Widows 2

Chapter One

Bella had recommended Mr. Jarrow to Dolly as one of the best men in London, and so Dolly had made an appointment. She was slightly taken aback to find five other women in the reception area also waiting to see him — it was more of a conveyor belt than she had imagined. But she enjoyed taking furtive glances over the top of her glossy magazine and trying to work out what each woman was having done. In some instances it was obvious: a nose needed shortening by a couple of centimeters; eye bags could be removed. But she did wonder what the two women sitting in the corner were in for. Why bother with a nose job if your face was completely hidden behind a black niqab? At least their husbands would see their faces when they took them off, she mused.

Husband. Every time Dolly thought of the word she felt a strange tightening in the pit of her stomach. It had been a long time since she had referred to her ‘husband’...

‘Mrs. Rawlins?’

Dolly was jolted from her thoughts. The receptionist, who spoke with a slight French accent, had a face that had obviously never needed any kind of cosmetic surgery.

‘Mr. Jarrow will see you now.’

The consulting room itself was as immaculate as the waiting room, from the pale green carpet and the imposing desk to the perfectly placed antique carver chair for the patients. Mr. Jarrow himself was very good looking, but he seemed a little too neat; perhaps he’d had a job done on his own face? He was very quiet, his voice soothing.

‘I’d like a facelift,’ Dolly said simply.

‘I see,’ he said. ‘A complete facelift, Mrs. Rawlins?’

Dolly nodded.

He got up from his desk and came over to her. He held her head as he inspected her eyes and her neck, and his hands when he touched her face felt cool.

‘With this form of surgery,’ he explained in his soothing voice, ‘the stitches will be placed behind the ears; your hairline will remain just as it is now. We will stitch here—’ he indicated where the stitches for the eye socket would be — ‘and here.’ She felt his feather-light touch below her right eye.

He took a seat back behind his desk and began to sift through her file, looking at the photographs she had had taken earlier that day — front, side-view right, side-view left — looking at Dolly, then back to the photographs.

Finally, he closed the file. ‘You were widowed six months ago?’

Dolly nodded. She had already supplied this information.

‘And you have no relatives, no family?’

Dolly shook her head. Again she had told him this already.

Mr. Jarrow tapped the desk with a very fine, thin, gold pencil. ‘You do understand...’ He paused. ‘You do understand that no surgery can permanently prevent aging?’

Dolly nodded. This too had been gone over before. ‘But you can make me look younger, isn’t that right, Mr. Jarrow?’

He looked up and gave her a sweet, direct smile. ‘You were married for twenty-five years?’

Dolly said, ‘Yes.’

‘The loss must have been... very great.’

‘Yes,’ said Dolly. ‘It was.’

He gave a slight cough and opened her file again. ‘Did you love your husband, Mrs. Rawlins?’ He flicked through the pages.

He’d taken her completely off guard.

‘Why do you ask me that?’ she said. And then, very quietly, rather shakily, she added, ‘I loved him.’ She barely recognized her own voice.

Mr. Jarrow looked up and slightly tilted his head. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘I loved him.’

He nodded. His pale blue eyes seemed to stare right through her. ‘Then his death must have been a very great loss to you.’

Dolly could feel her breath leaving her body. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, yes, it was. It was a very great loss to me.’

Harry Rawlins stepped out from the terminal into the sunlight of Rio. The glare of the sun bounced off his mirror-tinted glasses and he could feel the sweat trickling down the back of his neck and into his crumpled linen suit. He shifted his small holdall from one hand to the other and looked up and down the lines of parked cars.

Jimmy Glazier had a strange lump in the pit of his stomach. There he was, Harry Rawlins, back from the dead. Jimmy’s pudgy, sweat-glistening face beamed, he waved, and he saw Rawlins stare toward him. Jimmy scuttled between the parked cars and reached Harry. He felt so childish, with all the emotion swelling inside him, and all he got out was, ‘Good to see you, Harry. Welcome to Rio.’

Jimmy had always admired Harry Rawlins. He’d been one of the big ones, one of the good men, and even though he’d only worked for Rawlins once, he’d gone to him twice for help, and Rawlins had never turned him down. When Jimmy received the cable, he felt it was his chance to repay him. As they moved toward Jimmy’s car — a beat-up old Buick, which he’d bought when he first came to Rio — Rawlins was strangely silent. First he moved round to the wrong side of the car and Jimmy had to say jovially, ‘Ah, no, Harry, it’s this way round,’ before nervously opening the passenger door for him. Then he clumsily took Rawlins’ holdall — fumbling as if Rawlins was some sort of royal guest — and asked if there was any more luggage.

Rawlins shook his head. ‘No, just the one bag, Jimmy.’

Jimmy placed it carefully in the boot, before jumping into the driving seat. Inside the car was boiling, and Rawlins immediately lowered the window, with Jimmy doing likewise, before leaning his arm along the back of the seat and looking at Harry.

‘When I heard the news, I just couldn’t believe it,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘You lost a good team, good men, Harry. Christ, I thought you’d gone down with them!’

Rawlins cut him off sharply. ‘Can we get out of here, Jimmy? I’m sweating like a pig.’

The air-conditioning didn’t work, and as the car eased into the traffic, the wind blowing through the open windows did little to cool them down. Jimmy couldn’t read Rawlins’ expression behind his mirrored sunglasses, but despite the boiling hot sun, he was happy. He had the big man, Mr. Rawlins, in his car, coming to stay at his place, in Rio.

They drove down the hill from São Paolo and headed toward the center of town, passing several elegant-looking villas, with shady patios and their own pools, half-hidden behind heavy fencing, palm trees and shrubberies. Jimmy pulled up by a pale pink villa with solid-looking wrought-iron gates, to let a mangy-looking dog cross the road, before moving on.

The driveway to the pink villa was lined with lush-looking palm trees. It went sweeping past a garage and round to the side of the house, where five sunloungers with umbrellas were arranged round the pool. The faint sound of the Tijuana Brass could be heard coming from a small transistor by one of the sun-loungers, where a woman was stretched out, covered with suntan oil.

Linda Pirelli.

She picked up the radio and turned the dial to find a different station, but all she could get was a garble of voices in a language she didn’t understand. She turned back the dial until she found the Tijuana Brass again, then hurled it into the pool, where it gurgled for a moment before sinking to the bottom.

Up on the balcony above the pool, Shirley yelled, ‘Linda! Come up ’ere for a minute, will you? I saw that!’ before stalking back into the bedroom. The twin beds were covered with neatly folded piles of clothes, ready to be placed into open suitcases. Shirley was all made up, hair done to perfection, and wearing a silk shirt, knickers, suspenders and stockings, and very high-heeled shoes. Carefully and methodically, she started filling the cases.

Linda stormed into the bedroom. ‘Whaddya want?’ She looked through the drawers. ‘Oi, you bin going through my things!’

‘I have not been going through your things,’ Shirley retorted. ‘I just want that blue shirt back that you borrowed yesterday. Where’ve you put it?’

Linda stomped over to the chest of drawers, rifled through a tangled mess of clothes and dragged out a crumpled shirt. ‘’Ere yer go.’

Shirley looked at it in disgust. ‘Never mind, you can keep it!’

Linda flopped down on the bed and sullenly watched Shirley go back to packing her beautifully folded, crisp new clothes.

‘Yer got enough bleedin’ suitcases?’ She snorted.

‘Yes, they’re nice, aren’t they?’ Shirley replied with a smile. ‘They’re all mock croc leather, you know.’

Linda picked one up. ‘Well, they weigh a ton before yer even put a bleedin’ Kleenex in. ’Ow much did they cost?’

Shirley squinted at her watch, the digits seeming to blur. She should have got the other one, the Cartier. ‘Bella’s going to miss me. I’ve got to go.’

‘Well, ’ow yer gonna get to the airport?’

Shirley went back to her packing. ‘I’ve got a taxi coming. But Bella said she’d be here to see me off.’

‘Yeah, she also said she’d teach me to swim!’ Linda threw herself back on the bed.

‘Linda, move off!’ Shirley chided. ‘Go and sit over there!’

Scowling, Linda moved to a chair and stuck her feet up on the edge of the dressing table.

Shirley turned. ‘By the way, that cistern overflowed again. When you gonna move that money? Bella’s bought diamonds; why don’t you buy diamonds? I mean, I got my money changed into dollars. What did Dolly say? Change that money as soon as possible. That money’s traceable, Linda!’

Linda frowned. ‘I’ll do it tomorrow.’ She then started unscrewing pots of cream from Shirley’s already neatly packed vanity bag. She dabbed her finger in and began rubbing lotion into her face.

Shirley watched her disapprovingly. ‘You don’t put dollops of that on your face, Linda. That’s Queen Bee jelly with vitamin E. You’ve only got to use a drop.’

Linda moved away from the dressing table. ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry. Queen Bee jelly! Christ, Shirley, if they put gnat piss in a bottle you’d buy it if they said it was good for your face!’

Shirley squinted at her watch again. ‘Wonder where Bella is?’

‘Yeah, I’ve been waitin’ by that pool for her all mornin’.’

Shirley looked at her. ‘You’re burning, you know. Look at your skin. It’s awfully bad for it, Linda. I’ve told you, you shouldn’t sit in the sun, you’ll get cancer.’

‘Bollocks.’ Linda sat down on the bed. She watched Shirley finishing packing for a moment, then asked, rather plaintively, ‘Why can’t I come wiv yer, Shirl?’

Shirley turned. They’d been over this before. ‘You are not coming with me and that is final. Dolly said separate, and that’s what we’re gonna do!’

Linda mimicked her. ‘Dolly said sep-a-rate! Dolly also said no taxis to the villa. Well, you’ve just blown that, ’aven’t you? She said no taxis and no cars. Bella’s bin in and out of ’ere like a dingbat in that Rolls-Royce...’

Right on cue they heard the crunch of gravel on the drive. Linda rushed to the balcony.

‘’Ere she comes. Gawd, what does she think she’s come as — Shirley Bassey? Look at ’er!’

Linda watched as Bella stepped out of the white Rolls-Royce. She looked stunning. It was a strange thing with Bella — she might have been a tart, she might have come from the streets, but God she had taste. She knew what she wanted, and she always wanted — and got — the best.

Linda yelled down, ‘Dolly said no taxis and no cars to the bleedin’ villa! Well, you’ve come fucking incognito, I must say!’

Shirley had packed her suitcases and was now inspecting a jacket. ‘You sat on this, Linda. Look at it, you’ve crumpled it.’ She stepped into her skirt and zipped it up.

‘I’ll take a couple of yer cases down for yer.’ Linda walked unsteadily down the stairs, staggering under the weight of two suitcases, and dumped them in front of the Rolls.

Bella looked at them quizzically. ‘Hey,’ she said, ‘unbelievable! We’ve got the same suitcases — just different colors.’

Linda stomped back into the house, paying no attention, as Shirley appeared with suitcase number three. ‘What’s the matter with her?’ Bella asked.

Shirley shrugged. ‘I don’t know, she’s like a bear with a sore behind, sometimes.’

Bella jerked her head toward the chauffeur. ‘It’s all right, he doesn’t understand English.’

Shirley nodded. ‘Oh, well, thanks for coming.’

Bella handed her a small packet. ‘This is for you, kiddo. You take care of yourself!’

Shirley unwrapped the tiny locket decorated with an ‘S’ in diamonds; very tasteful and no doubt very expensive.

‘Thanks, Bella, it’s lovely.’ She beamed.

Bella grinned. ‘Well, kiddo, you have a good time in LA. If you do everything I’m doing, you will!’

Shirley gripped her hand. ‘I hope it works out for you, Bella. He’s a super guy.’

Bella nodded. ‘Yes, he is, Shirley. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted. I’ve never been so happy in my whole life.’

Shirley’s jacket suddenly flew down from the balcony and landed on the roof of the Roller.

Shirley whipped round. ‘There was no need to do that, Linda!’ She turned to Bella. ‘She hasn’t changed her money yet, you know! It’s still in the cistern; made me soak my skirt.’

Bella shook her head, smiling. ‘I’ll have a word with her later.’

Linda appeared with suitcase number four. ‘That’s it!’

Shirley looked at Bella. ‘Just waiting for the cab, then I’m off.’

At that moment the taxi appeared through the wrought-iron gates and came to a halt with a spray of gravel.

Linda was already shouting at the top of her voice: ‘Four suitcases, amigo, to the airport, pronto!’

Shirley turned to her. ‘There’s no need to shout, Linda.’

The driver got out of the cab and started piling the suitcases into the boot. At the same time the chauffeur got out of the Roller and opened the rear passenger door for Bella.

She turned to Shirley with a grin before getting in. ‘This is the life, eh, kiddo? This is the life.’ The chauffeur shut the door, and the electric windows slowly glided down. ‘Look after yourself, hon. See you back in London.’

The chauffeur slowly turned the Roller round and drove off, as Bella gave a last wave to Linda, which she pointedly ignored.

