by Jessie Keane
‘It’s urgent,’ she said. ‘Something I forgot.’
She phoned through to Redmond Delaney and kept her back turned to Chris and Ellie, who were both waiting in the car. She told him that Pat Delaney had shown up at her last party, that he appeared to be on something and that he had passed something to Chris.
Redmond took it all in silently.
The pips went. Annie shovelled in more change.
‘I’ll look into it,’ said Redmond.
‘I’d rather he didn’t know I told you,’ said Annie.
‘Of course.’
‘I got the flat,’ said Annie.
‘Good work, Miss Bailey. Get the details to me as soon as you can.’
‘Of course,’ said Annie, and rang off.
She was moving on up. Everything was going to be all right. But she felt jittery. She got back in the car, clutching the flat details to her. She sat there staring out at the traffic and reviewing her recent past with blank amazement. Funny how Billy hadn’t called in for a while. She almost missed the poor loon, he’d become a familiar face to her. But she supposed he was intimidated, being confronted by Chris every time he called. It wasn’t something she could help. Chris was necessary now. Protection. Security. She lay back against the leather upholstery as Ellie prattled away excitedly beside her and thought what it would be like to just take off to that beautiful Mayfair flat on her own, to live there as Miss Anne Bailey, happy and prosperous. To forget Celia’s place and the danger and the excitement of running it. Sure, she thought. And live on what? Peanuts?
The big black car was outside the house again when they got home, the driver sitting stolidly behind the wheel, waiting.
Ruthie! thought Annie, anxiety and anger gripping her. She tore through the hall and flung open the door to the front parlour.
‘Look, Ruthie, if you’ve come here for another bloody row …’
But it wasn’t Ruthie waiting to see her.
It was Max.
Every time she saw Max Carter she was hit by the sheer physical impact of him. Of course whoever had let him in had shown him into the front room, not the kitchen. You didn’t show Max into a kitchen.
Annie stood frozen in the doorway for a moment.
Chris came up close and hissed: ‘You want me to phone Redmond?’ in her ear.
Annie shook her head. ‘I’ll deal with this. See that nobody disturbs us, will you?’
She went into the front room and closed the door behind her and leaned against it, breathless, heart hammering crazily in her chest.
‘Sorry. I thought you were Ruthie,’ said Annie. Her mouth was dry.
‘She’s been here then?’ said Max.
‘Yeah,’ said Annie coolly. ‘Can’t seem to make up her mind whether your marriage is dead or alive, but she was here. You mean you didn’t know she called?’
‘I don’t own her.’
‘Sorry, I thought you did.’
Max nodded. Slowly he came over to where she stood, placed one large hand on the door beside her head, and leaned in.
‘You’ve got a fucking nerve, Annie Bailey, talking to me like that,’ he said.
‘Ruthie might be afraid of you,’ said Annie. ‘I’m not.’
‘No?’ Max was half-smiling as he came in closer still. He knew the effect he had on her.
Annie gulped. ‘No,’ she said.
‘You’ve changed, Annie. Look at you. You’re all grown up now,’ he said, his eyes moving over her.
Annie nodded. ‘I had to grow up fast, Max. I got kicked out by my mother, remember? If I hadn’t been able to come here I’d have been walking the streets.’
‘Is this what you wanted out of life, running a knocking shop?’
Annie shrugged, trying to be cool, but her heart was racing and now – oh shit! – her nipples were hard. The flat details in her hand were crumpled and damp, forgotten. She wished he’d back off. But she knew he wouldn’t.
‘It’s a living,’ she said.
‘Word is you’re making a good job of it,’ said Max.
‘I like to think so.’
‘You shouldn’t be here,’ he said.
‘Why?’ Annie was stung by this. What fucking business was it of his where she was or what she did? He’d made his feelings plain enough when he’d kicked her out of his car into the pouring rain; she’d never forget that, or forgive it. ‘Is something going to happen? Is the place going to burn down around my ears, is that it?’
She saw anger in his eyes and then he smiled. ‘You may not be afraid of me, Annie Bailey, but I think you’re afraid of yourself.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Annie, but she did.
