Buckingham Palace Blues

SIXTEEN

Sitting at a table near the door, Gordon Elstree-Ullick sipped at his Potocki vodka and scanned the interior of Palermo, one of his favourite Mayfair drinking dens. The Gucci furnishings, Swarovski crystals, dark marbles, nutty- brown woods and abstract art above the long marble-topped bar gave Palermo the atmosphere of an American martini lounge in the late 1950s. If the Bond Street shoppers filling out the afternoon crowd didn’t quite fit with that image, at least he could pretend.

‘Why do you drink that Polish stuff?’ Ihor Chepoyak finished his glass of Heineken and pointed at Elstree- Ullick’s glass. ‘Ukrainian vodka is much better.’

‘Which is why you’re drinking Dutch beer, I suppose,’ Elstree-Ullick commented.

‘When I drink vodka, I drink Ukrainian vodka!’

Elstree-Ullick inspected his glass. ‘I like this stuff. Anyway, I don’t think they serve any Ukrainian brands here.’

‘They should,’ Ihor grunted.

Elstree-Ullick took another dainty sip. ‘Maybe you could make them an offer they can’t refuse.’

Ihor looked confused. ‘What?’

‘Never mind.’ Elstree-Ullick placed his glass carefully on the table. ‘Anyway, that’s not what we’re here to talk about.’

Ihor smiled. ‘No.’

Elstree-Ullick began: ‘About the girl. .’

‘You are getting careless, my friend.’

‘It was hardly my fault.’ Elstree-Ullick looked to Ihor for some words of support or sympathy. When none were forthcoming, he went on: ‘You’ve got to look at it positively. At least it solves that particular problem.’

‘Solves it?’ Ihor gave him a hard look. He again lifted his glass to his mouth, forgetting that it was empty. ‘How does it solve it? The police have her back now.’

‘Even if she is identified, it remains a dead end,’ he grinned. ‘So to speak.’

‘Let’s hope so, for your sake.’

‘For all our sakes.’ Elstree-Ullick finished his drink and signalled to the waitress, a horsey-looking girl with an unfortunate smile. ‘Two more, please.’ After the woman had retreated to the bar, he leaned over the table. ‘We’re in this together, remember?’

Ihor grunted noncommittally. As far as he was concerned, all business partnerships had a finite lifespan, and it looked like this one could soon be coming to an end.

‘In the meantime,’ Elstree-Ullick continued, ‘there is a more pressing problem.’

‘There is?’ Ihor sat back in his chair and closed his eyes, allowing himself to imagine whipping out his Fort-12 CURZ pistol and putting a 9mm Kurz round between the eyes of the bastard Earl of Falkirk. He smiled to himself. It might very well come to that yet.

‘I’ve made my last trip to the Ukraine. It’s too much hassle to go back. And, rather more importantly, we need to find something new to keep the clients interested.’

Ihor opened his eyes. ‘Like what?’

‘I’m looking at some opportunities in East Africa,’ Elstree-Ullick said. ‘Kenya, to be precise.’

‘I know nothing about Africa — neither do you.’

‘No, but-’

Ihor yawned. ‘The Ukraine is fine. You should be more worried about developments here in London.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I hear that one of your customers nearly got arrested down by the river. Chased by some cops just as he was getting on to the London Eye.’

How the hell did you know about that? Elstree-Ullick wondered. ‘No, no,’ he said hastily, ‘the guy just bottled it. There was no problem.’

‘I see.’

‘Yes, so — it is very much business as usual.’

‘Maybe you should tell your clients to be a bit more low-key for a while,’ Ihor said grumpily.

The waitress reappeared with their fresh drinks. She smiled widely and Elstree-Ullick wondered if she knew who he was. I’m so out of your league, sweetheart, he thought. He sat back in his chair and watched her buttocks shimmy inside her jeans, as she wandered off. Not a bad arse. Not bad at all. ‘The thing is,’ he drawled, still staring at the woman’s rear end, ‘the clients don’t like being told what to do.’ He eyed Ihor as if he was imparting some great wisdom. ‘They want — they need — to be able to do whatever they want. Some of them are really quite competitive about it. If we cut down on the thrill factor, that’s our USP out of the window.’

‘A fuck is a fuck,’ Ihor mumbled, sucking the head off his beer.

‘But we are selling so much more than that,’ Elstree-Ullick persisted. ‘Plenty of people can supply a pretty girl. With us it’s the whole experience.’

Keeping the glass near his lips, Ihor wondered just what the idiot was talking about. If you wanted an experience you went to Disneyland. What was wrong with good old-fashioned fucking behind closed doors? He looked at the boy in front of him, one of the most privileged people on the whole planet, yet a guy who knew nothing about the realities of life for normal people. He was a bloody Earl, for God’s sake — so why was he getting involved in all this shit? And, more to the point, could he be relied on not to fuck things up? ‘Just be careful,’ he said finally.

‘Of course,’ Elstree-Ullick replied stiffly.

‘Business is good,’ Ihor went on, trying to ignore the fact that this boy would just not listen, ‘which is all the more reason not to be complacent.’

‘Never.’

Yeah, right, Ihor thought, as he drained his glass.

‘Good afternoon, gentlemen.’ The smell of perfume filled the air. Both men looked up to see Olga arrive at their table, a large glass of white wine in her hand.

She was dressed in a tight-fitting charcoal jacket with a matching skirt that fell to just below the knee; her powder-blue shirt had the top three buttons undone, giving a tantalising glimpse of decolletage.

As the woman sat down, crossing her legs, Elstree-Ullick felt a familiar tingling in his groin. Not for the first time, he felt angry at Ihor’s insistence that he should not fuck the help. Did the idiot not realise that that was one of the basic perks of being a royal?

Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a tin of salve and deftly applied some to her lips. ‘May I join you?’

‘I thought that you already had,’ Elstree-Ullick quipped, moving his chair closer to hers.

Ihor eyed her suspiciously. ‘What are you doing here?’

Olga put the tin back in her bag and gently wiped her mouth with a napkin. After taking a sip of wine, she said, ‘I have a business meeting at the Sheraton on Park Lane in forty-five minutes. I’m just killing a little time.’

Falkirk grinned lecherously. ‘Maybe you could drop by and see me at the Palace later. . have some champagne?’

Olga glanced at Ihor, then smiled slyly at Falkirk. ‘Maybe. That could be fun.’

Ihor frowned. ‘How did you know we were here?’

‘I didn’t,’ Olga said sweetly. ‘It’s just a coincidence.’ Turning to Elstree-Ullick, she upped the wattage on her smile. ‘So — what are you two boys conspiring about here?’ she asked.

‘Just discussing business,’ Elstree-Ullick said airily.

‘Oh?’ Glancing at Ihor, Olga arched an eyebrow. ‘And is business good?’

‘Not bad,’ Ihor said quickly, giving Elstree-Ullick a look that said Shut the fuck up.

‘Not bad?’ Olga repeated slowly. ‘That’s good.’