Shirley started checking that all the suitcases had been packed into the taxi, then suddenly remembered and shouted after the Roller as it disappeared through the gates, ‘Thanks for the present!’

Linda gave her a bemused look. ‘What present?’

‘Oh, Bella gave me ever such a nice little thing. A farewell gift.’

Linda looked miffed: one, because she hadn’t thought of it herself, and two, because nobody ever told her anything. She started to get into the taxi but Shirley put a hand on her arm. ‘Oh, come on, Linda, there’s no need for you to come with me.’

Linda turned. ‘I’m just comin’ as far as the airport, OK? Come on, get in.’ She flicked the driver on the back of the neck as Shirley settled in next to her. ‘OK, amigo, move it, pronto!’

Both girls slammed into the back of the seat as the taxi whipped round in a U-turn and sped down the drive.

Harry Rawlins looked round Jimmy Glazier’s small, untidy flat. It was crazy — it was as if they’d moved a tower block from Paddington smack into the center of Rio. The building was certainly just as noisy, as the sound of stereos and transistors blaring, couples arguing and screaming kids drifted up from outside and through the shutters. The kitchen was separated from the dining room by stripped plastic curtains, from behind which he could see a woman furtively watching them.

‘Maria!’ Jimmy yelled. ‘Come out and meet my friend!’

Maria stepped through the curtains. She was heavily pregnant and there was something very sensual about her, with her long, dark hair in one big braid down her back. She nodded to Harry, looked at Jimmy, then turned and went back into the kitchen.

Jimmy was sweating freely, and Rawlins could smell the reek of it filling the little room.

‘Hey, don’t pay any attention to her,’ he said, popping open two cans of beer. ‘She’s a bit broody. She’s expecting another kid. It’s this heat. With no air-conditioning in here, it boils you up, yer know what I mean? Boils you up, Harry. Siddown!’

Harry pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat. ‘What time do the banks open, Jimmy?’

Jimmy looked at his watch. ‘It’s siesta now, so give it about an hour. The bank’s in the square.’

He pulled his chair closer and Harry was overpowered by the sickly sweet smell of Jimmy’s body odor.

‘Harry... I’ve got a little number lined up in England. It’s a doddle, honest!’

Harry couldn’t help but smile. How many times had Jimmy Glazier been put away because of his sure-fire doddles?

He patted him on the shoulder. ‘Look, Jimmy, I’m over here to collect cash, and that’s it. I’m out of the business now, OK?’

Jimmy nodded. ‘Anything you say, Harry.’ He guzzled down his beer and flipped open another one.

Harry stood up. ‘I’m a bit whacked, Jimmy. Mind if I put my head down?’

Jimmy was on his feet. ‘Anything you say, Harry. All you gotta do is ask. My place is your place, you know what I mean? You been good to me, Harry. This is my chance to repay you.’ He continued to prattle on as he led Harry toward an even smaller room off the lounge. This was a child’s bedroom, with a tiny cot bed and toys littering the floor. The shutters were closed, but the air was still hot. Jimmy kicked the toys out of the way and pulled back the grimy sheets.

‘’Ere you go, ’Arry. I’ll give you a shout in a couple of hours, OK?’

Harry nodded. ‘Thanks, Jimmy.’

Jimmy hovered by the door for a few moments, still beaming, before going back to the lounge. After a moment, Harry heard the sound of yet another beer can being ripped open, and the low murmuring of Jimmy and Maria, speaking in Portuguese. Obviously Maria didn’t want Harry to stay, but by now he was too tired to even think about it. He lay on the bed, the clammy heat stifling him, and then he fell asleep.

Dolly looked at the sheet of instructions Mr. Jarrow’s over-polite Frenchified assistant had just handed her. She was supposed to bring night clothes and dark glasses. The operation was to be in two weeks, the only time Mr. Jarrow had available. He was obviously a very, very busy man.

Dolly looked up at the assistant. ‘Are the glasses compulsory?’

‘No, Mrs. Rawlins, just a suggestion. If you could be here at 3:30 on the day of the operation just to have a final check, we’ll take you over to the clinic.’

Dolly smiled. She felt as if she was actually bursting with happiness, like a child who’s just been told she’s won a prize. She picked up her handbag, gave the assistant a brief nod, and walked out into the street. The sun was shining and she felt good; things were going just as she’d planned.

She walked across to the meter — it was always a good sign when you got a meter immediately, particularly in Harley Street — and got into her hired green Ford Fiesta.

Now, she thought, for stage two.

She’d found his name in the Yellow Pages. She soon discovered that most private detectives were connected to one large firm, so she’d kept on ringing numbers until she found one who seemed to work on his own. That was the kind of man she wanted. His name was Victor Morgan — Victor Morgan of the Victor Morgan Private Investigation Bureau.

Victor Morgan had had his offices in Kensington for about four years, in a sprawling old building off the Cromwell Road. That afternoon he was studying his newest acquisition, a word processor that had set him back five and a half grand. But he thought it was going to be worth it. In a few months he would have a filing system of floppy disks that would fit into one drawer. Yes, things were looking up.

He was busily checking over the computer’s manual when he heard footsteps outside the door. He looked at his watch — Mrs. Marsh was smack on time.

The door handle rattled and he yelled out, ‘Push... push, Mrs. Marsh!’

Dolly, from outside, turned the handle one more time, gave it an almighty shove and hurtled into the office.

‘You OK?’

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she said, patting herself down. ‘Something wrong with your door?’

He smiled. ‘Gotta get it fixed one day. It’s a tricky lock, but it’s all right when you get the hang of it. Do sit down.’

He shut the door behind her, and Dolly took stock of the man she’d chosen. He was big, well over six foot, and stocky with it. Not particularly good-looking, but there was a kind of warmth to him that didn’t fit with the conventional image of a private investigator.

His bulk filled the chair as he sat back down at his desk and leaned forward. ‘Well, Mrs. Marsh, what can I do for you?’

Dolly placed her handbag on the desk. ‘I would like you to watch... er...’ She broke off.

Here we go again, thought Victor: the hesitant wives too embarrassed to admit they wanted you to follow their husbands.

Dolly coughed. ‘I’m here on behalf of my sister, actually.’

Why they had to lie, Vic never knew. He looked her in the eye. ‘Your sister?’

‘Yes. My sister believes her husband is having an affair with another woman, and we would like you to watch her house and find out a little about her. Do you do that kind of thing?’

He nodded. He did do that kind of thing. He didn’t like it, but the truth of it was that it was his bread and butter.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You’d like me to keep a woman under surveillance?’

‘Yes, exactly.’

He got out a sheet of paper and began to make notes, in what seemed to Dolly a very professional manner.

‘Right. Her name?’

Dolly hesitated for another moment. ‘Trudie. Trudie Nunn.’

‘OK.’ He nodded. ‘And the address?’

Dolly gave him Trudie Nunn’s address in Islington.

‘And how long would you like the surveillance on Mrs. Nunn?’

Again Dolly hesitated. She’d had it all worked out in her mind before she came in but suddenly she was all of a dither.

‘Well... we... my sister and I would like to know... what kind of work she’s doing, and if... my sister’s husband is visiting her and who she sees...’

‘Absolutely,’ he said. ‘That’s all part of the job. But how long do you want me to watch—’ he looked at the page — ‘Mrs. Nunn? Or Miss Nunn?’

‘Mrs. Nunn. Mrs. Trudie Nunn.’

‘Right.’

Dolly thought for a moment. ‘Well, how much do you charge, Mr. Morgan?’

He leaned back in his chair. ‘Twelve-fifty per hour, plus expenses. Usually I don’t do round the clock — I work from seven in the morning to seven at night, but if you want the night shift I can go from seven at night through to two in the morning.’ He smiled. ‘In my experience, if there is any hanky-panky going on, it will have happened before then, if it’s going to happen at all.’

Dolly was not amused. ‘I see. Well, I’d like you to do three or four days to begin with, and see how we go from there.’

‘OK, four days of seven to seven, or on the seven to—’

‘Day and night,’ insisted Dolly. She’d already opened her bag and taken out her wallet.

Ah. He rubbed his hands. Now’s my chance, he thought. He shifted his chair round toward his new toy and began tapping out numbers. Instantly a flashing sign appeared, saying: ‘BOOT ERROR — BOOT ERROR — BOOT ERROR.’

Dolly looked up from her calculations. ‘I’ll pay you in advance for two days, is that all right? I make that £475.’ She counted out the money and put it on his desk.

Morgan’s computer was now flashing: ‘£35.02.’ He shook his head sadly.

‘I’ve not quite got the hang of this yet... But that’s fine.’ He tried to switch off the machine. ‘Er... another thing, Mrs. Marsh. Do you have a photograph of your sister’s husband, or any particulars? His name, for a start.’

Dolly was taken aback. ‘Yes, his name is John, er, Jonathan... Jarrow... J-A-R-R-O-W.’ She spelled it out, then described Harry Rawlins while Morgan nodded, taking careful notes.

‘Right you are. So you want me to watch this Trudie Nunn, and if this Mr. Jarrow turns up you want me to make a note of it — how long he stays, et cetera. Is that it?’

Dolly nodded. ‘Yes, yes, that’s precisely it.’ Despite the shenanigans with the computer, she reckoned Mr. Morgan wasn’t as dumb as he looked. She made a mental note not to make any slips in front of him.

Business done, she stood up. ‘Is there anything else you want to know?’

‘Well, I’d like to know where I can contact you.’

Dolly opened her bag, searching through her wallet for the card she’d picked up at the hotel desk that morning. Morgan went back to tapping out something on his word processor.

‘You’ll find me here, should you need me.’

Still tapping, he flicked a look at the card she’d placed on his desk and said, ‘I don’t know that one.’

‘It’s very quiet, just by Queen’s Gate.’

‘And that’s where you’ll be, Mrs. Marsh?’

‘Yes, you can contact me there... but I’ll call in.’

He smiled. ‘I’m sure you will, Mrs. Marsh.’

He stood up and they shook hands. His grip was firm.

As he walked Dolly toward the door, Helen, the group secretary for a number of offices, entered with her arms full of papers. ‘Oh, I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t know you had—’

‘That’s all right,’ said Dolly, ‘I’m just leaving.’

As Dolly closed the door delicately behind her, Helen gave Morgan an inquiring look. ‘Something juicy?’

‘Not really.’ Morgan crossed back to his desk. ‘Oh my God,’ he said, ‘now what’s happening?’ The machine seemed to have taken on a life of its own, the printer churning out sheets and sheets of paper.

Helen rushed up behind him. ‘You’ve got it on repeat!’

‘God damn it, I set it to receipt! I wanted a receipt!’

Helen turned the machine off and looked at the receipt. ‘Ooh,’ she said, ‘cash. That’s unusual for you!’

He smiled. ‘Yes. Look, there’s some letters for you to do, and whatever you put in the machine yesterday, I’m afraid you’re going to have to put back in today. I wiped it!’

She shook her head. He was reaching for his old camel hair coat, the one he always wore, whatever the time of year.

‘OK,’ she said. ‘You know you’re going to have to employ me full-time now you’ve got that machine.’

He turned with a grin. ‘My darling girl, this is the age of technology. When I get that machine going I won’t even need an office!’

‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ she retorted.

He went to open the door, giving it its usual tug, followed by its usual pull — but it remained firmly stuck.

‘Forget about your fancy computer — why don’t you get that door fixed?’ Helen said.

He gave it one more tug and the door swung open. ‘Just a matter of technique!’ he said with a wink and breezed out.

Helen sighed. She’d been in love with Victor Morgan for almost two years, but he’d remained totally oblivious, showing no sign that he thought of her as anything more than just another piece of office equipment.

In fact, he didn’t seem to care very much about anything — with the possible exception of his old car. Whatever the ups and downs of the business, he didn’t seem to worry about money, and she wondered if he had private income from somewhere. She knew he’d been in the police for twenty years before retiring to open his own investigation bureau — mostly dealing with petty debt collecting, marriage troubles, divorce settlements, writs, warrants and, of course, the odd industrial espionage job, which paid a bit more. But there was an awful lot about Morgan that she didn’t know, like the story of the boy in the photograph that was always tucked behind his bookcase. Good-looking boy; the image of his father. Once she’d asked about him, asked his name. Morgan had just shrugged. ‘It doesn’t really matter what his name is, Helen. He’s been gone a long time.’

‘Gone where? Abroad somewhere?’ she’d asked.

‘No, he was a heroin addict,’ he’d replied. And that was all he’d ever said.

There had been a wife, she knew that much, and maybe a divorce. But Helen would have had to be a very good private investigator to find out anything more about Morgan’s personal life.

As for her chances, she’d given up thinking anything would ever come of it. She’d once screwed up her courage to ask him to her place for dinner. He’d said yes, briefly kindling her hopes, and it had been a very pleasant evening. But that was as far as he’d ever let it go.

Helen sighed, then began to read the manual for his new word processor. If he was never going to get the hang of it, maybe she’d better.

Shirley squinted at her watch as the taxi pulled up at the airport. ‘You know something, I can’t tell the time on this. I wish to God I’d got the other watch. What do you think, Linda, d’you like it?’