‘So I’m asking the question,’ said Max.
‘What?’ Annie’s voice was barely more than a whisper. She could feel Max’s breath on her face, feel the heat coming off his body.
‘How much?’
‘What?’
‘How much do you want?’ Max’s eyes were sharp now, predatory. ‘You know I want you. Always have, always will. So if it makes you feel better we’ll keep this strictly business. How much?’
For fuck’s sake! The cheek of him, to treat her like a tart! Annie shook her head violently. She wanted to hit him.
‘God, you’re a bastard,’ she said. ‘And let’s get this straight. Even if I was selling it – which I’m not – you couldn’t afford me.’
‘Yes I could,’ said Max. ‘I could have you for free, and you fucking-well know it.’
Now she did hit him. Or she tried to. He caught her arm on the upswing and pinned it back against the door. Then he kissed her and she was lost. She couldn’t help it. The heat of his body, the smell of his cologne, the slickness of his tongue as it entered her mouth, everything overwhelmed her.
Ruthie, she thought.
But it was no good. She was gone, the touch and feel and smell of him was something she had dreamed of every night for too long. Then he was lifting her, carrying her over to the couch, lowering her on to it, pushing up her dress.
‘No,’ she managed to say. ‘No, I don’t want this.’
But Max wasn’t listening. His mouth covered hers again and she was powerless to resist. He was shoving aside the flimsy pants she wore, then she felt him undoing his trousers. We mustn’t do this, she thought, but the wetness was flooding her.
Then suddenly he was inside her, huge and pumping and just as she remembered. She cried out and he covered her mouth with his hand and had her quickly and silently. Annie lay there, pinioned, trapped, loving it. Then he stiffened and groaned as his seed spilled into her, God, no protection, nothing, there could be a baby, anything could happen, she was in terror and in rapture, she loved it, couldn’t get enough of it, God she must be a whore, what else was she, this was her sister’s husband, Ruthie’s husband …
It was over. He was finished, but instead of withdrawing he stayed there, kissing her, nuzzling his nose into her neck, crushing her with his strength, hurting her a little but she still loved it.
‘I want this,’ he murmured against her skin. ‘I want you. I’ve been going fucking mad ever since I saw you again, dreaming about you.’
At the gallery, she thought. And at poor Eddie’s funeral. It was Eddie’s death that had really brought them back together. She remembered that hot, lingering look they’d exchanged as Max stood at Eddie’s graveside.
‘But Ruthie,’ she groaned, nearer to tears than she had ever been before.
‘She lives her life, I live mine,’ he said roughly. ‘Whatever you and I do, it’ll make no difference to her.’
If Annie tried hard enough she could almost make herself believe that it was true.
‘What’s this?’ He was taking the scrap of mangled paper out of her hand, pulling away from her a little, adjusting his trousers. Annie straightened too, feeling sore and achy. She wasn’t used to bearing a man’s weight. Her hands were shaking. She felt hot, ready for more. She wanted him to touch her again, be inside her again. N
o wonder she felt at home in a whorehouse – she was a whore.
‘We’re expanding the business,’ she said, trying to steady herself as Max spread out the details and looked at the photo of the apartment’s interior.
‘We?’ He looked at her.
‘The Delaneys will chip in.’ There, she’d said it.
He was silent. Then he said: ‘It looks good.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ said Annie. ‘Walking around it, I felt like I was in another world.’
‘Come here,’ said Max, and kissed her again, his hands deftly stroking her until he had to cover her mouth again to stifle a scream. ‘Good?’ he murmured, covering her mouth with his own again and pushing her back, going on to his knees and freeing himself quickly and pulling her legs apart, sliding her arse down the sofa until they were joined again, he was plunging inside her again, riding her.
This is crazy, thought Annie. But she was dazed. Unable to resist. Loving it.
‘We shouldn’t do this,’ she whispered hopelessly.
‘We have to,’ groaned Max.
And it was true. They had to, the feeling was too strong, too long denied.
