Pretty Little Packages

by Andrew Crofts

  ‘She’s starting work on a new film,’ the girl said apologetically. ‘There’s no chance she could allocate more than a few hours to you until that’s over.’

  ‘I’ll take whatever time she can spare,’ Joe said.

  ‘I’ll ring your agent when I’ve found some slots,’ the girl promised, before hurrying off into the bedroom in answer to a call from her employer.

  Joe went back downstairs, his mind reeling from the chaos of the scene he had just left. Focussing once more on the matter in hand, he went in search of Paolo’s Range Rover, to return it to its rightful owner.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Mr Christopher Rose, surgeon to the stars, looked very different in his Harley Street consulting room from the figure which Joe had described to Annie a few days before. His pin-striped suit had creases as sharp as scalpels and the blood-red handkerchief in his top pocket matched his tie and socks to perfection. His grey hair swept back and his skin tanned, he gripped Annie’s hand in a firm greeting. She felt herself being carried away by the sheer force of the man’s personality before he had even opened his mouth.

  ‘Good afternoon, my dear,’ he boomed. ‘Come in and tell me what’s on your mind.’

  He guided her to a deep armchair, filled with exotically patterned cushions, returning to sit in his own wing-backed chair behind a mighty oak table, upon which a single yellow legal pad and silver fountain pen lay waiting.

  He took her details. She gave her parents’ address and the number of the mobile that Cordelia had lent her.

  ‘So,’ he put down his pen and steepled his immaculately manicured fingers in front of him, resting his chin on the top. ‘What do you think I can do for you?’

  ‘I don’t know really,’ she giggled rather foolishly. ‘I’m a model and actress and I want to make sure that my career lasts as long as possible. I don’t want to leave it too late to start taking little nips and tucks which might help to keep me looking young. I also,’ she realised she was moving away from the script which she and Cordelia and Joe had worked on together, but she couldn’t help herself, ‘have a little mole which I am slightly afraid may be growing.’

  He listened patiently, took a few more notes, and then invited her to step behind an antique screen, lie down on the couch and allow him to examine her.

  As Annie lay back, Rose washed his hands ostentatiously in a nearby basin, dried them on a snow-white towel, and then sat on a stool beside her. She felt vulnerable and trembled as his fingers confidently and lightly touched the skin on her face, testing, lifting, moving. He examined around her eyes and under her chin. She was sure he would be able to feel she was shaking.

  ‘And where is this mole?’ he asked.

  ‘On my shoulder.’

  ‘Would you mind unbuttoning your blouse and showing me?’ he said.

  She unbuttoned with clumsy fingers and he gently lifted the material away to reveal her bra. The strap covered the mole and he moved it aside, examining the skin beneath with minute attention. She felt the slightest whisper of his breath on her bare skin.

  ‘Very good, my dear,’ he said, sitting back. ‘Would you like to put yourself together and then come back out? Would you care for tea?’

  ‘Thank you, yes.’

  Almost as soon as she had sat back down in the chair an elderly secretary brought in a tray with a china teapot and matching cups and saucers. She poured them each a cup of tea through a silver strainer and presented Annie with hers, offering her a plate laden with delicate biscuits. All the while Chris Rose continued to write on his note pad. As soon as the other woman had gone, and the heavy consulting room door had clicked shut behind her, he laid down his pen and took a sip from his tea.

  ‘To be honest, my dear, I think it’s too soon for you to worry yourself about cosmetic surgery, although I think you are very wise to be thinking about it so far in advance. I am also fairly confident your mole is quite harmless. In fact, rather fetching. But it’s always wise to keep an eye on these things, just in case.

  ‘If you’re absolutely determined to have some sort of cosmetic treatment I would like to recommend you to a colleague of mine. An excellent man whose work is, I believe, superior to mine in many ways.’

  ‘Oh,’ Annie was startled. She hadn’t expected this.

  ‘This is only if you absolutely insist on going ahead.’

