by Jessie Keane
‘Why don’t you shut the fuck up?’ hissed Max, and kissed her.
Annie was paralysed with shock.
He was kissing her.
She couldn’t believe it, but he was kissing her.
Instantly she pushed away, struggling to get herself free of him.
‘Bastard,’ she spat out, furious because what the hell was he playing at? He cursed her, insulted her, and then kissed her? Was he mad?
‘What, you’d prefer it if it was Barolli?’ Max’s voice was harsh, cruel.
‘Yeah, as it happens I would,’ said Annie angrily.
‘Well, tough. He’s dead; I’m alive. Get used to it.’
‘Let go of me,’ yelled Annie, incensed. But he was still holding onto her arms, holding her there tight against him.
‘You know what I really can’t stand about you?’ he asked her.
‘That I’m a tart? Hey, I got news for you – you’ve already said that.’
‘Nah. You know what’s the worst thing? I’ll tell you. It’s that even though I know what you are, even though I know that, even when I first saw you and you looked thin and scraggy and weak – even then I felt it. I don’t like it, but it’s the truth – I can’t even be in the same room as you without getting a hard-on.’
It was the truth. She could feel his erection pressing against her stomach but she was mad, too mad to even think of responding. ‘I fucking well hate you,’ she told him.
There was a knock at the door. They both froze.
‘Fuck’s sake,’ muttered Max, and Annie wrenched herself free and went to the door and flung it open.
‘What?’ she snarled.
Ellie was standing there.
‘Sorry to butt in,’ she said, looking warily at Annie and beyond her to Max. ‘There’s a woman here to see you.’
Chapter 66
The woman didn’t look the kind who would ever willingly come knocking at the door of a backstreet brothel. When Annie found her in the front parlour, she was looking around her as if she might somehow be contaminated simply by breathing the air of Limehouse.
What the hell’s she doing here? wondered Annie.
Her skirt suit was pale camel, immaculate and obviously expensive. Her blonde hair was elegantly coiffed, her make-up was faultless, her nails too long for housework – or indeed work of any kind. Her expression was, as usual, sneering and unpleasant. Through the net curtains, Annie could see a black limo parked outside, and Fredo the uniformed driver standing alongside it.
‘Good God,’ she said with a half-smile, looking around her. ‘So this is what you’ve come to?’
Now Annie understood Cara being here. She’d come to gloat over Annie’s fall from grace.
‘Take a seat,’ said Annie.
She felt shaken to the core from her encounter with Max, and her mind kept replaying his admission that she still – despite all he thought of her – turned him on. Her mouth was still tingling from the force of his kiss. Her head was reeling. But was he only trying to get back with her because of Layla? He wanted his daughter, and she believed that he was convinced – even though she had told him otherwise – that she knew where Layla was. Was he playing her like a bloody violin, to get her to spill the beans? If she did, then she knew he would snatch Layla from her.
But then . . . his physical reaction had been entirely genuine; there was no way he could have faked that. Bewildered, she pushed Max to the back of her mind and instead focused almost gratefully on Cara.
‘Is it safe?’ Cara sat down, looking as if she wished she’d fumigate the sofa first. Annie felt affronted on Ellie’s behalf. Ellie was a dedicated cleaner-upper. The place was kept spotless and faultlessly tidy. She sat down on the sofa, too, surprised that Cara had come here and wondering why she had bothered. She noticed that Cara wasn’t wearing the respectful black of mourning for her dead husband, but then she didn’t kid herself that there had been any real love between them.
‘Oh, yeah,’ said Annie, refusing to rise to the bait. ‘I suppose you feel perfectly at home here? In a whore-house?’ said Cara, her eyes wide and innocent.
‘I’ve had worse.’
‘Really? I find that hard to believe.’
‘Well, I’ve had the Barolli household, and that makes this place seem like a picnic.’
‘Poor little Daniella was so upset you went,’ she said silkily. ‘I think she felt she could depend on you for support.’
Max opened the door and came into the parlour. He leaned back against the door, arms folded. Both women looked at him in annoyance. He stood there like stone.
