Stay Dead - [15]

He’s fucking another woman…

Stop it!

Her mind was all over the place. Even things that should have been straightforward, like deciding where she was going to stay in London, had her going round in circles. The Holland Park house was standing empty, closed up, unstaffed and unwelcoming since Rosa, her old housekeeper, had retired. The Carter firm still owned the three nightclubs – the Palermo Lounge, the Blue Parrot and the Shalimar – and each had a flat above the premises. But Annie didn’t feel strong enough to go near the Palermo, to set foot in the place where Dolly had been murdered – not yet, at any rate. Besides, the Bill would have the flat cordoned off as a crime scene; most likely they’d have shut down the club too.

The Blue Parrot was being run by Gary Tooley, a tall blond vicious man who’d been one of Max’s most trusted foot soldiers for years and who cheerfully hated Annie’s guts, so he wouldn’t be putting out the bunting for her anytime soon. She didn’t like Gary, and when he phoned Max in Barbados she always left the room. And she’d noticed of late that after these calls Max was always cold and uncommunicative toward her. But then, Gary had never missed a chance to put the knife in where she was concerned. He was always ready to drip poison in Max’s ear about her.

Having ruled out Holland Park, the Palermo and the Blue Parrot, she’d booked herself into a hotel. Only now that she was back in London and the reality of Dolly’s death was beginning to sink in, the last thing she wanted was to be all on her own in a hotel room. For a moment she considered going to stay with her sister Ruthie in Richmond, but then dismissed the idea. Ever since they’d been kids their relationship had always been difficult, edgy.

In the end she’d told the cab driver to forget about the hotel and take her to the Shalimar club instead. First things first: she needed to touch base with Ellie, who together with her husband Chris Brown, ran things at the club. Ellie had been Dolly’s friend too. Once, she’d been a working girl just like Dolly, and they’d lived together at Aunt Celia’s Limehouse knocking shop. They’d both worked for Celia, and then for Annie. Ellie would understand how devastated Annie was feeling.

‘Here we are then,’ said the driver, pulling into the kerb outside the Shalimar. He was a big bluff Cockney in a red anorak who’d chatted to her all the way from the airport. She couldn’t remember a single word he’d said, and she didn’t know what she’d said back to him either. Her mind was fogged with grief and weariness.

Annie paid him and got out into the rain, dragging her case and hand luggage with her. The cab pulled away. Almost instantly she was drenched, and she stood there with the cold rain battering down on her upturned face, looking up at the Shalimar sign, grey now in the noonday gloom, all its bright red neon lights turned off. She looked up and down the soaked street, traffic nudging along, jostling pedestrians with umbrellas held low against the gusting downpour, trying to avoid the puddles on the glimmering wet pavement. For better or worse, she was home.

‘Annie?’ asked a female voice.

Annie turned, and there was podgy, dark-haired Ellie, standing in the rain clutching a pint of milk, her neat two-piece burgundy suit darkened with moisture around her shoulders. Dolly, Ellie and Annie – over the years they had become a trio of mutual cheerleaders. Now, one of them was gone. Annie watched as Ellie’s face crumpled.

‘Christ,’ said Ellie, and threw herself sobbing into Annie’s arms. ‘Can you believe it?’ she choked out. ‘Dolly!’

Annie hugged her tight in the pouring rain.

15

Gina Barolli looked out of the window and saw the car coming up the drive toward the big sprawling villa, churning up a yellow dust-cloud as it came.

So it was done. It was put right.

Two of their best had gone to correct the mistake she had made; she couldn’t remember their names and that was annoying, but they had gone, she knew that, and she knew that everyone was very agitated and angry about it all.

She couldn’t remember what her mistake had been.

She knew she’d made it, yes of course she did, she wasn’t a fool, even if the people here treated her like one sometimes. Shouting at her, saying why did she do that, why did she make these stupid mistakes?

Ah, none of it mattered now anyway. The car was coming, and she craned out of her wheelchair, using the windowsill as a support, to see it pull in at the front of the building where the lavender grew thick and violet-blue, heavy with bees and a delicious fragrance. A man got out, black-haired, darkly tanned. She didn’t recognize him and that puzzled her. Where were the other people, her people? He looked like one of the Cosa Nostra, the brotherhood; but she didn’t know him. Two more men followed – bigger, bulkier men than the first one. She didn’t recognize them, either.

Or… she didn’t think so.

Of course, sometimes nowadays she didn’t know anybody, and that irritated her; so perhaps he was one of hers after all. Who knew?