Linda looked and said, ‘Well, if you can’t tell the bloody time by it, what’s the point?’

Shirley looked at it again. ‘Oh my God, I’ve got it on upside down. No wonder I couldn’t tell the time!’

She reached to open the door, but Linda grabbed hold of her. ‘You know I won’t forgive you for not telling me. I think it’s absolutely disgusting.’

‘Linda, we’ve been over this all the way to the airport,’ Shirley sighed. ‘Bella and I didn’t tell you because we knew you’d react like this.’

‘Oh, so Bella knows, does she? Well, that’s marvelous, that’s bloody marvelous. Both of you know and you don’t tell me!’

‘We didn’t tell you, Linda, because we knew this is what would happen. Dolly went back to England because she—’

‘She wanted a face job, yes,’ Linda interrupted. ‘I hear you, I hear you, you told me that four times already. But do you really believe it?’

Shirley looked at her. ‘Why shouldn’t I believe it? She was going to go to Geneva, I know she was going to go to Geneva, but Bella suggested she go to London because there’s this amazing guy there — all Bella’s mates have been to him.’

‘What, all the prostitutes? Come off it. Do you really think Dolly was going for a facelift? God almighty, you two are so stupid!’

Shirley was starting to get angry. ‘Why are we stupid, Linda?’

‘You never thought who else was in London, did you? Harry Rawlins, that’s who. Dolly’s husband. And that’s where our money is, too.’

Shirley was getting to the end of her tether. ‘What are you insinuating?’ she demanded.

‘I’m not insinuating anything, Shirley, love. I’m just saying, don’t you think it’s odd? Dolly Rawlins is in London, Harry Rawlins is in London, and our bloody money is in London!’

Shirley pushed the car door open. ‘Well, as far as I’m concerned, that’s just fine. Dolly’ll keep an eye on it for us, and if you think that she’s going to be doing anything else then you’re mistaken, Linda!’

Linda followed Shirley out of the car and started shouting to the driver about getting a porter.

Shirley was rummaging in her bag for her passport and ticket. She whipped round and said, ‘Linda, will you leave it out! I’m trying to find my—’

‘You’ve got everything! You checked it four times in the bleedin’ taxi!’

Shirley finally had them in her hands. ‘Oh, yes. Right, Linda, I’m going now.’

‘I’ll come into the airport wiv yer.’

Shirley was still annoyed by Linda’s suspicions about Dolly. ‘It’s not necessary, Linda.’

‘Oh yes it is. Can’t put a bleedin’ sandwich down in this place without somebody nicking it. Come on, get a move on. You don’t want them posh suitcases nicked, do yer?’ Linda insisted, pushing Shirley into the airport.

Arriving back at the villa, Bella called out for Linda and decided she must still be at the airport. She went into her own room and lifted out the suitcases from their big paper packages. Identical to Shirley’s, she had felt that the mulberry was a little more subtle than bright orange. Opening the wardrobe, she couldn’t help but stand back in admiration. Each garment was so special, so beautifully made, such gorgeous material. She took out her Norma Kamali, with the shoulder pads, and held it against her. Worth every penny of the $280 she’d paid for it.

Bella folded the dress with exaggerated care, then took out a long, flowing, pure-silk gown. This hadn’t cost $280 — more like $2523 — but then José had bought it for her. She’d modeled it for him, walking up and down as if she was on a catwalk, and he’d simply said, ‘If you like it, darling, then you have it.’ She got a warm feeling inside when she thought about it. It was funny, all the men she’d screwed, every single one, she couldn’t remember a single face — but as soon as she saw José for the first time, she knew she wouldn’t be able to forget him. She’d been shopping, walking along the main thoroughfare, and she noticed him walking toward her. He was with another woman, talking and laughing, and she’d been so busy staring at him she’d almost walked straight into him. He turned aside for her to pass, and then strolled on. She’d tried to distract herself with more shopping, but when she emerged from a shop an hour later, her arms full of clothes, there he was again. This time, alone. And this time Bella gave him her most seductive smile and said, ‘Hello.’ They started chatting, he offered her a lift, and she’d been with him ever since. José Camarana turned out to be older than the men she usually went for (he was in his late forties) but he was so sexy, and such a gentleman. In fact, he was everything she’d ever looked for in a man, and on top of it all, she reckoned he must be a multimillionaire.

Bella was still mooning over herself in the mirror when she heard the front door slam, and there was Linda, hands on hips, and a voice like thunder. ‘Thank you very much!’

Bella turned. ‘What?’

‘Why didn’t you tell me, you fuckers! Neither of you told me!’

‘Told you what, Linda?’

‘Dolly. Dolly’s not gone to Geneva. She told me a bleedin’ lie! Told me to my face, said she was gonna go to Geneva! She’s only back in London!’

Bella continued to fold her clothes. ‘So what?’

‘Didn’t you think?’ Linda shouted. ‘Dolly’s in London, our money’s in London, and Harry’s in London.’

‘Yeah, we thought about it. So what?’

Linda slumped down on the bed. ‘I don’t fucking believe it! Dolly Rawlins, Harry Rawlins, and our money!’

Bella stopped what she was doing. ‘Don’t be so damned stupid, Linda. Dolly’s not going back to Harry. And she’d protect our money with her life!’

‘Oh yeah? Well, we’ll see, won’t we?’ Linda scowled. ‘We’ll just see about that!’ She clocked the suitcases. ‘What are you doin’?’

‘Well, what does it look like — playing table tennis? I’m packing, aren’t I?’

‘Where you goin’? You goin’ away?’

‘Well, you could say that.’

‘Where’re you goin’? You never told me!’

‘Linda, I don’t have to tell you everything. But you know what we agreed — we would separate, all of us, and change our money. And your bloody money is still in the cistern!’

‘I’m doin’ it tomorrow, aren’t I?’ Linda pouted.

Bella shook her head. ‘Everything’s tomorrow with you, Linda. You better get off your arse and start moving!’

‘I am moving, I am doing things... Hold on, what’s that?’

Bella turned with a big grin and held out her left hand. ‘Ta da!’

Linda’s eyes went wide. ‘Is that a bleedin’ diamond ring?’

‘Yeah, it’s a diamond, Linda. But look where it is. Look what finger it’s on.’

Linda’s jaw dropped as it sank in. ‘Yer goin’ wiv ’im? Yer movin’ in wiv ’im?’

Bella turned and grinned. ‘Oh, baby, am I movin’ in! Once I get a foot over that threshold, you’ll have to get a crowbar to get me out!’ She sat on the bed. ‘Oh, Linda, what a place! He’s got this ranch, with orchards, swimming pools... The size of it! He’s got stables and—’

‘Well, we’ve got a swimmin’ pool ’ere,’ Linda interrupted.

‘Linda, he wants me to live with him.’

‘Oh, so you’re not gonna marry ’im?’

‘Look, I don’t know, maybe I’ll marry him, Linda. But the point is, I love him.’ Bella turned back to admiring herself in the mirror.

‘Do me a favor!’ Linda snorted. ‘’Ow d’yer think ’e’s gonna react when ’e knows?’

Bella glanced at Linda in the mirror. ‘What do you mean? Knows what?’

‘You know what I mean — when ’e knows!’

Bella turned. ‘You don’t think I’m gonna tell him about the raid, do you?’

Linda rolled her eyes. ‘I don’t mean the raid, Bella. How d’yer think ’e’s goin’ ter feel when ’e finds out about you?’

‘Well, who’s gonna tell him about me, Linda?’

‘Well... nobody... but I’m just sayin’, what ’appens if ’e finds out somehow? He’s in politics or somethin’ over here, isn’t ’e? I mean, you don’t know anythin’ about him. ’E’s old!’

‘Don’t try changing the subject, Linda. Who’s gonna tell him about me? Eh? If you open your mouth—’

‘Look, don’t be stupid, I wouldn’t say anythin’...’

‘You better not, Linda. This means everything to me, and I’m not gonna let it go, you understand me? He’s the best thing that’s ever happened in my life, and if you try and fuck it up, by Christ I’ll smash your—’

‘Try it!’ Linda jumped up from the bed. ‘What d’yer bleedin’ think I am, Bella?’

‘I don’t know, Linda. All I do know is you’ve done nothing but moan since you got here and your money’s still stuck in the toilet. This is your chance too, Linda. Why don’t you get yourself together and do something like the rest of us?’

‘I’m goin’ to, I’m goin’ to, all right? Just leave me alone. Everybody’s pickin’ on me!’ Linda marched into the bathroom and slammed the door.

Bella snapped shut the cases with a sigh, then carried them over to the door. How did Linda always manage to turn it round like this? Now Bella was feeling bad. She went and stood in front of the bathroom door.

‘Linda, you comin’ out of there?’

‘No!’ came the sullen reply from inside.

‘Look, Linda, we’re going to the Coconut Grove tonight, you hear me?’

Silence.

‘Linda, d’you wanna come out with us tonight — dinner, cabaret? It’s a dress-up do.’

A childish little voice said, ‘What time?’

‘Ten o’clock. We’ll pick you up. And Linda, lay off the booze, all right? Don’t start drinking before we get there.’ Bella picked up her suitcases and walked out.

Linda sat on the loo, wanting to cry. Why couldn’t she get herself together? What was the matter with her? Everyone else seemed to know what they wanted, and how to get it. But she wasn’t like the others. She had never had much interest in clothes and jewelry and all that. She had never had much interest in anything, really. Suddenly she felt all alone, as alone as she’d felt when she was four years old in a convent, and she’d asked one of the nuns, ‘Is my mummy coming back?’ And the nun had just looked down and said, ‘No, Linda, Mummy’s not coming back, but we’re here, and we love you.’ She’d patted Linda’s head gently, but Linda knew it wasn’t love. There’d been no arms round her, no hugs, no real affection, and every visiting hour she’d waited, and every visiting day she’d ask, ‘Is my mummy coming to see me?’ But her mummy never came.

And then there was Joe. She’d been in the arcade when Charlie limped over and said, ‘Linda, come into the back for a minute.’

At first she’d laughed at him. ‘I’m not goin’ down the back wiv you, Charlie. What you want, a bit of a touch-up?’

He shook his head. ‘Come on, Linda, don’t mess about. Come into the back room.’

She knew then something was wrong. He’d taken her into the back room and shut the door, before reaching into his hip pocket and pulling out a new bottle of brandy. He was unscrewing the top. That’s when she knew something terrible had happened.

‘What is it, Charlie?’

He’d handed her the bottle. ‘Have a drink, darlin’.’

‘It’s Joe!’

‘I’m afraid they want you down the police station,’ he said.

‘Has there been an accident? What’s ’appened, Charlie?’ Already she was beginning to feel numb.

‘He’s dead, Linda. Joe’s dead.’

And even then it still didn’t feel real. She’d been to the morgue, she’d identified the terrible, charred remains of Joe. And then she’d gone home and she’d been just like that little girl in the convent, sitting, waiting and asking, ‘Is Joe coming home?’ And her own voice had answered her, saying, ‘No, Linda, Joe’s not coming home. He’s never coming home ever again.’

And then Dolly had come along, taking charge of her life, bossing her round and telling her what to do. But even though she’d fought her corner and argued with her, she’d had a good time when she’d been with Dolly and the girls. She’d felt as though things were happening in her life. She had to admit it, she’d never known such excitement, such a buzz.

And now they’d all gone!

Bella didn’t see the sad little face at the window, watching her as the Rolls-Royce slowly glided down the driveway and away from the villa. Nobody saw it, and nobody heard the sobbing from the girl sitting by herself in the bathroom — the girl who in some ways had everything going for her. Now she had money, she just had to decide what to do with her life. But the cash meant nothing to Linda, and the rest of her life stretched ahead like a long, empty road.

With the girls gone, she felt more alone than she’d ever felt in the whole of her life.

Jimmy opened the bedroom door and edged over to the bed, where Harry was still fast asleep. He nudged the bed with his knee. ‘Oi, Harry! Harry, wake up!’ Jimmy leaned closer. ‘Banks are open, if you wan’ ’em. You’ve had a couple of hours.’

Harry opened his eyes and squinted against the sunlight coming through the shutters. ‘What time is it?’

‘Almost five.’

‘All right. Thanks, Jimmy.’

‘D’ye wanna drink?’

Harry shook his head, and Jimmy edged out of the room. ‘If you want somethin’ to eat I can get it on now.’

‘No, no thanks, I’ll just go to the bank.’

The door shut and Harry started to scratch his arm where the mosquitoes had bitten him. Christ, what a shithole! He sat up on the edge of the bed.

‘Jimmy!’

He was there in a second, almost as if he’d been waiting outside the door. ‘Yeah, Harry?’

‘Could that... your woman... do something with my suit?’

‘Sure, Harry!’ Jimmy scuffled round and picked up the crumpled jacket and trousers. ‘You got a clean shirt?’

Harry nodded, unzipping his holdall. ‘Soon’s you can, Jimmy. I wanna get this over and done with.’