‘Does he have to be here?’ asked Cara.
‘Yes,’ said Max as Annie’s mouth opened to reply. ‘He does.’
He was doing a damned good job of playing bodyguard, that was for sure. But playing was the word. Playing at giving a toss about what happened to her, or playing dead. What game would he start playing next?
‘Daniella can come here anytime,’ Annie said to Cara. ‘But Lucco wanted me out, so I had to respect his wishes.’
‘Of course he was very upset about what happened to Rocco,’ said Cara.
‘Not so much upset as shit-scared, was my feeling.’
‘What?’ Cara’s smug expression slipped a notch.
‘The Mancinis are going to want answers. And can Lucco give them? I don’t think so.’
Cara’s face was suddenly showing signs of strain. ‘They’ve been arguing, Alberto and Lucco. Lucco’s furious because Alberto phoned Rocco’s father and let him know what had happened. But Alberto said that if it was left to Lucco it would never have been done, and I think that’s probably right. But now there’s hell to pay. Enrico, Rocco’s father, took the call . . . and he had a heart attack right after that, and died.’
Jesus.
Cara let out a sigh. ‘And now Lucco’s going crazy, saying Alberto shouldn’t have interfered, that he’s made everything worse. Lucco’s saying he would have chosen the moment, spoken to one of the sons first maybe. Now, he can’t. He’s finding it so hard, taking over from Papa.’
‘I gathered that.’ Constantine could control a room with a gesture. Lucco, with all his shouting and posturing, would never master that same effortless and judicious use of almost limitless power. It was the sort of power, Annie knew, that could make a man either wise, or extremely dangerous. ‘Look, I’m sorry about what happened to Enrico. And to Rocco. It was horrible. And he seemed like a nice, decent man.’
Cara looked up at her then, her pale blue eyes flashing. ‘A decent man?’ she said. She cast a sideways look at Max. ‘You’re joking.’
Annie frowned. Looked at Max. He raised his eyebrows. How the fuck should I know?
‘Meaning?’ she asked Cara.
Suddenly Cara jumped to her feet and started pacing around the room. ‘Rocco betrayed me,’ she snapped out.
‘How did he betray you?’ This sounded unlikely to Annie. What, Rocco? Play around? He really hadn’t seemed the type.
‘He did. In the worst possible way, the most humiliating way, he did.’
‘How?’ Annie was riveted. Cara was almost confiding in her: this was a first.
‘Oh, it doesn’t matter.’
‘How did he betray you?’ asked Annie, fascinated.
‘With a man,’ spat Cara angrily. ‘Can you believe that? He cheated on me with a man.’
Annie’s mouth worked but no sound came out. Rocco, a bisexual?
‘Are you sure?’ she asked finally.
‘I had him followed. Hired a private detective to do it. I got pictures, evidence, everything.’
Annie thought about Rocco floating dead in the pool, his cock stuffed into his mouth. She looked at Cara, aghast.
‘What are you looking at me like that for?’ Cara demanded. Then her brows drew sharply together. ‘You think I had something to do with Rocco’s death? Forget it. I was with you all day at the races, wasn’t I?’
Annie sat back, watching Cara’s face closely. ‘Tha
t don’t mean you couldn’t have got someone to do the deed.’ Annie’s eyes drifted to the window. Out in the road, Fredo was leaning against the limo’s bonnet, smoking a cigarette.
Cara’s eyes followed hers. ‘What, Fredo? You’re mad. He was with us.’
‘Not all the time. He was down in the public area for an hour, not up in the box. He could have come back to London, done Rocco, and then come back to Goodwood.’
‘Time’s tight,’ said Max.
Annie gave him a freezing look. Did I ask for your opinion?
‘Did you tell Constantine about this?’ she asked Cara.
‘Look, I told you, it doesn’t matter.’ Cara looked really agitated.
‘So you did tell him?’
‘He wouldn’t do anything.’ Cara’s beautiful face was screwed up with anger. ‘He said I’d made a mistake in marrying Rocco in the first place.’
Well, he had a point. Annie had always thought it was a mismatch. Cara had been far too strong-willed for mild, gentle Rocco.