I’m lost, she thought. And when he had finished and was gone, she stood there in the empty room and clutched her head in her hands and screamed with the sheer frustration of wanting him so badly – because she knew she couldn’t have him.
Her nerves were in shreds. She found a pack of Player’s and a lighter in the sideboard and smoked her first-ever cigarette. Christ, she had to do something. She sat down on the sofa, her knickers wet and her hair like a fright wig, and wondered what had hit her.
‘I’ll call you soon,’ he’d said.
Maybe he wouldn’t. She knew enough of the world to realize that this was probably a kiss-off. He’d got what he wanted after all. Annie started to choke on the cigarette. She stubbed it out and dropped her head into her hands.
‘Fuck it,’ she muttered. It was good that he was probably not going to come near her again. He was her sister’s husband. All right, so the marriage was in ruins, but wasn’t that her fault too? Everything was her fault. Wasn’t that what her mother had always told her? Connie might be a lush, but Annie thought now that she had probably got that exactly right.
Christ, she couldn’t believe what a pushover she’d been. One kiss and she’d crumbled into dust. And now look at her. She didn’t know whether she felt punched or bored. Her head was all over the place. One moment she was excited, the next devastated, the next so full of guilt over Ruthie that she thought it would choke her.
‘Fuck it,’ she muttered again, more savagely.
There was a knock at the door. Annie pushed back her hair with a shaking hand and tried to get a grip of herself.
‘Come in,’ she called out.
Darren put his head round the door. ‘You okay in here?’ he asked.
‘I’m fine. Thanks.’
‘He’s gone then,’ said Darren.
‘Yeah. Did you show him in?’
‘Sorry. He’s not the sort you can turn away, is he?’
‘No,’ said Annie bleakly.
‘Ellie said it went well with the flats,’ said Darren.
‘Oh. Yeah. It did.’ Annie felt that the flat business had happened about twenty years ago. Long before Max had hit her like a fucking force ten gale.
‘Only we’ll have to get the room cleaned up in a bit,’ said Darren.
‘Right. Sorry,’ said Annie, standing up. Her legs felt like pipe cleaners. Max’s seed was running down her inner thighs. She felt dizzy. Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered, she thought with a shred of humour. Like the song.
‘It’s okay,’ said Darren, watching her closely. ‘That’s one gorgeous man,’ he said.
‘That’s one very dangerous man,’ corrected Annie, going upstairs to get cleaned up. ‘Okay, Darren, let’s get this show on the road. Get the room straight.’
She didn’t even notice that she’d dropped the flat details in there. Suddenly all her grand schemes didn’t seem very important at all. She wondered when he would call. If he would call. But then, she mustn’t answer the call if he did. Oh shit, she was in trouble, right up to her neck.
31
Max phoned next day. Chris took the call and handed her the receiver. Chris’s face was blank, not showing the disapproval she was sure he must be feeling. He was a Delaney man to his bones. The Carters were the enemy.
‘Hello?’ Be cool, she thought. Show him you can take it or leave it. But her hands were clammy and her face felt hot the instant she heard his voice.
‘I’m taking you out this afternoon,’ he said.
‘Oh, are you?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘I might not be free,’ said Annie.
‘You will be.’
‘I’m pretty busy.’
‘Two o’clock. I’ll send the car.’
And he put the phone down. Annie stared at the receiver for a moment and then replaced it on the cradle. Her heart was hammering. She was wet between the legs. I’m going mad, she thought. I’ve just made a date to meet my sister’s husband.
Without a word to Chris she went through to the kitchen where the troops were enjoying their elevenses. Dolly put a mug of tea in front of her and took Chris’s through to him.
‘Thanks,’ she said, aware that they were all watching her. Darren must have told them about Max calling yesterday. They could see she was in a state of disarray. But no one said a thing about it, and she was grateful for that.
‘I thought I’d seen it all, but the punters always come up with a new one,’ Aretha was saying to Ellie and Darren. ‘You know that stockbroker chap, that Coogan?’
‘One of your best regulars,’ nodded Ellie, eyeing the biscuits. Annie had straightened her out with the biscuit habit, and she was svelte now, but she still hankered after the bloody things.