‘Right you are, Harry.’ And he was gone again.

Harry took out a clean white T-shirt, crossed over to the small dressing table and looked at himself, pinching his waist. He’d put on a little weight, but he was still looking fit. Yeah, he didn’t look bad at all, considering. He leaned down closer to the mirror and rubbed his stubble. He needed a shave.

Harry could hear Jimmy and Maria going at it hammer and tongs in the kitchen. It sounded like she wasn’t happy about valeting his suit.

He crossed to the shutters and pushed them open, the stench from the street filling the room. Poor old Jimmy — he’d got out of one shithole and straight into another one.

As they sat opposite each other in the restaurant, Dolly remembered why she had never liked Barry Sutcliffe. They always said if you want to get yourself a sharp lawyer, make sure he’s Jewish — and if he’s a little bit crooked with it, then you’ve got the best. Well, Barry Sutcliffe certainly ticked all of those boxes, but his pushy and uncouth manner had always grated on her. Now, with his pot belly pushing against the table, he cracked open the topping of his crème brûlée with his spoon and a couple of pieces shot across the table. Sutcliffe quickly scooped them up and shoveled them into his mouth, dribbling creamy custard down his shirt.

Dolly looked up from the papers she was checking. ‘All right, are you, Barry?’

‘Yeah,’ he said, dabbing at his shirt with his napkin. ‘I don’t think it’ll stain.’

Dolly went back to reading.

Sutcliffe jabbed at the custard with his spoon. ‘You know, Dolly, you’re outta your mind. Take those two betting shops — I coulda got another twenty grand for them, easy. It’s the wrong time to sell, sweetheart, how many times do I have to tell you? There was no need to do it all in one go.’

‘And how many times do I have to tell you, Barry,’ Dolly shot back, ‘this is what I want!’

‘Harry’ll turn in his grave,’ he muttered. ‘You know that, don’t you?’

Dolly ignored him and carried on going through the papers — signing, checking, signing, reading the small print.

Barry began scraping his bowl. ‘You’ve given away those betting shops, Dolly, when Harry—’

She looked up. ‘Well, with all your business acumen, I’m surprised you didn’t put a bid in for them yourself, Barry.’

He dropped his spoon. ‘Come on, do me a favor, Doll, you know that’s not my line. I’m just trying to guide you, darling, trying to help you do what your old man would’ve done.’

‘I’m handling it now, Barry. Not Harry — me.’

‘I know that, Dolly, I know that.’

She picked up one sheet of paper and began staring at it quizzically.

‘You remember about the house?’ he asked. ‘You know, the Chinese are willing to pay outright cash, but you’ve gotta get any stuff you want out of there by noon tomorrow.’

She nodded. ‘I know, I know. Don’t worry, it’ll be done.’

Sutcliffe tried to see what Dolly was reading. It looked like a bank statement. Even if she was giving it away, Dolly was still a very rich woman.

He waved a waiter over. ‘Want a brandy, Dolly? Port?’

She shook her head.

‘Gimme a Martell, large. You sure you don’t want one, Dolly?’

Again, she shook her head.

Sutcliffe lit up a fat cigar, then leaned across the table, blowing smoke into her face. ‘I believe Harry had a couple of accounts in Rio. Don’t know how much he had in ’em and I don’t know much about them. He kept those to himself.’

Dolly signed one last paper and smiled. ‘No, he didn’t keep them entirely to himself, Barry. He told me all about them, in fact.’ She passed the bundle of papers over the table, satisfied that she’d been through them with a fine-toothed comb. ‘Anything else I should sign? Anything else I should read?’

‘Nope. Just a couple of leases he had on lock-ups round the place, but you said you weren’t interested in them.’

Dolly picked up her handbag. She caught the waiter’s eye and made a sign in the air indicating she wanted the bill.

Sutcliffe looked at her. She was looking good, elegant as always. ‘So, Dolly, you’re a very rich woman now. Whatcha gonna do with your life?’

‘I would say that’s none of your business, Barry, wouldn’t you?’

He couldn’t help but smile. Beneath the smart exterior, she was tough as old boots, this one, but he admired her — liked her, even, despite the fact that she didn’t like him. He watched the way she picked up the bill, looked through it carefully, then took out her wallet and counted out the notes, rubbing each one between her fingers just in case there were two stuck together.

She looked back to the waiter. ‘Service included, is it?’

The waiter nodded.

Barry noticed she gave no extra, just folded the bill neatly on the plate and handed it back with the cash.

‘Cheers, Dolly.’

‘You’re welcome, Barry.’ She stood up. ‘By the way, you shouldn’t be doing that, darlin’.’

He looked puzzled.

‘Smoking. Not good for you.’ She turned on her heel, swinging her bag, and walked out.

Sutcliffe looked at the half-smoked cigar in his hand. Very odd. He was sure she used to chain-smoke. Well, maybe she’d given up. Come to think of it, maybe there were a lot of things about Dolly he didn’t know.

Ex-detective George Resnick was sitting in a wheelchair in the conservatory of the convalescent home. Kathleen, his wife, was sitting in a chair beside him, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. It was the second time she’d been in tears.

He turned to her with a sigh. ‘Look, dear, if you want the house, have it. Take anything you want. You’ll be doing me a favor.’

With a sob, the tears started up again. She wanted the house. It was her home and she didn’t want to sell it. But somehow it would have been easier if he’d argued about it. It had taken all her courage to tell him that she wanted him out. She wanted the divorce finalized and everything settled. She’d handed him a check for £1500 — the money her father had left her — hoping it would be enough to put a deposit on a place of his own. And then he’d have his pension. But instead of arguing, he didn’t seem to care, and that made it even worse — made her realize that they hadn’t really had any love for each other the whole twenty-five years they’d been married.

The fact was, he was simply too tired. Talk about being in a convalescent home, he’d felt ill from the moment he’d been brought here. He’d known something was wrong with him, something inside, even before the symptoms started. Now he couldn’t move his right arm properly, and he still had the terrible nagging pain in his groin, never stopping, day in, day out. They said he might have to have a prostate operation, but he hoped to God it wasn’t true. If he could just get out of this place, and the sooner, the better. But what was going to be waiting for him when he did? Well, one thing was for sure, he didn’t want it to be this shell of a woman he’d once loved, muttering on about how she wanted the house, she’d always loved the house, and he’d never loved her. He looked at her, tight-lipped and red-eyed. Maybe she was right.

‘Kathy, take whatever you want, take it, and just go. Leave me alone.’

‘Oh, George!’ she wailed. ‘Why are you being so difficult!’

Difficult! All he wanted was for her to go away and leave him alone.

He turned his head away from her and saw a young police constable sitting across the room with his wife — a nice chap, he’d been in the bed next to him. He’d been knocked down by a getaway vehicle for some job or other. Now George couldn’t help watching the way they kissed, the way they touched, laughing and looking into each other’s eyes. Christ, it’d been a long time. He turned back to Kathleen. She was blowing her nose, which was getting even redder. It had already been red from crying when she’d come in. She must have been sobbing for hours, wondering how she was going to tell him. And now it was done, she couldn’t stop.

‘Kathleen, get the divorce, do whatever you want. Just leave me in peace.’

She stood up and glared at him. ‘Well, if that’s the way you want it, George, that’s the way you can have it.’

‘It’s the way we both want it.’

She sniffed. ‘What about all your things at the house? What about your clothes?’

‘Burn ’em, give ’em to the YMCA, do whatever you like with them. Leave me alone, woman. Get out of my life!’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever been in it, George.’ She turned and walked away.

Resnick waited for a minute, then glanced over to the main doors to make sure she was gone. Hovering by the potted plants was Andrews. Why that young feller had ever thought of joining the police force Resnick would never know. He was just too sensitive, too tentative in everything he did.

Resnick waved him over, and he came and stood by the chair Kathleen had just vacated.

‘Mind if I sit here?’

‘Feel free.’

Andrews held a bunch of white grapes in his lap. They were already seeping through the paper bag and he didn’t know quite what to do with them. ‘You got a bowl, guv’nor?’

Resnick was still holding the check Kathleen had given him. ‘Look at this. One thousand, five hundred pounds. Not bad for twenty-five years, eh?’

As Resnick folded the check, Andrews noticed his right hand was stiff and seemed to pain him a lot. There was an embarrassed pause as Andrews desperately thought of what to say, but Resnick came to his rescue.

‘How’s it going, son?’

Andrews shifted his weight in the chair. His hands were now sticky from the grapes. ‘Oh, fine... er... I’m still in uniform. Looks like I’ll be there for quite a while yet.’

Resnick nodded. There was another awkward pause, then both men spoke at once, Andrews starting to say how nice the conservatory was, then stopping to let Resnick continue.

‘I hear Fuller’s gone up a peg or two.’

Andrews nodded. Fuller had been made inspector.

‘Always was a sharp little arse, wasn’t he?’

Andrews nodded again. Fuller was certainly that, as well as being a two-faced bastard, but he had to admit he was very good at his job, and was going to rise to the top, whereas Andrews still wasn’t sure whether he should stay in the police force at all.

Resnick patted him on the arm. ‘Thanks for coming. I appreciate it.’

Andrews smiled. ‘’S’OK, sir.’

Resnick felt a pang. Sir, guv’nor — he was going to miss it, and he didn’t know what the hell else he could possibly do.

‘Any word on Rawlins? Anybody picked him up?’ he asked.

Andrews shook his head. ‘I’m not on that division anymore. No idea what’s going on. There’s a thirty thousand pound reward for any information on the underpass raid, I do know that.’

Resnick nodded. ‘Yeah, so I hear.’

‘And you know Eddie Rawlins’ cousin got five years, along with Bill Grant?’

Andrews wasn’t sure Resnick heard him. He seemed miles away. Andrews could feel the grapes getting stickier and stickier through his fingers as he tried to think of something else to say. Then, to his relief, the bell went. He saw people beginning to shift themselves and got to his own feet.

‘Well, better be off. Matron looks a bit of a dragon.’

Resnick nodded. He lifted his hand, but Andrews didn’t want to cause him any pain by shaking it. Instead he patted Resnick on the shoulder.

‘I’ll come again soon, sir.’

Resnick nodded. ‘I appreciate it, son, I appreciate it. None of those other fuckers have shown their faces.’

Andrews flushed with embarrassment and was already halfway to the doors before he realized he was still holding the grapes. He hesitated for a moment and then just kept going, leaving Resnick sitting like an old man in his wheelchair with a tartan rug tucked round his knees.

Maria opened the door without knocking, walked in and stood holding the white linen suit on a hanger. It looked as if she’d pressed it well, and Rawlins took it from her with a nod of thanks. She gave him a strange look. He knew she didn’t like him, but there was definitely something sexual in it, and Rawlins was sure, even though she was six months’ pregnant, he could have her. She turned and left the room and Rawlins took the suit off the hanger and got dressed.

Jimmy looked up as Harry entered the lounge. Beer cans littered the table and he was holding a fresh one in his hand. He stood up and gestured for Harry to follow him. Jimmy quietly opened the door to an adjacent room and pointed to the double bed. There, lying curled up, fast asleep, was a little boy of about four or five. With his black curly hair and olive skin, he didn’t look much like Jimmy, but Jimmy beamed and whispered, ‘My kid.’

Harry watched Jimmy creep over to the bed and gently touch the child’s head, before bending over and giving him a sloppy, wet kiss from his beer-soaked lips.

He looked up at Harry. ‘Great little feller, isn’t he?’

Harry nodded. It was the way Jimmy looked at him, as if to say, ‘Here’s something that you haven’t got, Harry — a son,’ that made it come out, and Harry heard himself saying, ‘I’ve got a kid.’

Jimmy looked surprised. ‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’ Harry walked out of the room.

‘Oh.’ Jimmy tucked the little boy in, gave him one last adoring look, and followed Harry out.

Again, Harry had the feeling that Maria was watching him from the kitchen through those wretched plastic strips. He checked his face in the small, cracked mirror by the front door.

‘Where’s the bank?’

‘Can’t miss it, Harry — right in the square. You want me to come with you?’

Harry shook his head. ‘I’ll find it.’

As he walked down the stairs he could hear Maria starting in again on Jimmy, shouting at him in Portuguese. No wonder the man was always drinking.

After a few minutes walking in the oppressive heat, it was a relief to walk into the bank, with the airy coolness of all the marble. Harry straightened his tie, checked his reflection in one of the cashiers’ windows, and asked for a withdrawal form for one of the private banking accounts. The cashier handed him the sheet without even looking up, and Harry sat down and quickly filled it out, having done it many times before, and brought it back.

The cashier was tapping away at a calculator. He flicked a look in Harry’s direction, muttering, ‘Um momento, um momento, senhor,’ before resuming his work: click, click, click.

Harry slipped the paper underneath the railing in front of the cashier, who snatched it up with a grunt of annoyance and marched off before Rawlins could hand him his identification. He watched as the cashier started talking to a colleague, waving the form about in his hand. He then looked down at the form, glanced back at Harry and murmured something to the clerk. Then they turned their backs to him and murmured some more. Harry shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looked at his watch and waited. The clerk then took the form and walked toward him with an embarrassed look on his face.