  ‘I see. Why would you not take me on as your own patient?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s a question of ethics, Annie. May I call you Annie? It’s a question of ethics. I think you’re one of the most beautiful creatures I have ever clapped eyes on. I am very much hoping you’ll agree to have dinner with me some time this week. Were I to take you on as a patient, it would be quite impossible for me to make any such suggestion. Does that make sense?’

  ‘Yes,’ she squeaked, suddenly finding it hard to get air into her lungs. She had imagined, when she had set out from Earls Court on her mission, she would be the one in control of this seduction. They had carefully planned how she would work her way into his affections with a number of visits and consultations – it was a meticulously constructed campaign. Now he had taken over control and she could do nothing to get it back. Everything Joe and Cordelia had told her about his reputation increased her nerves and intensified the excitement of his presence. She took a sip of her tea and almost swallowed it the wrong way.

  ‘Would you, for instance,’ he continued, ‘be free for dinner tonight?’

  ‘Tonight? Um, yes. I think so.’

  ‘How splendid! Would you like me to pick you up from,’ he glanced down at his notepad, ‘your home?’

  ‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘I live with my parents. I’d rather meet you somewhere.’

  ‘Why don’t you come to the house?’ he said. ‘I’ll give you the address. Shall we say half past seven?’

  ‘Okay.’

  She came back out into Harley Street, reeling from shock and wondering whether she’d made a terrible mistake in allowing him to move so fast. She felt a familiar sensation of breathlessness at the prospect of the adventure that lay ahead.

  Joe and Rod cautiously pushed open the door to the Gloucester Place apartment. There was a buzz of flies in the foul air and they both pulled their T-shirts up to cover their faces as they went in. Joe strode straight to the French windows and threw them open to allow some fresh air in. He stepped outside onto the balcony and took some deep breaths. Rod joined him.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Rod said. ‘They meant business, whoever they were.’

  ‘It looks like it. Thank God Cordelia and Doris weren’t here when they arrived,’ Joe said.

  ‘If they had been I think we’d be fishing bits of them out of skips by now,’ Rod agreed.

  Joe said nothing for a moment. The thought of anyone hurting Cordelia made him feel surprisingly angry. He hadn’t realised quite how fond of her he was becoming.

  ‘You think it could be the same people who cut up the other girl?’ he asked.

  ‘Could be,’ Rod said. ‘But then again, it could just be a rival firm, looking to hurt Len’s business.’

  ‘Do they really still behave like that?’ Joe asked. ‘It sounds like something from Soho in the sixties.’

  ‘If anything it’s got more cut-throat since the stakes got higher. In those days they were squabbling over a few tatty little illegal spielers and a few hundred low-rent hookers. Nowadays, with drugs and all the rest, it’s big money. There’s a lot of people who would be delighted to take over a slice of Len’s business.’

  ‘He told me he was winding his business interests down, preparing for retirement.’

  ‘And you believed him?’ Rod raised an eyebrow and Joe didn’t reply for a moment, staring back into the wrecked flat.

  ‘He’s not into drugs, is he? He always told me that was a business he refused to be part of. Too dirty…’ Joe’s voice trailed away as he saw Rod’s expression of disbelief.

  ‘They all say that,’ Rod said. ‘Nobody gets a good press
for being a drugs baron. A bit of good old-fashioned GBH, a bit of bank-robbing, or cat-burglary, a few gambling interests. The great British public likes all that. It’s what you might call ‘user-friendly’ crime, cops and robbers stuff. But drug dealers and dope fiends, that’s a different matter. That conjures up images of innocent kids overdosing in back alleys and old ladies being mugged coming out of the post office by addicts desperate for their next fix. Never mind that about a quarter of the law-abiding population use drugs every weekend, and then go back to school or work on a Monday morning without another thought.

  ‘The public relations war has been well lost in the drugs business. So anyone who wants to set themselves up as a loveable rogue, as old Len most certainly does, is not going to want to advertise the fact that most of the criminal money in the world today comes from the pockets of kids in nightclubs. Of course Len’s into drugs.’