‘I took him upstairs and was going to strap him into the Punishment Chair as usual,’ said Aretha.
The Punishment Chair had been yet another lucrative idea of Annie’s. It was set up in Aretha’s room to accommodate their more masochistic clients. It was an ordinary kitchen chair adapted with black paint, leather thongs and chains and straps. It was a big hit with certain gentlemen.
‘He likes that,’ said Darren.
Dolly came back and sat down. ‘Men are weird,’ she chipped in. ‘What’s so great about having a woman beat the crap out of you?’
Aretha shrugged. ‘Anyway, there we were all ready to get down to business when he wanders off and starts looking in my wardrobe and fingering my gear. Then he says he’s always wanted to try on women’s clothes. Well honey, I says to him, if that’s what Massa wants, then that is what Massa is gonna get.’
‘We aim to please,’ said Darren.
‘Indeed we do,’ agreed Aretha. ‘We was havin’ us a real good time after that. He tryin’ on my best threads and gettin’ pretty excited about the whole thing. You know he usually has a little trouble in the excitement department.’
They all nodded. The Right Hon. Philip Coogan needed a lot of stimulus to get it up.
‘But with my threads on?’ Aretha rolled her eyes. ‘Man, that boy was away. We on the bed, on the floor, on the chair, every damn where you care to mention. He just a natural born trannie, never admitted it to a living soul before.’
That was the secret of sexual success, Annie knew. Find out what works for you, and go with it. Like Max worked for her, maybe. But should she really go there when her sister’s happiness was involved? But then – weren’t Ruthie and Max damn near living separate lives? Wasn’t the marriage as good as over even before it had started? And if that was the case, what difference would it make?
Annie drank her tea and listened with half an ear as Aretha, Ellie, Dolly and Darren chatted in the warm and cosy kitchen. First Celia’s, and now it felt like hers. Her place, filled with her friends. They soothed her, just by being there. And she knew she was going to see Max again. But only to te
ll him it was all over, that she had weakened once but that it was a one-off and not to be repeated. She thought of Ruthie’s face, ashen with hurt on her wedding day, and knew it was the right decision.
She didn’t know what she had expected from him, but she hadn’t expected this. Max’s driver was there at two o’clock and he’d taken her back to the apartment in Park Street that she had visited with Ellie just yesterday. The doorman let her in and told her that Mr Carter was waiting for her up in the penthouse. She took the lift up to the top floor and stepped out straight into Max’s arms. Before she could say a word he kissed her deeply. She gave in to it and kissed him back. It would be for the last time, after all.
‘Come on,’ he said against her mouth. ‘Something to show you.’
‘I’ve already seen it,’ said Annie in bewilderment as Max walked with her into the beautiful apartment. ‘I’m expanding the business to accommodate the Whitehall lot. I’ve rented this for six months.’
‘No you haven’t.’
Annie turned to him. ‘Yes, I have.’
Max shook his head. ‘You’ve been beaten to the bid, Annie love.’
‘Meaning what?’ demanded Annie.
‘Meaning I made an offer to your estate agent for a year’s rental and he told me what you’d offered and I upped it. He nearly snatched my hand off. When you get back to the house you’ll find he’s called to tell you the deal’s fallen through.’
‘But I wrote the cheque. Signed the contract.’
‘So he said. He took a bit of persuading.’
‘And tore up my contract.’
‘Correct.’
‘You really are a bastard,’ snapped Annie. ‘Why did you do that? I was so pleased with this place, I really love it. And why bring me back here? To rub my bloody face in it, I suppose.’
Max had opened the French doors on to the balcony and was gazing out at the view. He turned and came back to her and took her in his arms.
‘Don’t touch me,’ said Annie, furious. ‘I hate you.’
‘You hate the man who just got this flat for you to live in, fully furnished and with porterage? You hate the man who’s liberating you from that knocking shop in Limehouse? The man who’s putting a car and a driver at your disposal, paying the fucking rent on this place, buying you anything you want?’