‘May I inquire if you are a relative of the deceased?’ he asked in perfect English.

Harry didn’t know what he was talking about. ‘I’m sorry?’

The clerk repeated the question and Harry gave an uncertain nod, even though the question made no more sense the second time round.

‘You have requested withdrawals from accounts 441880EJ and 4456880. That is correct?’

Harry nodded. ‘Yes, but what’s all this about being a relative of the deceased?’

Even in the cool of the bank, he could feel himself starting to sweat, the drops trickling down his neck and under his arms.

The clerk seemed to choose his next words very carefully. ‘Mr. Rawlins’ widow, a Mrs. Dorothy Rawlins, provided a Certificate of Probate.’

Rawlins swallowed hard. ‘She’s... she’s been here?’

The clerk nodded. ‘Mrs. Rawlins withdrew all monies from her late husband’s accounts.’

It took every ounce of Harry’s willpower to control himself. He clenched and unclenched his fists, feeling the sweat in the palms of his hands, as a dapper little man in a black suit emerged from the manager’s office and started walking purposefully toward them. Even from a distance, Harry could feel the man’s eyes boring into him, and he was suddenly conscious of the sweat running down his forehead and soaking through his shirt.

The man in the suit stood beside the clerk and gave Harry a polite nod. ‘How may I be of assistance?’

Harry nodded back, trying to keep his voice calm. ‘I would... very much like to contact her... Mrs. Rawlins. Do you have an address, by any chance?’

The clerk flicked a look at the manager and, after a moment’s hesitation, got a nod in return. ‘Yes, the Hilton Hotel.’

Harry swallowed. ‘Thank you.’

The manager gave a little bow. ‘It’s the least we can do for a relative of Mr. Rawlins.’

Jimmy knew something was wrong as soon as Harry walked in, slamming the door behind him. He grabbed hold of a beer can, ripped it open and drank most of it in one go.

‘Er, everything all right?’ Jimmy stammered.

Harry banged the can down on the table. ‘She around? Where is she?’

Jimmy was starting to get flustered. ‘You mean Maria?’

‘Where is she?’

‘She’s gone out. I told her to get some food in. Is that OK, Harry? What do you want her for?’

Harry sat down heavily and put his head in his hands. ‘I’m gonna need some help, Jimmy. I’m gonna need some help.’

Jimmy pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘Sure, Harry, anything you want. Whatever I can do, you know. Has something happened?’

Harry slowly lifted his hands from his face. ‘Yeah, you could say that. She’s cleaned me out.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘The little bitch has cleaned me out.’

Jimmy still didn’t understand. ‘Who? Who’re you talking about?’

Harry almost spat out her name. ‘Dolly.’

Jimmy finally understood. ‘You mean she thought you were dead?’

Harry nodded. ‘Yeah.’

‘So she’s in Rio?’

Harry nodded again, and then said, very quietly, ‘She’s cleaned me out, Jimmy. Five hundred grand.’

Jimmy swallowed. ‘Five hundred? Christ almighty!’

‘Yeah, and now she’s got it.’

‘You know where she is?’

‘Hilton Hotel.’

Then there was a pause. He looked at Jimmy.

‘We’re gonna have to find her. You know somebody who can help us?’

Jimmy gave him a puzzled look. ‘Well, if she’s at the Hilton, why don’t you just go and find ’er?’

Harry shook his head. ‘I’m a dead man, Jimmy. Understand me? I’m a dead man. I go walking into the Hilton Hotel, I start putting my face about, what the fuck do you think’s gonna happen to me? It cost me a fortune to get a fake passport.’

‘OK, Harry. OK, OK, I understand. OK, leave it to me, I’ll find her.’

Harry gripped him by the arm. ‘You bloody well better, Jimmy. You bloody well better.’

Morgan found Dolly’s hotel in a back street just behind Queen’s Gate. Only the discreet plaque on the wall was any indication that it was a hotel. She had class, this lady, you had to admit it.

He drove round until he found a meter, but he couldn’t find any change, so he scribbled a note saying ‘meter out of order’ and stuck it on the windscreen.

Inside, the hotel was as tastefully understated as the outside. At the reception desk he asked for Mrs. Marsh, and a prim-looking, elderly lady informed him in a posh voice that Mrs. Marsh was taking breakfast in the dining room.

‘Is she expecting you?’

‘Yes,’ he replied with a smile, and the receptionist led him through a thickly carpeted hall, lined with antique-looking oil paintings, to a pair of glass doors leading into the small dining room. He spotted Dolly sitting alone at the far end with her back toward him.

‘Ah, I see her, thank you.’

As he threaded his way between the tables, there was no talking, only the soft clink of cutlery and the rustle of newspapers. The residents were mostly well into their seventies and eighties. One old gentleman, sitting with his eyes closed and mouth half-open, looked as if he was at death’s door, and Morgan wondered if he was actually still breathing. He was so distracted, he almost bumped into the table as he sidled up to Dolly.

‘Morning,’ he said brightly.

Far from seeming surprised, Dolly turned round and nodded to the place opposite. As Morgan sat down, a pretty young waitress appeared with a cup and saucer, and inquired if he would like tea or coffee.

‘Coffee’s fine, thank you.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Very nice hotel, if I may say so.’

Dolly smiled. ‘Yes.’

‘Very quiet,’ he whispered.

Dolly’s plate of scrambled eggs, crispy bacon and thinly sliced toast looked very appetizing, and Morgan found himself licking his lips.

‘Er, mind if I take my coat off?’

‘Please, make yourself comfortable,’ Dolly replied.

Shrugging himself out of his coat, he almost slapped the elderly man at the table next to them with his sleeve — ‘Sorry, sorry!’ — but the old gentleman was buried so deeply in his Telegraph that he didn’t seem to notice. Morgan finally managed to hang the coat over the back of the chair without further upsets, but Dolly held on to the table with both hands as he sat down, just in case he overturned it.

The waitress appeared with the coffee pot and poured Morgan a cup. He heaped in the sugar and looked greedily at Dolly’s plate.

‘Mind if I have a piece of toast?’

Dolly passed him her side plate and clean knife, watching as he heaped on butter and marmalade and started chomping noisily. Dolly placed her knife and fork together, even though she’d hardly touched her breakfast. Her appetite seemed to have disappeared.

She waited patiently as Morgan finished his toast, wiped his mouth on a napkin, turned and fished a Woolworth’s notepad out of his coat pocket, then started leafing through it.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘Trudie Nunn. Works as a waitress cum hostess at the Golden Slipper, a tatty little drinking club in Soho. Maybe she should apply for a job here.’ He looked round. ‘Liven the place up a bit, eh?’

Dolly didn’t smile.

‘Oh, there’s a kid. Did you know about him? A little boy.’

Dolly said nothing.

‘This kid seems... He’s left with a landlady most days, or a neighbor.’

Again he looked at Dolly. No reaction.

She pushed the toast toward him. ‘Another slice, Mr. Morgan?’

‘Oh, ta.’ As Morgan buttered the toast, he sensed a tension behind his client’s composed demeanor. He took a bite, then consulted his notebook again. ‘Er, it seems that Trudie, Mrs. Nunn, had a live-in lover. Husband went missing about six, seven months back. This chap moved in, kept himself very much to himself... The law not looking for your sister’s husband, are they?’

Dolly shook her head. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Well, it was just that there seems to have been a bit of a rumpus one night. Cops came, broke down the door, searched the place, but whoever the feller was, he’d done a runner.’

‘Did you find out his name?’ Dolly asked.

Morgan laughed. ‘I think he went by the name of Mr. Smith. But then they all do, don’t they, Mrs. Marsh?’

Dolly opened her bag. ‘I really wouldn’t know, Mr. Morgan.’ She handed him an envelope. ‘I’d like you to continue watching Mrs. Nunn for at least another two days. And like I said, don’t bother calling me. I’ll be in touch.’ She stood up and Morgan watched her curiously as she made her way out of the dining room.

Funny woman, he thought. Something not quite right there. He knew she was lying, but that was common with women looking for their husbands. He couldn’t quite work out what she was lying about. Then he suddenly remembered something, got up from the table and caught up with her in the foyer as she was about to walk up the stairs.

‘Mrs. Marsh!’

Dolly turned with a startled expression.

‘About the photograph. I did ask you for a photograph of your sister’s husband.’

Dolly nodded. ‘Y-yes, I... I’m sorry, I’d forgotten. I’ll get one to you as soon as I can.’ Then she hurried up the stairs.

Morgan was now certain his instincts were right. There’s a lot more going on with Mrs. Marsh than meets the eye, he thought to himself. And he was now actually looking forward to getting back on the job watching Trudie Nunn’s house. He was curious to find out what sort of a man this Mr. Jarrow, the husband, was.

Harry Rawlins watched Jimmy weave his way through the checkered tablecloths of the street cafe toward the little bar at the rear. He gestured toward the garden where Harry was sitting, talked briefly to the barman, grabbed another bottle of wine and brought it back. Harry realized that he hadn’t seen Jimmy without a can of beer or a glass of something in his hand since he’d arrived, and his drinking only seemed to be getting worse. Jimmy slumped down at the table, still dressed in the same sweat-stained suit and T-shirt.

‘Should be here any minute, Harry, no problem, and I’ll tell you, if that wife of yours is in Rio, he’ll find her. I’ve used him before, he knows what he’s doing.’ He gestured for Harry to pass his glass over but Harry shook his head. Jimmy swigged a mouthful of the wine and gritted his teeth. ‘Christ almighty! This stuff’s rotgut!’ He looked up as a taxi drew up to the curb. ‘Here he is.’

Harry watched as the yellow cab pulled alongside three other taxis, their drivers dozing in the front as they waited for a fare. Tony Ramirez did seem to be a cut above the rest of the drivers; there was a sharpness to his clothes, and he also seemed to know everybody in the bar. He was laughing and patting a number of men on the shoulder as he looked round the tables. He nodded over to Jimmy and, seemingly in no hurry, walked across to their table.

Jimmy was already pouring a glass of wine for him. ‘Tony, this is my friend I was telling you about — Harry Rawlins.’

Tony smiled, gold teeth glittering in his mouth. He picked up his wine and tapped the edge of Rawlins’ empty glass. ‘Nice to meet you.’

Despite a thick accent, Tony was obviously able to speak and understand English very well. He looked from one man to the other.

‘So, you wanted to see me?’ Although he directed the question to Jimmy, Harry felt he was really talking to him.

Jimmy nodded. ‘Yeah, my friend here is looking for a woman. Need to ask a few questions round town, you know? She was staying at the Hilton Hotel. We didn’t wanna put our faces in there, for reasons that we needn’t go into right now, but we need to find her.’

Tony turned to Harry. ‘You wanna find a woman, eh?’

Rawlins nodded. ‘It’s my wife.’

Tony laughed, drained the glass of cheap wine and pushed it across the table. ‘In Rio, most people try to lose their wives. This is very unusual, you understand, when a man wants to find his wife.’ He threw his head back and started to laugh, but stopped short when he saw that neither Harry nor Jimmy were amused.

Harry took over. ‘OK,’ he said, ‘her name’s Dolly — Dorothy Rawlins. She booked in to the hotel last week. If she’s still in Rio I want you to find her, and as soon as you can.’

Tony nodded. ‘She at the hotel now?’

Jimmy interrupted. ‘Well, that’s for you to find out. And if she’s not, we want you to find out where the hell she’s gone! We haven’t got much time, Tony, so can you get a move on for us?’

Tony turned toward Harry. ‘Why you can’t find her yourself? She in some kinda trouble?’

Harry shook his head. ‘No, she’s in no trouble. I just wanna find her, OK?’

Tony shrugged. ‘OK, I’ll ask questions. You gonna be round here for a while?’

Jimmy nodded. ‘Yeah, yeah, we’ll be here.’

‘You pay me in dollars, OK, Jimmy?’ Tony said.

Jimmy looked to Harry and Harry nodded.

‘Just get cracking, OK?’ Harry said.

‘What she look like?’

‘She’s blonde, about five-eight, mid-forties, well dressed,’ Harry answered.

Tony smirked at Harry, as if to say, ‘What you wanna find an old woman like that for?’ He got up from the table. ‘See you around, then.’

As Tony walked away, Jimmy picked up the bottle of wine and leaned across the table. Harry again put his hand over his empty glass.

‘No thanks, Jimmy, and why don’t you try layin’ off it for a while?’

Jimmy looked hurt. ‘Come on, Harry, I can handle it. I know what I’m doing.’

Harry shrugged. He was watching Tony as he walked back to his taxi. He seemed in no hurry as he laughed and chatted with a couple of the other taxi drivers.

Harry turned to Jimmy. ‘What the fuck does he think he’s doing? We haven’t got all night.’

‘Hey, come on, cool it, Harry, just relax. If she’s in Rio, he’ll find her.’