‘Do you think he was right?’ she asked.
‘Oh, for the love of God, what does it matter now? Papa’s gone. Rocco’s gone. It’s all crazy. Except for the fact that you’re out of our lives, thank God for that.’
‘Cara – they were both murdered,’ pointed out Annie, hard-eyed as she watched her stepdaughter’s jerky movements.
‘I know that!’ shouted Cara, rounding on her. She clutched at her head and closed her eyes. ‘It’s a nightmare. I just don’t know what’s going on any more. I don’t know anything. Except I’m glad you’re here in this, this pest-hole, and not with us any more.’
She ran to the door and hurried out. Max and Annie heard the front door slam behind her. Annie moved to the window and saw Cara hurrying to the car, Fredo giving a smirk and opening the car door for her. Cara got in. So did Fredo. The car moved off and was gone.
Max joined Annie at the window. ‘Now that’s interesting,’ he said.
Annie turned to him, her face angry.
‘Look, do you really have to follow me around everywhere like a bad smell?’
Max leaned against the windowsill and gave her a slight, chilly smile.
‘Actually, I think I do. Someone’s going to make a move soon if they really want to get you.’
Annie stared at him, sick at the thought of his true motivation for guarding her. Yeah, and then you could lose Layla for good. ‘What, Cara?’ she sniffed. ‘You’re joking. She just came here to have a laugh at my expense. She might break a nail.’
He shrugged. ‘Anyone can hire in labour. So we don’t know, do we? She don’t seem like she’s got much of a grip on things. Seriously – I’d watch that family if I were you. They’re poison. You know what? You could get another visit anytime, from any one of them. And if you do – just watch yourself.’
Chapter 67
Rather than wait around for the axe to fall, Annie decided she’d go out – alone. She knew the risks, but she was sick of having Max around her, it was making her crazy. So she waited until he was out of sight and then shot out of the door, hailed a cab and did a circuit of the clubs to see how trade was doing.
What she hoped to find was that the places were falling to bits now that she was no longer in charge. But no such luck. All three showed every sign of thriving.
At the Blue Parrot she saw that the ‘Annie’s’ sign was down, both above the main door and over the bar, although the place seemed packed with punters.
At the Shalimar, the situation was the same. Christ, he’d wasted no time in obliterating her from his clubs, no time at all.
She went finally to the Palermo, and caught up with Dolly at the bar.
‘All on your own?’ asked Dolly in surprise, while Gary the barman hustled around her fixing drinks for a queue of customers, and ‘Voodoo Chile’ blasted out at full volume.
‘Yeah. How’s trade?’
‘As you can see, bloody good,’ said Dolly.
Shit, thought Annie.
‘Get you a drink?’
‘Nah, I’m fine.’
‘Did you have a word with Mr Carter about the changes he’s planning for the clubs?’ asked Dolly, all casual, but Annie knew she was seriously worried.
She wished she could put Dolly’s mind at rest. But she couldn’t. Max was taking great delight in keeping her dangling, and that meant Dolly was dangling too.
‘I have, but he won’t tell me about them,’ said Annie.
‘Personally, I think he’s got it all wrong,’ said Dolly. ‘The “Annie’s” thing was good. Very current. Don’t you think?’
‘Doll,’ said Annie wearily, ‘it don’t matter that,’ she snapped her fingers, ‘what I think. He’ll do what he wants. I got no say in it at all.’
‘Not getting on any better now?’ Dolly asked.
‘You must be joking.’
‘Oh shit, not you again,’ said a female voice by Annie’s ear.
She turned. It was Dusty, rigged out in short bubblegum pink again, her blonde hair bouffanted like it hadn’t gone out of style ten years ago, her black-plastered eyes fixing Annie with hatred.
‘Yeah, me,’ said Annie, eyeing this Munchkin-sized museum piece with amusement. What was the girl going to do, bite her in the bloody kneecaps?
‘I thought I told you I didn’t want to see your face around here no more,’ said Dusty.
‘Did you say that? I thought you said I had to keep away from Max Carter. And as you see – he’s not here.’