  Joe stared at him. ‘Do you know this for a fact?’ he asked eventually.

  ‘Yeah, of course. Everyone in the force knows Len’s dabbling.’

  ‘So why don’t they close him down?’

  ‘He’s a useful man. He comes up with good information from time to time. And we always know where to find him.’

  ‘You mean, he’s an informant?’

  ‘I wouldn’t put it that bluntly, but that’s the sort of idea. The authorities know that if they ever want to get the real evil bastards…’

  ‘Like Mike Martin?’

  ‘Precisely. If they are ever going to get them, then they’ll need the help of relatively decent blokes like Len.’

  ‘But Len’s a drug dealer?’ Joe was having trouble coming to terms with the information Rod was imparting.

  ‘You’ve been reading too many tabloids,’ Rod sighed. ‘You ever used drugs?’

  ‘From time to time.’

  ‘You shop at Sainsbury’s for your groceries?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘And buy your booze there?’

  ‘Occasionally.’

  ‘Think the managers at Sainsbury’s should be locked up for supplying you with what you want?’ Rod raised his eyebrows questioningly. ‘The only difference between drink and drugs is that we’ve decided to hand management of the drugs industry over to the criminals. If we hadn’t done that it would be neatly placed somewhere between brewing and pharmaceuticals in the great global business jigsaw, earning billions for the tax men instead of providing a living to any fly boy willing to risk a jail sentence.’

  Joe fell silent after Rod’s outburst.

  ‘What’s Cordelia’s role in all this?’ he asked after a few moments’ thought.

  ‘Very minor. She’s only a kid. Len wouldn’t want her being put away at such a tender age. He has big plans for his girl. I would imagine she meets couriers off the planes, brings them into town and makes sure they’re comfortable and have everything they need, until such time as whatever they are carrying can be moved on, and they are free to go back to wherever they’ve come from.’

  ‘I saw her with some guys at the Lanesborough,’ Joe said. ‘You mean they were carrying drugs?’

  ‘I would guess so.’

  ‘Thank God for that,’ Joe said. ‘I thought she was on the game.’ He blushed when he realised that Rod was watching him with an amused expression.

  ‘And that worried you, did it?’ Rod asked with a grin.

  ‘Fuck off.’ Joe grinned back.

  ‘Well,’ Rod said. ‘We can’t work here until it’s been cleaned up a bit. So, shall we see if we can find a quiet corner in a pub?’

  When Annie arrived at Chris Rose’s house in Grosvenor Square, just a few doors away from the American embassy, he answered the door himself. It looked as if he had only just got in from work. He had taken off his jacket and tie, but was still wearing his suit trousers. His shirt was as immaculately pressed as if he had just put it on. There was the faintest hint of expensive cologne in the air.

  ‘Come in, my dear.’ He held the door wide with a theatrical sweep, leading her upstairs to a grand reception room, with windows looking out over the square. Cleo Laine’s voice was crooning softly in the background.

  ‘I’ve just got in and I was about to take a quick shower. Would it be too terrible of me to sit you down here with a glass of champagne and a little caviar? I’ll be right back.’

  While her host was out of the room, Annie wandered around, examining the original works of art on the walls, the sculptures and the furniture. There were shelves full of heavy, illustrated art books, side by side with works of erotica. A portrait of Chris as a young man, by Patrick Procter, hung next to a nude woman by Lucien Freud.

  She kept dipping into the caviar and sipping at the large flute of champagne which he had left her. By the time he returned, in a silk shirt and Armani trousers, she could already feel herself slipping luxuriously beneath the surface of her common sense. Everything was simply so smooth and oiled by money. It was the life she had always imagined herself leading when, as a frustrated schoolgirl, she used to dream about leaving home. She shook herself mentally, recalling what this man involved himself with in order to live like this.

  She allowed him to steer her to a sofa and refill her glass. He cut her an elegant little line of cocaine on an antique hand-mirror and held it up for her to help herself. A warm glow of well-being settled onto her like a wonderful homecoming.