Harry reached for the bottle of wine. He looked hard at Jimmy. ‘I hope to God you’re right.’

He poured himself a glass and tossed it back. It burned the back of his throat. Jimmy was right — it was rotgut.

Linda looked at herself in the long mirror and wished that Shirley or Bella were still around. She wasn’t sure about the dress. It was Bella who had pushed her into buying it. She stood back. Maybe Bella was right: the bright red silk did set off her suntan a treat, but she still wished that Shirley had been there to do her hair or tell her what jewelry to wear. She put on some gold looped earrings, thought she looked a little too like Carmen Miranda, and decided instead to wear none. She was still wondering whether she should put her hair up or down when she heard the front doorbell go. She’d been so absorbed in getting dressed that she hadn’t heard the Rolls-Royce coming up the drive. She quickly picked up her small evening bag, checked her keys and ran down the stairs.

José Camarana himself was at the door. The chauffeur stood by the Rolls with the passenger door open.

José smiled. ‘I’m sorry, are we a little late?’

Linda had no idea what time it was, so she just shrugged and said, ‘No, it’s all right, it’s fine.’

He stepped back to look at her. ‘May I say you look absolutely beautiful.’

Unsure how to reply, Linda just grinned and said, ‘Oh, thanks very much. Bella picked it.’

He guided her toward the car, and Linda bent to get in, bumping heads awkwardly with the chauffeur as he tried to help her into the car. Flustered, Linda scooted in and settled into the seat next to Bella. Bella eased over slightly, not wanting Linda to crush her dress.

Wow, thought Linda. Bella really did look stunning. She had on a pure white chiffon gown and a simple white wrap. It set off her black skin to perfection. She wore diamond studs in her ears, and, of course, the diamond on her hand. Linda also noticed that she now wore a diamond bracelet. She thought she’d sound silly if she told Bella how beautiful she looked, so she just sat in embarrassed silence, wondering if it would have been less awkward if they’d let José sit between them.

Oh, sod it, she thought, leaning back in the seat. ‘Well, this is all very nice, isn’t it?’

José got into the front passenger seat, nodded to the driver, and they drove slowly out of the villa. They traveled in silence for a moment, the only sounds the cultured purr of the engine, then José and Bella both started to speak at once. They looked at each other and did a kind of secret smile. Then José turned to Linda.

‘Have you been to this club before?’

Linda shook her head.

‘I think you will like it. The cabaret is—’ again, that rather strange look between him and Bella — ‘I think rather special. But I won’t say anything more until we get there. I wouldn’t want to spoil it. Are you comfortable?’

Linda nodded.

Again there was a silence. Bella looked at her watch.

‘Shirley’ll almost be in LA by now.’

José started talking about LA, how fond of it he was, and making general chit-chat, while Linda just sat there feeling like a gooseberry stuck between these two lovebirds, who obviously would have much preferred to be alone together.

Thankfully the journey didn’t take very long, and soon they were entering the grounds of the club. Linda could see tennis courts and fountains; it was just like José said — a spectacular place. The car pulled up at the main entrance and the chauffeur opened the door. José offered his hand to Linda, who almost tripped over the hem of her dress as she stepped out, hitching it up just in time with a ‘Thanks very much.’ She hovered there, expecting Bella to follow, but Bella was sitting, calmly waiting, while the chauffeur went round to the other side of the car and helped her out. Taking the chauffeur’s arm momentarily, she then came round and linked arms with José.

‘Right, all set?’

Again they looked at each other; again that secret, intimate smile.

José offered his arm to Linda, she hooked hers through it, and the three walked up the entrance steps of the club.

The doorman jumped to attention when he saw them. ‘Good evening, Mister José.’

Linda was impressed.

As they entered, the maître d’ came up to them with a bow. ‘Good evening, Mr. Camarana. Good evening, madame,’ he said to Bella. And finally a polite nod to Linda.

José turned to Bella. ‘Would you want to go to the powder room?’

Bella walked off with a smile. He turned to Linda, as if expecting her to follow, but she didn’t move.

After a moment’s silence, Linda said, ‘Funny, isn’t it? She spends hours gettin’ ready and as soon as we get here she’s in the toilet!’

He nodded distractedly. Already he was smiling and waving to another group entering the club, and a beautifully dressed woman called out to him, then blew a kiss. Linda felt like a lump, then suddenly realized she was still clinging to José’s arm. She released her hold and clutched her handbag instead. She was thinking that maybe she should go to the powder room after all when Bella reappeared, followed shortly by Filipe, the elegant head waiter, who stopped to greet them with the same deference as the maître d’, paying particular attention to Bella, who inclined her head almost regally. Linda could have spat. She couldn’t believe Bella was behaving as if she’d been brought up in a bloody place like this.

The next minute the three were walking toward the entrance of the main club room. The orchestra was playing something that Linda didn’t recognize as they were led toward a booth. Everywhere were men in elegant evening suits and women in gorgeous gowns, dripping with diamonds.

So this is the rich set of Rio — the set, Linda thought.

And at every table they passed, José Camarana seemed to know either the woman or the man, stopping to introduce Bella and Linda. But despite his gracious manner, Linda couldn’t help feeling like a well-dressed maid, brought along as part of the retinue.

They reached their booth and José seated himself between the two girls. He looked from one to the other and smiled. ‘I’m a very lucky man! I am with the two most beautiful women in the room.’ But Linda noticed that he only had eyes for Bella.

‘Don’t suppose you got any spare males hanging round ’ere that could come and join us? I feel like a bit of a gooseberry here!’

José smiled. ‘But of course, if you would like someone to join us.’

Bella placed her hand over José’s. ‘I think we’re fine as we are. This is our night, just the three of us — let’s enjoy it.’

A waiter appeared with a bottle of Dom Perignon in a silver ice bucket, while another brought three fluted champagne glasses. He spoke in French to José, who replied fluently. Linda was beginning to feel seriously out of her depth.

The champagne poured, José lifted his glass and said, ‘To my beautiful women — cheers.’

Linda drank the champagne back in one gulp and put her glass down on the table, only to realize that José and Bella had merely sipped delicately at theirs. She could have kicked herself, especially when the waiter instantly appeared and refilled her glass.

Ah well, what the hell, she thought. Might as well have a few drinks and try and relax a bit.

As she raised her glass to her lips, José leaned forward and touched Linda’s hand. For a moment she thought he was suggesting that she shouldn’t drink any more, and was about to give him a piece of her mind, when he said, ‘I think perhaps if we eat after the cabaret — would that suit you?’

Linda gulped her champagne and nodded.

‘I think that would be fine,’ Bella agreed.

The orchestra struck up a rousing Afro-beat music, and as the lights began to go down, the glass floor lit up. There were shouts and whoops as the stage was filled with women — twenty-four staggeringly beautiful girls in tiny, sequined G-strings and bras, their lithe bodies oiled and shining. The women flowed across the stage, their feathered headdresses in brilliant peacock colors swaying to the beat.

Linda found herself getting caught up in the atmosphere. She grinned at Bella and Bella smiled back politely.

Oh, Christ, I wish she’d drop this Lady Muck act, Linda thought, but the women on stage were so mesmerizing, so outrageous, so much larger than life, that she quickly forgot her annoyance.

She nudged José. ‘Those women are amazing! They’re all so tall!’

José leaned in and whispered, ‘They’re all men.’

‘What?’

He smiled. ‘Yes, men.’

Linda’s jaw dropped. ‘Fuck me!’ She felt a kick under the table from Bella. ‘You havin’ me on?’

He shook his head. ‘This is one of the most famous cabarets in Rio. They are...’ He turned to Bella, said something in French.

She leaned over. ‘Transvestites, Linda. They’re transvestites.’

Linda’s eyes were drawn back to the exotic creatures, leaping and gyrating round the stage, She’d never seen anything so spectacular and amazing in her life. She turned back to Bella and José. José raised his glass, and all three started to rock with laughter.

Maybe tonight wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

Jimmy was now well pissed, the second bottle of vino empty on the table. Harry had checked his watch maybe ten, fifteen times, and he was about to do so again when Tony’s cab finally pulled up. Again, he took his time to join them, stopping to chat to several people along the way, before casually sauntering up to Harry and Jimmy’s table and sitting down.

‘Well? You find out anything?’ Jimmy asked eagerly.

Tony nodded. ‘Yeah, yeah. You understand I’ve had to ask a lot of questions, I’ve had to — how d’you say it in English? — put out quite a few dollars.’

‘You’ll be paid back for whatever you’ve spent,’ Harry snapped. ‘Just tell us what you’ve found out.’

‘Fifty dollars.’

Jimmy leaned back in his chair. ‘Oh, come on, do us a favor! Twenty-five.’

‘Fifty. You don’t get information for nothing in this town.’

Jimmy shook his head. ‘You’re having a laugh. How stupid do you think—’

Harry had had enough. ‘Just pay the man what he fucking wants, Jimmy.’

Jimmy pouted. ‘All right, twenty-five now and the rest if the information checks out. How about that?’

Tony shook his head. ‘I already paid out this money, you understand?’

Harry tapped Tony on the arm. ‘Don’t worry about the money. Now, what did you find out?’

Tony took a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. ‘OK, I think I got the right woman. Does the name “Linda Pirelli” mean anything to you?’

Jimmy leaned across to Harry. ‘Joe Pirelli’s old lady? I remember Joe Pirelli. Wasn’t he part of your crew?’

Harry gave him a cold, hard look. ‘Just go on, Tony, go on. Linda Pirelli and what?’

‘There was a Linda Pirelli, a blonde woman — girl, not your wife — and a black girl, O’Reilly. They leave their passports with the hotel, you understand? That’s how I have their names. O’Reilly, Pirelli — they book a suite at the Hilton Hotel. Two women join them, a young blonde one, and an older woman, but they don’t stay at the hotel, they spend maybe two, three hours there.’

Harry was fighting to control himself. ‘Is she there? Did you find her?’

Tony leaned back in his chair, letting Harry stew for a moment. He waved to a waiter, who brought another glass, then picked up the bottle and poured himself a glass of wine, clearly enjoying keeping the two men on tenterhooks.

‘OK, this is where you understand I have to pay out the money. I have a friend on the desk... Linda Pirelli, she go to the desk, she ask for villa rental information.’ Tony sipped his wine and put down the glass slowly. It took all Rawlins’ willpower not to take him by the scruff of the neck and shake the information out of him.

Eventually, Tony explained that Dolly Rawlins, Linda Pirelli, Shirley Miller and Bella O’Reilly had rented a villa on the outskirts of town for at least two months, paying in advance — in cash.

‘You know where it is?’ Harry asked.

‘Sure,’ Tony replied.

‘And you can take us there?’

‘That will be another fifty dollars, you understand?’

‘OK, OK, a hundred dollars,’ Harry agreed before Jimmy could start arguing. ‘Can you take me there now?’

Tony nodded. All three got up, but Harry put a firm hand on Jimmy’s arm. ‘Not this time, Jimmy. I’ll go by myself. This is my business, OK?’

Jimmy sat back down heavily. He looked hurt. ‘You really don’t want me along?’

Harry patted his arm. ‘No thanks, Jimmy. You’re pissed.’

Jimmy slumped back into his seat and watched them go. Harry could be a right bastard sometimes. He wasn’t pissed, it was the heat. And if he did drink in this heat, he just sweated it out anyway.

Jimmy’s hand was shaking as he reached for the bottle. He spilled a little of the wine over the rim of the glass. Perhaps Harry was right. He thought about Maria and what she would say to him when he got back to the flat. He pushed the glass away and looked round for the waiter.

A cup of good, strong coffee and I’ll be fine, he told himself.

Linda was now clapping her hands and singing along with the cabaret, as the girls strutted round the stage for their final extravaganza, belting out, ‘Oh-oh, vol-a-re, da-da-da-da...’ She adored the fact that the girls sauntered up to the tables closest to the cabaret floor, flaunting their crotches and encouraging people to tuck money into their G-strings.

Bella watched her singing, laughing, clapping, and having an all-round good time, fueled by the champagne that had been steadily flowing since the cabaret began.

She leaned over and said, ‘Not so loud, Linda.’

But Linda was too far gone to care. She kept asking loudly ‘where they put it’ and if they’d ‘had it cut off.’ A couple in a nearby booth turned and stared at them, just as Linda stood up a little unsteadily and started cheering: ‘More! More!’ as the girls finally made their way from the floor.

The orchestra struck up a dance, and Linda pulled José to his feet. ‘Come on, let’s dance!’ she shouted, dragging him on to the floor. She glanced back at Bella, who just shrugged.

Bella watched the pair as Linda waltzed round the floor, pulling José with her. He was obviously embarrassed, but was trying not to show it, listening patiently as Linda started talking to him, whispering in his ear.

When they finally returned to the booth, Linda was flushed, beads of sweat standing out on her forehead. She grabbed the bottle of champagne and poured herself another glass before the waiter standing in attendance could pour it for her.

José turned to Bella. ‘Linda’s been telling me you used to be a dancer.’