‘You know what I mean. You’re hanging about here waiting to see him.’
Annie straightened up.
‘I don’t want no trouble,’ said Dolly quickly.
‘Look,’ said Annie, staring Dusty straight in the eye, ‘I don’t want Max Carter. You’re welcome to him. But just some advice? You’re acting way too keen. No man likes that.’
‘I don’t want your fucking advice,’ shot back Dusty.
Annie shrugged. ‘So don’t take it.’
‘I told you not to come back in here.’
‘And yet, here I am. It’s a bitch, but there it is.’
‘You cheeky cow,’ said Dusty, and barrelled forward to grab a hank of Annie’s hair and rip it from her head.
Annie stretched out a hand and grabbed Dusty around the neck. She didn’t even squeeze. She just held her there. Dusty, outreached, stood there with her arms pistoning uselessly, threatening all sorts and going steadily blue in the face while trying – and failing – to inflict some damage.
Dolly was shouting for the bouncers, who came, grinned hugely at what was going on, grabbed Dusty and ejected her, still squirming and screaming insults, from the club.
‘Christ, she’s got more mouth than a cow got cunt,’ said Dolly in wonder.
Annie took a deep breath as she watched Dusty being hauled away. She was tired of being the victim, the one who was picked on and sworn at. She was ready to be something else now. But what? She was no longer Constantine’s wife – or Max’s. Maybe she was ready to be her own woman again. Stroppy Annie Carter who only ever played by her own rules.
‘You think she’ll be waiting for me outside?’ she asked Dolly with a glint of humour.
‘If she is, I’m coming out to watch round two,’ said Dolly with a laugh.
‘Look, you come up the stairs behind the punter,’ said Ellie loudly to one of the girls out in the hall. ‘How many times do I have to tell you? Then, if you got a bolter on your hands, he can’t change his mind and run out the door.’
Annie was stretched out on her bed, thinking. There had been a fracas out there a few moments ago – a punter had legged it and Ellie was giving the girl responsible an ear-bashing. But in her room it was quiet, calm. All except the noises that were coming through the wall from the bedroom next door. Bang, bang, bang. The headboard was striking the wall like a metronome. And yes yes yes was being shouted out at full volume by one of Shirley’s more vocal clients.
Fucking Max Carter, getting her thrown out
. Holland Park was paradise compared to this. And he’d given her such a bollocking over going out alone on her tour of the clubs, the bastard, and then grilled her about Layla all over again. She’d lied to him, of course. Sworn she didn’t have a clue where Layla was. Whether he’d believed her or not, she couldn’t be sure.
‘This Nico, you said he put Layla in a safe place with the nanny. Have you checked through his things? There might be something there, maybe a contact number.’
‘I did. There wasn’t,’ she said flatly.
She’d already removed all Nico’s papers, and she’d disposed of everything except the Times Square club contacts.
Now she turned over, hugged her pillow, tried to shut out the routine noises of the sex trade. She was used to them, she’d heard them a zillion times before. She should ignore them. But . . . Max was on the other side of the wall, in the next bedroom. He was hearing all this too.
Her mind spun with the force of all the turmoil that she’d been through, all the wild suspicions she was entertaining about the Barollis. Were they really that low, that despicable, that they would have killed Constantine, killed Rocco, betrayed the family code of loyalty and unity?
She thought of Gina, perched everywhere, dressed in black and reading the financial pages like a malevolent old crow, squawking out now and again about the price of gold or that utilities were falling.
But Constantine was her brother.
Lucco – hateful; unstable as warmed-up gelignite and twice as destructive. To kill his father, his own flesh and blood . . . no, she couldn’t bring herself to believe it, not even of him.
Alberto? Unthinkable.
And Cara, she had adored her father.
Hadn’t she?
God, she felt tired.
So tired of it all . . .
Moments later, she was asleep.
Chapter 68
She dreamed of a hot, wild wind that swept her up amid flames into a writhing sea of pain. One moment she stood on the terrace of their Montauk home, Constantine walking towards her with a smile saying, Hey, wonder what’s in this one?