  ‘I thought, if it’s all right with you,’ he said, after sniffing up another line himself, ‘we would have a little supper at home. If you don’t like the idea, we could pop down the road to the Mirabelle or the Connaught. But I just thought it would be so relaxing to stay here and get acquainted.’

  Annie sat back and listened as he talked about art and love and travel. She sipped more champagne and puffed on a joint which he rolled for her, after taking the ingredients from a small, inlaid box on the mantelpiece.

  When it was time to eat he led her through to a dining-room where a cold supper had been laid out by invisible hands, the candles lit, the ice bucket filled. They talked on through the meal and then he led her back to the sitting-room, describing a meal he had recently enjoyed in Manila. Through the haze of good feelings, she could dimly remember her briefing from Joe and Cordelia.

  ‘So,’ she said, as they settled onto the sofa and he put his arm around her shoulders. ‘How come you were in Manila? Was it work or holiday?’ She could feel the intensity of his desire for her, it was like a heat emanating from every part of him. She felt in imminent danger.

  ‘All the girls out there,’ he said, undoing the buttons on her blouse, ‘want to have perfect breasts. Like these. I give them just that.’

  ‘Implants?’

  ‘That’s right.’ He slid his hand inside and lifted her breast free of the material, leaning over to kiss it.

  ‘I’ve wondered about those. Do you think I should have something done to mine?’ she asked as he gently slid her down on the cushions.

  ‘You wouldn’t want what they have,’ he laughed. His eyes were glazed from the mixture of champagne, smoke and chemicals. The young skin of the girl in his hands was making his mouth water. ‘They’re just being used as a walking postal service.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ She laid her head back, allowing him to continue but focussing her attention on what he was saying.

  ‘I mean,’ he said, ‘I pack them in Manila and unpack them again in London, or New York or Paris. They’re just mules.’

  ‘Pack them with what?’ Her ears pricked up at what he was saying. She knew this could be the information that Joe and Cordelia had sent her for.

  ‘With some of the pretty powder we’ve enjoyed this evening,’ he said.

  ‘I know what I’d like to do,’ she whispered, slipping out from under him and standing up, relieved to bring to an end his attentions on the sofa. After all, she now had what she’d come for.

  ‘What is that my dear?’

  ‘I feel like dancing,’ she said, buttoning up her blouse and running her f
ingers through her hair.

  ‘Dancing?’

  ‘Absolutely!’ She made a few sample moves around the room. ‘Let’s go to Tramp, I’ve never been there.’

  ‘It’s late now,’ he protested, thrown by her sudden change of pace. ‘Why don’t we stay here tonight and go dancing another night?’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ she laughed, teasingly, anxious not to anger him, trying to appear like an innocent, tipsy girl. ‘Don’t be an old bore.’

  ‘Whatever you want,’ he smiled bravely and pulled himself off the sofa.

  An hour later they were dancing in Tramp. Annie was feeling good. She could see that she was exhausting him. At two o’clock she asked to leave. Once they were outside on the pavement, she told him she was getting a cab to take her home.

  ‘Why don’t you come back to Grosvenor Square?’ Rose asked, obviously unsettled by the way he was losing control of the situation. Watching her body moving on the dance floor had increased his appetite for her.

  ‘I should be getting back,’ she said. ‘My parents don’t like me staying out all night.’

  ‘I’d like to see you again,’ Rose said. She smiled but didn’t reply. A taxi drew up beside them. ‘But I’ve got to go to New York for a couple of days. May I ring you when I get back?’

  ‘Sure,’ she said, pecking him on the cheek and climbing into the cab. ‘When are you due back?’

  ‘Here.’ He hurriedly scribbled some information on the back of a calling card and passed it through the cab window to her.

  ‘Okay,’ she grinned. ‘See you then. Thanks for a great evening.’

  Everyone sat silently round the kitchen table in Earls Court the following morning, listening to Annie’s story. Even Doris had stopped work and was sitting with them, although she was still wearing the yellow rubber gloves that Angus had bought her in recognition of his gratitude for all the cleaning she had been doing.