, as it did me.'
He still hadn't offered the man a seat and, as he resumed his breakfast, Ricky felt like an errant schoolboy in front of the headmaster.
'I realise that, Phil, that's why I'm here first thing. I don't know what came over me. I feel like a right cunt and, on my life, Phil, I'd do anything to put it right. Get it all sorted. Of course
I'll sell the arcades to you, we had a good deal there, and I know that better than anyone. So can we put this behind us?'
Phillip was mopping up the last of his egg yolk with a slice of home-made bread and, popping the food into his mouth, he chewed on it thoughtfully before washing it down with the last of his tea. Then, standing up, he sniffed loudly and looked Ricky over as if deciding what to do about him. Finally he said, 'Talk to Breda, she'll know what to do.' Turning casually he left the kitchen, and let the door shut behind him loudly, leaving Ricky standing there like a fool.
Ricky felt somehow that he had got off quite lightly. He had expected a real hammering this morning, and he was pleased he was still in one piece – at least he could go home now and put poor Deandra's mind at rest. She was like a cat on a bonfire, so this should calm her down some.
Chapter Sixty-One
Breda was already at the offices in Southend which she loved as they were so palatial and conducive to work. Everyone looked smart, and the place was more or less legit, which was even better. This was where they did all their real business and the accountants and lawyers were put at their ease by the atmosphere here. She glanced out the window. The sea was quite calm today. Usually, when the waves were crashing in she liked to open the windows to enjoy the sound of the sea. She found it soothing, it made her feel at one with herself. She was in her own little world here, and she liked it that way. When Phillip was here everyone kowtowed to him, and she respected that; after all, this was his at the end of the day. But once he left, it became her domain once more, and she could relax and rule in peace.
She had the figures ready for Ricky, and she had discussed the events of last night at length with Declan. She couldn't help feeling sorry for the man, he had to have been off his trolley to try and front Phillip like that. But she still felt a twinge of guilt at what she was going to offer him, and the reasons why. She waited patiently for him to arrive, her pulse racing at the thought of what she was going to do, but the need to do it overriding any guilt she might feel. Phillip was her main priority, as he was anyone's with half a fucking brain in their head, and that was something that Ricky Thomas should have thought about before he opened his big flapping trap.
As she saw him stroll through to the outer office she took a deep breath. She hated being Phillip's axe lady, but it was what kept her in designer clothes, and a fuck-off house, so she was willing to do whatever she felt was needed to keep her livelihood. But she liked Ricky Thomas. In fact, she had had a fling with him many years before, and he had treated her well, very well. Still, that was then and this was now and there was no place for sentiment in business – Phillip was always reminding her of that.