Linda raised her glass, spilling the champagne. ‘And a singer! Boy, can she sing! Tell him about the night we took over that club when we first came here...’ And Linda was off on a rambling story about their first night in Rio. Then she started tapping the table with her hands. ‘What was that song we sang? Go on, Bella, what was it?’ She clapped her hands. ‘I’ve got it!’ And then she started at the top of her voice: ‘Money, money, money, money, money, money...’ over and over and over again, banging on the table with her hands.

Bella had had enough. She gripped Linda hard by the elbow and said, ‘I think you’d better go to the ladies’ room. Come on — out!’

Laughing, Linda grabbed José’s arm. ‘See? She’s dragging me out! Won’t let me have a good time!’

‘You’re drunk, Linda,’ Bella insisted.

Linda nudged him. ‘She thinks I’m drunk! I’m not drunk, I’m just having a good time, just like we used to have in the old days. Remember, Bella?’

José was unsure exactly what to do. Linda was obviously drunk, and Bella was getting very, very upset. ‘Perhaps if I order coffee...’

‘I don’t want any coffee!’ Linda snapped. ‘I’m not drunk, all right!’

With that, Bella hauled her to her feet and marched her off toward the ladies’ room, while José motioned the head waiter over and ordered a cup of coffee and the dinner menu.

Bella pushed Linda into the ladies’ room. ‘You’re going back to the villa, and you’re going back now!’

Linda was now a bit more subdued. ‘Oh, come on, Bella, I didn’t do anything!’

‘Not yet, but you’re building up to it. I just don’t understand what gets into you, Linda. For Christ’s sake, why’re you saying those things? Huh? Why’re you going on, nudge, nudge, wink, wink? You tryin’ to break it up between us?’

Linda sat down, and suddenly the tears started.

Bella stood with her arms crossed. ‘That’s not gonna work, Linda. Every time you put your great big foot in it you start howling. Well, it’s not gonna work, you’re not gonna wreck this for me. You’re going back to the villa and you’re going now. I’ll get the chauffeur to bring the Roller round.’

Linda caught her arm. ‘No, Bella, don’t, don’t. I’ll be all right — I’ll have some coffee. I promise you I’ll behave myself...’

Bella jerked her arm away. ‘No, Linda, I’m through with you. I’m through with your moaning. That’s all you’ve done since you’ve been here, moan, moan, moan. You’ve got everything going for you, and you haven’t even changed your goddam money. Well, you’re not gonna wreck this, Linda, you hear me? You’re not!’ But as soon as she’d said it, she felt bad. She put her arm round Linda and spoke in a gentler voice. ‘What is it, Linda? For God’s sake, what’s the matter with you?’

Linda shrugged. ‘I dunno, Bella, I just dunno.’

Bella sighed. ‘Maybe it would be best you go back, Linda. Go back to the villa.’

Linda grabbed her hand and held on tight. ‘Come with me. Come back with me.’

Bella pulled her hand free. ‘No, Linda, I’m never going back there. I’m with him, you understand me? I’m with him for good. He means something to me. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.’

Linda smirked. ‘Oh, yeah? I’m sure he’ll be the best thing when he finds out what you were!’

Bella’s hand flew out, slapping Linda hard across the face, just as two women tottered in on six-inch heels, and then Linda was sobbing and Bella wished she hadn’t done it. The women stopped in their tracks and started giggling with their hands over their mouths. Linda screamed at them to mind their own fuckin’ business and they quickly scuttled into the toilet cubicles.

Bella handed Linda her little evening bag. ‘Come on, Linda, let’s get you in the car.’

But Linda shook her head. ‘I’m stayin’ here. I’m not going back to the villa. I don’t wanna be there by myself!’

Bella’s expression was hard, and her voice matched it, her old East End accent rising to the surface. ‘You’re goin’ back, Linda, an’ you better start realizing you are on your own. An’ you better start gettin’ your act together an’ all. I’ve got mine together, Shirley’s got hers, Dolly—’

‘Oh, yeah, Dolly, the lying, twisted bitch, doing whatever the fuck she’s doing back in England...’

That was enough for Bella. She backed away. ‘You make me sick, you know that? You make me fuckin’ sick! You’re twisted, Linda, you’re all twisted up inside. You wanna smash things up between me an’ José because you’re jealous! You’re jealous, aren’t you? Why don’t you admit it?’

Linda sat down on the floor, holding her head in her hands. ‘Yeah, yeah. I am. How come you can get everything together and I’m just a fuck-up? I’ve always been a mess!’

Bella put her arms round her, trying to calm her down. ‘I’ll come round and see you tomorrow, OK? I’ll go and get the Roller. Come on, Linda, go home.’

Bella walked out and Linda was left alone. Once again she had that sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. What was the matter with her? Why was she like this? Why did she always feel this terrible need inside her, the need to have somebody with her? Then she remembered Joe, and instantly she was crying again. The two women came out of the cubicles and gave her a pitying look as they muttered to each other in Portuguese. Linda picked up a box of tissues and threw it at them.

‘What you fuckin’ lookin’ at, you tarts?’ Linda yanked open the door of the powder room and stormed out, flinging over her shoulder, ‘Fucking foreigners!’

Harry had told Tony to park the car a little way up the street so they wouldn’t be so conspicuous, but they had a good view of the villa. Harry sat staring at the main gates for a while. The villa was in darkness. After a few minutes they got out and walked down to it, through the iron gates and down the pathway to the main entrance. Tony looked up at the windows.

‘Nobody seems to be at home.’

Harry tried the front door, then walked round to one of the ground-floor balconies. He climbed onto the balcony and found the French window open.

‘I can wait.’ He entered the villa.

Tony stood outside for a while, and then followed Harry in. Their footsteps echoed across the marble entrance hall.

Harry touched Tony’s arm. ‘I’m goin’ upstairs, OK? See what you can find down here.’

‘What am I looking for? Your wife?’

‘Just see if she’s still staying here. Look for a passport, suitcases, anything.’ Then Harry was heading up the stairs.

Two of the bedrooms were empty. He opened the third bedroom door and walked in. The place was strewn with clothes, the bed unmade. He paused for a moment. He could hear Tony moving round below, doors opening and shutting. Harry started going through the drawers one by one, but apart from underwear and a few toiletries, they were empty.

Tony went through the kitchen and dining hall, into the lounge. The fridge was empty, apart from a few leftovers and a bottle of wine, and the place seemed deserted. He made his way upstairs, and found Harry on hands and knees, sifting through the contents of the bedside table.

He looked up. ‘You find anything?’

Tony shrugged. ‘There’s nothing.’

Harry eyed him suspiciously. ‘You find any money?’

Tony seemed to perk up. ‘Money? You think there’s money here? Believe me, if there’s money, I’ll find it.’

Harry smiled. ‘Yeah, I bet you will.’ He went into the bathroom. As Tony was pulling the mattress from the bed, he called out, ‘Just make sure you put everything back where you found it!’

Harry opened the medicine cabinet above the washbasin. There were bottles of perfume, face cream and suntan lotion. Suddenly Tony shouted from the bedroom, and Harry knocked over a toothbrush glass in surprise. It smashed into the washbasin, cutting the back of his left hand as he tried to catch it. He lifted his bleeding hand to his lips, swore and sucked at the blood. It was only a small cut, but deep. A trickle splashed onto the white washbasin.

‘We gotta go!’ shouted Tony. ‘There is a car!’

Harry went back into the bedroom and turned off the light. Tony was already at the door.

‘Come on, Harry! We go!’

Swearing under his breath, Harry went to the balcony and pulled the curtain aside an inch or two so he could see out. Sure enough, the headlights of a car were sweeping down the drive.

The two men ran down the stairs in the dark, slipped through the French windows and jumped down from the balcony. They threw themselves into the shrubbery just as the Rolls-Royce pulled up at the front door.

Linda Pirelli stepped out of the Rolls, staggering slightly before regaining her balance. The chauffeur climbed out of the driving seat with a sigh and went round to help her. She shrugged him off and made her way to the front door. She stumbled, dropped her keys, and then fiddled with the lock for a minute, before finally the door opened and she practically fell inside. The chauffeur stood for a moment, arms folded, waiting until the door closed, then got back in the car, shaking his head, and drove away.

Linda turned on the lights, stood blinking for a moment, then made her way into the kitchen and opened the fridge. She reached for the wine and plonked it on the table. She was rummaging in the kitchen drawer for a corkscrew when she heard the sound of a car horn outside. She sat and listened for a moment, and the horn tooted again. She made her way through the kitchen and along the hall to the lounge balcony. She opened the window and looked out.

Tony was standing beside his taxi.

‘Oi, what d’ya want?’ she called out.

Tony smiled. ‘You want the taxi?’

‘No, you got the wrong house, nobody’s called a taxi here.’

He looked disappointed. ‘You sure you don’t wanna taxi?’

‘No, I don’t wanna taxi!’

Tony moved toward the house. ‘Maybe you gotta telephone I could use?’

Linda leaned over the balcony. ‘Don’t you have a radio with you in your cab?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘A radio. Haven’t you got a radio in that taxi?’

He shrugged. ‘It’s broken. Please, I use your phone, I ring my office...’

Linda thought for a moment. She should probably tell him to get lost. Then she thought of being all alone in the big, empty house.

‘Ah, well, why not?’ She wandered through the lounge and opened the front door.

He was leaning against the doorframe. ‘I thank you. I must have got confused with the address. I’m sorry to trouble you.’ He smiled at her.

‘You speak good English! Where’d you learn it?’

‘I learn most of my English in bed,’ he replied with a wink.

Instead of being offended, Linda roared with laughter. She waved him in and, still laughing, led the way to the telephone in the hallway. She leaned against the side of the phone table as he picked up the phone.

‘You wanna drink?’

‘That would be very nice, thank you.’

Linda walked into the kitchen.

Tony picked up the phone and pretended to dial. Keeping an eye on the kitchen, he spoke rapidly in Portuguese, then replaced the receiver. He followed Linda into the kitchen. She was struggling to open the bottle of wine with a corkscrew.

‘Would you please allow me?’

Tony took the wine from her and began to open the bottle, without taking his eyes off her. She stared back at him.

‘So you’re a taxi driver, are you?’

‘Yeah, that’s right.’

‘What’s your name then?’

‘Tony.’

‘All right, Tony, I’ll get some glasses.’

He followed Linda into the lounge, carrying the bottle. She almost fell into the drinks cabinet, then bent down and brought out two wine glasses.

‘Here you go!’

She could feel him close beside her, his body almost pressing against her as he poured the wine. She backed away slightly as she picked up her glass.

‘Well, here’s to you, Tony.’ Linda swallowed a mouthful of the wine and instantly felt like she was going to vomit. She put down the wine glass as the room began to spin round.

‘Ahh, excuse me for a minute, will you? Aw, Christ, I’m gonna chuck up!’ She ran out of the lounge and began to drag herself up the staircase, holding on to the banister to stop herself from falling. Tony followed her out of the lounge and stood leaning against the doorway, calmly sipping his wine and watching.

In her bedroom, Linda didn’t even turn on the light, just tumbled into the bathroom. She fumbled for the cord and pulled it, and the light almost blinded her. When she was able to open her eyes again, the first thing she saw was a single drop of blood on the side of the washbasin. Then she saw the broken glass. Heart racing, Linda staggered to the cistern, lifted the lid, reached down into the water and pulled out the plastic bag.

Thank God, her money was safe. Clutching the dripping bag tightly, she went into the bedroom. Her nausea had disappeared, but it had been replaced by fear. She saw the drawers pulled out, the mattress half off the bed. Someone had been looking for something. What if they’d taken her money and just replaced the bag? She began ripping at the heavy black plastic and there, underneath it, in another see-through plastic bag, was her precious money. She opened it to make sure it was all there, sighing with relief as she walked out onto the landing. Tony was almost at the top of the stairs. He still had the wine glass in his hand.

‘There you are, Leenda. Hey, what have you got there?’

She took two steps back, clutching the bag to her chest. ‘What are you doing up here? Just get back down the stairs, you hear me? You go back down those stairs!’

He put on a hurt expression. ‘Come on, Leenda, why don’t you be nice to me, eh?’

Linda retreated toward the bedroom. She was holding the bag upside down and money began to spill out. She made a frantic grab for the tumbling notes, but then she saw Tony coming closer, with that creepy smile on his face, and rushed through the door, slamming it behind her and quickly locking it.

On the landing, Tony looked at all the money on the floor, wondering if Christmas had come early. He picked up a handful of notes, held them to his nose and breathed deeply. Yes, that was the smell of money. He knocked gently on the door.

‘Leenda, open the door. Come on, Leenda...’

Inside the bedroom, Linda could hear his voice — soft and wheedling — and the sound of the doorknob turning round and round. ‘Leenda, open the door for Tony. Come on, Leenda...’

The only way to escape was over the balcony. Linda pushed open the louvre doors and started to climb over, but hampered by her long evening dress and still clinging on to the money with one hand, she wasn’t sure she was going to make it.

Below, Rawlins looked up. The crazy bitch was teetering on the edge of the balcony. He saw her hesitate for a moment, then there was a crash as Tony broke through the bedroom door, and she jumped.

Linda’s breath was knocked out of her as she landed with a thud in the flower bed. Her head was throbbing and her shins felt as if someone had kicked them with hobnailed boots, but the pain was nothing compared with the desperate voice screaming inside her to run, run for her life. Kicking off her high heels and hiking up her dress with her free hand, she sprinted toward the shrubberies. At least there in the dark she could hide and maybe get her breath back.

Suddenly a figure loomed in front of her, his white shirt gleaming in the moonlight. She screeched in terror but managed to keep her footing, veering off to the right, toward the swimming pool.

Seeing Tony jump down from the balcony, Harry paused in his pursuit and called out, ‘Turn the taxi round and wait by the gates, you hear me?’

Tony pointed at the figure in the red dress disappearing round the corner of the villa. ‘Look, she has money, much money! Don’t let her get away!’

Harry grabbed him and manhandled him over to the cab.

‘You listen to me. Get in and start the fucking engine, all right? You wait for me!’

Tony pushed Harry away and Harry took off, following Linda toward the swimming pool. Tony got down on his knees and began picking up the money. So many fifty pound notes — it was crazy. He started stuffing it as fast as he could into his pockets, following the trail of money as it led toward the swimming pool.

At the edge of the pool, Linda turned. Harry was walking toward her.

‘Stay where you are, Linda. Just stay where you are!’

She shook her head. ‘No, leave me alone. Please don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me!’

He held his hands out to calm her. ‘Linda, I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to know where she is. Where’s Dolly?’

She heard him, but she was so panicked that his words made no sense. She backed away and tripped over one of the loungers. Whimpering in terror, she picked herself up and started edging along the side of the pool.

Harry kept on coming.

‘I just wanna talk to you, Linda. Can you understand me? Linda?’

Linda started to run, but her dress, now torn and flapping round her ankles, got caught under her feet. She felt herself losing her balance. She flung an arm out to steady herself, dropping the almost empty money bag, then the world seemed to spin in front of her eyes, there was an almighty splash and she was underwater. Coughing and spluttering, she rose to the surface, her dress outspread around her. Thrashing the water desperately with her arms, she found the breath to scream: ‘Stay away from me! Stay away from me!’ before going under again.

Harry shoved the chair out of his way and knelt down at the edge of the pool.

Linda bobbed up again, gasping for air. ‘I can’t... swim... I... can’t...’ she spluttered in between heaving gasps.

‘Give me your hand!’ Harry shouted, but one hand was still holding on tightly to what was left of the money, while the other flailed desperately round in the water. ‘Give me your hand, for Chrissake!’

Harry leaned as far as he could over the pool, hand outstretched. She went under again, her dress weighing her down, and he made one last grab, catching hold of her hair. Now she was scratching at his wrist, screaming, screeching over and over again: ‘No! No! Leave me alone!’

He pulled as hard as he could, her head crashing against the side of the pool, but her hair slipped out of his grip.

Linda went under again, a stream of blood from her nose clouding the water. She’d finally let go of the money, and Harry reached for her hand and managed to pull her toward him, then got hold of her hair again. Holding her head out of the water against the side of the pool, he leaned down and put his mouth to her ear.

‘Where’s Dolly, Linda? Understand me? Where’s Dolly?’

Linda couldn’t hear, couldn’t think. Her vision was blurred and her throat was raw.

‘Listen to me, you stupid bitch: where’s Dolly?’

Linda tried to say something but all that came out was a strangled croak.

Suddenly she felt him pressing her head down, under the water. Desperate for air, she tried to take a breath and water started filling her lungs. Her vision went black, she felt herself drifting away — and then her head was yanked out of the water again.

‘Just tell me where the fuck Dolly is, you stupid bitch!’ She felt her head crash against the concrete again.

Tony had seen enough. He scooped up a few last notes and got into the taxi. He started to do a U-turn, then saw the headlights of a car approaching the villa. He shouted out of the window to Harry, but there was so much screaming he doubted that he could hear. He glanced back down the drive as the headlights came closer.

In the back seat of the Rolls-Royce, José squeezed Bella’s hand. ‘She’ll be all right.’

‘I know, I’m sorry, but I worry about her, I always worry about her. She was drunk, and I shouldn’t have let her go back by herself.’

He slipped his arm round her back. ‘It’s OK, it’s OK, we’ll make sure that she is all right.’

Bella looked into his face. ‘Thank you.’

He pulled her closer and started to kiss her. Bella pulled free, touched the side of his face and whispered, ‘I love you. You’re the only man in my life I’ve ever loved.’

As he bent to kiss her again, the Rolls-Royce veered to the right with a screech of brakes, almost throwing them out of their seats. The taxicab screamed past them, engine roaring, as the Rolls-Royce came to a halt inches from the gatepost. Bella didn’t wait for the chauffeur to open the door for her — she was out of the car in a flash and running up the driveway, her high heels in her hand.

She stopped short for a brief moment, gasping in shock as she came face to face with Harry Rawlins — and then he was gone, diving into the bushes.

José came up behind her. ‘What in hell is going on?’

She grabbed his arm. ‘For God’s sake, get to the house, see if she’s all right!’

Despite the encumbrance of her dress, Bella was running like a wild thing and got to the house first. Shouting over her shoulder for José to switch on the ground lights, she opened the door and ran up the stairs, into Linda’s bedroom, all the while calling her name at the top of her lungs.

José found the light switch and instantly the grounds were flooded with pale green light.

Bella opened the windows on to the balcony and stepped out. ‘Linda! Where are you?’ She leaned over the balcony to call down to José when she saw her. It was the red dress, billowing round Linda as she floated in the pool.

Bella screamed, pointed frantically, and ran back into the house.

Mr. Jarrow ushered Dolly out of his consulting room and signaled to his receptionist.

‘Well, I look forward to seeing you next week, Mrs. Rawlins.’ He patted her arm reassuringly. ‘Are you quite sure you’re feeling all right?’

Dolly smiled. ‘Not now, but I will be, after the operation.’

‘I’m sure you will, Mrs. Rawlins. Thank you for coming in. There are just a few final details my receptionist can deal with.’ Dolly dismissed, he went back to his desk and opened another file, readying himself for his next patient.

The receptionist smiled at Dolly. ‘Just one last thing, Mrs. Rawlins: how will you be paying? Check? Banker’s card?’

Dolly snapped her bag shut. ‘Cash. I’ll be paying in cash.’

She walked out on to Harley Street, got into her car and drove off. She arrived just ahead of the estate agent, checked her watch and looked at herself in the driving mirror. She pulled the skin a little tighter under her eyes and underneath her neck, and couldn’t help but give herself a secret smile. She was still smiling when the estate agent tapped on the window.

‘Mrs. Marsh?’

Dolly almost jumped out of her skin. ‘Yes?’

‘Ah, I’m the estate agent. Sorry to keep you waiting.’

‘Oh, that’s all right.’

The flat had one bedroom, a kitchen, bathroom and lounge. It had the unmistakable smell of a rented place, a smell of carpet that had been washed very quickly after the last tenant had left. Dolly hated it. But it would serve its purpose.

The estate agent, in his shiny suit, carried in Dolly’s last case with a grunt, obviously a little miffed at being asked to help with her luggage. He handed Dolly the keys and took out his folder with all the details. The phone, gas and electricity had all been connected.

He turned toward her with a smirk. ‘Just a question of, um, the financial arrangements now, Mrs. Marsh.’

Dolly loathed these weaselly little men. ‘Would you just take the large case through to the bedroom for me, please?’

His smirk died. ‘Yes, of course, Mrs. Marsh.’ Staggering under the weight of the large suitcase, he dragged it into the seedy bedroom. Dolly picked up the smaller case, placed it on the sofa and took out a set of keys. She checked that the estate agent was still busy with the case, then opened the lid. The money was still wrapped in the bank’s plastic bags. She took one out, shut the case, locked it and put it back on the floor. Going to the table, she sat down and very slowly began counting out the money. The estate agent came out of the bedroom.

‘As I was saying, Mrs. Marsh—’

‘Will there be any reduction if I give you cash?’

‘Er... er... no, I’m afraid not,’ he stuttered. ‘It’s a flat rate, Mrs. Marsh. I, er, I have no bargaining power at all.’

‘I see. Well, there’s six months’ rent in advance.’

He didn’t know whether to sit and count it, glancing at his papers, then back at Dolly, and finally decided against it.

‘I would like a receipt, if that’s possible?’ she said with a smile.

‘Yes, of course, Mrs. Marsh. I’ll do that right away.’

‘Thank you very much. You’ve been most helpful.’

‘Oh, think nothing of it, Mrs. Marsh.’

Dolly slipped a £10 note into his top pocket, and suddenly he couldn’t do enough for her.

‘If you have any problems whatsoever, Mrs. Marsh, you just contact me. Ask for me personally — Mr. Fish.’

‘Yes, I will,’ Dolly said, almost shutting the door in his face. And then she was alone. Alone in this awful flat.

She took a carton of milk, a jar of instant coffee and a packet of biscuits out of her shopping bag and into the kitchen. It had the same sparse, unloved feeling. She put the milk in the fridge, picked up the kettle, and then put it down again. She felt her hands — the handle of the kettle was greasy. Looking in the cupboard, the cups were chipped, and one of the saucers still had an old ring from the last occupant’s tea.

Dolly ran the water in the sink. Even the bowl was grimy. She turned the tap off and stood for a moment. She thought of her home, her beautiful house, where everything had been so immaculate, so perfect.

She went back to her shopping bag and took out Fairy Liquid, Vim and a pair of rubber gloves. She brought them to the kitchen and turned the tap back on.

Well, if she was going to live here, she’d damned well make sure it was clean.

José had been the one to haul Linda’s body out of the water. Bella had been worse than useless, weeping hysterically and asking Linda to forgive her. It was only José’s calmness and quick thinking that had saved Linda’s life. He turned her over, let the water empty out of her lungs, then gave her the kiss of life. It was José who carried her into the lounge, who somehow found the bandages and cleaned up her face. Knowing that the ambulance was on its way, he helped Bella undress Linda, wrapped a blanket round her and gave her brandy. As he fed her carefully with a teaspoon, her eyes opened and she stared into his face.

He smiled. ‘You all right, Leenda? Everything’s going to be OK, Leenda...’

It was the ‘Leenda, Leenda...’ that brought it all back, the taxi driver smiling as he walked toward her up the stairs. She started to scream.

José stepped away. ‘She’s in shock. You take care of her, Bella. I’ll go and change.’ As he was leaving the lounge, he turned back to Bella. ‘Did you call the ambulance? The doctor?’

‘Yes, yes, of course.’

‘And the police? Are you going to call the police?’

Bella shook her head. ‘No, no police. I don’t want the police.’

‘But you must call the police! The place has obviously been burgled. Leenda almost died!’

‘I said no police.’

He was puzzled. He’d never heard her speak in that firm tone of voice before.

‘We’ll talk about it later,’ he said and walked out.

Bella bent over Linda, held her hand and kissed her. ‘Linda, it’s Bella. You’re all right. Linda, it’s Bella!’

Linda was crying, without making a sound, just tears rolling down her cheeks.

‘It’s all right, baby, it’s Bella.’

Linda slowly turned her head, opened her eyes and gripped Bella’s hand hard. Bella could have wept herself — Linda’s face was such a mess. She wasn’t sure whether her nose was broken, but her eye was cut and bruised, her cheek and lips swollen. Bella just wanted to hold her, she seemed so fragile.

‘Bella, oh God, Bella... it was him.’

Bella looked at the door. ‘I know,’ she whispered. ‘I know. But it’s all right.’

Linda turned away, closing her eyes again. ‘He wanted Dolly,’ she murmured, barely audible. ‘He wanted Dolly.’

Bella gripped her hand tightly. ‘Don’t talk, Linda, don’t talk. The doctor’s coming, and everything’s gonna be all right. Just lie quiet, please, baby.’

A shudder seemed to run through Linda’s body and into Bella’s. Her eyes jerked open and she clawed at Bella’s arm.

‘I told him, Bella,’ she croaked, her eyes wide with terror. ‘Oh, God help me, I told him.’

Bella couldn’t make out what she was saying. She bent closer. ‘What? What did you say?’

Linda choked, started to cough again, and Bella reached for the bowl, thinking she was going to vomit, but Linda shook her head.

‘Bella, I’ve told him...’

A cold feeling moved up Bella’s spine. ‘Told him what? What have you said, Linda?’

‘The money — I told him where it is, in England... the convent.’

Bella took a deep breath, trying to keep calm, but she could feel the panic rising. ‘Did you tell him where Dolly was, Linda? Do you hear me, Linda? Did you tell him where Dolly was?’

Linda looked up into Bella’s face. Bella had never seen an expression of such anguish. Time seemed to stretch out as she waited for Linda to speak. Then finally she managed a single word.

‘Yes.’